Dir* PEILIP GRAIP 
 

NOVELS AND TALES. 
 
 nr 
 
 GOETHE. 
 
. NOVELS AND TALES,' 
 
 GOETHE. 
 
 XECIIVE AFFINITIES: THE SORROWS OF WERTHER 
 
 GERMAN EMIGRANTS ; THE GOOD WOMEN ; 
 
 AND A NOUVELETTK 
 
 LONDON : GEORGE BELL & SONS, YORK STREET, 
 COVENT GARDEN. 
 
 1873. 
 
/ ^^^''>>t^i^''^-'''6<:36-'-*'t.'^ 
 
 ^o/v, /^::fC^.^ ,^. 
 
 LOHDON : PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET 
 AND CHARINQ CROSS. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The works of Goethe, comprised in the present volume, 
 are entirely new translations, made expressly for the series 
 of German Classical Works, which find their place from 
 time to time in the " Standard Library.'* The " Elective 
 Affinities" has been executed by a gentleman well known 
 in the literary world, who does not wish his name to 
 appear. It is possible that exceptions may be taken to 
 some of the statements contained in this production of 
 Goethe. Bat to use the language of Carlyle, " Fidelity is 
 aU the merit a translator need aim at, to convey the 
 author's, sentiments as he himself expressed them, and to 
 follow the original in all its variations. In many points, 
 it were to be wished that Goethe had not so written; 
 but to alter anything is not in the translator's commission. 
 The literary and moral persuasions of a man like Goethe, 
 are objects of a rational curiosity, and the duty of a trans- 
 lator is simple and distinct." The same observations will 
 apply with equal force to many of the sentiments which 
 pervade the second tale in this volume, the "Sorrows of 
 Werther." 
 * It is somewhat remarkable that the " Sorrows of "Wer- 
 ther," notwithstanding its great popularity, has never before 
 been translated directly from the German into the English 
 language. The translation by which the work has become 
 familiarized in this country, was made from the French, 
 a medium whoUy incapable of maintaining the vigorous 
 strength of the original. Well may it be styled " a faint 
 and garbled version," by a competent authority, who 
 farther observes: "That the German Werther is a very 
 different person from his English namesake. His sorrows 
 in the original are recorded in a tone of strength and 
 sarcastic emphasis, of which the other offers no vestige, 
 
 691060 
 
Vi PEEEACE. 
 
 and intermingled with touches of painful thought, glimpses 
 of a philosopliy deep as it is bitter, wRich our sagacious 
 translator has seen proper wholly to omit." The story of 
 Werther is known to be the narration of an actual fact 
 which happened within the knowledge of the author ; and 
 though it has been sometimes affirmed that Groethe subse- 
 quently smiled at this performance of his youth, yet he has 
 left on record an account of his own state of mind during its 
 composition, which is well worthy of perusal. " The resolu- 
 tion," says Groethe, " to preserve my internal nature according 
 to its peculiarities, and to ' let external nature influence me 
 according to its qualities, impelled me to the strange element 
 in which ' Werther' is designed and written. I sought to 
 free myself internally from all that was foreign to me, to 
 regard the external with love, and to allow all beings, from 
 man downwards, as long as they were comprehensible, to 
 act upon me, each after its own kind. Thus arose a won- 
 derful affinity with the single objects of nature, and a hearty 
 concord, a harmony with the whole, so that every change, 
 whether of place and region, or of the day and year, or what- 
 ever else could happen, afiiected me in the deepest manner. 
 The glance of the painter associated itself to that of the 
 poet, the beautiful rural landscape, animated by the pleasant 
 river, increased my love of solitude, and favoured my silent 
 observations as they extended on all sides." 
 
 The tales with which the volume concludes, are in point of 
 date almost contemporaneous with " Werther," and though 
 slight in their structure, bear "indubitable traces of the 
 greatest genius of modern tiaaes." 
 
 The entire volume, excepting the "Affinities," has been 
 translated by E. D. Boylan, Esq., who is favourably known 
 to the readers of the " Standard Library- ' by his version of 
 SchiUer's "Don Carlos." 
 
 H. G. B. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Elective Affinities ...••,c«1 
 
 The Sorrows of Young Wertheb ••,»•• 247 
 The Recreations of the Gebman Emigrakts • • . 857 
 
 A Fairy Tale 431 
 
 The Good Woken ••••».,, 461 
 
 ^tai* . . . m 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 
 
 PAET I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Edward — so we shall call a wealthy nobleman in the 
 prime of life — ^had been spending several hours of a fine 
 April morning in his nursery-garden, budding the stems of 
 Bome young trees with cuttmgs which had been recently sent 
 to him. He had finished what he was about, and having laid 
 his tools together in their box, was complacently surveying 
 his work, when the gardener came up and complimented his 
 master on his industry. 
 
 " Have you seen my wife anywhere ?*' inquired Edward, as 
 he moved to go away. 
 
 "My lady is alone yonder in the new grounds," said the 
 man ; " the summer-house which she has been making on the 
 rock over against the castle is finished to-day, and really 
 it is beautiful. It cannot fail to please your grace. The 
 view from it is perfect: — ^the village at your feet; a little to 
 your right the church, with its tower, which you can just see 
 over ; and directly opposite you, the castle and the garden,'* 
 
 " Quite true," replied Edward ; " I can see the people at 
 work a few steps from where I am standing." 
 
 " And then, to the right of the church again," continued 
 the gardener, " is the opening of the valley ; and you look 
 along over a range of wood and meadow far into the distance. 
 The steps up the rock, too, are excellently arranged. My 
 gracious lady understands these things; it is a pleasure to 
 work under her." 
 
 B 
 
2< GOETHE. 
 
 - **.Go to hci%" said Edward, " and desire her to be so good 
 *a^ :to'w-",it for r.ie there. Tell her I wish to see this new 
 creation of hers, and enjoy it with her," 
 
 The gardener went rapidly off, and Edward soon followed. 
 Descending the terrace, and stopping as he passed to look 
 into the hot-houses and the forcing-pits, he came presently to 
 the stream, and thence, over a narrow bridge, to a place 
 where the walk leading to the summer-house branched off in 
 two directions. One path led across the churchyard, imme- 
 Uiately up the face of the rock. The other, into which he 
 struck, wound away to the left, with a more gradual ascent, 
 through a pretty shrubbery. Where the two paths joined 
 again, a seat had been made, where he stopped a few moments 
 to rest; and then, following the now single road, he found 
 himself, after scrambling along among steps and slopes of all 
 sorts and kinds, conducted at last through a narrow more or 
 less steep outlet to the summer-house. 
 
 Charlotte was standing at the door to receive her husband. 
 She made him sit down where, without moving, he could 
 command a view of the different landscapes through the door 
 and window — these serving as frames, in which they were set 
 like pictures. Spring was coming on ; a rich, beautiful life 
 would soon everywhere be bursting ; and Edward spoke of it 
 with delight. 
 
 "There is only one thing which I should observe," he 
 added, " the summer-house itself is rather small.*' 
 
 ** It is large enough for you and me, at any rate," answered 
 Charlotte. 
 
 '* Certainly," said Edward ; " there is room for a third, too, 
 easily." 
 
 "Of course; and for a fourth also," replied Charlotte. 
 "For larger parties we can contrive other places." 
 
 " Now that we are here by ourselves, with no one to dis- 
 turb us, and in such a pleasant mood," said Edward, " it is a 
 good opportunity for me to tell you that I have for some time 
 had something on my mind, about which I have wished to 
 speak to you, but have never been able to muster up mj 
 courage." 
 
 " I have observed that there has been something of the 
 sort," said Charlotte. 
 
 And even now," Edward went on, " if it were not for a 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 3 
 
 letter whicli the post brought me this morning, and which 
 obliges me to come to some resohition to-day, I should very- 
 likely liave still kept it to myself." 
 
 " What is it, then?" asked Charlotte, tmming affectionately 
 towards him. 
 
 " It concerns our friend the Captain," answered Edward ; 
 ** you know the unfortunate position in which he, like many 
 others, is placed. It is through no ftiult of his own ; but you 
 may imagine how painful it must be for a person with his 
 knowledge and talents and accomplishments, to find himself 
 without employment. I — I will not hesitate any longer with 
 what I am wishing for him. I should like to have him here 
 with us for a time." 
 
 " We must think about that," replied Charlotte ; " it should 
 be considered on more sides than one." 
 
 " I am quite ready to tell you what I have in view," 
 returned Edward. " Through his last letters there is a pre- 
 vailing tone of despondency; not that he is really in any 
 want. He knows thoroughly well how to limit his expenses; 
 and I have taken care for everything absolutely necessary. 
 It is no distress to him to accept obligations from me ; all our 
 lives we have been in the habit of borrowing from and 
 lending to each other ; and we could not tell, if we would, 
 how our debtor and creditor account stands. It is being 
 without occupation which is really fretting him. The many 
 accomplishments which he has cultivated in himself, it is his 
 only pleasure — indeed, it is his passion — to be daily and 
 hourly exercising for the benefit of others. And now, to sit 
 still, with his arms folded; or to go on studying, acquiring, 
 and acquiring, when he can make no use of what he already 
 possesses ;— my dear creature, it is a painful situation ; and 
 alone as he is, he feels it doubly and trebly." 
 
 " But I thought," said Charlotte, " that he had had offers 
 from many different quarters. I myself wrote to numbers 
 of my own friends, male and female, for him ; and, as I have 
 reason to believe, not without effect." 
 
 " It is true," replied Edward ; " but these very offers — 
 these various proposals — have only caused him fresh embar- 
 rassment. Not one of them is at all suitable to such a 
 person as he is. He would have nothing to do ; he would 
 have to sacrifice himself, his time, his purposes, his whole 
 
 B 2 
 
4 GOETHE. 
 
 method of life ; and to that he cannot bring himself. The 
 more I think of it all, the more I feel about it, and the more 
 anxious I am to see him here with us." 
 
 " It is very beautiful and amiable in you,'* answered Char- 
 lotte, "to enter with so much sympathy into your friend's 
 position; only you must allow me to ask you to think of 
 yourself and of me, as well." 
 
 " I have done that," replied Edward. *' For ourselves, we 
 can have nothing to expect from his presence with us, except 
 pleasure and advantage. I will say nothing of the expense. 
 In any case, if he came to us, it would be but small ; and you 
 know he will be of no inconvenience to us at all. He can 
 have his own rooms in the right wing of the castle, and 
 everything else can be arranged as simply as possible. What 
 shall we not be thus doing for him ! and how agreeable and 
 how profitable may not his society prove to us ! I have long 
 been wishing for a plan of the property and the grounds. 
 He will see to it, and get it made. You intend yourself to 
 take the management of the estate, as soon as our present 
 steward's term is expired; and that, you know, is a serious 
 thing. His various information will be of immense benefit 
 to us ; I feel only too acutely how much I require a person of 
 this kind. The country people have knowledge enough, but 
 their way of imparting it is confused, and not always honest. 
 The students from the towns and universities are sufficiently 
 clever and orderly, but they are deficient in personal expe- 
 rience. From my friend, I can promise myself both know- 
 ledge and method, and hundreds of other circumstances I 
 can easily conceive arising, affecting you as well as me, and 
 from which I can foresee innumerable advantages. Thank 
 you for so patiently listening to me. Now, do you say what 
 you think, and say it out freely and fully; I will not interrupt 
 you." 
 
 " Very well," replied Charlotte ; " I will begin at once 
 with a general observation. Men think most of the imme- 
 diate — ^the present ; and rigl^tly, their calling being to do and 
 to work. Women, on the other hand, more of how things 
 hang together in life; and that rightly too, because their 
 destiny— -the destiny of their families — is bound up in this 
 interdependence, and it is exactly this which it is their 
 mission to promote. So now let us cast a glance at our pre- 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 5 
 
 sent and our past life ; and you will acknowledge that the 
 invitation of the Captain does not fall in so entirely with our 
 purposes, oui* plans, and our arrangements. I will go back 
 to those happy days of our earliest intercourse. We loved 
 each other, young as we then were, with all our hearts. We 
 were parted : you from me — your father, from an insatiable 
 desire of wealth, choosing to marry you to an elderly and rich 
 lady ; I from you, having to give my hand, without any espe- 
 cial motive, to an excellent man, whom I respected, if I did 
 not love. We became again free — ^you first, your poor 
 mother at the same time leaving you in possession of your 
 large fortune ; I later, just at the time when you returned 
 from abroad. So we met once more. We spoke of the past ; 
 we could enjoy and love the recollection of it; we might 
 have been contented, in each other's society, to leave things 
 as they were. You were urgent for our marriage. I at first 
 hesitated. We were about the same age ; but I as a M'oman 
 had grown older than you as a man. At last I could not 
 refuse you what you seemed to think the one thing you cared 
 for. All the discomfort whi<ih you had ever experienced, at 
 court, in the army, or in travelling, you were to recover from 
 at my side ; you would settle down and enjoy life ; but only 
 with me for your companion. I settled my daughter at a 
 school, where she could be more completely educated than 
 would be possible in the retirement of the country ; and I 
 placed my niece Ottilie there with her as well, who, perhaps, 
 would have grown up better at home with me, under my own 
 care. This was done with your consent, merely that we 
 might have our own lives to ourselves — merely that we might 
 enjoy undisturbed our so-long-wished-for, so-long-delayed 
 happiness. We came here and settled ourselves. I imder- 
 took the domestic part of the menage, you the out-of-doors, 
 and the general control. My own principle has been to meet 
 your wishes in everything, to live only for you. At least, let 
 us give ourselves a fair trial how far in this way we can be 
 enough for one another." 
 
 " Since the interdependence of things, as you call it, is 
 your especial element," replied Edward, " one should either 
 never listen to any of your trains of reasoning, or make up 
 one's mind to allow you to be in the right ; and, indeed, you 
 have been in the right up to the present day. The founda- 
 
OOETKB. 
 
 tion which we have hitherto been laying for ourselves, ia of 
 the true, sound sort ; only, are we to build no.thing upon it ? 
 is nothing to be developed out of it ? All the work we have 
 done — I in the garden, you in the park — is it all only for a 
 pair of hermits?" 
 
 " Well, well," replied Charlotte, " very well. What we 
 have to look to is, that we introduce no alien element, 
 nothing which shall cross or obstruct us. Remember, our 
 plans, even those which only concern our amusements, depend 
 mainly on our being together. You were to read to me, in 
 consecutive order, the journal which you made when you 
 were abroad. You were to take the opportunity of arranging 
 it, putting all the loose matter connected with it in its place ; 
 and with me to work with you and help you, out of these 
 invaluable but chaotic leaves and sheets to put together a 
 complete thing, which should give pleasure to ourselves and 
 to others. I promised to assist you in transcribing ; and we 
 thought it would be so pleasant, so delightful, so charming, 
 to travel over in recollection the world which we were unable 
 to see together. The beginning is already made. Then, in 
 the evenings, you have taken up your flute again, accom- 
 panying me on the piano, while of visits backwards and 
 forwards among the neighbourhood, there is abundance. For 
 my part, I have been promising myself out of all this the 
 first really happy summer I have ever thought to spend in 
 my life.'* 
 
 " Only I cannot see," replied Edward, rubbing his fore- 
 head, " how, through every bit of this which you have been 
 so sweetly and so sensibly laying before me, the Captain's 
 presence can be any interruption; I should rather have 
 thought it would give it all fresh zest and life. He was my 
 companion during a part of my travels. He made many 
 observations from a different point of view from mine. We 
 can put it all together, and so make a charmingly complete 
 work of it." 
 
 '^Well, then, I will acknowledge openly," answered Char- 
 lotte, with some impatience, " my feeling is against this plan. 
 
 1 have an instinct which tells me no good will come of it." 
 
 '* You women are invincible in this way," replied Edward. 
 *' You are so sensible, that there is no answering you, then so 
 affectionate, that one is glad to give way to you; full of feel- 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 7 
 
 ings, which one cannot wound, and full of forebodings, which 
 terrify one." 
 
 " I am not superstitious," said Charlotte ; *' and I care no- 
 thing for these dim sensations, merely as such; but in general 
 they are the result of unconscious recollections of happy or 
 unhappy consequences, which we have experienced as follow- 
 ing on our own or others' actions. Nothing is of greater 
 moment, in any state of things, than the intervention of a 
 third person. I have seen friends, brothers and sisters, 
 lovers, husbands and wives, whose relation to each other, 
 through the accidental or intentional introduction of a third 
 person, has been altogether changed— whose whole moral 
 condition has been inverted by it." 
 
 " That may very well be," replied Edward, " with people 
 who live on witliout looking where they are going; but not, 
 surely, with persons whom experience has taught to imder- 
 stand themselves.*' 
 
 " That understanding ourselves, my dearest husband," in- 
 sisted Charlotte, " is no such certain weapon. It is very often 
 a most dangerous one for the person who bears it. And out 
 of all this, at least so much seems to arise, that we should not 
 be in too great a hurry. Let me have a few days to think ; 
 don't decide.'* 
 
 " As the matter stands," returned Edward, " wait as many 
 days as we will, we shall still be in too great a huriy. The 
 arguments for and against are all before us ; all we want is 
 the conclusion, and as things are, I think the best thing we 
 can do is to draw lots." 
 
 " I know," said Charlotte, " that in doubtful cases it is 
 your way to leave them to chance. To me, in such a serious 
 matter, this seems almost a crime." 
 
 " Then what am I to write to the Captain ?" cried Edward ; 
 " for write I must at once." 
 
 "Write him a kind, sensible, sympathising letter," an- 
 swered Charlotte. 
 
 " That is as good as none at all," replied Edward. 
 
 " And there are many cases," answered she, " in which we 
 are obliged, and in which it is thft real kindness, rather to 
 Write nothing than not to write." 
 
G0EIH)3. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Edward was alone in his room. The repetition of the 
 incidents of his life from Charlotte's lips ; the representation 
 of their mutual situation, their mutual purposes ; had worked 
 him, sensitive as he was, into a very pleasant state of mind. 
 "While close to her — while in her presence— he had felt so 
 happy, that he had thought out a warm, kind, but quiet and 
 indefinite epistle which he would send to the Captain. 
 When, however, he had settled himself at his writing-table, 
 and taken up his friend's letter to read it over once more, the 
 sad condition of this excellent man rose again vividly before 
 him. The feelings which had been all day distressing him 
 again awoke, and it appeared impossible to him to leave one 
 whom he called his friend in such painful embarrassment. 
 
 Edward was unaccustomed to deny himself anything. The 
 only child, and consequently the spoilt child, of wealthy 
 parents, who had persuaded him into a singular, but highly 
 advantageous marriage with a lady far older than himself; 
 and again by her petted and indulged in every possible way, 
 she seeking to reward his kindness to her by the utmost 
 liberality; after her early death his own master, travelling 
 independently of every one, equal to all contingencies and all 
 changes, with desires never excessive, but multiple and 
 various — ^free-hearted, generous, brave, at times even noble— 
 what was there in the world to cross or thwart him ? 
 
 Hitherto, everything had gone as he desired ! Charlotte 
 had become his ; he had won her at last, with an obstinate, a 
 romantic fidelity ; and now he felt himself, for the first time, 
 contradicted, crossed in his wishes, when those wishes were 
 to invite to his home the friend of his youth — -just as he was 
 longing, as it were, to throw open his whole heart to him. 
 He felt annoyed, impatient ; he took up his pen again and 
 again, and as often threw it do-svn again, because he could not 
 make up his mind what to write. Against his wife's wishes 
 he would not go ; against her expressed desire he could not, 
 lU at ease as he was, it would have been impossible for him, 
 even if he had wished, to write a quiet, easy letter. The 
 most natural thing to do, was to put it off. In a few words, 
 he begged his friend to forgive him for having left his letter 
 
ELECTIVE APFINITIES. 9 
 
 unanswered; that day he was unable to write circumstan- 
 tially ; but shortly, he hoped to be able to tell him what he 
 felt at greater length. 
 
 The next day, as they were walking to the same spot, 
 Charlotte took the opportunity of bringing back the conver- 
 sation to the subject, perhaps because slic knew that there 
 is no surer way of rooting out any plan or purpose, than by 
 often talking it over. 
 
 It was what Edward was wishing. He expressed himself in 
 his own way, kindly and sweetly. For although, sensitive as 
 he was, he flamed up readily — although the vehemence with 
 which he desired anything made him pressing, and his obsti- 
 nacy made him impatient — his words were so softened by 
 his wish to spare the feelings of those to whom he was speak- 
 ing, that it was impossible not to be charmed, even when one 
 most disagreed, with him. 
 
 This morning, he first contrived to bring Charlotte into the 
 happiest humour, and then so disarmed her with the graceful 
 turn which he gave to the conversation, that she cried out at 
 last: 
 
 " You are determined that what I refused to the husband 
 you will make me gi-ant to the lover. At least, my dearest,'* 
 she continued, " I will acknowledge that your wishes, and the 
 warmth and sweetness with which you express them, have not 
 left me untouched, have not left me unmoved. You drive me 
 to make a confession ; — till now, I too have had a concealment 
 from you ; I am in exactly the same position with you, and I 
 have hitherto been putting the same restraint on my inclina- 
 tion which I have been exhorting you to put on yours." 
 
 *' Glad am I to hear that," said Edward. " In the married 
 state, a difference of opinion now and then, I see, is no bad 
 thing ; we learn something of one another by it." 
 
 " You are to learn at present, then," said Charlotte, " that 
 it is with me about Ottilie as it is with you about the Captain. 
 The dear child is most uncomfortable at the school, and I am 
 thoroughly uneasy about her. Luciana, my daughter, born 
 as she is for the world, is there training hourly for the world ; 
 languages, history, everything that is taught there, she ac- 
 quires with so much ease that, as it were, she learns them 
 off at sight. She has quick natural gifts, and an excellent 
 memory ; one may almost say she forgets everything, and in 
 
10 GOETHE. 
 
 a moment calls it all back again. She distinguishes herself 
 above every one at the school wdth the freedom of her car- 
 riage, the grace of her movement, and the elegance of her 
 address, and with the inborn royalty of nature makes her- 
 self the queen of the little circle there. The superior of 
 the establishment regards her as a Jittle divinity, who, 
 under her hands, is shaping into excellence, and who will 
 do her honour, gain her reputation, and bring her a large 
 increase of pupils ; the first pages of this good lady's letters, 
 and her monthly notices of progress, are for ever hymns about 
 the excellence of such a child, which I have to translate into 
 my own prose ; while her concluding sentences about Ottilie 
 are nothing but excuse after excuse — attempts at explaining 
 how it can be that a girl in other respects growing up so 
 lovely seems coming to nothing, and shows neither capacity 
 nor accomplishment. This, and the little she has to say 
 besides, is no riddle to me, because I can see in this dear 
 child the same character as that of her mother, who was my 
 own dearest friend; who grew up with myself, and whose 
 daughter, I am certain, if I had the care of her education, 
 would form into an exquisite creature. 
 
 " This, however, has not fallen in with our plan, and as one 
 ought not to be picking and pulling, or for ever introducing 
 new elements among the conditions of our life, I think it 
 better to bear, and to conquer as I can, even the unpleasant 
 impression that my daughter, who knows very well that 
 poor Ottilie is entirely dependent upon us, does not refrain 
 from flourishing her own successes in her face, and so, to a 
 certain extent, destroys the little good which we have done 
 for her. Who are well trained enough never to wound 
 others by a parade of their own advantages? and who stands 
 so high as not at times to suffer under such a slight ? In 
 trials like these, Ottilie's character is growing in strength, 
 but since I have clearly known the painfulness of her situa- 
 tion, I have been thinking over all possible ways to make some 
 other arrangement. Every hour I am expecting an answer 
 to my own last letter, and then I do not mean to hesitate any 
 more. So, my dear Edward, it is with me. We have both, 
 you see, the same sorrows to bear, touching both our hearts 
 in the same point. Let us bear them together, since we 
 neither of us can press our own against the other." 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 11 
 
 •* We are strange creatures," said Edward, smiling. " If 
 we can only put out of sight anything which troubles us, we 
 fancy at once we have got rid of it. We can give up much 
 in the large and general; but to make sacrifices in little 
 things is a demand to which we are rarely equal. So it was 
 with my mother, — as long as I lived w4th her, while a boy and 
 a young man, she could not bear to let me be a moment out 
 of her sight. If I was out later than usual in my ride, some 
 misfortune must have happened to me. If I got wet through 
 in a shower, a fever was inevitable. I travelled; I was 
 absent from her altogether ; and, at once, I scarcely seemed 
 to belong to her. If we look at it closer," he continued^ 
 " we are both acting very foolishly, very culpably. Two 
 very noble natures, both of which have the closest claims on 
 our affection, we are leaving exposed to pain and distress, 
 merely to avoid exposing ourselves to a chance of danger. 
 If this is not to be called selfish, what is ? You take Ottilie. 
 Let me have the Captain ; and, for a short period, at least, let 
 the trial be made." 
 
 " We might venture it," said Charlotte, thoughtfully, " if 
 the danger were only to ourselves. But do you think it 
 prudent to bring Ottilie and the Captain into a situation 
 where they must necessarily be so closely intimate ; the 
 Captain, a man no older than yourself, of an age (I am not 
 saying this to flatter you) when a ma-n becomes first capable 
 of love and first deserving of it, and a girl of Ottilie's attract- 
 tiveness ?" 
 
 " I cannot conceive how you can rate Ottilie so high," 
 replied Edward. " I can only explain it to myself by sup- 
 posing her to have inherited your affection for her mother. 
 Pretty she is, no doubt. I remember the Captain observing it 
 to me, when we came back last year, and met her at your aunt's. 
 Attractive she is, — she has particularly pretty eyes ; but I do 
 not know that she made the slightest impression upon me." 
 
 " That M'as quite proper in you," said Charlotte, " seeing 
 that I was there ; and, although she is much younger than I, 
 the presence of your old friend had so many cliarms for you, 
 that you overlooked the promise of the opening beauty. It 
 is one of your ways ; and that is one reason why it is so 
 pleasant to live with you." 
 
 Charlotte, openly as she appeared to be speaking, wa» 
 
12 OOETHE. 
 
 keeping tack sometliing, nevertheless; which was that at 
 the time when Edward came first back from abroad, she had 
 purposely thrown Ottilie in his way, to secure, if possible, so 
 desirable a match for her protegee. For of herself, at that 
 time, in connection with Edward, she never thought at all. 
 The Captain, also, had a hint given to him to draw Edward's 
 attention to her; but the latter, who was clinging deter- 
 minately to his early aifection for Charlotte, looked neither 
 right nor left, and was only happy in the feeling that it was at 
 last within his power to obtain for himself the one happiness 
 which he so earnestly desired ; and which a series of incidents 
 had appeared to have placed for ever beyond his reach. 
 
 They were on the point of descending the new grounds, in 
 order to return to the castle, when a servant came hastily to 
 meet them, and, with a laugh on his face, called up from 
 below, " Will your grace be pleased to come quickly to 
 the castle? The Herr Mittler has just galloped into the 
 court. He shouted to us, to go all of us in search of you, 
 and we were to ask whether there was need, ' whether there 
 is need,' he cried after us, * do you hear ? but be quick, be 
 quick.' " 
 
 " The odd fellow," exclaimed Edward. " But has he not 
 come at the right time, Charlotte ? Tell him, there is need, 
 —grievous need. He must alight. See his horse taken 
 care of. Take him into the saloon, and let him have some 
 luncheon. We shall be with him immediately.'* 
 
 " Let us take the nearest way," he said to his wife, and 
 struck into the path across the churchyard, which he usually 
 avoided. He was not a little surprised to find here, too, 
 traces of Charlotte's delicate hand. Sparing, as far as pos- 
 sible, the old monuments, she had contrived to level it, and 
 lay it carefully out, so as to make it appear a pleasant spot 
 on which the eye and the imagination could equally repose 
 with pleasure. The oldest stones had each their special honour 
 assigned them. They were ranged according to their dates 
 along the wall, either leaning against it, or let into it, or 
 however it could be contrived ; and the string-course of the 
 church was thus variously ornamented. 
 
 Edward was singularly affected as he came in upon it 
 through the little wicket ; he pressed Charlotte's hand, and 
 tears started into his eyes. Bui these were very soon put to 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 13 
 
 flight, by the appearance of their singular visitor. This 
 gentleman had declined sitting down in the castle ; he had 
 ridden straight through the village to the churchyard gate ; 
 and then, halting, he called out to his friends, " Are you not 
 making a fool of me ? Is there need, really ? If there is, I 
 can stay till mid-day. But don't keep me. I have a great 
 deal to do before night." 
 
 " Since you have taken the trouble to come so far," cried 
 Edward to him, in answer, " you had better come through 
 the gate. We meet at a solemn spot. Come and see the 
 variety which Charlotte has thrown over its sadness." 
 
 " Inside there," called out the rider, " come I neither on 
 horseback, nor in carriage, nor on foot. These here rest in 
 peace : with them I have nothing to do. One day I shall be 
 earned in feet foremost. I must bear that as I can. — Is it 
 serious, I want to know?" 
 
 ** Indeed it is," cried Charlotte, " right serious. For the 
 first time in our married lives, we are in a strait and 
 difficulty, from which we do not know how to extricate 
 ourselves." 
 
 *' You do not look as if it were so," answered he. " But I 
 will believe you. If you are deceiving me, for the future 
 you shall help yourselves. Follow me quickly, my horse 
 will be none the worse for a rest." 
 
 The three speedily found themselves in the saloon together, 
 Luncheon was brought in, and Mittler told them what tha\ 
 day he had done, and was going to do. This eccenti-ic 
 person had in early life been a clergyman, and had distin- 
 guished himself in his office by the never-resting activity 
 with which he contrived to make up and put an end to 
 quarrels ; quarrels in families, and quarrels between neigh- 
 bours; first among the individuals immediately about him, 
 and afterwards among whole congregations, and among the 
 country gentlemen round. While he was in the ministry, no 
 married couple were allowed to separate; and the district 
 courts were untroubled with either cause or process. A 
 knowledge of the law, he was well aware, was necessary to 
 him. He gave himself with all his might to the study of it, 
 and very soon felt himself a match for the best trained 
 advocate. His circle of acti^aty extended wonderfully, and 
 people were on the point of inducing him to move to tho 
 
14 GOETHE. 
 
 Residence, where he would find opportunities of exercising in 
 the higher circles what he had begun in the lowest, when he 
 won a considerable sum of money in a lottery. With this, he 
 bought himself a small property. He let the ground to a 
 tenant, and made it the centre of his operations, with the 
 fixed determination, or rather in accordance with his old 
 customs and inclinations, never to enter a house when there 
 was no dispute to make up, and no help to bo given. People 
 who were superstitio^is about names, and about what they im- 
 ported, maintained that it was his being called Mittler which 
 drove him to take upon himself this strange employment. 
 
 Luncheon was laid on the table, and the stranger then 
 solemnly pressed his host not to w^ait any longer with the dis- 
 closure which he had to make. Immediately after refreshing 
 himself he would be obliged to leave them. 
 
 Husband and wife made a circumstantial confession ; but 
 scarcely had he caught the substance of the matter, when he 
 started angrily up from the table, rushed out of the saloon, 
 and ordered his horse to be saddled instantly. 
 
 " Either you do not know me, you do not understand me," 
 he cried, " or you are sorely mischievous. Do you call this a 
 quarrel ? Is there any want of help here ? Do you suppose 
 that I am in the world to give advice ? Of all occupations 
 which man can pursue, that is the most foolish. Every man 
 must be his own counsellor, and do what he cannot let alone. 
 If all go well, let him be happy, let him enjoy his wisdom and 
 his fortune ; if it go ill, I am at hand to do what I can for 
 him. The man who desires to be rid of an evil knows what 
 he wants ; but the man who desires something better than he 
 has got is stone blind. Yes, yes, laugh as you will, he is 
 playing blindman's-bufF; perhaps he gets hold of something, 
 but the question is what he has got hold of. Do as you will, 
 it is all one. Invite your friends to you, or let them be, it 
 is all the same. The most prudent plans I have seen mis- 
 carry, and the most foolish succeed. Don't split your brains 
 about it ; and if, one way or the other, evil comes of what 
 3'ou settle, don't fret ; send for me, and you shall be helped. 
 Till which time, I am your humble servant." 
 
 So saying, he sprang on his horse, without waiting the 
 arrival of the coffee. 
 
 " Here you see," said Charlotte, "the small service a third 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 15 
 
 person can be, when things are off their balance between two 
 persons closely connected; we are left, if possible, more 
 confused and more uncertain than we were." 
 
 They would both, probably, have continued hesitatinjE^ some 
 time longer, had not a letter arrived from the Captain, in 
 reply to Edward's last. He had made up his mind to accept 
 one of the situations which had been offered him, although 
 it was not in the least up to his mark. He was to share the 
 ennui of certain wealthy persons of rank, who depended on 
 his ability to dissipate it. 
 
 Edward's keen glance saw into the whole thing, and he 
 pictured it out in just, sharp lines. 
 
 " Can we endure to think of our friend in such a position ?" 
 he cried ; " you cannot be so cruel, Charlotte." 
 
 "That strange Mittler is right after all," replied Charlotte; 
 *'all such undertakings are ventures; what will come of 
 them it is impossible to foresee. New elements introduced 
 among us may be fruitful in fortune or in misfortune, without 
 our having to take credit to ourselves for one or the other. 
 I do not feel myself firm enough to oppose you further. 
 Let us make the experiment ;. only one thing I will entreat of 
 you — that it be only for a short time. You must allow me 
 to exert myself more than ever, to use all my influence among 
 all my connections, to find him some position which will 
 satisfy him in his own way." 
 
 Edward poured out the warmest expressions of gratitude. 
 He hastened, with a light, happy heart, to write off his pro- 
 posals to his friend. Charlotte, in a postscript, was to signify 
 her approbation with her own hand, and unite her own kind 
 entreaties with his. She wrote, with a rapid pen, pleasantly 
 and affectionately, but yet with a sort of haste which was 
 not usual with her ; and, most unlike herself, she disfigured 
 the paper at last with a blot of ink, which put her out of 
 temper, and which she only made worse with her attempts to 
 wipe it away. 
 
 Edward laughed at her about it, and, as there was still 
 room, added a second postscript, that his friend was to see 
 from this symptom the impatience with which he was ex- 
 pected, and measure the speed at which he came to them by 
 the haste in which the letter was written. 
 
 The messenger was gone ; and Edward thought he could 
 
16 GOETHE. 
 
 not give a more convincing evidence of his gratitude, than by 
 insisting again and again that Charlotte should at once send 
 for Ottilie from the school. She said she would think about 
 it; and, for that evening, induced Edward to join with her 
 in the enjoyment of a little music. Charlotte played exceed- 
 ingly well on the piano, Edward not quite so well on the 
 flute. lie had taken a great deal of pains with it at times ; 
 but he was without the patience, without the perseverance, 
 which are requisite for the completely successful cultivation 
 of such a talent ; consequently, his part was done unequally, 
 some pieces well, only perhaps too quickly — while with 
 others he hesitated, not being quite familiar with them ; so 
 that, for any one else, it would have been difficult to have 
 gone through a duet with him. But Charlotte knew how to 
 manage it. She held in, or let herself be run away with, 
 and fulfilled in this way the double part of a skilful conductor 
 and a prudent housewife, who are able always to keep right 
 on the whole, although particular passages will now and then 
 fall out of order. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The Captain came, having previously written a most 
 sensible letter, which had entirely quieted Charlotte's appre- 
 hensions. So much clearness about himself, so just an 
 understanding of his own position and the position of his 
 jfriends, promised eveiything which was best and happiest. 
 
 The conversation of the first few hours, as is generally the 
 case with friends who have not met for a long time, was 
 eager, lively, almost exhausting. Towards evening, Charlotte 
 proposed a walk to the new grounds. The Captain was 
 dehghted with the spot, and observed every beauty which 
 had been first brought into sight and made enjoyable by the 
 new walks. He had a practised eye, and at the same time 
 one easily satisfied ; and although he knew very well what 
 was really valuable, he never, as so many persons do, made 
 people who were showing him things of their own uncom- 
 fortable, by rewiiring more than the circumstances admitted 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 17 
 
 of, or by mentioning anything more perfect, which he remem- 
 bered having seen elsewhere. 
 
 When they arrived at the summer-house, they found it 
 dressed out for a holiday, only, indeed, with artificial flowers 
 and evergi'eens, but with some pretty bunches of natural 
 corn-ears among them, and other field and garden fruit, so as 
 to do credit to the taste which had arranged them. 
 
 " Although my husband does not like in general to have 
 his birthday or christening-day kept," Charlotte said, " he 
 "will not object to-day to these few ornaments being expended 
 on a treble festival." 
 
 " Treble ?" cried Edward. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," she replied. " Our friend's arrival here we 
 are bound to keep as a festival ; and have you never thought, 
 either of you, that this is the day on which you were both 
 christened ? Are you not both named Otto ?" 
 
 The two friends shook hands across the little table. 
 
 " You bring back to my mind," Edward said, " this little 
 link of our boyish afiection. As children, we were both 
 called so ; but when we came to be at school together, it was 
 the cause of much confusion, and I readily made over to him 
 all my right to the pretty laconic name." 
 
 " Wherein you were not altogether so very high-minded," 
 said the Captain; "for I well remember that the name of 
 Edward had then begun to please you better, from its attrac- 
 tive sound when spoken by certain pretty lips." 
 
 They were now sitting all three round the same table where 
 Charlotte had spoken so vehemently against their guest's 
 coming to them. Edward, happy as he was, did not wish to 
 remind his wife of that time ; but he could not help saying, 
 
 *' There is good room here for one more person." 
 
 At this moment the notes of a bugle were heard across from 
 the castle. Full of happy thoughts and feelings as the friends 
 all were together, the sound fell in among them with a strong 
 force of answering harmony. They listened silently, each 
 for the moment withdrawing into himself, and feeling doubly 
 happy in the fair circle of which he formed a part. The 
 pause was first broken by Edward, who started up and walko 
 out in front of the summer-house. 
 
 " Our friend must not think," he said to Charlotte, " that 
 this narrow little yaUey foriai the whole of our domain and 
 
 
 
19 GOETHE. 
 
 po9sessions. Let us take him ap to the top of the hill, where 
 ne can see farther and breathe more freely." 
 
 *' For this once, then," answered Charlotte, " we must 
 climb up the old footpath, which is not too easy. By the next 
 time, I hope my walks and steps will have been carried right 
 up." 
 
 And so, among rocks, and shrubs, and bushes, they made 
 their way to the summit, where they found themselves, not 
 on a level flat, but on a sloping grassy terrace, running along 
 the ridge of the hill. The village, with the castle behind it, 
 was out of sight. At the bottom of the valley, sheets of 
 water were seen spreading out right and left, with wooded 
 hills rising immediately from their opposite margin, and, at 
 the end of the upper water, a wall of sharp, precipitous rocks 
 directly overhanging it, their huge forms reflected in its 
 level surface. In the hollow of the ravine, where a consider- 
 able brook ran into the lake, lay a mill, half hidden among 
 the trees, a sweetly retired spot, most beautifully surrounded; 
 and through the entire semicircle over which the view 
 extended, ran an endless variety of hills and valleys, copse 
 and forest, the early green of which promised the near 
 approach of a luxuriant clothing of foliage. In many places 
 particular groups of trees caught the eye; and especially a 
 cluster of planes and poplars directly at the spectator's feet, 
 close to the edge of the centre lake. They were at their full 
 growth, and they stood there, spreading out their boughs all 
 around them, in fresh and luxuriant strength. 
 
 To these Edward called his friend's attention. 
 
 " I myself planted them," he cried, " when I was a boy. 
 They were small trees which I rescued when my father was 
 laying out the new part of the great castle garden, and in the 
 middle of one summer had rooted them out. This year you 
 will no doubt see them show their gratitude in a fresh set of 
 shoots." 
 
 They returned to the castle in high spirits, and mutually 
 pleased with each other. To the guest was allotted an agree- 
 able and roomy set of apartments in the right wing of the 
 castle ; and here he rapidly got his books and papers and 
 instruments in order, to go on with his usual occupation. 
 But Edward, for the first few days, gave him no rest Ho 
 took him about everywhere, now on foot, now on horseback, 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 19 
 
 making him acquainted with the country and with the estate; 
 and he embraced the opportunity of imparting to him the 
 wishes which he had been long entertaining, of getting at 
 some better acquaintance with it, and learning to manage it 
 more profitably. 
 
 "The first thing we have to do," said the Captain, "is 
 to make a magnetic survey of the property. That is a plea- 
 fiant and easy matter; and if it does not admit of entire 
 exactness, it will be always useful, and will do, at any rate, 
 for an agreeable beginning. It can be made, too, without 
 any great staff of assistants, and one can be sure of getting 
 it completed. If by-and-by you come to require anything 
 more exact, it will be easy then to find some plan to have it 
 made." 
 
 The Captain was exceedingly skilful at work of this kind. 
 He had brought with him whatever instruments he required, 
 and commenced immediately. Edward provided him with a 
 number of foresters and peasants, who, with his instruction, 
 were able to render him all necessary assistance. The weather 
 was favourable. The evenings and the early mornings were 
 devoted to the designing and drawing, and in a short time it 
 was all filled in and coloured. Edward saw his possessions 
 grow out like a new creation upon the paper ; and it seemed 
 as if now for the first time he knew what they were, as if 
 they now first were properly his own. 
 
 Thus there came occasion to speak of the park, and of the 
 ways of laying it out ; a far better disposition of things being 
 made possible after a survey of this kind, than could be 
 arrived at by experimenting on nature, on partial and acci- 
 dental impressions. 
 
 " We must make my wife understand this," said Edward. 
 
 *' We must do nothing of the kind," replied the Captain, who 
 did not like bringing his own notions in collision with those 
 of others. He had learnt by experience that the motives and 
 purposes by which men are influenced, are far too various to 
 be made to coalesce upon a single point, even on the most solid 
 representations. " We must not do it,'* he cried ; " she will 
 be only confused. With her, as with all people who employ 
 themselves on such matters merely as amateurs, the important 
 thing is, rather that she shall do something, than that sonie- 
 thing shall be done. Such persons feel their way with 
 
 c 2 
 
20 GOETHE. 
 
 nature. They have fancies for this plan or that; they do 
 not venture on removing obstacles. They are not bold enough 
 to make a sacrifice. They do not know beforehand in what 
 their work is to result. They try an experiment — it succeeds 
 —it fails ; they alter it ; they alter, perhaps, what they ought 
 to leave alone, and leave what they ought to alter ; and so, 
 at last, there always remains but a patchwork, which pleases 
 and amuses, but never satisfies." 
 
 " Acknowledge candidly," said Edward, " that you do not 
 like this new work of hers." 
 
 " The idea is excellent," he replied; " if the execution were 
 equal to it, there would be no fault to find. But she has 
 tormented herself to find her way up that rock ; and she now 
 torments every one, if you must have it, that she takes up 
 after her. You cannot walk together — you cannot walk 
 behind one another with any freedom. Every moment your 
 step is interrupted one way or another. There is no end to 
 the mistakes which she has made." 
 
 *' Would it have been easy to have done it otherwise?" 
 asked Edward. 
 
 *' Perfectly," replied the Captain. " She had only to break 
 away a corner of the rock, which is now but an unsightly 
 object, made up as it is of little pieces, and she would at once 
 have a sweep for her walk and stone in abundance for the 
 rough masonry work, to widen it in the bad places, and make 
 it smooth. But this I tell you in strictest confidence. Her 
 it would only confuse and annoy. What is done must remain 
 as it is. If any more money and labour is to be spent there-, 
 there is abundance to do above the summer-house on the hill, 
 which we can settle our own way." 
 
 If the two friends found in their occupation abundance of 
 present employment, there was no lack either of entertaining 
 reminiscences of early times, in which Charlotte took her 
 part as well. They determined, moreover, that as soon as 
 their immediate labours were finished, they would go to work 
 upon the journal, and in this way, too, reproduce the past. 
 
 For the rest, when Edward and Charlotte were alone, there 
 were fewer matters of private interest between them than 
 formerly. This was especially the case since the fault-finding 
 about the grounds, which Edward thought so just, and which 
 ho felt to the quick. He held his tongue about what tho 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 21 
 
 Captain had said for a long time ; but at last, when he saw 
 his wife again preparing to go to work above the summer- 
 house, with her paths and steps, he could not contain himself 
 any longer, but, after a few circumlocutions, came out with 
 his new views. 
 
 Charlotte was thoroughly disturbed. She was sensible 
 enough to perceive at once that they were right, but there 
 was the difficulty with what was already done, — and what 
 was made was made. She had liked it; even what was 
 wrong had become dear to her in its details. She fought 
 against her convictions ; she defended her little creations ; 
 she railed at men who were for ever going to the broad and 
 the great. They could not let a pastime, they could not let 
 an amusement alone, she said, but they must go and make 
 a work out of it, never thinking of the expense which their 
 larger plans involved. She was provoked, annoyed, and 
 angry. Her old plans she could not give up, the new she 
 would not quite throw from her ; but, divided as she was, for 
 the present she put a stop to the work, and gave herself time 
 to think the thing over, and let it ripen by itself. 
 
 At the same time that she lost this source of active amuse- 
 ment, the others were more and more together over their own 
 business. They took to occupying themselves, moreover, 
 with the flower-garden and the hot-houses ; and as they filled 
 up the intervals with the ordinary gentlemen's amusements, 
 hunting, riding, buying, selling, breaking horses, and such 
 matters, she was every day left more and more to herself. 
 She devoted herself more assiduously than ever to her corrre- 
 spondence on account of the Captain ; and yet she had many 
 lonely hours ; so that the information which she now received 
 from the school became of more agreeable interest. 
 
 To a long-drawn letter of the superior of the establishment, 
 filled with the usual expressions of delight at her daughter's 
 progress, a brief postcript was attached, with a second from 
 the hand of a gentleman in employment there as an assistant, 
 both of which we here communicate. 
 
 POSTSCBIFT OF THE SUPEEIOR, 
 
 " Of Ottilie, I can only repeat to your ladyship what I 
 have already stated in my former letters. I do not know 
 how to find fault with her, yet I cannot say that I aui satis- 
 
22 GOETIIl!;. 
 
 fied. She is always unassuming, always ready to oblige 
 others ; but it is not pleasing to see her so timid, so almost 
 servile. 
 
 *' Your ladyship lately sent her some money, with several 
 little matters for her wardrobe. The money she has never 
 touched, the dresses lay unworn in their place. She keeps 
 her things very nice and very clean ; but this is all she seems 
 to care about. Again, I cannot praise her excessive abste- 
 miousness in eating and drinking. There is no extravagance 
 at our table, but there is nothing that I like better than to 
 see the children eat enough of good, wholesome food. What 
 is carefully provided and set before them ought to be taken ; 
 and to this I never can succeed in bringing Ottilie. She is 
 always making herself some occupation or other, always 
 finding something which she must do, something which the 
 servants have neglected, to escape the second course or the 
 dessert; and now it has to be considered (which I cannot 
 help connecting with all this) that she frequently suffers, I 
 have lately learnt, from pain in the left side of her head. It is 
 only at times, but it is distressing, and may be of importance. 
 So much upon this otherwise sweet and lovely giii." 
 
 SECOND POSTSCKIPT, BY THE ASSISTANT. 
 
 " Our excellent superior commonly permits me to read the 
 letters in which she communicates her observations upon her 
 pupils to their parents and friends. Such of them as are 
 addressed to your ladyship I ever read with twofold attention 
 and pleasure. We have to congratulate you upon a daugh- 
 ter who unites in herself every brilliant quality with which 
 people distinguish themselves in the world ; and I at least 
 think you no less fortunate in having had bestowed upon you, 
 in your step-daughter, a child who has been born for the 
 good and happiness of others, and assuredly also for her own. 
 Ottilie is almost our only pupil about whom there is a differ- 
 ence of opinion between myself and our reverend superior. 
 T do not complain of the very natural desire in that good lady 
 to see outward and definite fruits arising from her labours. 
 But there are also fruits which are not outward, which are 
 of the true germinal sort, and which develop themselves 
 sooner or later in a beautiful life. And this I am certain is 
 the case with your protegee. So long as she has been under 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 2S 
 
 my care, I have watched her moving with an even step, 
 slowly, steadily forward — never back. As with a child it 
 is necessary to begin everything at the beginning, so it is 
 ■with her. She can comprehend nothing which does not 
 follow from what precedes it ; let a thing be as simple and 
 easy as possible, she can make nothing of it if it is not in 
 a recognizable connection ; but find the intermediate links, 
 and make them clear to her, and then nothing is too difiicult 
 for her. 
 
 " Progressing with such slow steps, she remains behind her 
 companions, who, with capacities of quite a different kind, 
 hurry on and on, learn everything readily, connected or 
 unconnected, recollect it with ease, and apply it with correct- 
 ness. And again, some of the lessons here are given by 
 excellent, but somewhat hasty and impatient teachers, who 
 pass from result to result, cutting short the process by which 
 they are arrived at ; and these are not of the slightest service 
 to her ; she learns nothing from them. There is a complaint 
 of her handwriting. They say she will not, or cannot, under- 
 stand how to form her letters. I have examined closely into 
 this. It is true she writes slowly, stifily, if you like ; but the 
 hand is neither timid nor without character. The French 
 language is not my department, but I have taught her some- 
 thing of it, in the step-by-step fashion ; and this she under- 
 stands easily. Indeed, it is singular that she knows a great 
 deal, and knows it well, too ; and yet when she is asked a 
 question, it seems as if she knew nothing. 
 
 " To conclude generally, I should say she learns nothing 
 like a person who is being educated, but she learns like one 
 who is to educate— not like a pupil, but like a future teacher. 
 Your ladyship may think it strange that I, as an educator 
 and a teacher, can find no higher praise to give to any one 
 than by a comparison with myself. I may leave it to your 
 own good sense, to your deep knowledge of the world and of 
 mankind, to make the best of my most inadequate, but well- 
 intended expressions. You may satisfy yourseK that you 
 have much happiness to promise yourself from this child. I 
 commend myself to your ladyship, and I beseech you to per- 
 mit me to write to you again as soon as I see reason to 
 believe that I have anything important or agreeable to com- 
 municate." 
 
24 GOETHE. 
 
 This letter gave Charlotte great pleasure. The contents of 
 it coincided very closely with the notions which she had her- 
 self conceived of Ottilie. At the same time, she could not 
 help smiling at the excessive interest of the assistant, which 
 seemed greater than the insight into a pupil's excellence 
 usually calls forth. In her quiet, unprejudiced way of look- 
 ing at things, this relation, among others, she was contented 
 to permit to lie before her as a possibility : she could value 
 the interest of so sensible a man in Ottilie, having learnt, 
 among the lessons of her life, to see how highly true regard 
 is to be prized, in a world where indifference or dislike are 
 the common natural residents. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The topogi'aphical chart of the property and its environs 
 was completed. It was executed on a considerable scale ; 
 the character of the particular localities was made intelli- 
 gible by various colours ; and by means of a trigonometrical 
 survey, the Captain had been able to arrive at a very fair 
 exactness of measurement. He had been rapid in his work. 
 There was scarcely ever any one w^ho could do with less sleep 
 than this most laborious man ; and, as his day was always 
 devoted to an immediate purpose, every evening something 
 had been done. 
 
 " Let us now," he said to his friend, " go on to what 
 remains for us, to the statistics of the estate. We shall have 
 a good deal of work to get through at the beginning, and 
 afterwards we shall come to the farm estimates, and much else 
 which wdll naturally arise out of them. Only we must have 
 one thing distinctly settled and adhered to. Everything which 
 is properly business we must keep carefully separate from 
 life. Business requires earnestness and method; life must 
 have a freer handling. Business demands the utmost strin» 
 gency and sequence ; in life, inconsecutiveness is frequently 
 necessary, indeed, is charming and graceful. If you are firm 
 in the first, you can afford yourself more liberty in the 
 second ; while if you mix them, you will find the free inter- 
 fering with and breaking in upon the fixed." 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 25 
 
 In these sentiments Edward felt a slight reflection upoa 
 himself. Though not naturally disorderly, he could never 
 bring himself to arrange his papers in their proper places. 
 What he had to do in connection with others, was not kept 
 separate from what only depended on himself. Business got 
 mixed up with amusement, and serious work with recreation. 
 Now, however, it was easy for him, with the help of a friend, 
 who would take the trouble upon himself; and a second "I'* 
 worked out the separation, to which the single " I " was 
 always unequal. 
 
 In the Captain's wing, they contrived a depositary for what 
 concerned the present, and an archive for the past. Here they 
 brought all the documents, papers, and notes from their various 
 hiding-places, rooms, drawers, and boxes, with the utmost 
 speed. Harmony and order were introduced into the wilder- 
 ness, and the different packets were marked and registered in 
 their several pigeon-holes. They found all they wanted in 
 greater completeness even than they had expected ; and here 
 an old clerk was found of no slight service, who for the whole 
 day and part of the night never kft his desk, and with whom, 
 till then, Edward had been always dissatisfied. 
 
 '"' I should not know him again," he said to his friend, 
 " the man is so handy and useful." 
 
 "That," replied the Captain, "is because we give him 
 nothing fresh to do till he has finished, at his convenience, 
 what he has already ; and so, as you perceive, he gets througli 
 a great deal. If you disturb him, he becomes useless at 
 once." 
 
 Spending their days together in this way, in the evenings 
 they never neglected their regular visits to Charlotte. If 
 there was no party from the neighbourhood, as was often the 
 case, they read and talked, principally on subjects connected 
 with the improvelnent of the condition and comfort of social 
 life. 
 
 Charlotte, always accustomed to make the most of oppor- 
 tunities, not only saw her husband pleased, but found perso- 
 nal advantages for herself. Various domestic arrangements, 
 which she had long wished to make, but which she did not 
 know exactly how to set about, were managed for her through 
 the contrivance of the Captain. Her domestic medicine- 
 chest, hitherto but poorly furnished, was enlarged and 
 
36 GOETHE. 
 
 enriched, and Charlotte herself, with the help of good books 
 and personal instruction, was put in the way of being able to 
 exercise her disposition to be of practical assistance more 
 frequently and more efficiently than before. 
 
 In providing against accidents, which, though common, yet 
 only too often find us unprepared, they thought it especially 
 necessary to have at hand whatever is required for the 
 recovery of drowning men — accidents of this kind, from the 
 number of canals, reservoirs, and waterworks in the neigh- 
 bourhood, being of frequent occcurrence. This department 
 the Captain took expressly into his own hands ; and the 
 observation escaped Edward, that a case of this kind had 
 made a very singular epoch in the life of his friend. The 
 latter made no reply, but seemed to be trying to escape from 
 a painful recollection. Edward immediately stopped; and 
 Charlotte, who, as well as he, had a general knowledge of the 
 story, took no notice of the expression. 
 
 " These preparations are all exceedingly valuable," said the 
 Captain, one evening. " Now, however, we have not got the 
 one thing which is most essential — a sensible man who under- 
 stands how to manage it all. I know an army surgeon, whom 
 I could exactly recommend for the place. You might get 
 him at this moment, on easy terms. He is highly distin- 
 guished in his profession, and has frequently done more for 
 me, in the treatment even of violent inward disorders, than 
 oelebrated physicians. Help upon the spot, is the thing you 
 often most want in the country." 
 
 He was written for at once ; and Edward and Charlotte 
 were rejoiced to have found so good and necessary an object, 
 on which to expend so much of the money which they set 
 apart for such accidental demands upon them. 
 
 Thus Charlotte, too, found means of making use, for her pur- 
 poses, of the Captain's knowledge and practical skill ; and she 
 began to be quite reconciled to his presence, and to feel easy 
 about any consequences which might ensue. She commonl} 
 prepared questions to ask him ; among other things, it was 
 one of her anxieties to provide against whatever was preju- 
 dicial to health and comfort, against poisons and such like. 
 The lead-glazing on the china, the verdigris which formed 
 about her copper and bronze vessels, &c., had long been a 
 trouble to her. She got him to tell her about these, and. 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 27 
 
 naturally, they often had to fall back on the first elements of 
 medicine and chemistry. 
 
 An accidental, but welcome occasion for entertainment of 
 this kind, was given by an inclination of Edward to read 
 aloud. He had a particularly clear, deep voice, and earlier 
 in life had earned himself a pleasant reputation for his feeling 
 and lively recitations of works of poetry and oratory. At 
 this time he was occupied with other subjects, and the books 
 which, for some time past, he had been reading, were either 
 chemical, or on some other branch of natural or technical 
 science. 
 
 One of his especial peculiarities — ^which, by-the-by, he very 
 likely shares with a number of his fellow- creatures — was, that 
 he could not bear to have any one looking over him when he 
 was reading. In early life, when he used to read poems, plays, 
 or stories, this had been the natural consequence of the de- 
 sire which the reader feels, like the poet, or the actor, or the 
 story-teller, to make surprises, to pause, to excite expectation ; 
 and this sort of effect was naturally defeated when a third 
 person's eyes could run on before him, and see what was 
 coming. On such occasions, therefore, he was accustomed to 
 place himself in such a position that no one could get behind 
 him. With a party of only three, this was unnecessary ; and 
 as with the present subject there was no opportunity for 
 exciting feelings or giving the imagination a surprise, he did 
 not take any particular pains to protect himself. 
 
 One evening he had placed himself carelessly, and Char- 
 lotte happened by accident to cast her eyes upon the page. 
 His old impatience was aroused ; he turned to her, and said, 
 almost unkindly, 
 
 " I do wish, once for all, you would leave off doing a thing 
 60 out of taste and so disagreeable. When I read aloud to 
 a person, is it not the same as if I was telling him something 
 by word of mouth ? The written, the printed word, is in the 
 place of my own thoughts, of my own heart. If a window 
 were broken into my brain or into my heart, and if the man 
 to whom I am counting out my thoughts, or delivering my 
 sentiments, one by one, knew already beforehand exactly what 
 was to come out of me, should I take the trouble to put them 
 into words ? When anybody looks over my book, I always 
 feel as if I were being torn in two," 
 
28 GOETHE. 
 
 Charlotte's tact, in whatever circle she might be, large 
 or small, was remarkable, and she \vas able to set aside dis- 
 agreeable or excited expressions without appearing to notice 
 them. When a conversation grew tedious, she knew how to 
 interrupt it; when it halted, she could set it going. And 
 this time her good gift did not forsake her. 
 
 " I am sure you will forgive me my fault," she said, 
 *' when I tell you v/hat it was this moment which came over 
 me. I heard you reading something about Affinities, and I 
 thought directly of some relations of mine, two of whom are 
 just now occupying me a great deal. Then my attention 
 went back to the book. I found it was not about living 
 things at all, and I looked over to get the thread of it right 
 again." 
 
 " It was the comparison which led you wrong and confused 
 you," said Edward. " The subject is nothing but earths and 
 minerals. But man is a true Narcissus ; he delights to see 
 his own image everywhere ; and he spreads himself under- 
 neath the imiverse, like the ama'gam behind the glass." 
 
 " Quite true," continued the Captain. " That is the way 
 in which he treats everything external to himself. His wis- 
 dom and his folly, his will and his caprice, he attributes alike 
 to the animal, the plant, the elements, and the gods." 
 
 "Would you," said Charlotte, "if it is not taking you 
 away too much from the immediate subject, tell me briefly 
 what is meant here by Affinities ?" 
 
 " I shall be very glad indeed," replied the Captain, to 
 whom Charlotte had addressed herself. " That is, 1 will tell 
 you as well as I can. My ideas on the subject date ten years 
 back ; whether the scientific world continues to think the 
 same about it, I cannot tell." 
 
 " It is most disagreeable," cried Edward, " that one cannot 
 now-a-days learn a thing once for all, and have done with it. 
 Our forefathers could keep to what they were taught when 
 they were young ; but we have, every five years, to make 
 revolutions with them, if we do not wish to drop .altogether 
 out of fashion." 
 
 " We women need not be so particular," said Charlotte ; 
 ** and, to speak the truth, I only want to know the meaning 
 of the word. There is nothing more ridiculous in society 
 than to misuse a strange technical word ; and I only wish 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 29 
 
 you to tell me in what sense the expression is made use of in 
 connection with these things. What its scientific application 
 is, I am quite contented to leave to the learned ; who, by-the- 
 by, as far as I have been able to observe, do not find it easy 
 to agree among themselves." 
 
 " Whereabouts shall we begin,'* said Edward, after a pause, 
 to the Captain, " to come most quickly to the point?" 
 
 The latter, after thinking a little while, replied shortly, 
 
 " You must let me make what will seem a wide sweep ; we 
 shall be on our subject almost immediately." 
 
 Charlotte settled her work at her side, promising the fullest 
 attention. 
 
 The Captain began : 
 
 *' In all natural objects with which we are acquainted, we 
 observe immediately that they have a certain relation to 
 themselves. It may sound ridiculous to be asserting what is 
 obvious to every one ; but it is only by coming to a clear 
 understanding together about what we know, that we can 
 advance to what we do not know." 
 
 " I think," interrupted Edward, "we can make the thing 
 more clear to her, and to ourselves, with examples ; conceive 
 water, or oil, or quicksilver ; among these you will see a 
 certain oneness, a certain connection of their parts ; and this 
 oneness is never lost, except through force or some other 
 determining cause. Let the cause cease to operate, and at 
 once the parts imite again." 
 
 "Unquestionably," said Charlotte, "that is plain; rain- 
 drops readily unite and form streams ; and when we werei 
 children, it was our delight to play with quicksilver, and 
 wonder at the little globules splitting and parting and running- 
 into one another." 
 
 " And here," said the Captain, " let me just cursorily menc 
 tion one remarkable thing, I mean, that the full, complete 
 correlation of parts which the fluid state makes possible, 
 shows itself distinctly and universally in the globular form. 
 The falling water- drop is round ; you yourself spoke of the 
 globules of quicksilver ; and a drop of melted lead let fall, if 
 it has time to harden before it reaches the ground, is found 
 ftt the bottom in the shape of a ball." 
 
 " Let me try and see," said Chai'lotte " whether I can under* 
 
30 GOETHE. 
 
 stand where you are bringing mo. As everything has a 
 reference to itself, so it must have some relation to others." 
 
 " And that," interrupted Edward, " will be different 
 according to the natural differences of the things themselves. 
 Sometimes they will meet like friends and old acquaintances; 
 they will come rapidly together, and unite without either 
 having to alter itself at all — as wine mixes with water. 
 Others, again, will remain as strangers side by side, and no 
 amount of mechanical mixing or forcing will succeed in com- 
 bining them. Oil and water may be shaken up together, and 
 the next moment they are separate again, each by itself." 
 
 *' One can almost fancy," said Charlotte, " that in these 
 simple forms one sees people that one is acquainted with ; 
 one has met with just such things in the societies amongst 
 which one has lived ; and the strangest likenesses of all with 
 these soulless creatures, are in the masses in which men stand 
 divided one against the other, in their classes and professions ; 
 the nobility and the third estate, for instance, or soldiers and 
 civilians." 
 
 " Then again," replied Edward, " as these are united 
 together under common laws and customs, so there are inter- 
 mediate members in our chemical world, which will combine 
 elements that are mutually repulsive." 
 
 " Oil, for instance," said the Captain, " we make combine 
 with water with the help of alkalis " 
 
 " Do not go on too fast with your lesson," said Charlotte. 
 '* Let me see that I keep step with you. Are we not here 
 arrived among the affinities ?" 
 
 " Exactly," replied the Captain ; " we are on the point of 
 apprehending them in all their power and distinctness ; such 
 natures as, when they come in contact, at once lay hold of 
 each other, and mutually affect one another, we speak of as 
 having an affinity one for the other. With the alkalis and 
 acids, for instance, the affinities are strikingly marked. They 
 are of opposite natm-es ; very likely their being of opposite 
 natures is the secret of their effect on one another— they seek 
 one another eagerly out, lay hold of each other, modify each 
 other's character, and form in connection an entirely new 
 substance. There is lime, you remember, which shows the 
 strongest inclination for all sorts of acids— a distinct desire of 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 31 
 
 combining with them. As soon as our chemical chest arrives, 
 we can show you a number of entertaining experiments, 
 which will give you a clearer idea than words, and names, 
 and technical expressions." 
 
 " It appears to me," said Charlotte, " that if you choose to 
 call these strange creatures of yours related, the relationship 
 is not so much a relationship of blood, as of soul or of spirit. 
 It is the way in which we see all really deep friendships aris( 
 among men ; opposite peculiarities of disposition being whai 
 best makes internal union possible. But I will wait to see 
 what you can really show me of these mysterious proceedings; 
 and for the present," she added, turning to Edward, " I will 
 promise not to disturb you any more in your reading. You 
 have taught me enough of what it is about to enable me to 
 attend to it." 
 
 " No, no," replied Edward, " now that you have once 
 stirred the thing, you shall not get off so easily. It is just 
 the most complicated cases which are the most interesting. 
 In these you come first to see the degrees of the affinities, to 
 watch them as their power of attraction is weaker or stronger, 
 nearer or more remote. Affinities only begin really to interest 
 when they bring about separations." 
 
 " What !" cried Charlotte, " is that jniserable word, which 
 unhappily we hear so often now-a-days in the world ; is that 
 to be found in nature's lessons too ?" 
 
 " Most certainly,*' answered Edward ; " the title with 
 which chemists were supposed to be most honourably distin- 
 guished was, artists of separation." 
 
 " It is not so any more," replied Charlotte ; " and it is well 
 that it is not. It is a higher art, and it is a higher merit, to 
 unite. An artist of union, is what we should welcome in 
 every province of the universe. However, as we are on the 
 subject again, give me an instance or two of what you 
 mean." 
 
 "We had better keep," said the Captain, "to the same 
 instances of which we have already been speaking. Thus, 
 what we call limestone is a more or less pure calcareous earth 
 in combination with a delicate acid, which is familiar to us in 
 the form of a gas. Now, if we place a piece of this stone in 
 diluted sulphuric acid, this will take possession of the Ume, 
 and appear with it in the form of gypsum, the gaseous acid 
 
32 GOETHE. 
 
 at the same time going off in vapour. Here is a case of 
 separation; a combination arises, and we believe ourselves 
 now justified in applying to it the words ' Elective Affinity ;' 
 it really looks as if one relation had been deliberately chosen 
 in preference to another. 
 
 "Forgive me," said Charlotte, "as I forgive the natural 
 philosopher. I cannot see any choice in this ; I see a natural 
 necessity rather, and scarcely that. After all, it is perhaps 
 merely a case of opportunity. Opportunity makes relations as 
 it makes thieves ; and as long as the talk is only of natural 
 substances, the choice to me appears to be altogether in the 
 hands of the chemist who brings the creatures together. 
 Once, however, let them be brought together, and then God 
 have mercy on them. In the present case, I cannot help 
 being sorry for the poor acid gas, which is driven out up and 
 down infttiity again." 
 
 " The acid's business," answered the Captain, *' is now to 
 get connected with water, and so serve as a mineral fountain 
 for the refreshing of sound or disordered mankind." 
 
 " That is very well for the gypsum to say," said Charlotte. 
 *' The gypsum is all right, is a body, is provided for. The 
 other poor, desolate creature may have trouble enough to go 
 through before it can find a second home for itself." 
 
 *' I am much mistaken," said Edward, smiling, " if there 
 be not some little arriere pensee behind this. Confess your 
 wickedness ! You mean me by your lime ; the lime is laid 
 hold of by the Captain, in the form of sulphuric acid, torn 
 away from your agreeable society, and metamorphosed into a 
 refractory gypsum." 
 
 " If your conscience prompts you to make such a reflec- 
 tion," replied Charlotte, " I certainly need not distress myself. 
 These comparisons are pleasant and entertaining ; and who is 
 there that cloes not like playing with analogies ? But man is 
 raised very many steps above these elements ; and if he has 
 been somewhat liberal with such fine words as Election and 
 Elective Affinities, he will do well to turn back again into 
 himself, and take the opportunity of considering carefully the 
 value and meaning of such expressions. Unhappily, we 
 know cases enough where a connection apparently indissoluble 
 between two persons, has, by the accidental introduction 
 01 a third, been utterly destroyed, and one or the other o 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIKS. 33 
 
 the once happily united pair been driven out into the wil- 
 derness." 
 
 " Then you see how much more gallant the chemists are," 
 said Edward. " They at once add a fourth, that neithoi' may 
 go away empty." 
 
 " Quite so,'' replied the Captain. " And those are the 
 cases which are really most important and remarkable — cases 
 where this attraction, this affinity, this separating and com- 
 bining, can he exhibited, the two pairs severally crossing each 
 other ; where four creatures, connected previously, as two and 
 two, are brought into contact, and at once forsake their first 
 combination to form into a second. In this forsaking and 
 embracing, this seeking and flying, we believe that we are 
 indeed observing the effects of some higher determination ; 
 we attribute a sort of will and choice to such creatures, and 
 feel really justified in using technical words, and speaking of 
 ' Elective Affinities.' " 
 
 " Give me an instance of this," said Charlotte, 
 
 " One should not spoil such things with words," replied the 
 Captain. " As I saict before, as soon as I can show you the 
 experiment, I can make it all intelligible and pleasant for 
 you. For the present, I can give you nothing but horrible 
 scientific expresssions, which at the same time will give you 
 no idea about the matter. You ought yourself to see these 
 creatures, which seem so dead, and which are yet so full of 
 inward energy and force, at work before your eyes. You 
 should observe them with a real personal interest. Now they 
 seek each other out, attract each other, seize, crush, devour, 
 destroy each other, and then suddenly reappear again out of 
 their combinations, and come forward in fresh, renovated, 
 unexpected form ; thus you will comprehend how we attri- 
 bute to them a sort of immortality— how we speak of them 
 as having sense and understanding ; because we feel our own 
 senses to be insufficient to observe them adequately, and our 
 reason too weak to follow them." 
 
 " I quite agree," said Edwai'd, "that the strange scientific 
 nomenclature, to persons who have not been reconciled to it 
 by a direct acquaintance with or understanding of its object, 
 must seem unpleasant, even ridiculous ; but we can easily, 
 just for once, contrive with symbols to illustrate what we aro 
 speaking of." 
 
 D 
 
34 aOETHE. 
 
 *' If you do not think it looks pedantic," answered the 
 Captain, " I can put my meaning together with letters. 
 Suppose an A connected so closely with a B, that all 
 sorts of means, even violence, have been made use of to 
 separate them, without effect. Then suppose a C in exactly 
 the same position with respect to D. Bring the two pairs 
 into contact ; A will fling himself on D, C on B, without 
 its being possible to say w^hich had first left its first con- 
 nection, or made the first move towards the second." 
 
 "Now then," interposed Edward, " till we see all this with 
 )ur eyes, we will look upon the formula as an analogy, out of 
 jvhich we can devise a lesson for immediate use. You stand 
 for A, Charlotte, and I am your B ; really and truly I cling 
 to you, I depend on you, and follow you, just as B does with 
 A. C is obviously the Captain, who at present is in some 
 degree withdrawing me from you. So now it is only just 
 that if you are not to be left to solitude, a D should be found 
 for you, and that is unquestionably the amiable little lady, 
 Ottilie. You will not hesitate any longer to send and fetch 
 her." 
 
 "Good," replied Charlotte; "although the example does 
 not, in my opinion, exactly fit our case. However, we have 
 been fortunate, at any rate, in to-day for once having met 
 all together: and these natural or elective affinities have 
 served to unite us more intimately. I will tell you, that 
 since this afternoon I have made up my mind to send for 
 Ottilie. My faithful housekeeper, on whom I have hitherto 
 depended for everything, is going to leave me shortly, to be 
 married. (It w^as done at my own suggestion, I believe, to 
 please me.) What it is which has decided me about Ottilie, 
 you shall read to me. I will not look over the pages again. 
 Indeed, the contents of them are already known to me. Only 
 read, read !" 
 
 With these words, she produced a letter, and handed it tj 
 Edward. 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. S5 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 lETTEB OF THE LADY SUPERIOB. 
 
 " YoTTR ladyship will forgive the brevity of my present 
 letter. The public examinations are but just concluded, and 
 I have to communicate to all the parents and guardians the 
 progress which our pupils have made during the past year. 
 To you I may well be brief, having to say much in few 
 words. Your ladyship's daughter has proved herself first 
 in every sense of the word. The testimonials which I inclose, 
 and her own letter, in which she will detail to you the prizes 
 which she has won, and the happiness which she feels in her 
 success, will surely please, and I hope delight you. For 
 myself, it is the less necessary that I should say much, 
 because I see that there will soon be no more occasion to 
 keep with us a young lady so far advanced. I send my 
 respects to your ladyship, and in a short time I shall take the 
 liberty of offering you my opinion as to what in future may 
 be of most advantage to her. 
 
 *' My good assistant Avill tell you about Ottilie.*' 
 
 LETTER OF THE ASSISTANT. 
 
 *' Our reverend superior leaves it to me to write to you of 
 Ottilie, partly because, with her ways of thinking about it, it 
 would be painful to her to say what has to be said ; partly, 
 because she herself requires some excusing, which she would 
 rather have done for her by me. 
 
 " Knowing, as I did too well, how little able the good 
 Ottilie was to show out what lies in her, and what she is 
 capable of, I was all along afraid of this public examination; 
 I was the more uneasy, as it was to be of a kind which does 
 not admit of any especial preparation ; and even if it had 
 been conducted as usual, Ottilie never can be prepared to 
 make a display. The result has only too entirely justified my 
 anxiety. She has gained no prize ; she is not even amongst 
 those whose names have been mentioned with approbation. 
 I need not go into details. In writing, the letters of the 
 other girls were not so well formed,, but their strokes were 
 far more fi'ee. In arithmetic, they were all quicker than she; 
 
 d2 
 
86 GOETHE. 
 
 and in the more difficult problems, whicli she does the best, 
 there was no examination. In French, she was outshone and 
 out-talked by many ; and in history she was not ready with 
 her names and dates. In geography, there was a want of 
 attention to the political divisions ; and for what she could 
 do in music there was neither time nor quiet enough for her 
 few modest melodies to gain attention. In drawing she cer- 
 tainly would have gained the prize ; her outlines were clear, 
 and the execution most careful and full of spirit ; unhappily, 
 she had chosen too large a subject, and it was incomplete. 
 
 " After the pupils were dismissed, the examiners consulted 
 together, and we teachers were partially admitted into the 
 council. I very soon observed that of Ottilie either nothing 
 would be said at all, or if her name was mentioned, it would 
 be with indifference, if not absolute disapproval. I hoped to 
 obtain some favour for her by a candid description of what 
 she was, and I ventured it with the greater earnestness, 
 partly because I was only speaking my real convictions, and 
 partly because I remembered in my own younger years 
 finding myself in the same unfortunate case. I was listened 
 to with attention, but as soon as I had ended, the presiding 
 examiner said to me very kindly but laconically, ' We presume 
 capabilities : they are to be converted into accomplishments. 
 This is the aim of all education. It is what is distinctly 
 intended by all who have the care of children, and silently 
 ' and indistinctly by the children themselves. This also is the 
 object of examinations, where teachers and pupils are alike 
 standing their trial. From what we learn of you, we may 
 entertain good hopes of the young lady, and it is to your own 
 credit also that you have paid so much attention to your 
 pupil's capabilities. If in the coming year you can develop 
 these into accomplishments, neither yourself nor your pupil 
 shall fail to receive your due praise.' 
 
 " I had made up my mind to what must follow upon aU 
 this ; but there was something worse that I had not anti- 
 cipated, which had soon to be added to it. Our good Supe- 
 rior, who like a trusty shepherdess could not bear to have one 
 of her flock lost, or, as was the case here, to see it undis- 
 tinguished, after the examiners were gone could not contain 
 her displeasure, and said to Ottilie, who was standing quite 
 quietly by the window, while the others were exulting over 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 37 
 
 their prizes. * Tell me, for heaven's sake, how can a persou 
 look so stupid if she is not so ?' Ottilie replied, quite calmly, 
 * Forgive me, my dear mother, I have my headache again 
 to-day, and it is very painful.' Kind and sympathizing as 
 she generally is, the Superior this time answered, ' No one 
 can believe that,' and turned angrily away. 
 
 " Now it is true, — no one can believe it, — ^for Ottilie nevei 
 alters the expression of her couDtenance. I have never even 
 seen her move her hand to her head when she has been 
 asleep. 
 
 " Nor was this all. Your ladyship's daughter, who is at 
 all times sufficiently lively and impetuous, after her triumph 
 to-day was overflowing with the violence of her spirits. She 
 ran from room to room with her prizes and testimonials, and 
 shook them in Ottilie's face. * You have come badly off this 
 morning,' she cried. Ottilie replied in her calm, quiet way, 
 ' This is not the last day of trial.'—' But you will always 
 remain the last,' cried the other, and ran away. 
 
 "No one except myself saw that Ottilie was disturbed. 
 She has a way when she experiences any sharp unpleasant 
 emotion which she wishes to resist, of showing it in the 
 unequal colour of her face; the left cheek becomes for a 
 moment flushed, while the right turns pale. I perceived this 
 symptom, and I could not prevent myself from saying some- 
 thing. I took our Superior aside, and spoke seriously to her 
 about it. The excellent lady acknowledged that she had 
 been wrong. We considered the whole affair ; we talked it 
 over at great length together, and not to weary your ladyship, 
 I will tell you at once the desire with which we concluded, 
 namely, that you will for a while have Ottilie with yourself. 
 Our reasons you will yourself readily perceive. If you 
 consent, I will say more to you on the manner in which I 
 think she should be treated. The young lady your daughter 
 we may expect will soon leave us, and we shall then with 
 pleasure welcome Ottilie back to us. 
 
 " One thing more, which another time I might forget to 
 mention: I have never seen Ottilie eager for anything, or at 
 least ask pressingly for anything. But there have been 
 occasions, however rare, when on the other hand she has 
 wished to decline things which have been pressed upon her, 
 and she does it with a gesture which to those who have caught 
 
S3 aOETHE, 
 
 its meaning is irresistible. She raises her hands, presses the 
 palms together, and draws them against her breast, leaning 
 her body a little forward at the same time, and turns such a 
 look upon the person who is urging her, that he will be glad 
 enough to cease to ask or wish for anything of her. If your 
 ladyship ever sees this attitude, as with your treatment of her 
 it is not likely that you will, think of me, and spare Ottilie." 
 
 Edward read these letters aloud, not without smiles and 
 shakes of the head. Naturally, too, there were observations 
 made on the persons and on the position of the affair. 
 
 "Enough!" Edward cried at last, "it is decided. She 
 comes. You, my love, are provided for, and now we can get 
 forward with our work. It is becoming highly necessary 
 for me to move over to the right wing to the Captain ; even- 
 ings and mornings are the time for us best to work together, 
 and then you, on your side, will have admirable room for 
 yourself and Ottilie." 
 
 Charlotte made no objection, and Edward sketched out the 
 method in which they should live. Among other things, he 
 cried, " It is really very polite in this niece to be subject to 
 a slight pain on the left side of her head. I have it frequently 
 on the right. If we happen to be afflicted together, and sit 
 opposite one another, — I leaning on my right elbow, and she 
 on her left, and our heads on the opposite sides, resting on 
 our hands, — what a pretty pair of pictures we shall make." 
 
 The Captain thought that might be dangerous. " No, 
 no!" cried out Edward. " Only do you, my dear friend, 
 take care of the D, for what will become of B, if poor C is 
 taken away from it?" 
 
 " That, I should have thought, would have been evident 
 enough," replied Charlotte. 
 
 "And it is, indeed," cried Edward ; " he would turn back 
 to his A, to his Alpha and Omega ;" and he sprung up and 
 taking Charlotte iu his arms, pressed her to his breast. 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 39 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The carriage which brought Ottilie drove up to the door. 
 Charlotte went out to receive her. The dear girl ran to 
 meet her, threw herself at her feet, and embraced her knees. 
 
 " Why such humility r" said Charlotte, a little embarrassed, 
 and endeavouring to raise her from the ground. 
 
 " It is not meant for humility," Ottilie answered, without 
 moving from the position in which she had placed herself ; 
 " I am only thinking of the time when I could not reach 
 higher than to your knees, and when I had just learnt to 
 know how you loved me." 
 
 She stood up, and Charlotte embraced her warmly. She 
 was introduced to the gentlemen, and was at once treated with 
 especial courtesy as a visitor. Beauty is a welcome guest 
 everywhere. She appeared attentive to the conversation, 
 without taking a part in it. 
 
 The next morning Edward said to Charlotte, " What an 
 agreeable, entertaining girl she is !" 
 
 '' Entertaining !" answered Charlotte, with a smile ; " why, 
 she has not opened her lips yet !'* 
 
 " Indeed !" said Edward, as he seemed to bethink him- 
 self; "that is very strange." 
 
 Charlotte had to give the new-comer but a very few hints 
 on the management of the household. Ottilie saw rapidly 
 all the arrangements, and what was more, she felt them. She 
 comprehended easily what was to be provided for the whole 
 party, and what for each particular member of it. Every- 
 thing was done with the utmost punctuality ; she knew 
 how to direct, without appearing to be giving orders, and 
 when any one had left anything undone, she at once set it 
 right herself. 
 
 As soon as she had found how much time she would have 
 to spare, she begged Charlotte to divide her hours for her, and 
 to these she adhered exactly. She worked at what was set 
 before her in the way which the Assistant had described 
 to Charlotte. They let her alone. It was but seldom that 
 Charlotte interfered. Sometimes she changed her pens for 
 others which had been written with, to teach her to make 
 
40 GOETHE. 
 
 bolder strokes in her handwriting, but these, slie found, would 
 be soon cut sharp and fine again. 
 
 The ladies had agreed with one another when they were 
 alone to speak nothing but French, and Charlotte persisted in 
 it the more, as she found Ottilie more ready to talk in a 
 foreign language, when she was told it was her duty to 
 exercise herself in it. In this way she often said more than 
 she seemed to intend. Charlotte \vas particularly pleased 
 with a description, most complete, but at the same time most 
 charming and amiable, which she gave her one day, by 
 accident, of the school. She soon felt her to be a delightful 
 companion, and before long she hoped to find in her aa 
 attached friend. 
 
 At the same time she looked over again the more early 
 accounts which had been sent her of Ottilie, to refresh her 
 recollection with the opinion which the Superior and the 
 Assistant had formed about her, and compare them with her 
 in her own person. For Charlotte was of opinion that we 
 cannot too quickly become acquainted with the character 
 of those with whom we have to live, that we may know what 
 to expect of them ; where we may hope to do anything in 
 the way of improvement with them, and what we must 
 make up our minds, once for all, to tolerate and let alone. 
 
 This examination led her to nothing new, indeed ; but 
 much which she already knew became of greater meaning 
 and importance. Ottilie's moderation in eating and drinking, 
 for instance, became a real distress to her. 
 
 The next thing on which the ladies were employed was 
 Ottilie's toilet. Charlotte wished her to appear in clothes of 
 a richer and more recherche sort, and at once the clever active 
 girl herself cut out the stuff* which had been previously sent to 
 her, and with a very little assistance from others was able, in 
 a short time, to dress herself out most tastefully. The new 
 fashionable dresses set off" her figure. An agreeable person, 
 it is true, will show through all disguises ; but we always 
 fancy it looks fresher and more graceful when its peculiari- 
 ties appear under some new drapery. And thus, from the 
 moment of her first appearance, she became more and more 
 a delight to the eyes of all who beheld her. As the emerald 
 refreshes the sight with its beautiful hues, and exerts it is 
 said, a beneficent influence on that noble sense, so does 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 41 
 
 human beauty work with far larger potency on the outward 
 and on the inward sense ; whoever looks upon it is charmed 
 against the breath of evil, and feels in harmony with himself 
 and with the world. 
 
 In many ways, therefore, the party had gained by Ottilie's 
 arrival. The Captain and Edward kept regularly to the 
 hours, even to the minutes, for their general meeting 
 together. They never kept the others waitmg for them 
 either for dinner or tea, or for their walks ; and they were 
 in less haste, especially in the evenings, to leave the table. 
 This did not escape Charlotte's observation; she watched 
 /hem botli, to see whether one more than the other was 
 the occasion of it. But she could not perceive any dijffer- 
 ence. They had both become more companionable. In 
 their conversation they seemed to consider what was best 
 adapted to interest Ottilie ; what was most on a level with 
 her capacities and her general knowledge. If she left the 
 room when they were reading or telling stories, they would 
 wait till she returned. They had grown softer and altogether 
 more united. 
 
 In return for this, Ottilie's anxiety to be of use increased 
 every day ; the more she came to understand the house, its 
 inmates, and their circumstances, the more eagerly she 
 entered into everything, caught every look and every motion; 
 half a word, a sound, was enough for her. With her calm 
 attentiveness, and her easy, unexcited activity, she was 
 always the same. Sitting, rising up, going, coming, fetching, 
 carrying, returning to her place again, it was all in the most 
 perfect repose ; a constant change, a constant agreeable move- 
 ment; while, at the same time, she went about so lightly 
 that her step was almost inaudible. 
 
 This cheerful obligingness in Ottilie gave Charlotte the 
 greatest pleasure. There was one thing, however, which she 
 did not exactly like, of which she had to speak to her. " It 
 is very polite in you," she said one day to her, " when 
 people let anything fall from their hand, to be so quick in 
 stooping and picking it up for them ; at the same time, it is 
 a sort of confession that they have a right to require such 
 attention, and in the world we are expected to be care- 
 ful to whom we pay it. Towards women, I will not pre- 
 scribe any rule as to how you should conduct yourself. You 
 
42 GOETHE. 
 
 •are young. To those above you, and older than you, ser- 
 vices of this sort are a duty; towards your equals they 
 are polite ; to those younger than yourself and your inferiors 
 you may show yourself kind and good-natured by such 
 things, — only it is not becoming in a young lady to do them 
 for men." 
 
 '' I will try to forget the habit," replied Ottilie ; " I think, 
 however, you will in the mean time forgive me for my want 
 of manners, when I tell you how I came by it. We were 
 taught history at school ; I have not gained as much out of it 
 as I ought, for I never knew what use I was to make of it ; a 
 few little things, however, made a deep impression upon me, 
 among which was the following : — When Charles the First of 
 England was standing before his so-called judges, the gold 
 top came off the stick which he had in his hand, and fell 
 down. Accustomed as he had been on such occasions to 
 have everything done for him, he seemed to look round and 
 expect that this time too some one would do him this little 
 service. No one stirred, and he stooped down for it himself. 
 It struck me as so piteous, that from that moment I have 
 never been able to see any one let a thing fall, without myself 
 picking it up. But, of course, as it is not always proper, and 
 as I cannot," she continued, smiling, " tell my story every 
 time I do it, in future I will try and contain myself." 
 
 In the mean time the fine arrangements which the two 
 friends had been led to make for themselves, went uninter- 
 ruptedly forward. Every day they found something new to 
 think about and undertake. 
 
 One day as they were walking together through the vil- 
 lage, they had to remark with dissatisfaction how far behind- 
 hand it was in order and cleanliness, compared to villages 
 where the inhabitants were compelled by the expense of 
 building-ground to be careful about such things. 
 
 " You remember a wish we once expressed when we were 
 travelling in Switzerland together," said the Captain, " that 
 we might have the laying out some country park, and how 
 beautiful we would make it by introducing into some village 
 situated like this, not the Swiss style of building, but the 
 Swiss order and neatness which so much improve it." 
 
 "And how well it would answer here ! The hill on which 
 the castle stands, slopes down to that projecting angle. The 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 43 
 
 village, you see, is built in a semicircle, regularly enough, 
 just opposite to it. The brook runs between. It is liable to 
 floods; and do observe the way the people set about pro- 
 tecting themselves from them ; one with stones, another with 
 stakes ; the next puts up a boarding, and a fourth tries beams 
 and planks; no one, of course, doing any good to another 
 with his arrangement, but only hurting himself and the rest 
 too. And then there is the road going along just in the 
 clumsiest way possible, — up hill and down, through the 
 water, and over the stones. If the people would only lay 
 their hands to the business together, it would cost them 
 nothing but a little labour to run a semicircular wall along 
 here, take the road in behind it, raising it to the level of the 
 houses, and so give themselves a fair open space in front, 
 making the whole place clean, and getting rid, once for all, in 
 one good general work, of all their little trifling inefiectual 
 makeshifts." 
 
 " Let us try it," said the Captain, as he ran his eyes over 
 the lay of the ground, and saw quickly what was to be 
 done. 
 
 " I can undertake nothing in company with peasants and 
 shopkeepers," replied Edward, "unless I may have unre- 
 stricted authority over them." 
 
 " You are not so wrong in that," returned the Captain; 
 *' I have experienced too much trouble myself in life in 
 matters of that kind. How difiicult it is to prevail on a man 
 to venture boldly on making a sacrifice for an after-advan- 
 tage ! How hard to get him to desire an end, and not 
 hesitate at the means ! So ma»y people confuse means with 
 ends ; they keep hanging over the first, without having the 
 other before their eyes. Every evil is to be cured at the 
 place where it comes to the surface, and they will not trouble 
 themselves to look for the cause which produces it, or the 
 remote efiect which results from it. This is why it is so 
 difficult to get advice listened to, especially among the many : 
 they can see clearly enough from day to day, but their scope 
 seldom reaches beyond the morrow ; and if it comes to a 
 point where with some general arrangement one person 
 will gain while another will lose, there is no prevailing on 
 them to strike a balance. Works of public advantage cau 
 
44 GOETHE. 
 
 only be carried through by an uncontrolled absolute autho- 
 rity." ^ 
 
 While they were standing and talking, a man came up 
 and begged of them. He looked more impudent than really 
 in want, and Edward, who was annoyed at being inter- 
 rupted, after two or three fruitless attempts to get rid of 
 him by a gentler refusal, spoke sharply to him. The fellow 
 began to grumble and mutter abusively ; he went off with 
 short steps, talking about the right of beggars. It was 
 all very well to refuse them an alms, but that was no reason 
 why they should be insulted. A beggar, and everybody else 
 too, was as much under God's protection as a lord. It put 
 Edward out of all patience. 
 
 The Captain, to pacify him, said, "Let us make use of 
 this as an occasion for extending our rural police arrange- 
 ments to such cases. We are bound to give away money, 
 but we do better in not giving it in person, especially at 
 home. We should be moderate and uniform in everything, 
 in our charities as in all else; too great liberality attracts 
 beggars instead of helping them on their wa}^. At the same 
 time there is no harm when one is on a journey, or passing 
 through a strange place, in appearing to a poor man in the 
 street in the form of a chance deity of fortune, and making 
 him some present which shall surprise him. The position 
 of the village and of the castle makes it easy for us to put 
 our charities here on a proper footing. I have thought about 
 it before. The public- house is at one end of the village, a 
 respectable old couple live at the other. At each of these 
 places deposit a small sum of money, and let every beggar, 
 not as he comes in, but as he goes out, receive something. 
 Both houses lie on the roads which lead to the castle, so 
 that any one who goes there can be referred to one or the 
 other. 
 
 " Come," said Edward, " we will settle that on the spot. 
 The exact sum can be made up another time." 
 
 They went to the innkeeper, and to the old couple, and the 
 thing was done. 
 
 " I know very well," Edward said, as they were walking up 
 the hill to the castle together, " that everything in this world 
 depends on distinctness of idea and firmness of purpose. 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 45 
 
 Your judgment of what my wife has been doing in the park 
 was entirely right ; and you have already given me a hint 
 how it might be improved. I will not deny that I told hei 
 of it." 
 
 "So I have been led to suspect," replied the Captain; 
 " and I could not approve of your having done so. You have 
 perplexed her. She has left off doing anytliing ; and on this 
 one subject she is vexed with us. She avoids speaking of 
 it. She has never since invited us to go with her to the 
 summer-house, although at odd hours she goes up there with 
 Ottilie." 
 
 " We must not allow ourselves to be deterred by that," 
 answered Edward. " If I am once convinced about anything 
 good, which could and should be done, I can never rest till I 
 see it done. We are clever enough at other times in intro- 
 ducing what we want, into the general conversation ; suppose 
 we have out some descriptions of English parks, with copper- 
 plates, for our evening's amusement. Then we can follow 
 with your plan. We will treat it first problematically, and 
 is if we were only in jest. There will be no difficulty in 
 passing into earnest." 
 
 The scheme was concerted, and the books were opened. 
 In each group of designs they first saw a ground-plan of the 
 spot, with the general character of the landscape, drawn in 
 its rude, natural state. Then followed others, showing the 
 changes which had been produced by art, to employ and set 
 off the natural advantages of the locality. From these to 
 their own property and their own groimds, the transition was 
 easy. 
 
 Everybody was pleased. The chart which the Captain had 
 sketched was brought and spread out. The only difficulty 
 was, that they could not entirely free themselves of the 
 plan in which Charlotte had begun. However, an easier 
 way up the hill was found ; a lodge was suggested to be built 
 on the height at the edge of the cliff, which was to have 
 an especial reference to the castle. It was to form a con- 
 spicuous object from the castle windows, and from it the 
 spectator w^as to be able to overlook both the castle and the 
 garden. 
 
 The Captain had thought it all carefully over, and taken his 
 measurements; and now he brought up again the village 
 
40 GOETHE. 
 
 road atid the wall by the brook, and the ground which was 
 to be raised behind it. 
 
 *' Here you see," said he, " while I make this charming 
 walk up the height, I gain exactly the quantity of stone 
 which I require for that wall. Let one piece of work help 
 the other, and both will be carried out most satisfactorily and 
 most rapidly." 
 
 " But now," said Charlotte, " comes my side of the business. 
 A certain definite outlay of money will have to be made. 
 We ought to know how much will be wanted for such a pur- 
 pose, and then we can apportion it out — so much work, and 
 60 much money, if not by weeks, at least by months. The 
 cash-box is under my charge. I pay the bills, and I keep 
 the accounts." 
 
 " You do not appear to have overmuch confidence in us," 
 said Edward. 
 
 " I have not much in arbitrary matters," Charlotte an- 
 swered. " Where it is a case of inclination, we women 
 know better how to control ourselves than you." 
 
 It was settled ; the dispositions were made, and the work 
 was begun at once. 
 
 The Captain being always on the spot, Charlotte was almost 
 daily a witness to the strength and clearness of his under- 
 standing. He, too, learnt to know her better ; and it became 
 easy for them both to work together, and thus bring some- 
 thing to, completeness. It is with work as with dancing ; 
 persons who keep the same step must grow indispensable to 
 one another. Out of this a mutual kindly feeling will neces- 
 sarily arise ; and that Charlotte had a real kind feeling 
 towards the Captain, after she came to know him better, was 
 sufficiently proved by her allowing him to destroy her pretty 
 seat, which in her first plans she had taken such pains in 
 ornamenting, because it was in the way of his own, without 
 experiencing the slightest feeling about the matter. 
 
BUiCXIVE AFFINITIES. 47 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Now that Charlotte was occupied with the Captain, it was 
 a natural consequence that Edward should attach himself 
 more to Ottilie. Independently of* this, indeed, for some time 
 past he had begun to feel a silent kind of attraction towards 
 her. Obliging and attentive she was to every one, but his 
 self-love whispered that towards him she was particularly so. 
 She had observed his little fancies about his food. She knew 
 exactly what things he liked, and the way in which he liked 
 them to be prepared ; the quantity of sugar which he liked 
 in his tea; and so on. Moreover, she was particularly 
 careful to prevent draughts, about which he was excessively 
 sensitive, and, indeed, about which, with his wife, who could 
 never have air enough, he was often at variance. So, 
 too, she had come to know about fruit -gardens and flower- 
 gardens; whatever he liked, it was her constant effort to 
 procure for him, and to keep away whatever annoyed him ; 
 so that very soon she grew indispensable to him — she be- 
 came like his guardian angel, and he felt it keenly when- 
 ever she was absent. Besides all this, too, she appeared to 
 gi'ow more open and conversible as soon as they were alone 
 together. 
 
 Edward, as he advanced in life, had retained something 
 childish about himself, which corresponded singularly well 
 with the youthfulness of Ottilie. They liked talking of early 
 times, when they had first seen each other ; and these remi- 
 niscences led them up to the first epoch of Edward's affection 
 for Charlotte. Ottilie declared that she remembered them both 
 as the handsomest pair about the court ; and when Edward 
 would question the possibility of this, when she must have 
 been so exceedingly young, she insisted that she recollected 
 one particular incident as clearly as possible. He had come 
 into the room where her aunt was, and she had hid her face 
 in Charlotte's lap — not from fear, but from a childish surprise. 
 She might have added, because he had made so strong an im- 
 pression upon her — ^because she had liked him so much. 
 
 While they were occupied in this way, much of the 
 business which the two friends had undertaken together had 
 come to a standstill; so that they found it necessary to 
 
 1 
 
48 GOETHE. 
 
 inspect how things were going on — to work up a few designs 
 and get letters written. JFor this purpose, they betook them- 
 selves to their office, where they found their old copyist at 
 his desk. They set themselves to their work, and soon gaye 
 the old man enough to do, without observing that they were 
 laying many things on his shoulders which at other times 
 they had always done for themselves. At the same time, 
 the first design the Captain tried would not answer, and 
 Edward was as unsuccessful with his first letter. They fretted 
 for a while, planning and erasing, till at last Edward, who 
 was getting on the worst, asked what o'clock it was. And 
 then it appeared that the Captain had forgotten, for the first 
 time for many years, to wind up his chronometer ; and they 
 seemed, if not to feel, at least to have a dim perception, that 
 time was beginning to be indifi'erent to them. 
 
 In the meanwhile, as the gentlemen were thus rather slacken- 
 ing in their energy, the activity of the ladies increased all the 
 more. The every-day life of a family, which is composed of 
 given persons, and is shaped out of necessary circumstances, 
 may easily receive into itself an extraordinary affection, an 
 incipient passion — ^may receive it into itself as into a vessel ; 
 and a long time may elapse before the new ingredient produces 
 a visible efiervescence, and runs foaming over the edge. 
 
 With our friends, the feelings which were mutually arising 
 had the most agreeable efiects. Their dispositions opened 
 out, and a general goodwill arose out of the several individual 
 afiections. Every member of the party was happy ; and they 
 each shared their happiness with the rest. 
 
 Such a temper elevates the spirit, while it enlarges the 
 heart, and everything which, under the influence of it, people 
 do and undertake, has a tendency towards the illimitable. 
 The friends could not remain any more shut up at home ; 
 their walks extended themselves further and further. Edward 
 would hurry on before with Ottilie, to choose the path or 
 pioneer the way ; and the Captain and Charlotte would follow 
 quietly on the track of their more hasty precursors, talking 
 on some grave subject, or delighting themselves with some 
 spot they had newly discovered, or some unexpected natui*al 
 beauty. 
 
 One day their walk led them down from the gate at the 
 right wing of the castle, in the direction of the hotel, and 
 
1£LECTIVE AFFINITIES. 49 
 
 thence over the bridge towards the ponds, along the sides o| 
 which they proceeded as far as it was generally thought 
 possible to follow the water; thickly wooded hills sloping 
 directly up from the edge, and beyond these a wall of steep 
 rocks, making further progress difficult, if not impossible. 
 But Edward, whose hunting experience had made him 
 thoroughly familiar with the spot, pushed forward along an 
 overgrown path with Ottilie, knowing well that the old mill 
 could not be far off, which was somewhere in the middle of 
 the rocks there. The path was so little frequented, that they 
 soon lost it ; and for a short time they were wandering among 
 mossy stones and thickets ; it was not for long, however, the 
 noise of the water-wheel speedily telling them that the place 
 -Nvhich they were looking for was close at hand. Stepping 
 forward on a point of rock, they saw the strange old, dark 
 wooden building in the hollow before them, quite shadowed 
 over with precipitous crags and huge trees. They determined 
 directly to climb down amidst the moss and the blocks of 
 stone. Edward led the way ; and when he looked back and 
 saw Ottilie following, stepping lightly, without fear or ner- 
 vousness, from stone to stone, so beautifully balancing herself, 
 he Amcied he was looking at some celestial creatm-e floating 
 above him ; while if, as she often did, she caught the hand 
 which in some difficult spot he would offer her., or if she 
 supported herself on his shoulder, then he was left in no 
 doubt that it was a very exquisite human creature who 
 touched him. He almost wished that she might slip or 
 stumble, that he might catch her in his arms and press her 
 to his heart. This, however, he would under no circumstances 
 have done, for more than one reason. He was afraid to 
 wound her, and he was afraid to do her some bodily injury. 
 
 What the meaning of this could be, we shall immediately 
 learn. When they had got down, and were seated opposite 
 each other at a table under the trees, and when the miUer's 
 wife had gone for milk, and the miller, who had come out to 
 them, was sent to meet Charlotte and the Captain, Edward, 
 with a little embarrassment, began to speak : 
 
 " I have a request to make, dear Ottilie ; you will forgivG 
 me for asking it, if you will not grant it. You make iia 
 secret (I am sure you need not make any), that you wear 3 
 miniature under your dress against your breast. It is the 
 
 E 
 
5C GOETHE. 
 
 picture of your noble father. You could hardly have known 
 him ; but in every sense he deserves a place by your heart. 
 Only, forgive me, the picture is exceedingly large, and the 
 metal frame and the glass, if you take up a child in your 
 arms, if you are carrying anything, if the carriage swings 
 violently, if we are pushing through bushes, or just now, as 
 we were coming down these rocks, — cause me a thousand 
 anxieties for you. Any unforeseen blow, a fall, a touch, 
 may be fatally injurious to you ; and I am terrified at the 
 possibility of it. For my sake do this : put away the picture, 
 not out of your affections, not out of your room ; let it have 
 the brightest, the holiest place which you can give it ; only do 
 not wear upon your breast a thing, the presence of which seems 
 to me, perhaps from an extravagant anxiety, so dangerous." 
 
 Ottilie said nothing, and while he was speaking she kept 
 her eyes fixed straight before her ; then, without hesitation 
 and without haste, with a look turned more towards heaven 
 than on Edward, she unclasped the chain, drew out the 
 picture, and pressed it against her forehead, and then reached 
 it over to her friend, with the words : 
 
 " Do you keep it for me till we come home ; I cannot give 
 you a better proof how deeply I thank you for your affec- 
 tionate care." 
 
 He did not venture to press the picture to his lips ; but he 
 caught her hand and raised it to his eyes. They were, per- 
 haps, two of the most beautiful hands which had ever been 
 clasped together. He felt as if a stone had fallen from his 
 heart, as if a partition- wall had been thrown down between 
 him and Ottilie. 
 
 Under the miller's guidance, Charlotte and the Captain 
 came down by an easier path, and now joined them. There 
 was the meeting, and a happy talk, and then they took some 
 refreshments. They would not return by the same way as 
 they came ; and Edward struck into a rocky path on the other 
 side of the stream, from which the ponds were again to be 
 seen. They made their way along it, with some effort, and 
 then had to cross a variety of wood and copse — getting 
 glimpses, on the land side, of a number of villages and 
 manor-houses, with their green lawns and fruit-gardens; 
 while very near them, and sweetly situated on a rising 
 ground, a farm lay in the middle of the wood. From a 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 61 
 
 gentle ascent, they bad a view, before and behind, which 
 showed them the richness of the country to the greatest 
 advantage ; and then, entering a grove of trees, they found 
 themselves, on again emerging from it, on the rock opposite 
 the castle. 
 
 They came upon it rather unexpectedly, and were of course 
 delighted. They had made the circuit of a little world; they 
 were standing on the spot where the new building was to be 
 erected, and were looking again at the windows of their own 
 home. 
 
 They went down to the summer-house, and sat all four in 
 it for the first time together ; nothing was more natural than 
 that with one voice it should be proposed to have the way 
 they had been that day, and which, as it was, had taken them 
 much time and trouble, properly laid out and gravelled, so 
 that people might loiter along it at their leisure. They each 
 said what they thought; and they reckoned up that the 
 circuit, over which they had taken many hours, might be 
 travelled easily with a good road all the way round to the 
 castle, in a single one. 
 
 Already a plan was being suggested for making the dis- 
 tance shorter, and adding a fresh beauty to the landscape, by 
 throwing a bridge across the stream, below the mill, where it 
 ran into the lake; when Charlotte brought their inventive 
 imagination somewhat to a stand-still, by putting them in mind 
 of the expense which such an undertaking would involve. 
 
 " There are ways of n^eeting that too," replied Edward ; 
 *' we have only to dispose of that farm in the forest which is 
 so pleasantly situated, and which brings in so little in the way 
 of rent : the sum which will be set free wiU more than cover 
 what we shall require, and thus, having gained an invaluable 
 walk, we shall receive the interest of well -expended capital in 
 substantial enjoyment — instead of, as now, in the summing 
 up at the end of the year, vexing and fretting om'selves over 
 the pitiful little income which is returned for it." 
 
 Even Charlotte, with all her prudence, had little to urge 
 against this. There had been, indeed, a previous intention of 
 selling the farm. The Captain was ready immediately with a 
 plan for breaking up the ground into small portions among 
 the peasantry of the forest. Edward, however, had a simpler 
 and shorter way of managing it His present steward had 
 
 £2 
 
62 aOETHE. 
 
 already proposed to take it off his hands — he was to pay for 
 it by instalments — and so, gradually, as the money came in, 
 they would get their work forward from point to point. 
 
 So reasonable and prudent a scheme was sure of universal 
 approbation, and already, in prospect, they began to see their 
 new w^alk winding along its way, and to imagine the many 
 beautiful views and charming spots which they hoped to dis- 
 cover in its neighbourhood. 
 
 To bring it all before themselves with greater fulness of 
 detail, in the evening they produced the new chart. With 
 the help of this they went over again the way that they had 
 come, and found various places where the walk might take a 
 rather different direction with advantage. Their other scheme 
 was now once more talked through, and connected with the 
 fresh design. The site for the new house in the park, opposite 
 the castle, was a second time examined into and approved, 
 and fixed upon for the termination of the intended circuit. 
 
 Ottilie had said nothing all this time. At length Edward 
 pushed the chart, which had hitherto been lying before Char- 
 lotte, across to her, begging her to give her opinion ; she still 
 hesitated for a moment. Edward in his gentlest way again 
 pressed her to let them know what she thought — nothing had 
 as yet been settled— it was all as yet in embryo. 
 
 " I would have the house built here," she said, as she 
 pointed with her finger to the highest point of the slope on the 
 hill, " It is true you cannot see the castle from thence, for it 
 is hidden by the wood ; but for that very reason you find your- 
 self in another quite new world ; you lose village and houses 
 and all at the same time. The view of the ponds with the 
 mill, and the hills and mountains in the distance, is singularly 
 beautiful— I have often observed it when I have been there." 
 
 *' She is right," Edward cried ; " how could we have 
 overlooked it. This is what you mean, Ottilie, is it not?" 
 He took a lead pencil, and drew a great black rectangular 
 figmre on the summit of the hill. 
 
 It went through the Captain's soul to see his carefully and 
 clearly-drawn chart disfigured in such a way. He collected 
 himself, however, after a slight expression of his disapproval, 
 and went into the idea. *' Ottilie is right," he said ; " we 
 are ready enough to walk any distance to drink tea or eat fish, 
 because they would not have tasted as well at home — we re- 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 53 
 
 quire change of scene and change of objects. Your ancestors 
 showed their judgment in the spot which they chose for the 
 castle; for it is sheltered from the wind, with the conve- 
 niences of life close at hand. A place, on the contrary, which 
 is more for pleasure parties than for a regular residence, may 
 be very well yonder there, and in the fair time of year the 
 most agreeable hours may be spent there." 
 
 The more they talked it over, the more conclusive was their 
 judgment in favour of Ottilie ; and Edward could not conceal 
 his triumph that the thought had been hers. He was as proud 
 as if he had hit "upon it himself. 
 
 CHAPTER VHI. 
 
 Early the following morning the Captain examined the 
 spot : he first threw off a sketch of what should be done, and 
 afterwards, Avhen the thing had been more completely decided 
 on, he made a complete design, with accurate calculations and 
 measurements. It cost him a good deal of labour, and the 
 business connected with the sale of the farm had to be gone 
 into, so that both the gentlemen now found a fresh impulse 
 to activity. 
 
 The Captain made Edward observe that it would be proper, 
 indeed that it would be a kind of duty, to celebrate Charlotte's 
 birthday with laying the foundation-stone. Not much was 
 wanted to overcome Edward's disinclination for such festivi- 
 ties — ^for he quickly recollected that a little later OttiUe's 
 birthday would follow, and that he could have a magnificent 
 celebration for that. 
 
 Charlotte, to Mhom all this woik and what it would involve 
 was a subject for much serious and almost anxious thought, 
 busied herself in carefully going through the time and outlay 
 which it was calculated would be expended on it. During 
 the day they rarely saw each other, so that the evening meet- 
 ing was looked forward to with all the more anxiety. 
 
 Ottilie meantime was complete mistress of the household 
 — and how could it be otherwise, with her (juick methodical 
 ways of working ? Indeed, her whole mode of thought was 
 suited better to home life than to the world, and to a more 
 
54 GEOTHE. 
 
 free existence. Edward soon observed that she only walked 
 about with them out of a desire to please; that when she 
 stayed out late with them in the evening it was because she 
 thought it a sort of social duty, and that she would often find 
 a pretext in some household matter for going in again— con- 
 sequently he soon managed so to arrange the walks which they 
 took together, that they should be at home before sunset; 
 and he began again, what he had long left off, to read aloud 
 poetry — particularly such as had for its subject the expression 
 of a pure but passionate love. 
 
 They ordinarily sat in the evening in the same places round 
 a small table — Charlotte on the sofa, Ottilie on a chair oppo- 
 site to her, and the gentlemen on each side. Ottilie's place was 
 on Edward's right, the side where he put the candle when he 
 was reading — at such times she would draw her chair a little 
 nearer to look over him, for Ottilie also trusted her own eyes 
 better than another person's lips, and Edward would then 
 always make a move towards her, that it might be as easy as 
 possible for her — ^indeed he would frequently make longer 
 stops than necessary, that he might not turn over before she 
 had got to the bottom of the page. 
 
 Charlotte and the Captain observed this, and exchanged 
 many a quiet smile at it ; but they were both taken by sur- 
 prise at another symptom, in which Ottilie's latent feeling 
 accidentally displayed itself. 
 
 One evening, which had been partly spoilt for them by a 
 tedious visit, Edward proposed that they should not separate 
 so early — ^he felt inclined for music— he would take his flute, 
 which he had not done for many days past. Charlotte looked 
 for the sonatas which they generally played together, and they 
 were not to be found. Ottilie, with some hesitation, said that 
 they were in her room — she had taken them there to copy 
 them. 
 
 " And you can, you will, accompany me on the piano ?'* 
 cried Edward, his eyes sparkling with pleasure. " I think 
 perhaps I can," Ottilie answered. She brought the music and 
 sate down to the instrument. The others listened, and were 
 sufficiently surprised to hear how perfectly Ottilie had taught 
 herself the piece — ^but far more surprised were they at the 
 way in which she contrived to adopt herself to Edward's style 
 of playing. Adapt herself, is not the '-ight expression — Char- 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 55 
 
 lotte's skill and power enabled her, in order to please her 
 husband, to keep up with him when he went too fast, and 
 hold in for him if he hesitated ; but Ottilie, who had several 
 times heard them play the sonata together, seemed to have 
 learnt it according to the idea in which they accompanied 
 each other — she had so completely made his defects her own, 
 that a kind of living whole resulted from it, which did not 
 move indeed according to exact rule, but the effect of which 
 was in the highest degree pleasant and delightful. The com- 
 poser himself would have been pleased to hear his work 
 disfigured in a manner so charming. 
 
 Charlotte and the Captain watched this strange unexpected 
 occurrence in silence, with the kind of feeling with which 
 we often observe the actions of children — unable exactly to 
 approve of them, from the serious consequences which may 
 follow, and yet without being able to find fault, perhaps with 
 a kind of envy. For, indeed, the regard of these two for one 
 another was growing also, as well as that of the others— 
 and it was perhaps only the more perilous because they were 
 both stronger, more certain of themselves, and better able to 
 restrain themselves. 
 
 The Captain had already begun to feel that a habit which 
 he could not resist was threatening to bind him to Charlotte. 
 He forced himself to stay away at the hour when she com- 
 monly used to be at the works ; by getting up very early in 
 the morning he contrived to finish there whatever he had 
 to do, and went back to the castle to his work in his own 
 room. The first day or two Charlotte thought it was an acci- 
 dent^she looked for him in every place where she thought he 
 could possibly be. Then she thought she understood him— 
 and admired him all the more. 
 
 Avoiding, as the Captain now did, being alone with Char- 
 lotte, the more industriously did he labour to hurry for- 
 ward the preparations for keeping her rapidly- approaching 
 birthday with all splendour. While he was bringing up the 
 new road from below behind the village, he made the men, 
 under pretence that he wanted stones, begin working at the 
 top as well, and work down, to meet the others ; and he had 
 calculated his arrangements so that the two should exactly 
 meet on the eve of the day. The excavations for the new 
 house were already done; the rock was blown away with 
 
56 GOETHE. 
 
 gunpowder ; and a fair foundation-stone had been hewn, with 
 a hollow chamber, and a flat slab adjusted to cover it. 
 
 This outward activity, these little mysterious purposes of 
 friendship, prompted by feelings which more or less they Avere 
 obhged to repress, rather prevented the little party when to- 
 gether from being as lively as usual. Edward, who felt that 
 there was a sort of void, one evening called upon the Captain 
 to fetch his violin— Charlotte should play the piano, and he 
 should accompany her. The Captain M'as unable to refuse the 
 general request, and they executed together one of the most 
 difficult pieces of music with an ease, and freedom, and feel- 
 ing, which could not but afford themselves, and the two who 
 were listening to them, the greatest delight. They promised 
 themselves a frequent repetition of it, as well as further 
 practice together. "They do it better than we, Ottilie,'* said 
 Edward ; " we will admire them — but we can enjoy ourselves 
 together too," 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The birthday was come, and everything was ready. The 
 wall was all complete which protected the raised village road 
 against the water, and so was the walk ; passing the church, 
 for short time it followed the path which had been laid out by 
 Charlotte, and then winding upwards among the rocks, inclined 
 first under the summer-house to the right, and then, after a 
 wide sweep, passed back above it to the right again, and so 
 by degrees out on to the summit. 
 
 A large party had assembled for the occosion. They went 
 first to church, where they found the whole congregation col- 
 lected together in their holiday dresses. After service, they 
 filed out in order ; first the boys, then the young men, then 
 the old : after them came the party from the castle, with their 
 visitors and retinue; and the village maidens, young girls, 
 and women, brought up the rear. 
 
 At the turn of the walk, a raised stone seat had been con- 
 trived, where the Captain made Charlotte and the visitors stop 
 and rest. From here they could see over the whole distance 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 67 
 
 from the beginning to the end — the troops of men who had 
 gone up before them, the file of women following, and now 
 drawing np to where they were. It was lovely weather, and 
 the whole effect was singularly beautiful. Charlotte was 
 taken by surprise, she was touched, and she pressed the Cap- 
 tain's hand warmly. 
 
 They followed the crowd who had slowly ascended, and 
 were now forming a circle round the spot where the future 
 house was to stand. The lord of the castle, his family, and 
 the principal strangers were now invited to descend into the 
 vault, where the foundation-stone, supported on one side, lay 
 ready to be let down. A well-dressed mason, a trowel in one 
 hand and a hammer in the other, came forward, and with much 
 grace spoke an address in verse, of which in prose we can give 
 but an imperfect rendering. 
 
 " Three things," he began, " are to be looked to in a build- 
 ing — that it stand on the right spot ; that it be securely 
 founded ; that it be successfully executed. The first is the 
 business of the master of the house — his and his only. As 
 in the city the prince and the council alone determine where a 
 building shall be, so in the country it is the right of the lord 
 of the soil that he shall say, ' Here my dwelling shall stand ; 
 here, and nowhere else.' " 
 
 Edward and Ottilie were standing opposite one another, as 
 these words were spoken ; but they did not venture to look 
 Tip and exchange glances. 
 
 " To the third, the execution, there is neither art nor handi- 
 craft which must not in some way contribute. But the second, 
 the founding, is the province of the mason; and, boldly to 
 speak it out, it is the head and front of all the undertaking — a 
 solemn thing it is — and our bidding you descend hither is full 
 of meaning. You are celebrating your Festival in the deep of 
 the earth. Here within this small hollow spot, you shew us 
 the honour of appearing as witnesses of our mysterious craft. 
 Presently we shall lower down this carefully-hewn stone into 
 its place ; and soon these earth- walls, now ornamented with 
 fair and worthy persons, will be no more accessible — but will 
 be closed in for ever ! 
 
 " This foundation-stone, which with its angles typifies the 
 just angles of the building, with the sharpness of its moulding, 
 the regularity of it, and with the truth of its lines to the hori- 
 
58 GOETHE. 
 
 zontal and perpendicular, the uprightness and equal height or 
 all the walls, we might now without more ado let down — it 
 would rest in its place with its own weight. But even here 
 there shall not fail of lime and means to bind it. For as 
 human beings who may be well inclined to each other by- 
 nature, yet hold more firmly together when the law cements 
 them, so are stones also, whose fornis may already fit together, 
 united far better by these binding forces. It is not seemly to 
 be idle among the working, and here you will not refuse to be 
 our fellow-labourer," — with these words he reached the trowel 
 to Charlotte, who threw mortar with it under the stone — 
 several of the others were then desired to do the same, and 
 then it was at once let fall. Upon which the hammer was 
 placed next in Charlotte's, and then in the others' hands, to 
 strike three times with it, and conclude, in this expression, 
 the wedlocli of the stone with the earth. 
 
 *' The work of the mason," went on the speaker, *' now 
 under the free sky as we are, if it be not done in concealment, 
 yet must pass into concealment — the soil will be laid smoothly 
 in, and thrown over this stone, and with the walls which we 
 rear into the daylight we in the end are seldom remembered. 
 The works of the stone-cutter and the carver remain under 
 the eyes ; but for us it is not to complain when the plasterer 
 blots out the last trace of our hands, and appropriates our 
 work to himself; when he overlays it, and smooths it, and 
 colours it. 
 
 " Not from regard for the opinion of others, but from 
 respect for himself, the mason will be faithful in his calling. 
 There is none who has more need to feel in himself the 
 consciousness of what he is. When the house is finished, 
 when the soil is smoothed, and the surface plastered over, and 
 the outside all overwrought with ornament, he can even see 
 in yet through all disguises, and still recognize those exact 
 and careful adjustments, to which the whole is indebted for 
 its being and for its persistence. 
 
 " But as the man who commits some evil deed has to fear, 
 that, notwithstanding all precautions, it will one day come to 
 light— so too must he expect who has done some good thing in 
 secret, that it also, in spite of himself, will appear in the day ; 
 and therefore we make this foundation-stone at the same time 
 a stone of memoriah Here, in these various hollows whic2» 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 59 
 
 have been hewn into it, many things are now to be buried, 
 as a witness to some far-ofF world — these metal cases her- 
 metically sealed contain documents in writing; matters of 
 various note are engraved on these plates ; in these fair glass 
 bottles we bury the best old wine, with a note of the year of 
 its vintage. We have coins too of many kinds, from the mint 
 of the current year. All this we have received through the 
 liberality of him for whom we build. There is space yet 
 remaining, if guest or spectator desires to offer anything to 
 the after- world !" 
 
 After a slight pause the speaker looked round ; but, as is 
 commonly the case on such occasions, no one was prepared ; 
 they were all taken by surprise. At last, a merry-looking 
 young officer set the example, and said, " If I am to contribute 
 anything which as yet is not to be found in this treasure- 
 chamber, it shall be a pair of buttons from my uniform — I 
 don't see why they do not deserve to go down to posterity !'* 
 No sooner said than done, and then a number of persons 
 found something of the same sort which they could do ; the 
 young ladies did not hesitate to throw in some of their side 
 hair combs — smelling bottles and other trinkets were not 
 spared. Only Ottilie hung back ; till a kind word from 
 Edward roused her from the abstraction in which she was 
 watching the various things being heaped in. Then she un- 
 clasped from her neck the gold chain on Avhich her father's 
 picture had hung, and with a light gentle hand laid it down 
 on the other jewels. Edward rather disarranged the proceed- 
 ings, by at once, in some haste, having the cover let fall, and 
 fastened down. 
 
 The young mason who had been most active through all 
 this, again took his place as orator, and went on, " We lay 
 down this stone for ever, for the establishing the present and 
 the future possessors of this house. But in that we bury this 
 treasure together with it, w^e do it in the remembrance — in 
 this most enduring of works — of the perishableness of all 
 human things. We remember that a time may come when 
 this cover so fast sealed shall again be lifted : and that can 
 only be when all shall again be destroyed which as yet we 
 have not brought into being. 
 
 " But now — now that at once it may begin to be, back with 
 our thoughts out of the future — back into the present. At 
 
60 GOETHE. 
 
 once, after the feast which we have this day kept together, let 
 us on with our labour ; let no one of all those trades which 
 are to work on our foundation, through us keep unwilling, 
 holiday. Let the building rise swiftly to its height, and out 
 of the windows, which as yet have no existence, rnay the 
 master of the house, with his family and with his guests, look 
 forth with a glad heart over his broad lands. To him and to 
 all here present herewith be health and happiness." 
 
 With these words he drained a richly cut tumbler at a 
 draught, and flung it into the air, thereby to signify the excess 
 of pleasure by destroying the vessel which had served for 
 such a solemn occasion. This time, however, it fell out 
 otherwise. The glass did not fall back to the earth, and 
 indeed without a miracle. 
 
 In order to get forward with the buildings, they had 
 already thrown out the whole of the soil at the opposite 
 corner ; indeed, they had begun to raise the wall, and for this 
 purpose had reared a scaffold as high as was absolutely neces- 
 sary. On the occasion of the festival, boards had been laid 
 along the top of this, and a number of spectators Avere allowed 
 to stand there. It had been meant principally for the advan- 
 tage of the workmen themselves. The glass had flown up 
 there, and had been caught by one of them, who took it as a 
 sign of good luck for himself. He waved it round without 
 letting it out of his hand, and the letters E and O were to be 
 seen very richly cut upon it, running one into the other. It 
 was one of the glasses which had been executed for Edward 
 when he was a boy. 
 
 The scaffoldings were again deserted, and the most active 
 among the party climbed up to look round them, and could 
 not speak enough in praise of the beauty of the prospect on 
 all sides. How many new discoveries does not a person 
 make when on some high point he ascends but a single story 
 higher. Inland many fresh villages came in sight. The line 
 of the river could be traced like a thread of silver ; indeed, 
 one of the party thought that he distinguished the spires of 
 the capital. On the other side, behind the wooded hill, the 
 blue peaks of the far-off mountains were seen rising, and 
 the country immediately about them was spread out like a 
 map. 
 
 ** If the three ponds," cried some one, "were but thrown 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 61 
 
 together to make a single sheet of water, there would be 
 everything here which is noblest and most excellent." 
 
 ** That might easily be effected," the Captain said. " In 
 early times they must have formed all one lake among the 
 hills here." 
 
 " Only I must beseech you to spare my clump of planes 
 and poplars that stand so prettily by the centre pond," said 
 Edward. " See," — he turned to Ottilie, bringing her a few 
 steps forward, and pointing down, — " those trees I planted 
 myself." 
 
 " How long have they been standing there ?" asked Ottilie. 
 
 "Just about as long as you have been in the world," 
 replied Edward. " Yes, my dear child, I planted them when 
 you were still lying in your cradle." 
 
 The party now betook themselves back to the castle. 
 After dinner was over they were invited to walk through the 
 village to take a glance at what had been done there as well. 
 At a hint from the Captain, the inhabitants had collected in 
 front of the houses. They were not standing in rows, but 
 formed in natural family groups, partly occupied at their 
 evening work, part out enjoying themselves on the new 
 benches. They had determined, as an agreeable duty which 
 they imposed upon themselves, to have everything in its pre- 
 sent order and cleanliness, at least every Sunday and 
 holiday. 
 
 A little party, held together by such feelings as had grown. 
 up among our friends, is always unpleasantly interrupted by 
 a large concourse of people. All four were delighted to find 
 themselves again alone in the large drawing-room, but this 
 sense of home was a little disturbed by a letter which was 
 brought to Edward, giving notice of fresh guests who were 
 to arrive the following day. 
 
 " It is as we supposed," Edward cried to Charlotte. " The 
 Count will not stay away ; he is coming to-morrow." 
 
 "Then the Baroness, too, is not far off," answered 
 Charlotte. 
 
 " Doubtless not," said Edward. " She is coming, too, 
 to-morrow, from another place. They only beg to be allowed 
 to stay for a night ; the next day they will go on together." 
 
 " We must prepare for them in time, Ottilie," said 
 Charlotte. 
 
62 aOETHH. 
 
 "What arrangement shall I desire to be made?'* Ottilie 
 asked. 
 
 Charlotte gave a general direction, and Ottilie left the room. 
 
 The Captain inquired into the relation in which these two 
 persons stood towards one another, and with which he wass 
 only very generally acquainted. They had some time before, 
 both being already married, fallen violently in love with one 
 another; a double marriage was not to be interfered with 
 without attracting attention. A divorce was proposed. On 
 the Baroness's sid^ it could be effected, on that of the Count 
 it could not. Tliey were obliged seemingly to separate, but 
 their position towards one another remained unchanged, and 
 though in the winter at the Residence they were unable to be 
 together, they indemnified themselves in the summer, while 
 making tours and staying at watering-places. 
 
 They were both slightly older than Edward and Charlotte, 
 and had been intimate with them from early times at court. 
 The connection had never been absolutely broken off, although 
 it was impossible to approve of their proceedings. On the 
 present occasion their coming was most unwelcome to Char- 
 lotte ; and if she had looked closely into her reasons for 
 feeling it so, she would have found it was on account of 
 Ottilie. The poor innocent girl should not have been brought 
 80 early in contact with such an example. 
 
 " It would have been more convenient if they had not come 
 till a couple of days later," Edward was saying, as Ottili** 
 re-entered, "till we had finished with this business of tho 
 form. The deed of sale is complete. One copy of it I have 
 here, but we want a second, and our old clerk has fallen ill." 
 The Captain offered his services, and so did Charlotte, but 
 there was something or other to object to both of them. 
 
 "Give it to me," cried Ottilie, a little hastily. 
 
 " You will never be able to finish it," said Charlotte. 
 
 " And really I must have it early the day after to-morrow, 
 and it is long," Edward added. 
 
 " It shall be ready," Ottilie cried; and the paper was 
 already in her hands. 
 
 The next morning, as they were looking out from their 
 highest windows for their visitors, whom they intended to ge 
 some way and meet, Edward said, "Who is that yonder, 
 riding slowly along the road?" 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 33 
 
 The Captain described accurately the figure of the horse- 
 man. 
 
 "Then it is he," said Edward; "the particulars, which 
 you can see better than I, agree very well with the general 
 figure, which I can see too. It is Mittler ; but what is he 
 doing, coming riding at such a pace as that?" 
 
 The figure came nearer, and Mittler it veritably waL 
 They received him with warm greetings as he came slowly up 
 the steps. 
 
 " Why did you not come yesterday ?" Edward cried, as he 
 approached. 
 
 " I do not like your grand festivities," answered he; " but 
 I am come to-day to keep my friend's birthday with you 
 quietly." 
 
 " How are you able to find time enough ?" asked Edward, 
 with a laugh. 
 
 " My visit, if you can value it, you owe to an observation 
 which I made yesterday. I was spending a right happy 
 afternoon in a house where I had established peace, and then 
 I heard that a birthday was being kept here. Now this is 
 what I call selfish, after all, said I to myself: you will only 
 enjoy yourself with those whose broken peace you have 
 mended. Why cannot you for once go and be happy with 
 friends who keep the peace for themselves ? No sooner said 
 than done. Here I am, as I determined with myself that I 
 would be." 
 
 "Yesterday you would have met a large party here; 
 to-day you will find but a small one," said Charlotte ; " you 
 will meet the Count and the Baroness, with whom you have 
 had enough to do already, I believe." 
 
 Out of the middle of the party, who had all four come 
 down to welcome him, the strange man dashed in the keenest 
 disgust, seizing at the same time his hat and whip. " Some 
 unlucky star is always ove^ me," he cried, "directly I try to 
 rest and enjoy myself. Wiiat business have I going out of 
 my proper character ? I ought never to have come, and now 
 I am persecuted away. Under one roof with those two 
 I will not remain, and you take care of yourselves. They 
 bring nothing but mischief; their nature is like leaven, and 
 propagates its own contagion." 
 
 They tried to pacify him, but it was in vain. " Whoever 
 
8a GOETHE. 
 
 strikes at marriage," he cried ; — " whoever, either by word or 
 act, undermines this, the foundation of all moral society, 
 that man has to settle with me, and if I cannot become his 
 master, I take care to settle myself out of his way. Mar- 
 riage is the beginning and the end of all culture. It makes 
 the savage mild ; and the most cultivated has no better oppor- 
 tunity for displaying his gentleness. Indissoluble it must be, 
 because it brings so much happiness that what small excep- 
 tional unhappiness it may bring counts for nothing in the 
 balance. And what do men mean by talking of unhappi- 
 ness ? Impatience it is which from time to time comes over 
 them, and then they fancy themselves unhappy. Let them 
 wait till the moment is gone by, and then they wall bless 
 their good fortune that what has stood so long continues 
 standing. There never can be any adequate ground for sepa- 
 ration. The condition of man is pitched so high, in its joys 
 and in its sorrows, that the sum which two married people 
 owe to one another defies calculation. It is an infinite debt, 
 v/hich can only be discharged through all eternity. 
 
 " Its annoyances marriage may often have ; I can well believe 
 "that, and it is as it should be. We are all married to our 
 consciences, and there are times when we should be glad to 
 be divorced from them ; mine gives me more annoyance than 
 ever a man or a woman can give." 
 
 All this he poured out with the greatest vehemence : he 
 would very likely have gone on speaking longer, had not the 
 sound of the postilions' horns given notice of the arrival of 
 the visitors, who, as if on a concerted arrangement, drove 
 into the castle-court from opposite sides at the same moment. 
 Mittler slipped away as their host hastened to receive them» 
 and desiring that his horse might be brought out immediately, 
 rode angrily off 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 65 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The visitors were welcomed and brought in. They weio 
 delighted to find themselves again in the same house and in 
 the same rooms where in early times they had passed many 
 happy days, but which they had not seen for a long time. 
 Their friends too were very glad to see them. The Count and 
 the Baroness had both those tall fine figures which please in 
 middle life almost better than in youth. If something of the 
 first bloom had faded off them, yet there was an air in their 
 appearance which was always irresistibly attractive. Their 
 manners too were thoroughly charming. Their free way of 
 taking hold of life and dealing with it, their happy humour, 
 and apparent easy unembarrassment, communicated itself at 
 once to the rest ; and a lighter atmosphere hung about the whole 
 party, without their having observed it stealing on them. 
 
 The efiect made itself felt immediately on the entrance of 
 the new-comers. They were fresh from the fashionable world, 
 as was to be seen at once, in their dress, in their equipment, 
 and in everything about them ; and they formed a contrast 
 not a little striking with our friends, their country style, and 
 the vehement feelings which were at work underneath among 
 them. This, however, very soon disappeared in the stream 
 of past recollection and present interests, and a rapid, lively 
 conversation soon united them all. After a short time they 
 again separated. The ladies withdrew to their own apart- 
 ments, and there found amusement enough in the many 
 things which they had to tell each other, and in setting to 
 work at the same time to examine the new fashions, the 
 spring dresses, bonnets, and such like ; while the gentlemen 
 were employing themselves looking at the new travelling 
 chariots, trotting out the horses, and beginning at once to 
 bargain and exchange. 
 
 They did not meet again till dinner ; in the mean time 
 they had changed their dress. And here, too, the newly- 
 arrived pair showed to all advantage. Everything they wore 
 was new, and in a style which their friends at the castle 
 Lad never seen, and yet, being accustomed to it themselves, 
 it appeared perfectly natural and graceful. 
 
 The conversation was brilliant and well sustained, ai\ 
 
 F 
 
66 aOETHE, 
 
 indeed, in the company of such persons everything and 
 nothing appears to interest. They spoke in French that 
 the attendants might not understand what they said, and 
 swept in happiest humour over all that was passing in the 
 great or the middle world. On one particular subject they 
 remained, however, longer than was desirable. It was occa- 
 sioned by Charlotte asking after one of her early friends, of 
 whom she had to learn, with some distress, that she was on 
 the point of being separated from her husband. 
 
 "It is a melancholy thing," Charlotte said, " when we 
 fancy our absent friends are finally settled, when we believe 
 persons very dear to us to be provided for for life, suddenly 
 to hear that their fortunes are cast loose once more ; that 
 they have to strike into a fresh path of life, and very likely a 
 most insecure one." 
 
 " Indeed, my dear friend/' the Count answered, " it is 
 our own fault if we allow ourselves to be surprised at such 
 things. We please ourselves with imagining matters of this 
 earth, and particularly matrimonial connections, as very en- 
 during ; and as concerns this last point, the plays which we 
 see over and over again help to mislead us ; being, as they 
 are, so untrue to the course of the world. In a comedy we 
 see a marriage as the last aim of a desire which is hindered 
 and crossed through a number of acts, and at the instant 
 when it is reached the curtain falls, and the momentary satis- 
 faction continues to ring on in our ears. But in the world it 
 is very different. The play goes on still behind the scenes, 
 and when the curtain rises again we may see and hear, per- 
 haps, little enough of the marriage." 
 
 " It cannot be so very bad, however," said Charlotte, 
 smiling. " We see people who have gone off the boards of 
 the theatre, ready enough to undertake a part upon them 
 again." 
 
 " There is nothing to say against that," said the Count. 
 " In a new character a man may readily venture on a second 
 trial ; and when we know the world we see clearly that it is 
 only this positive eternal duration of marriage in a world 
 where everything is in motion, which has anything unbecom- 
 ing about it. A certain friend of mine, whose humour displays 
 itself principally in suggestions for new laws, maintained that 
 every marriage should be concluded only for five years. 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 67 
 
 Five, he said, was a sacred number — pretty and uneven. 
 Such a period would be long enough for people to learn one 
 another's character, bring a child or two into the world, 
 quarrel, separate, and what was best, get reconciled again. 
 He would often exclaim, ' How happily the first part of the 
 time would pass away !' Two or three years, at least, would 
 be perfect bliss. On one side or other there would not fail to 
 be a wish to have the relation continue longer, and the 
 amiability would increase the nearer they got to the parting 
 time. The indifferent, even the dissatisfied party, would be 
 softened and gained over by such behaviour; they would 
 forget, as in pleasant company the hours pass always unob- 
 served, how the time went by, and they would be delightfully 
 surprised when, after the term had run out, they first 
 observed that they had unknowingly prolonged it." 
 
 Charming and pleasant as all this sounded, and deep 
 (Charlotte felt it to her soul) as was the moral significance 
 which lay b«low it, expressions of this kind, on Ottilie's 
 account, were most distasteful to her. She knew very well 
 that nothing was more dangerous than the licentious con- 
 versation which treats culpable or semi-culpable actions 
 as if they were common, ordinary, and even laudable, and of 
 such undesirable kind assuredly were all which touched on the 
 sacredness of marriage. She endeavoured, therefore, in her 
 skilful way, to give the conversation another turn, and Avhen 
 she found that she could not, it vexed her that Ottilie had 
 managed everything so well that there was no occasion for 
 her to leave the table. In her quiet observant way a nod or 
 a look was enough for her to signify to the head servant 
 whatever was to be done, and everything went off perfectly, 
 although there were a couple of strange men in livery in the 
 way, who were rather a trouble than a convenience. And so 
 the Count, without feeling Charlotte's hints, went on giving 
 his opinions on the same subject. Generally, he was little 
 enough apt to be tedious in conversation; but this was a 
 thing which weighed so heavily on his heart, and the difficul- 
 ties which he found in getting separated from his wife were so 
 great that it had made him bitter against everything which 
 concerned the marriage bond, — that very bond which, not- 
 withstanding, he was so anxiously desiring between himself 
 and the Baroness. 
 
 f2 
 
68 GOETHE. 
 
 " The same friend," he went on, "has another law which 
 he proposes. A marriage shall only be held indissoluble 
 when either both parties, or at least one or the other, enter 
 into it for the third time. Such persons must be supposed 
 to acknowledge beyond a doubt that they find man-iage 
 indispensable for themselves ; they have had opportunities of 
 thoroughly knowing themselves ; of knowing how they con- 
 ducted themselves in their earlier unions ; whether they have 
 any peculiarities of temper, which are a more frequent cause 
 of separation than bad dispositions. People would thea 
 observe one another more closely ; they would pay as mucfe 
 attention to the married as to the unmarried, no one being 
 able to tell how things may turn out." 
 
 " That would add no little to the interest of society," said 
 Edward. " As things are now, when a man is married 
 nobody cares any more either for his virtues or for his 
 vices." 
 
 " Under this arrangement," the Baroness struck in, laugh- 
 ing, " our good hosts have passed successfully over their two 
 steps, and may make themselves ready for their third." 
 
 "Things have gone happily with them," said the Count. 
 " In their case death has done with a good will what in others 
 the consistorial courts do with a very bad one. 
 
 " Let the dead rest,^' said Charlotte, with a half serious 
 look. 
 
 " Why so," persevered the Count, " when we can re- 
 member them with honour ? They were generous enough to 
 content themselves with less than their number of years for 
 the sake of the larger good which they could leave behind 
 them." 
 
 *' Alas ! that in such cases," said the Baroness, with a sup- 
 pressed sigh, " happiness is only bought with the sacrifice of 
 our fairest years." 
 
 "Indeed, yes," answered the Count; "and it might drive 
 us to despair, if it were not the same with everything in this 
 world. Nothing goes as we hope. Children do not fulfil 
 what they promise ; young people very seldom ; — and if they 
 keep their word, the world does not keep its word with 
 them." 
 
 Charlotte, who was delighted that the conversation had 
 taken a turn at last, replied cheerfully, 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 6'^ 
 
 '''Well, then, we must content ourselves with enjoying 
 what good we are to have in fragments and pieces, as we can 
 get it; and the sooner we can accustom ourselves to this 
 the better." 
 
 " Certainly,'* the Count answered, " you two have had the 
 cnjoj-ment of very happy times. When I look back upon 
 the years when you and Edward were the loveliest couple at 
 the court, I see nothing now to be compared with those bril- 
 liant times, and such magnificent figures. When. you two 
 used to dance together, all eyes were turned upon you, 
 fastened upon you, while you saw nothing but each other.'* 
 
 " So much has changed since those days," said Charlotte, 
 "that we can listen to such pretty things about ourselves 
 without our modesty being shocked at them." 
 
 "I often privately found fault with Edward," said the 
 Count, " for not being more firm. Those singular parents of 
 his would certainly have given way at last; and ten fair 
 years is no trifle to gain." 
 
 " I must take Edward's part," struck in the Baroness. 
 " Charlotte was not altogether without fault — not altogether 
 free from what we must call prudential considerations ; and 
 although she had a real, hearty love for Edward, and did in 
 her secret soul intend to marry him, I can bear witness how 
 sorely she often tried him ; and it was through this that he 
 was at last unluckily prevailed upon to leave her and go 
 abroad, and try to forget her." 
 
 Edward bowed to the Baroness, and seemed grateful for 
 her advocacy. 
 
 *' And then I must add this," she continued, " in excuse 
 for Charlotte. The man who was at that time suing for her, 
 had for a long time given proofs of his constant attachment 
 to her ; and, when one came to know him well, was a far 
 more loveable person than the rest of you may like to 
 acknowledge." 
 
 "My dear friend," the Count replied, a Kttle pointedly, 
 " confess, now, that he was not altogether indifferent to your- 
 self, and that Charlotte had more to fear from you than from 
 any other rival. I find it one of the highest traits in women, 
 that they continue so long in their regard for a man, and that 
 absence of no duration will serve to disturb or remove it." 
 
 "This fine feature, men possess, perhaps, even more,'* 
 
70 GOETHE. 
 
 answered the Baroness. " At any rate, I have observed with 
 you, my dear Count, that no one has more influence over you 
 than a lady to whom you were once attached. I have seen 
 you take more trouble to do things when a certain person has 
 asked you, than the friend of this moment would have 
 obtained of you, if she had tried." 
 
 " Such a charge as that one must bear the best way one 
 can," replied the Count. " But as to what concerns Char- 
 lotte's first husband, I could not endure him, because he 
 parted so sweet a pair from one another — a really pre- 
 destined pair, who, once brought together, have no reason 
 to fear the five years, or be thinking of a second or third 
 marriage." 
 
 "We must try," Charlotte said, "to make up for what we 
 then allowed to slip from us." 
 
 " Aye, and you must keep to that," said the Count ; " your 
 first marriages,'* he continued, with some vehemence, " were 
 exactly marriages of the true detestable sort. And, unhap- 
 pily, marriages generally, even the best, have (forgive me for 
 using a strong expression) something awkward about them 
 They destroy the delicacy of the relation ; everything is made 
 to rest on the broad certainty out of which one side or 
 other, at least, is too apt to make their own advantage. It is 
 ail a matter of course ; and they seem only to have got them- 
 selves tied together, that one or the other, or both, may go 
 their own way the more easily." 
 
 At this moment, Charlotte, who was determined once for 
 all that she would put an end to the conversation, made a 
 bold efibrt at turning it, and succeeded. It then became 
 more general. She and her husband and the Captain were 
 able to take a part in it. Even Ottilie had to give her 
 opinion ; and the dessert was enjoyed in the happiest humour. 
 It was particularly beautiful, being composed almost entirely 
 of the rich summer fruits in elegant baskets, with epergnes 
 of lovely flowers arranged in exquisite taste. 
 
 The new laying-out of the park came to be spoken of; and 
 immediately after dinner they v»'ent to look at what was going 
 on. Ottilie withdrew, under pretence of having household 
 matters to look to ; in reality, it was to set to work again at 
 the transcribing. The Count fell into conversation with the 
 Captain, and Charlotte afterwards joined them. When they 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES, 71 
 
 were at the summit of the height, the Captain good-naturedly 
 ran back to fetch the plan, and in his absence the Count said 
 to Charlotte, 
 
 "He is an exceedingly pleasing person. He is very well 
 informed, and his knowledge is always ready. His prac- 
 tical power, too, seems methodical and vigorous. What he is 
 doing here would be of great importance in some higher 
 sphere." 
 
 Charlotte listened to the Captain's praises with an inward 
 delight. She collected herself, however, and composedly and 
 clearly confirmed what the Count had said. But she was not 
 a little startled when he continued : 
 
 " This acquaintance falls most opportunely for me. I know 
 of a situation for which he is perfectly suited, and I shall be 
 doing the greatest favour to a friend of mine, a man of high 
 rank, by recommending to him a person who is so exactly 
 everything which he desires." 
 
 Charlotte felt as if a thunder-stroke had fallen on her. The 
 Count did not observe it : women, being accustomed at all 
 times to hold themselves in restraint, are always able, even in 
 the most extraordinary cases, to maintain an apparent com- 
 posure ; but she heard not a word more of what the Count 
 said, though he went on speaking. 
 
 ** When I have made up my mind upon a thing, *' he 
 added, " I am quick about it. I have put my letter together 
 already in my head, and I shall write it immediately. You 
 can find me some messenger, who can ride off with it this 
 evening." 
 
 Charlotte was suffering agonies. Startled with the pro- 
 posal, and shocked at herself, she was unable to utter a 
 word. Happily, the Count continued talking of his plans 
 for the Captain, the desirableness of which was only too 
 apparent to Charlotte. 
 
 It was time that the Captain returned. He came up and 
 unrolled his design before the Count. But with what changed 
 eyes Charlotte now looked at the friend whom she was to lose. 
 In her necessity, she bowed and turned away, and hurried 
 down to the summer-house. Before she was half way there, 
 the tears were streaming from her eyes, and she flung herself 
 into the narrow room in the little hermitage, and gave herself 
 up to an agony, a passion, a despair, of the possibility o/ 
 
72 GOETHE. 
 
 which, but a few moments before, she had not had tho 
 slightest conception. 
 
 Edward had gone with the Baroness in the other direction 
 towards the ponds. This ready-witted lady, who liked to be 
 in the secret about everything, soon observed, in a few conver- 
 sational feelers which she threw out, that Edward was very 
 fluent and free-spoken in praise of Ottilie. She contrived in 
 the most natural way to lead him out by degrees so completely, 
 that at last she had not a doubt remaining that here was 
 not merely an incipient fancy, but a veritable, full-grown 
 passion. 
 
 Married women, if they have no particular love for one 
 another, yet are silently in league together, especially against 
 young girls. The consequences of such an inclination pre- 
 sented themselves only too quickly to her world-experienced 
 spirit. Added to this, she had been already, in the course of 
 the day, talking to Charlotte about Ottilie ; she had disap- 
 proved of her remaining in the country, particularly being a 
 girl of so retiring a character ; and she had proposed to take 
 Ottilie with her to the residence of a friend, who was just 
 then bestowing great expense on the education of an only 
 daughter, and who was only looking about to find some well- 
 disposed companion for her, — ^to put her in the place of a 
 second child, and let her share in every advantage. Char- 
 lotte had taken time to consider. But now this glimpse of 
 the Baroness into Edward's heart changed what had been but 
 a suggestion at once into a settled determination; and the 
 more rapidly she made up her mind about it, the more she 
 outwardly seemed to flatter Edward's wishes. Never was 
 there any one more self-possessed than this lady ; and to have 
 mastered ourselves in extraordinary cases, disposes us to treat 
 even a common case with dissimulation — it makes us inclined, 
 as we have had, to do so much violence to ourselves, to extend 
 our control over others, and hold ourselves in a degree compen- 
 sated in what we outwardly gain for what we inwardly have 
 been obliged to sacrifice. To this feeling there is often joined 
 a kind of secret, spiteful pleasure in the blind, unconscious 
 ignorance with which the victim walks on into the snare. It 
 is not the immediately doing as we please which we enjoy, 
 but the thought of the surprise and exposure which is to 
 follow. And thus was the Uaroness malicious enough t:> 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 7^ 
 
 invite Edward to come with Charlotte and pay her a visit 
 at the grape-gathering ; and, to his question whether they 
 might bring Ottilie with them, to frame an answer which, if 
 he pleased, he might interpret to his wishes. 
 
 Edward had already begun to pour out his delight at the 
 beautiful scenery, the broad river, the hills, the rocks, the 
 vineyard, the old castles, the water-parties, and the jubilee 
 at the grape-gathering, the wine-pressing, etc., in all of 
 which* in the innocence of his heart, he was only exuberating 
 in the anticipation of the impression which these scenes were 
 to make on the fresh spirit of Ottilie. At this moment they 
 saw her approaching, and the Baroness said quickly to Ed- 
 ward, that he had better say nothing to her of this intended 
 autumn expedition — things which we set our hearts upon so 
 long before, so often failing to come to pass. Edward gave 
 his promise; but he obliged his companion to move more 
 quickly to meet her ; and at last, when they came very close, 
 he ran on several steps in advance. A heartfelt happiness 
 expressed itself in his whole being. He kissed her hand as 
 he pressed into it a nosegay of wild flowers, which he had 
 gathered on his way. 
 
 The Baroness felt bitter to her heart at the sight of it. At 
 the same time that she was able to disapprove of what was 
 really objectionable in this affection, she could not bear to 
 see what was sweet and beautiful in it thrown away on such 
 a poor paltry girl. 
 
 When they had collected again at the supper-table, an 
 entirely different temper was spread over the party. The 
 Count, who had in the meantime written his letter and 
 dispatched a messenger with it, occupied himself with the 
 Captain, whom he had been drawing out more and more- 
 spending the whole evening at his side, talking of serious 
 matters. The Baroness, who sat on the Count's right, found 
 but small amusement in this ; nor did Edward find any more. 
 The latter, first because he was thirsty, and then because h» 
 was excited, did not spare the wine, and attached himself 
 entirely to Ottilie, whom he had made sit by him. On the 
 other side, next to the Captain, sat Charlotte ; for her it was 
 hard, it was almost impossible, to conceal the emotion under 
 which she was suffering. 
 
 The Bai-oness had sufficient time to make her observation* 
 
74 GOETHE. 
 
 at leisure. She perceived Charlotte's uneasiness, and occupied 
 as she was with Edward's passion for Ottilie, she easily 
 satisfied herself that her abstraction and distress were owing 
 to her husband's behaviour ; and she set herself to consider 
 in what way she could best compass her ends. 
 
 Supper was over, and the party remained divided. The 
 Count, whose object was to probe the Captain to the bottom, 
 had to try many turns before he could arrive at what he 
 wished with so quiet, so little vain, but so exceedingly laconic 
 a person. They walked up and down together on one side of 
 the saloon, while Edward, excited with wine and hope, was 
 laughing with Ottilie at a window, and Charlotte and the 
 Baroness were walking backwards and forwards, without 
 speaking, on the other side. Their being so silent, and their 
 standing about in this uneasy, listless way, had its effect at 
 last in breaking up the rest of the party. The ladies with- 
 drew to their rooms, the gentlemen to the other wing of the 
 castle; and so this day appeared to be concluded. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Edward went with the Count to his room. They con- 
 tinued talking, and he was easily prevailed upon to stay a 
 little time longer there. The Count lost himself in old 
 times, spoke eagerly of Charlotte's beauty, which, as a critic, 
 he dwelt upon with much warmth. 
 
 " A pretty foot is a great gift of nature," he said. " It is 
 a grace which never perishes, I observed it to-day, as she 
 was walking. I should almost have liked to have kissed her 
 shoe, and repeat that somewhat barbarous but significant 
 practice of the Sarmatians, who know no better way of 
 showing reverence for any one they love or respect, than by 
 using his shoe to drink his health out of." 
 
 The point of the foot did not remain the only subject of 
 praise between two old acquaintances ; they went from the 
 person back upon old stories and adventures, and came on 
 the hindrances which at that time people had thrown in the 
 way of the lovers' meetings — what trouble they had taken, 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 75 
 
 what arts they had been obliged to devise, only to be able to 
 tell each other that they loved. 
 
 " Do you remember," continued the Count, " an adventure 
 in which I most unselfishly stood your friend when their 
 High Mightinesses were on a visit to your uncle, and were 
 all together in that great, straggling castle. The day went 
 in festivities and glitter of all sorts ; and a part of the night 
 at least in pleasant conversation." 
 
 " And you, in the meantime, had observed the back-way 
 which led to the court ladies' quarter," said Edwardy " and 
 so managed to effect an interview for me with my beloved." 
 
 " And she," replied the Count, " thinking more of pro- 
 priety than of my enjoyment, had kept a frightful old duenna 
 with her. So that, while you two, between looks and words, 
 got on extremely well together, my lot, in the meanwhile, 
 was far from pleasant." 
 
 "It was only yesterday," answered Edward, "when we 
 heard that you were coming, that I was talking over the story 
 with my wife, and describing our adventure on returning. 
 We missed the road, and got into the entrance-hall from the 
 garden. Knowing our way from thence so well as we did, we 
 supposed we could get along easily enough. But you re- 
 member our surprise on opening the door. The floor was 
 covered over with mattresses, on which the giants lay in rows 
 stretched out and sleeping. The single sentinel at his post 
 looked wonderingly at us ; but we, in the cool way young 
 men do things, strode quietly on over the outstretched boots, 
 without disturbing a single one of the snoring children of 
 iVnak." 
 
 " I had the strongest inclination to stumble," the Count 
 said, " that there might be an alarm given. What a resur- 
 rection we should have witnessed." 
 
 At this moment the castle clock struck twelve. 
 
 " It is deep midnight," the Count added, laughing, " and 
 just the proper time ; I must ask you, my dear Baron, to 
 show me a kindness. Do you guide me to-night, as I guided 
 you then. I promised the Baroness that I would see her 
 before going to bed. We have had no opportunity of any 
 private talk together the whole day. We have not seen each 
 other for a long time, and it is only natural that we should 
 wish for a confidential hour. If you will show me the way 
 
76 GOETHE. 
 
 there, I will manage to get back again ; and in any case, 
 there will be no boots for me to stumble over.'* 
 
 " I shall be very glad to show you such a piece of hospi- 
 tality," answered Edward; "only the three ladies are 
 together in the same wing. Who knows whether we shall 
 not find them still with one another, or make some other 
 mistake, which may have a strange appearance ?" 
 
 " Do not be afraid," said the Count ; *' the Baroness expects 
 me. She is sure by this time to be in her own room, and 
 alone." 
 
 *' Well, then, the thing is easy enough," Edward answered. 
 
 He took a candle, and lighted the Count down a private 
 staircase leading into a long gallery. At the end of this, 
 he opened a small door. They mounted a winding flight 
 of stairs, which brought them out upon a narrow landing- 
 place ; and then, putting the candle in the Count's hand, 
 he pointed to a tapestried door on the right, which opened 
 readily at the first trial, and admitted the Count, leaving 
 Edward outside in the dark. 
 
 Another door on the left led into Charlotte's sleeping-room. 
 He heard her voice, and listened. She was speaking to her 
 maid. "Is Ottilie in bed?" she asked. "No," was the 
 answer ; " she is sitting writing in the room below." " You 
 may light the night-lamp," said Charlotte ; *' I shall not 
 want you any more. It is late. I can put out the candle, 
 and do whatever I may want else myself." 
 
 It was a delight to Edward to hear that Ottilie was writing 
 still. She is working for me, he thought triumphantly. 
 Through the darkness, he fancied he could see her sitting all 
 alone at her desk. He thought he would go to her, and see 
 her; and how she would turn to receive him. He felt a 
 longing, which he could not resist, to be near her once more. 
 But, from where he was, there was no way to the apartments 
 which she occupied. He now found himself immediately at 
 his wife's door. A singular change of feeling came over 
 him. He tried the handle,, but the bolts were shot. Ho 
 knocked gently. Charlotte did not hear him. She was 
 walking rapidly up and down in the large dressing-room 
 adjoining. She was repeating over and over what, since the 
 Count's unexpected proposal, she had often enough had to 
 eay to herself. The Captain seemed to stand before her. At 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 77 
 
 home, and everywhere, he had become her all in all. And 
 now he was to go ; and it was all to be desolate again. 
 She repeated whatever wise things one can say to oneself; 
 she even anticipated, as people so often do, the wretched 
 comfort, that time would come at last to her relief; and 
 then she cursed the time which would have to pass before 
 it could lighten her sufterings — she cursed the dead, cold 
 time when they would be lightened. At last she burst into 
 tears ; they were the more welcome, since tears with her 
 were rare. She flung herself on the sofa, and gave herself 
 up unreservedly to her sufferings. Edward, meanwhile, 
 could not take himself from the door. He knocked again ; 
 and a third time rather louder; so that Charlotte, in the 
 stillness of the night, distinctly heard it, and started up in 
 fright. Her first thought was, — it can only be, it must be, 
 the Captain; her second, that it was impossible. She 
 thought she must have been deceived. But surely she had 
 heard it ; and she wished, and she feared to have heard it. 
 She went into her sleeping-room, and walked lightly up 
 to the bolted tapestry-door. She blamed herself for her 
 fears. " Possibly it may be the Baroness wanting something," 
 she said to herself; and she called out quietly and calmly, 
 ** Is anybody there ?" A light voice answered, " It is I." 
 *' AVho ?" returned Charlotte, not being able to make out the 
 voice. She thought she saw the Captain's figure standing at 
 the door. In a rather louder tone, she heard the word 
 *' Edward !'* She drew back the bolt, and her husband stood 
 before her. He greeted her with some light jest. She was 
 unable to reply in the same tone. He complicated the mys- 
 terious visit by his mysterious explanation of it. 
 
 " Well, then," he said at last, " I will confess, the real rea- 
 son why I am come is, that I have made a vow to kiss your 
 shoe this evening." 
 
 " It is long since you thought of such a thing as that," 
 said Chai'lotte. 
 
 " So much the worse," he answered ; " and so much the 
 better." 
 
 She had thrown herself back in an armchair, to prevent 
 him from seeing ihe slightness of her dress. He flung him- 
 self down before her, and she could not prevent him from 
 giving her shoe a kiss. And when the shoe came off in hia 
 
78 GOETHE. 
 
 hand, lie caught her foot and pressed it tenderly against hia 
 breast. 
 
 Charlotte was one of those women who, being of a natu- 
 rally calm temperament, continue in marriage, without any 
 purpose or any effort, the air and character of lovers. She 
 was never expressive towards her husband ; generally, indeed, 
 she rather shrank from any warm demonstration on his part. 
 It was not that she was cold, or at all hard and repulsive, but 
 she remained always like a loving bride, who draws back with 
 a kind of shyness even from what is permitted. And so 
 Edward found her this evening, in a double sense. How 
 sorely did she not long that her husband would go ; the 
 figure of his friend seemed to hover in the air and reproach 
 her. But what should have had the effect of driving Edward 
 away only attracted him the more. There were visible traces 
 of emotion about her. She had been crying; and tears, which 
 with weak persons detract from their graces, add immea- 
 surably to the attractiveness of those whom we know com- 
 monly as strong and self-possessed. 
 
 Edward was so agreeable, so gentle, so pressing ; he begged 
 to be allowed to stay with her. He did not demand it, but 
 half in fun, half in earnest, he tried to persuade her ; be 
 never thought of his rights. At last, as if in mischief, he 
 blew out the candle. 
 
 In the dim lamplight, the inward affection, the imagination, 
 maintained their rights over the real; — it was Ottilie that 
 was resting in Edward's arms ; and the Captain, now faintly, 
 now clearly, hovered before Charlotte's soul. And so, 
 strangely intermingled, the absent and the present flowed in 
 a sweet enchantment one into the other. 
 
 And yet the present would not let itself be robbed of its 
 own unlovely right. They spent a part of the night talking 
 and laughing at all sorts of things, the more freely, as the 
 heart had no part in it. But when Edward awoke in the 
 morning, on his wife's breast, the day seemed to stare in with 
 a sad, awful look, and the sun to be shining in upon a crime- 
 He stole lightly from her side ; and she found herself, witl 
 Btrange enough feelings, when she awoke, alone. 
 
ELECTIVE AFriNIXIES. 79 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 When the party assembled again at breakfast, an attentive 
 observer might have read in the behaviour of its various 
 members the different things which were passing in their inner 
 thoughts and feelings. The Count and the Baroness met with 
 the air of happiness which a pair of lovers feel, who, after having 
 been forced to endure a long separation, have mutually assured 
 each other of their unaltered affection. On the other hand, 
 Charlotte and Edward equally came into the presence of the 
 Captain and Ottilie with a sense of shame and remorse. For 
 such is tke nature of love that it believes in no rights except 
 its own, and all other rights vanish away before it. Ottilie 
 was in child-like spirits. For her — she was almost what 
 might be called open. The Captain appeared serious. His 
 conversation with the Count, which had roused in him feel- 
 ings that for some time past had been at rest and dormant, 
 had made him only too keenly conscious that here he was 
 not fulfilling his work, and at bottom was but squandering 
 himself in a half-activity of idleness. 
 
 Hardly had their guests departed, when fredh visitors were 
 announced — to Charlotte most welcomely, all she wished for 
 being to be taken out of herself, and to have her attention 
 dissipated. They annoyed Edward, who was longing to 
 devote himself to Ottilie; and Ottilie did not like them 
 either ; the copy which had to be finished the next morning 
 early being still incomplete. They staid a long time, and im- 
 me(fiately that they were gone she hurried off to her room. 
 
 It was now evening. Edward, Charlotte, and the Captain 
 had accompanied the strangers some little way on foot, before 
 the latter got into their carriage, and previous to returning 
 home they agreed to take a walk along the water-side. 
 
 A boat had come, which Edward had had fetched from a 
 distance, at no little expense; and they decided that they 
 would try whether it was easy to manage. It was made fast 
 on the bank of the middle pond, not far from some old ash 
 trees, on which they calculated to make an effect in their 
 future improvements. There was to be a landing-place made 
 there, and under the trees a seat was to be raised, with some 
 wonderful architecture about it : it was to be the point for 
 
so GOETHE. 
 
 which people were to make when they u-ent across thd 
 water. 
 
 "And where had we better have the landing-place on the 
 other side ?" said Edward. " I should think under my plane 
 trees." 
 
 " They stand a little too far to the right," said the Captain. 
 ** You are nearer the castle if you land further down. How- 
 ever, we must think about it." 
 
 The Captain was already standing in the stern of the boat, 
 and had taken up an oar. Charlotte got in, and Edward with 
 her — he took the other oar ; but as he was on the point of 
 pushing off, he thought of Ottilie — he recollected that this 
 water-party would keep him out late ; who could tell when 
 he would get back } He made up his mind shortly and 
 promptly ; sprang back to the bank, and reaching the other 
 oar to the Captain, hurried home — making excuses to himself 
 as he ran. 
 
 Arriving there he learnt that Ottilie had shut herself up — 
 she was writing. In spite of the agreeable feeling that she 
 was doing something for him, it was the keenest mortification 
 to him not to be able to see her. His impatience increased 
 'every moment. He walked up and down the large drawing- 
 room ; he tried a thousand things, and* could not fix his atten- 
 tion upon any. He was longing to see her alone, before 
 'Charlotte came back with the Captain. It was dark by this 
 time, and the candles were lighted. 
 
 At last she came in beaming with loveliness: the sense 
 that she had done something for her friend had lifted all her 
 being above itself. She put down the original and her tran- 
 Bcdpt on the table before Edward. 
 
 " Shall we collate them?" she said, with a smile. 
 
 Edward did not know what to answer. He looked at her 
 —he looked at the transcript. The first few sheets were 
 written with the greatest carefulness in a delicate woman's 
 hand — then the strokes appeared to alter, to become more 
 light and free — but who can describe his surprise as he ran 
 his eyes over the concluding page ? " For heaven's sake," 
 he cried, " what is this ? this is my hand !" He looked at 
 Ottilie, and again at the paper ; the conclusion, especially, was 
 exactly as if he had written it himself. Ottilie said nothing, 
 but she looked at him with her eyes full of the warmest de- 
 
JSLECTIVE AFFINITIES. 81 
 
 light. Edward stretched out his arms. *' You love me !" he 
 cried: *' Ottilie, you love me!'* They fell on each other's 
 breast — which had been the first to catch the other it would 
 have been impossible to distinguish. 
 
 From that moment the world was all changed for Edward. 
 He was no longer what he had been, and the world was no 
 longer what it had been. They parted — he held her hands ; 
 they gazed in each other's eyes. They were on the point of 
 embracing each other again. 
 
 Charlotte entered with the Captain. Edward inwardly 
 smiled at their excuses for having stayed out so long. Oh ! 
 how far too soon you have returned, he said to himself. 
 
 They sate down to supper. They talked about the people 
 who had been there that day. Edward, full of love and 
 ecstacy, spoke well of every one — always sparing, often ap- 
 proving. Charlotte, who was not altogether of his opiniony 
 remarked this temper in him, and jested with him about it—i 
 he who had always the sharpest thing to say on departed 
 visitors, was this evening so gentle and tolerant. 
 
 With fervour and heartfelt conviction, Edward cried, " One 
 has only to love a single creatui-e with all one's heart, and the 
 whole world at Once looks lovely !" 
 
 Ottilie dropped her eyes on the ground, and Charlotte 
 looked straight before her. 
 
 The Captain took up the word, and said, " It is the same 
 with deep feelings of respect and reverence : we first learn to 
 recognize what there is that is to be valued in the world, 
 when we find occasion to entertain such sentiments towards a 
 particular object." 
 
 Charlotte made an excuse to retire early to her room, where 
 she could give herself up to thinking over what had passed in 
 the course of the evening between herself and the Captain. 
 
 When Edward sprang on shore, and, pushing off' the boat, 
 had himself committed his wife and his friend to the un- 
 certain element, Charlotte found herself face to face with 
 the man on whose account she had been already secretly 
 suffering so bitterly, sitting in the twilight before her, and 
 sweeping along the boat with the sculls in easy motion. She 
 felt a depth of sadness, very rare with her, weighing on her 
 spirits. The undulating movement of the boat, the splash of 
 the oars, the faint breeise playing over the watery mirror, tha 
 
 o 
 
82 GOETHE. 
 
 sighing of the reeds, the long flight of the birds, the fitful 
 twinkling of the first stars — there was something spectral 
 about it all in the universal stillness. She fancied her friend 
 >vas bearing her away to set her on some far-off shore, and 
 leave her there alone ; strange emotions were passing through 
 her, and she could not give way to them and weep. 
 
 The Captain was describing to her the manner in which, 
 in his opinion, the improvements should be continued. He 
 praised the construction of the boat ; it was so convenient, he 
 said, because one person could so easily manage it with a pair 
 of oars. She should herself learn how to do this ; there was 
 often a delicious feeling in floating along alone upon the 
 water, one's own ferryman and steersman. 
 
 The parting which was impending, sank on Charlotte's 
 heart as he was speaking. Is he saying this on purpose ? she 
 thought to herself. Does he know it yet ? Does he suspect it ? 
 or is it only accident ; and is he unconsciously foretelling me 
 my fate ? 
 
 A weary, impatient heaviness took hold of her ; she begged 
 him to make for land as soon as possible, and return with her 
 to the castle. 
 
 It was the first time that the Captain had been upon the 
 water, and, though generally he had acquainted himself with 
 its depth, he did not know accurately the particular spots. 
 Dusk was coming on ; he directed his course to a place where 
 he thought it would be easy to get on shore, and from which he 
 knew the footpath which led to the castle was not far distant. 
 Charlotte, however, repeated her wish to get to land quickly, 
 and the place which he thought of being at a short distance, 
 he gave it up, and exerting himself as much as he possibly 
 could, made straight for the bank. Unhappily the water was 
 shallow, and he ran aground some way ofi" from it. From the 
 rate at which he was going the boat was fixed fast, and all his 
 efibrts to move it were in vain. What was to be done ? There 
 was no alternative but to get into the water and carry his 
 companion ashore. 
 
 It was done without difficulty or danger. He was strong 
 enough not to totter with her, or give her any cause for 
 anxiety ; but in her agitation she had thrown her arms about 
 his neck. He held her fast, and pressed her to himself — and 
 ftt last laid her down upon a grassy bank, not without emotion 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 83 
 
 and confusion .... she still lay upon his neck ... he caught 
 her up once more in his arms, and pressed a warm kiss upon 
 her lips. The next moment he was at her feet: he took hei 
 hand, and held it to his mouth, and cried, 
 
 " Charlotte, will you forgive me r" 
 
 The kiss which he had ventured to give, and which she had 
 all but returned to him, brought Charlotte to herself again — 
 she pressed his hand — but she did not attempt to raise him 
 up. She bent down over him, and laid her hand upon his 
 shoulder, and said, 
 
 " We cannot now prevent this moment from forming an 
 epoch in our lives ; but it depends on us to bear ourselves in 
 a manner which shall be worthy of us. You must go away, 
 my dear friend ; and you are going. The Count has plans for 
 you, to give you better prospects — I am glad, and I am sorry. 
 I did not mean to speak of it till it was certain : but this 
 
 moment obliges me to tell you my secret Since it 
 
 does not depend on ourselves to alter our feelings, I can only 
 forgive you, I can only forgive myself, if we have the courage 
 to alter our situation.'* She raised him up, took his arm to 
 support herself, and they walked back to the castle without 
 speaking. 
 
 But now she was standing in her own room, where she had 
 to feel and to know that she was Edward's wife. Her strength 
 and the various discipline in which through life she had 
 trained herself, came to her assistance in the conflict. 
 Accustomed as she had always been to look steadily into 
 herself and to control herself, she did not now find it diffi- 
 cult, with an earnest efibrt, to come to the resolution 
 which she desired. She could almost smile when she remem- 
 bered the strange visit of the night before. Suddenly she 
 was seized with a wonderful instinctive feeling, a thrill of 
 fearful delight which changed into holy hope and longing. 
 She knelt earnestly down, and repeated the oath which she 
 had taken to Edward before the altar. 
 
 Friendship, affection, renunciation, floated in glad, happy 
 images before her. She felt restored to health and to herself. 
 A sweet weariness came over her. She lay down, and sunk 
 into a calm, quiet sleep. 
 
 6 2 
 
84 GOErHs. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII, 
 
 Edwaed, on his part, was in a verj^ different temper. So 
 little he thought of sleeping that it did not once occur to hir:* 
 even to undress himself. A thousand times he kissed the 
 transcript of the document, but it was the beginning of it, in 
 Ottilie's childish, timid hand ; the end he scarcely dared to 
 kiss, for he thought it was his own hand which he saw. 
 Oh, that it were another document ! he whispered to himself; 
 and, as it was, he felt it was the sweetest assurance that his 
 highest wish would be fulfilled. Thus it remained in his 
 hands, thus he continued to press it to his heart, although 
 disfigured by a third name subscribed to it. The waning 
 moon rose up over the wood. The warmth of the night drew 
 Edward out into the free air. He wandered this way anu 
 that way ; he was at once the most restless and the happiest 
 of mortals. He strayed through the gardens — they seemed 
 too narrow for him ; he hurried out into the park, and it was 
 too wide. He was drawn back toward the castle ; he stood 
 under Ottilie's window. He threw himself down on the 
 steps of the terrace below. ' Walls and bolts,' he said to 
 himself, ' may still divide us, but our hearts are not divided. 
 If she were here before me, into my arms she would fall, and 
 I into hers ; and what can one desire but that sweet cer- 
 tainty !' All was stillness round him ; not a breath was 
 moving ; — so still it was, that he could hear the unresting 
 creatures underground at their work, to whom day or night 
 are alike. He abandoned himself to his delicious dreams ; at 
 last he fell asleep, and did not wake till the sun with his 
 royal beams was mounting up in the sky and scattering the 
 early mists. 
 
 He found himself the first person awake on his domain. 
 The labourers seemed to be staying away too long : they came; 
 he thought they were too few, and the work set out for tlie 
 day too slight for his desires. He inquired for more work- 
 men ; they were promised, and in the course of the day they 
 came. But these, too, were not enough for him to carry 
 his plans out as rapidly as he wished. To do the work gave 
 him no pleasure any longer; it should all be done. And 
 i'nr v/honi ? The paths should be gravelled that Ottilic might 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 85 
 
 walk pleasantly upon them ; seats should be made at every 
 spot and corner that Ottilie might rest on them. The new 
 park house was hurried forward. It should be finished for 
 Ottilie' s birthday. In all he thought and all he did, there was 
 no more moderation. The sense of loving and of being loved, 
 urged him out into the unlimited. How changed was now 
 to him the look of all the rooms, their furniture, and their 
 decorations ! He did not feel as if he was in his own house 
 any more. Ottilie's presence absorbed everything. He was 
 utterly lost in her ; no other thought ever rose before him ; 
 no conscience disturbed him ; every restraint which had been 
 laid upon his nature burst loose. His whole being centred 
 upon Ottilie. This impetuosity of passion did not escape 
 the Captain, who longed, if he could, to prevent its evil con- 
 sequences. All those plans which were now being hurried on 
 with this immoderate speed, had been drawn out and calcu- 
 lated for a long, quiet, easy execution. The sale of the farm 
 had been completed; the first instalment had been paid, 
 Charlotte, according to the arrangement, had taken possession 
 of it. But the very first week after, she found it more than 
 usually necessary to exercise patience and resolution, and to 
 keep her eye on what was being done. In the present 
 hasty style of proceeding, the money which had been set 
 apart for the purpose would not go far. 
 
 Much had been begun, and much yet remained to be done. 
 How could the Captain leave Charlotte in such a situation ? 
 They consulted together, and agreed that it would be better 
 that they themselves should hurry on the works, and for this 
 purpose employ money which could be made good again at 
 the period fixed for the discharge of the second instalment of 
 what was to be paid for the farm. It could be done almost 
 without loss. They would have a freer hand. Everything 
 would progress simultaneously. There were labourers enough 
 at hand, and they could get more accomplished at once, and 
 arrive swiftly and surely at their aim. Edward gladly gave 
 his consent to a plan which so entirely coincided with his 
 own views. 
 
 During this time Charlotte persisted with all her heart in 
 v/hat she had determined for herself, and her friend stood by 
 her with a like purpose, manfully. This very circumstance, 
 however, produced a greater intimacy betv/een them. They 
 
83 aoErHE. 
 
 spoke openly to one another of Edward's passion, and con- 
 sulted what had better be done. Charlotte kept Ottilie more 
 about herself, watching her nan-owly; and the more she 
 understood her own heart, the deeper she was able to pene- 
 trate into the heart of the poor girl. She saw no help for 
 it, except in sending her away. 
 
 It now appeared a happy thing to her that Luciana had 
 gained such high honours at the school; for her great 
 aunt, as soon as she heard of it, desired to take her en- 
 tirely to herself, to keep her with her, and bring her out 
 into the world. Ottilie could, therefore, return thither. The 
 Captain would leave them well provided for, and everything 
 would be as it had been a few months before ; indeed, in 
 many respects better. Her own position in Edward's affec- 
 tion, Charlotte thought she could soon recover ; and she 
 settled it all, and laid it all out before herself so sensibly that 
 she only strengthened herself more completely in her delu- 
 sion, as if it were possible for them to return within their 
 old limits, — as if a bond which had been violently broken 
 could again be joined together as before. 
 
 In the mean time Edward felt very deeply the hindrances 
 which were thrown in his way. He soon observed that they 
 were keeping him and Ottilie separate; that they made it 
 difficult for him to speak with her alone, or even to approach 
 her, except in the presence of others. And while he was 
 angry about this, he was angry at many things besides. If 
 he caught an opportunity for a few hasty words with Ottilie, 
 it was not only to assure her of his love, but to complain of 
 his wife and of the Captain. He never felt that with his own 
 irrational haste he was on the way to exhaust the cash-box. 
 He found bitter fault with them, because in the execution of 
 the work they were not keeping to the first agreement, and 
 yet he had been himself a consenting party to the second ; 
 indeed, it was he who had occasioned it and made it neces- 
 sary. 
 
 Hatred is a partisan, but love is even more so. Ottilie 
 also estranged herself from Charlotte and the Captain. As 
 Edward was complaining one day to Ottilie of the latter, 
 saying that he was not treating him like a friend, or, under 
 the circumstances, acting quite uprightly, she answered un- 
 thinkingly, " I have once or twice had a painful feeling 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 87 
 
 that he was not quite honest with you. I heard him say 
 once to Charlotte, * If Edward would but spare us that 
 eternal flute of his ! He can make nothing of it, and it is 
 too disagreeable to listen to him.' You may imagine how it 
 hurt me, when I like accompanying you so much." 
 
 She had scarcely uttered the words when her conscience 
 whispered to her that she had much better have been silent. 
 However, the thing was said. Edward's features worked 
 violently. Never had anything stung him more. He was 
 touched on his tenderest point. It was his amusement ; he 
 followed it like a child. He never made the slightest pre- 
 tensions ; what ■ gave him pleasure should be treated with 
 forbearance by his friends. He never thought how intole- 
 rable it is for a third person to have his ears lacerated by an 
 unsuccessful talent. He was indignant; he was hurt in a 
 way which he could not forgive. He felt himself discharged 
 from all obligations. 
 
 The necessity of being with Ottilie, of seeing her, whisper- 
 ing to her, exchanging his confidence with her, increased with 
 every day. He determined to write to her, and ask her to 
 carry on a secret correspondence with him. The strip of 
 paper on which he had, laconically enough, made his request, 
 lay on his writing-table, and was swept off by a draught of 
 wind as his valet entered to dress his hair. The latter was 
 in the habit of trying the heat of the iron by picking up any 
 scraps of paper which might be lying about. This time his 
 hand fell on the billet ; he twisted it up hastily, and it was 
 burnt. Edward observing the mistake, snatched it out of 
 his hand. After the man was gone, he sat himself down to 
 write it over again. The second time it would not run so 
 readily off his pen. It gave him a little uneasiness ; he 
 hesitated, but he got over it. He squeezed the paper into 
 Ottilie's hand the first moment he was able to approach her. 
 Ottilie answered him immediately. He put the note unread 
 in his waistcoat pocket, which, being made short in the 
 fashion of the time, was shallow, and did not hold it as it 
 ought. It worked out, and fell without his observing it on 
 the ground. Charlotte saw it, picked it up, and after giving 
 a hasty glance at it, reached it to him. 
 
 ** Here is something in your handwriting, '* she said, 
 " which you may be sorry to lose.*' 
 
88 GOETHE. 
 
 He was confounded. Is she dissembling ? he thought to 
 Iiimself. Does she know what is in the note, or is she 
 deceived by the resemblance of the hand ? He hoped, he 
 believed the latter. He was warned — doubly warned ; but 
 those strange accidents, through which a higher intelligence 
 seems to be speaking to us, his passion was not able to 
 interpret. Rather, as he went further and further on, he felt 
 the restraint under which his friend and his wife seemed to 
 be holding him the more intolerable. His pleasure in their 
 society was gone. His heart was closed against them, and 
 though he was obliged to endure their society, he could not 
 succeed in re-discovering or in re-animating within his heart 
 anything of his old affection for them. The silent reproaches 
 which he was forced to make to himself about it, were dis- 
 agreeable to him. He tried to help himself with a kind of 
 humour which, however, being without love, was also without 
 its usual grace. 
 
 Over all such trials, Charlotte found assistance to rise in her 
 own inward feelings. She knew her own determination. Her 
 own affection, fair and noble as it was, she would utterly 
 renounce. 
 
 And sorely she longed to go to the assistance of the other 
 two. Separation, she knew well, would not alone suffice to 
 heal so deep a wound. She resolved that she would speak 
 openly about it to Ottilie herself. But she could not do it. 
 The recollection of her own weakness stood in her way. 
 She thought she could talk generally to her about the sort of 
 thing. But general expressions about "^the sort of thing/ 
 fitted her own case equally well, and she could not bear to 
 touch it. Every hint which she would give Ottilie, recoiled 
 back on her own heart. She would warn, and she was obliged 
 to feel that she might herself still be in need of warning. 
 
 She contented herself, therefore, with silently keeping the 
 lovers more apart, and by this gained nothing. The slight 
 hints which frequently escaped her had no effect upon Ottilie ; 
 for Ottilie had been assured by Edward that Charlotte was 
 devoted to the Captain, that Charlotte herself wished for a 
 separation, and that he was at this moment considering the 
 readiest means by which it could be brought about. 
 
 Ottilie, led by the sense of her own innocence along the 
 road to the happiness for which she longed, only lived for 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 89 
 
 Edward. Strengthened by her love for him in all good, more 
 light and happy in her work for his sake, and more frank and 
 open towards others, she found herself in a heaven upon 
 earth. 
 
 So all together, each in his or her own fashion, reflecting 
 or unreflecting, they continued on the routine of their lives 
 All seemed to go its ordinary way, as, in monstrous cases,' 
 when everything is at stake, men will still live on, as if i% 
 were all nothing. 
 
 . CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 In the mean time a letter came from the Count to the 
 Captain — two, indeed — one which he might produce, holding 
 out fair, excellent prospects in the distance ; the other con- 
 taining a distinct offer of an immediate situation, a place of 
 high importance and responsibility at the Court, his rank as 
 Major, a very considerable salary, and other advantages. A 
 number of circumstances, however, made it desirable that 
 for the moment he should not speak of it, and consequently 
 he only informed his friends of his distant expectations, and 
 concealed what was so nearly impending. 
 
 He went warmly on, at the same time, with his present oc- 
 cupation, and quietly made arrangements to secure the works 
 being all continued without interruption after his depar- 
 ture. He was now himself desirous that as much as possible 
 should be finished off at once, and was ready to hasten 
 things forward to prepare for Ottilie's birthday. And so, 
 though without having come to any express understanding, 
 the two friends worked side by side together. Edward was 
 now well pleased that the cash-box was filled by their having 
 taken up money. The whole affair went forward at fullest 
 speed. 
 
 The Captain had done his best to oppose the plan of 
 throwing the three ponds together into a single sheet of 
 water. The lower embankment would have to be made 
 much stronger, the two intermediate embankments to be 
 taken away, and altogether, in more than one sense, it seemed 
 
90 GOETHE. 
 
 a very questionable proceeding. However, both these schemes 
 had been already undertaken; the soil which' was removed 
 above, being carried at once down to where it was wanted. 
 And here there came opportunely on the scene a young 
 architect, an old pupil of the Captain, who partly by intro- 
 ducing workmen who understood work of this nature, and 
 partly by himself, whenever it was possible, contracting for 
 the work itself, advanced things not a little, while at the 
 same time they could feel more confidence in their being 
 securely and lastingly executed. In secret this was a great 
 pleasure to the Captain. He could now be confident that his 
 absence would not be so severely felt. It was one of the 
 points on which he was most resolute with himself, never to 
 leave anything which he had taken in hand uncompleted, 
 unless he could see his place satisfactorily supplied. And he 
 could not but hold in small respect, persons who introduce 
 confusion around themselves only to make their absence felt, 
 and are ready to disturb in wanton selfishness what they will 
 not be at hand to restore. 
 
 So they laboured on, straining every nerve to make Ottilie'? 
 birthday splendid, without any open acknowledgment that 
 this was what they were aiming at, or, indeed, without their 
 directly acknowledging it to themselves. Charlotte, wholly 
 free from jealousy as she was, could not think it right to keep 
 it as a real festival. Ottilie's youth, the circumstances of her 
 fortune, and her relationship to their family, were not at all 
 such as made it fit that she should appear as the queen of the 
 day; and Edward would not have it talked about, because 
 everything was to spring out, as it were, of itself, with a 
 natural and delightful surprise. 
 
 They, therefore, came all of them to a sort of tacit under- 
 standing that on this day, without further circumstance, the 
 new house in the park was to be opened, and they might 
 take the occasion to invite the neighbourhood and give a 
 holiday to their own people. Edward's passion, however, 
 knew no bounds. Longing as he did to give himself to 
 Ottilie, his presents and his promises must be infinite. 
 The birthday gifts which on the great occasion he was to 
 offer to her seemed, as Charlotte had arranged them, far too 
 insignificant. He spoke to his valet, who had the care of his 
 wardrobe, and who consequently had extensive acquaintance 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 91 
 
 among the tailors and mercers and fashionable milliners ; and 
 he, who not only understood himself what valuable presents 
 were, but also the most graceful way in which they should be 
 offered, immediately ordered an elegant box, covered with 
 red morocco and studded with steel nails, to be filled with 
 presents worthy of such a shell. Another thing, too, he sug- 
 gested to Edward. Among the stores at the castle was a small 
 show of fireworks which had never been let off. It would be 
 easy to get some more, and have something really fine. 
 Edward caught the idea, and his servant promised to see to 
 its being executed. This matter was to remain a secret. 
 
 While this was going on, the Captain, as the day drew 
 nearer, had been making arrangements for a body of police to 
 be present — a precaution which he always thought desirable 
 w^hen large numbers of men are to be brought together. And, 
 indeed, against beggars, and against all other inconveniences 
 by which the pleasure of a festival can be disturbed, he had 
 made effectual provision. 
 
 Edward and his confidant, on the contrary, were mainly 
 occupied with their fireworks. They were to be let off on 
 the side of the middle water in front of the great ash-tree. 
 The party were to be collected on the opposite side, under 
 the planes, that at a sufficient distance from the scene, in 
 ease and safety, they might see them to the best effect, with 
 the reflections on the water, the water-rockets, and floating- 
 lights, and all the other designs. 
 
 Under some other pretext, Edward had the ground under- 
 neath the plane-trees cleared of bushes and grass and moss. 
 And now first could be seen the beauty of their forms, 
 together with their full height and spread, right up from the 
 earth. He was delighted with them. It was just this very 
 time of the year that he had planted them. How long ago 
 could it have been ? he said to himself. As soon as he got 
 home, he turned over the old diary books, which his father, 
 especially when in the country, was very careful in keeping. 
 He might not find an entry of this particular planting, but 
 another important domestic matter, which Edward well re- 
 membered, and which had occurred on the same day, would 
 surely be mentioned. He turned over a few volumes. The 
 circumstance he was looking for was there. How amazed, 
 how overjoyed he was, when he discovered the stranestg 
 
^2 GOETHE. 
 
 coiicldence! The day and the year on which he haa 
 planted those trees, was the very day, the very year, when 
 Ottilie was born. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The long-wished-for morning dawned at last on Edward ; 
 and very soon a number of guests arrived. They had sent 
 out a large number of invitations, and many who had missed 
 the laying of the foundation-stone, which was reported to have 
 been so charming, were the more careful not to be absent 
 on the second festivity. 
 
 Before- dinner the carpenter's people appeared, with music, 
 in the court of the castle. They bore an immense garland of 
 flowers, composed of a number of single wreaths, winding in 
 and out, one above the other; saluting the company, they 
 made request, acording to custom, for silk handkerchiefs and 
 ribands, at the hands of the fair sex, with which to dress 
 themselves out. When the castle party went into the dining- 
 ball, they marched off singing and shouting, and after amusing 
 themselves a while in the village, and coaxing many a riband 
 out of the women there, old and young, they came at last, 
 with crowds behind them and crowds expecting them, out 
 upon the height where the park-house was now standing. 
 After dinner, Charlotte rather held back her guests. She did 
 not wish that there should be any solemn or formal proces- 
 sion, and they found their way in little parties, broken up, 
 as they pleased, without rule or order, to the scene of action. 
 Charlotte staid behind with Ottilie, and did not improve 
 matters by doing so. For Ottilie being really the last that 
 appeared, it seemed as if the trumpets and the clarionets had 
 only been waiting for her, and as if the gaieties had been 
 ordered to commence directly on her arrival. 
 
 To take off the rough appearance of the house, it had been 
 hung with green boughs and flowers. They had dressed it 
 out in an architectural fashion, according to a design of the 
 Captain's; only that, without his knowledge, Edward had 
 desired the Architect to work in the date upon tlie cornice in 
 flowers, and this was necessarily permitted to remain. The 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 93 
 
 Captain had only arrived on the scene in time to prevent 
 Ottilie's name from figuring in splendour on the gable. The 
 beginning, which had been made for this, he contrived to 
 turn skilfully to some other use, and to get rid of such of 
 the letters as had been already finished. 
 
 The garland was set up, and was to be seen far and wide 
 about the country. The flags and the ribands fluttered gaily 
 in the air ; and a short oration was, the greater part of it, 
 dispersed by the w^ind. The solemnity was at an end. There 
 was now to be a dance on the smooth lawn in front of the 
 building, which had been enclosed with boughs and branches. 
 A gaily-dressed working mason took Edward up to a smart- 
 looking girl of the village, and called himself upon Ottilie, 
 who stood out with him. These two couples speedily found 
 others to follow them, and Edward contrived pretty soon 
 to change partners, catching Ottilie, and making the round 
 with her. The younger part of the company joined merrily 
 in the dance with the people, while the elder among them 
 stood and looked on. 
 
 Then, before they broke up and walked about, an order was 
 given that they should all collect again at sunset under the 
 plane-trees. Edward was the first upon the spot, ordering 
 everything, and making his arrangements with his valet, who 
 was to be on the other side, in company with the firework- 
 maker, managing his exhibition of the spectacle. 
 
 The Captain was far from satisfied at some of the prepa- 
 rations which he saw made ; and he endeavoured to get a 
 w^ord with Edward about the crush of spectators which was 
 to be expected. But the latter, somewhat hastily, begged 
 that he might be allowed to manage this part of the day's 
 amusements himself. 
 
 The upper end of the embankment having been recently 
 raised, was still far from compact. It had been staked, but 
 there was no grass upon it, and the earth was uneven and 
 insecure. The crowd pressed on, however, in great num- 
 bers. The sun went down, and the castle party was served 
 with refreshments under the plane-trees, to pass the time 
 till it should have become sufficiently dark. The place was 
 approved of beyond measure, and they looked forward to 
 frequently enjoying the viev/ over so lovely a sheet of water, 
 on future occasions. 
 
94 GOETHE. 
 
 A calm evening, a perfect absence of wind, promised every- 
 thing in favour of the spectacle, when suddenly loud and 
 violent shrieks were heard. Large masses of the earth had 
 given way on the edge of the embankment, and a number of 
 people were precipitated into the water. The pressure from 
 the throng had gone on increasing till at last it had become 
 more than the newly-laid soil would bear, and the bank had 
 fallen in. Everybody wanted to obtain the best place, and 
 now there was no getting either backwards or forwards. 
 
 People ran this and that way, more to see what was 
 going on than to render assistance. What could be done 
 when no one could reach the place ? 
 
 The Captain, with a few determined persons, hurried down 
 and drove the crowd off the embankment back upon the shore ; 
 in order that those who were really of service might have 
 free room to move. One way or another they contrived to 
 seize hold of such as were sinking ; and with or without as- 
 sistance all who had been in the water were got out safe upon 
 the bank, with the exception of one boy, whose struggles in 
 his fright, instead of bringing him nearer to the embankment, 
 had only carried him further from it. His strength seemed 
 to be failing — now only a hand was seen above the surface, 
 and now a foot. By an unlucky chance the boat was on the 
 opposite shore filled with fireworks— it was a long business to 
 unload it, and help was slow in coming. The Captain's reso- 
 lution was taken; he flung off his coat; all eyes were 
 directed towards him, and his sturdy vigorous figure gave 
 every one hope and confidence : but a cry of surprise rose out 
 of the crowd as they saw him fling himself into the water — 
 every eye watched him as the strong swimmer swiftly reached 
 the boy, and bore him, although to appearance dead, to th 
 embankment. 
 
 Now came up the boat. The Captain stepped in and exa- 
 mined whether there were any still missing, or whether they 
 were all safe. The surgeon was speedily on the spot, and took 
 charge of the inanimate boy. Charlotte joined them, and 
 entreated the Captain to go now and take care of himself, to 
 hurry back to the castle and change his clothes. He would 
 not go, however, till persons on whose sense he could reiy, 
 who had been close to the spot at the time of the accident. 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 05 
 
 and who had assisted in saving those who had fallen in, 
 assured him that all were safe. 
 
 Cliarlotte saw him on his way to the house, and then she 
 remembered that the wine and the tea, and everything else 
 which he could want, had been locked up, for fear any of the 
 servants should take advantage of the disorder of the holiday, 
 as on such occasions they are too apt to do. She hurried 
 through the scattered groups of her company, which were 
 loitering about the plane-trees. Edward was there, talking to 
 every one — beseeching every one to stay. He would give the 
 signal directly, and the fireworks should begin. Charlotte 
 went up to him, and entreated him to put off an amusement 
 which was no longer in place, and which at the present mo- 
 ment no one could enjoy. She reminded him of what ought 
 to be done for the boy who had been saved, and for his pre- 
 server. 
 
 " The surgeon will do whatever is right, no doubt/' replied 
 Edward. *' He is provided with everything which he can 
 want, and we should only be in the way if we crowded about 
 him with our anxieties." 
 
 Charlotte persisted in her opinion, and made a sign to 
 Ottilie, who at once prepared to retire with her. Edward 
 seized her hand, and cried, " We will not end this day in a 
 lazaretto. She is too good for a sister of mercy. Without 
 us, I should think, the half-dead may wake, and the living dry 
 themselves." 
 
 Charlotte did not answer, but went. Some followed her— 
 others followed these : in the end, no one wished to be the 
 last, and all followed. Edward and Ottilie found themselves 
 alone under the plane-trees. He insisted that stay he would, 
 earnestly, passionately, as she entreated him to go back with 
 her to the castle. "No, Ottilie!" he cried ; *'the extraordi- 
 nary is not brought to pass in the smooth common way — ^the 
 wonderful accident of this evening brings us more speedily 
 together. You are mine — I have often said it to you, and 
 sworn it to you. We will not say it and swear it any more 
 —we will make it be." 
 
 The boat came over from the other side. The valet was in 
 it — he asked, with some embarrassment, what his master 
 wished to have done with the fireworks } 
 
98 GOETHE. 
 
 " Let them off!" Edward cried to him : " let them off!-« 
 It was only for you that they were provided, Ottilie, and you 
 shall be the only one to see them ! Let me sit beside you. 
 and enjoy them with you." Tenderly, timidly, he sate down 
 at her side, without touching her. 
 
 Rockets went hissing up — cannon thundered — Roman can- 
 dles shot out their blazing balls — squibs flashed and darted—- 
 wheels spun round, first singly, then in pairs, then all at once, 
 faster and faster, one after the other, and more and more toge- 
 ther. Edward, whose bosom was on fire, watched the blazing 
 spectacle with eyes gleaming with delight ; but Ottilie, with 
 her delicate and nervous feelings, in all this noise and fitful 
 blazing and flashing, found more to distress her than to please. 
 She leant shrinking against Edward, and he, as she drew to 
 him and clung to him, felt the delightful sense that she 
 belonged entirely to him. 
 
 The night had scarcely reassumed its rights, when the 
 moon rose and lighted their path as they walked back. A 
 figure, with his hat in his hand, stepped across their way, 
 and begged an alms of them — in the general holiday he 
 said that he had been forgotten. The moon shone upon his 
 face, and Edward recognized the features of the importunate 
 beggar ; but, happy as he then was, it was impossible for him 
 to be angry with any one. He could not recollect that, espe- 
 cially for that particular day, begging had been forbidden 
 under the heaviest penalties — he thrust his hand into his 
 pocket, took the first coin which he found, and gave the fellow 
 a piece of gold. His own happiness was so unbounded that 
 he would have liked to have shared it with every one. 
 
 In the mean time all had gone well at the castle. The skill 
 of the surgeon, every thing which was required being ready at 
 hand, Charlotte's assistance — all had worked together, and the 
 boy was brought to life again. The guests dispersed, wishing 
 to catch a glimpse or two of what was to be seen of the fire- 
 works from the distance ; and, after a scene of such confusion, 
 were glad to get back to their own quiet homes. 
 
 The Captain also, after having rapidly changed his dress, had 
 taken an active part in what required to be done. It was now 
 all quiet again, and he found himself alone with Charlotte — 
 gently and affectionately he now told her that his time for 
 leaving them approached. She had gone through so much 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. ' 97 
 
 tliat evening, that this discovery made but a slight impression 
 npon her — she had seen how her friend could sacrifice him- 
 self; how he had saved another, and had himself been saved, 
 ^hese strange incidents seemed to foretell an important future 
 to her— but not an unhappy one. 
 
 Edward, who now entered with Ottilie, was informed at 
 once of the impending departure of the Captain. He sus- 
 pected that Charlotte had known longer how near it was ; but 
 he was far too much occupied with himself, and with his own 
 plans, to take it amiss, or care about it. 
 
 On the contrary, he listened attentively, and with signs of 
 pleasure, to the account of the excellent and honourable posi- 
 tion in which the Captain was to be placed. The course of 
 the future was hurried impetuously forward by his own secret 
 wishes. Already he saw the Captain married to Charlotte, 
 and himself married to Ottilie. It would have been the 
 richest present which any one could have made him, on the 
 occasion of the day's festival ! 
 
 But how surprised was Ottilie, when, on going to her 
 room, she found upon the table the beautiful box ! Instantly 
 she opened it ; inside, all the things were so nicely packed and 
 arranged, that she did not venture to take them out, she scarcely 
 even ventured to lift them. There were muslin, cambric, silk, 
 shawls and lace, all rivalling each other in delicacy, beauty, 
 and costliness — nor were ornaments forgotten. The intention 
 had been, as she saw well, to furnish her with more than one 
 complete suit of clothes : but it was all so costly, so little like 
 what she had been accustomed to, that she scarcely dared, 
 even in thought, to believe it could be really for her. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The next morning the Captain had disappeared, having left 
 a grateful, feeling letter addressed to his friends upon his table. 
 He and Charlotte bad already taken a half leave of each other 
 the evening before — she felt that the parting was for ever, 
 and she resigned herself to it ; for in the Count's second let- 
 ter, which the Captain had at last shown to her, there was a 
 bint of a prospect of an advantageous mairiage, and, although 
 
 II 
 
93 GOETHE, 
 
 he had paid no attention to it at all, she accepted it for as 
 good as certain, and gave him up firmly and fully. 
 
 Now, therefore, she thought that she had a right to require 
 of others the same control over themselves which she had 
 exercised herself: it had not been impossible to her, and it 
 ought not to be impossible to them. With this feeling she 
 began the conversation with her husband ; and she entered 
 upon it the more openly and easily, from a sense that the 
 question must now, once for all, be decisively set at rest. 
 
 "Our friend has left us," she said; " we are now once 
 more together as we were — and it depends upon ourselves 
 whether we choose to return altogether into our old position.'* 
 
 Edward, who heard nothing except what flattered his own 
 passion, believed that Charlotte, in these words, was alluding 
 to her previous widowed state, and, in a roundabout Avay, was 
 making a suggestion for a separation ; so that he answered, 
 with a laugh, " Why not ? all we want is to come to an un- 
 derstanding." But he found himself sorely enough unde- 
 ceived, as Charlotte continued, ' ' And we have now a choice 
 of opportunities for placing Ottilie in another situation. Two 
 openings have offered themselves for her, either of which will 
 do very well. Either she can return to the school, as my 
 daughter has left it and is with her great-aunt ; or she can 
 be received into a desirable family, where, as the companion 
 of an only child, she will enjoy all the advantages of a solid 
 education." 
 
 Edward, with a tolerably successful effort at commanding 
 himself, replied, *'' Ottilie has been so much spoilt, by living 
 so long with us here, that she will scarcely like to leave us 
 now." 
 
 " We have all of us been too much spoilt," said Charlotte; 
 *•' and yourself not least. This is an epoch which requires us 
 seriously to bethink ourselves. It is a solemn warning to us 
 to consider what is really for the good of all the members of 
 our little circle — and we ourselves must not be afraid of 
 making sacrifices." 
 
 "At any rate I cannot see that it is right thai; Ottilie 
 should be made a sacrifice," replied Edward; "and that 
 would be the case if we were now to allow her to be sent away 
 among strangers. The Captain's good genius has sought him 
 out here — we can feel easy, we can feel happy, at seeing him 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 93 
 
 leave us; but who can tell what may be before Ottilier 
 There is no occasion for haste." 
 
 " What is before us is sufficiently clear," Charlotte an- 
 swered, with some emotion ; and as she was determined to 
 have it all out at once, she went on : " You love Ottilie ; 
 every day you are becoming more attached to her. A reci- 
 procal feeling is rising on her side as well, and feeding itself 
 in the same way. Why should we not acknowledge in words 
 what every hour makes obvious? and are we not to have 
 the common prudence to ask ourselves in what it is to 
 end?" 
 
 " We may not be able to find an answer on the moment," 
 replied Edward, collecting himsolf; "but so much may be 
 said, that if we cannot exactly tell what will come of it, we 
 may resign ourselves to wait and see what the future may tell 
 us about it." 
 
 " No great wisdom is required to prophesy here," answered 
 Charlotte ; " and, at any rate, we ought to feel that you and 
 I are past the age when people may walk blindly where they 
 should not or ought not to go. There is no one else to take 
 care of us — we must be our own friends, our own managers. 
 No one expects us to commit ourselves in an outrage upon 
 decency : no one expects that we are going to expose our- 
 selves to censure or to ridicule." 
 
 "How can you so mistake me?" said Edward, unable to 
 reply to his wife's clear, open words. " Can you find it a fault 
 in me, if I am anxious about Ottilie's happiness ? I do not 
 mean future happiness— no one can count on that — but what 
 is present, palpable, and immediate. Consider, don't deceive 
 yourself; consider frankly Ottilie's case, torn away from us, 
 and sent to live among strangers. I, at least, am not cruel 
 enough to propose such a change for her !" 
 
 Charlotte saw too clearly into her husband's intentions, 
 through this disguise. For the first time she felt how far he 
 had estranged himself from her. Her voice shook a little— 
 " Will Ottilie be happy if she divides us ?" she said. *' If she 
 deprives me of a husband, and his children of a father !" 
 
 " Our children, I should have thought, were sufficiently 
 provided for," said Edward, with a cold smile ; adding, rather 
 more kindly, " but why at once expect the very worst?" 
 
 " The very worst is too sure to follow this passion of yours," 
 
 H 2 
 
100 GOETHE. 
 
 returned Charlotte : "do not refuse good advice while there 
 is yet time ; do not throw away the means which I propose to 
 save us. In troubled cases those must work and help who see 
 the clearest — this time it is I. Dear, dearest Edward ! listen to 
 me — can you propose to me, that now at once I shall renounce 
 my happiness ! renounce my fairest rights ! renounce you !" 
 
 " Who says that ?" replied Edward, with some embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 "You, yourself," answered Charlotte ; *' in determining to 
 keep Ottilie here, are you not acknowledging everything which 
 must arise out of it ? I will urge nothing on you — but if you 
 cannot conquer yourself, at least you will not be able much 
 longer to deceive yourself." 
 
 Edward felt how right she was. It is fearftil to hear spoken 
 out, in words, what the heart has gone on long permitting to 
 itself in secret. To escape only for a moment, Edward an- 
 swered, '* It is not yet clear to me what you want." 
 
 "My intention," she replied, "was to talk over with you 
 these two proposals — each of them has its advantages. The 
 school would be best suited to her, as she now is ; but the 
 other situation is larger, and wider, and promises more, w^hen 
 I think what she may become." She then detailed to her 
 husband circumstantially w^hat would lie before Ottilie in each 
 position, and concluded with the words, " For my own part I 
 should prefer the lady's house to the school, for more reasons 
 than one ; but particularly because I should not like the aiFec- 
 tion, the love indeed, of the young man there, which Ottilie 
 has gained, to increase." 
 
 Edward appeared to approve ; but it was only to find some 
 means of delay. Charlotte, who desired to commit him to 
 a definite step, seized the opportunity, as Edward made no 
 immediate opposition, to settle Ottilie's departure, for which 
 she had already privately made all preparations, for the next 
 day. 
 
 Edward shuddered — he thought he was betrayed. His 
 wife's affectionate speech he fancied was an artfully contrived 
 trick to separate him for ever from his hap^^iness. Pie appeared 
 to leave the thing entirely to her ; but in his heart his reso- 
 lution was already taken. To gain time to breathe, to put ofl 
 the immediate intolerable misery of Ottilie's being sent away, 
 he determined to leave his house. He told Charlotte he was 
 
ELECTIVE APriNIT'IES .10 J 
 
 going; but he had blinded her to his real reason, by telling 
 her that he would not be preserit at Ottilie's d'^piiiturd;; in- 
 deed, that, from that moment, he would' see her no more. 
 Charlotte, who believed that she had gained her point, ap- 
 proved most cordially. He ordered his horse, gave his valet 
 the necessary directions what to pack up, and where he should 
 follow him ; and then, on the point of departure, he sate down 
 and wrote : 
 
 "Edwakd to Charlotte. 
 
 " The misfortune, my love, which has befallen us, may or 
 may not admit of remedy ; only this I feel, that if I am not at 
 once to be driven to despair, I must find some means of delay 
 for myself, and for all of us. In making mj'self the sacrifice, I 
 have a right to make a request. I am leaving my home, and 
 I only return to it under happier and more peaceful auspices. 
 While I am away, you keep possession of it — hut icitli Ottilie. 
 I choose to know that she is with you, and not among stran- 
 gers. Take care of her ; treat her as you have treated her— 
 only more lovingly, more kindly, more tenderly ! I promise 
 that I will not attempt any secret intercourse with her.— 
 Leave me, as long a time as you please, without knowing any- 
 thing about you. I will not allow myself to be anxious— nor 
 need you be uneasy about me : only, with all my heart and soul, 
 I beseech you, make no attempt to send Ottilie away, or to 
 introduce her into any other situation. Beyond the circle of 
 the castle and the park, placed in the hands of strangers, she 
 belongs to me, and I will take possession of her ! If you have 
 any regard for my affection, for my wishes, for my sufferings, 
 you will leave me alone to my madness : and if any hope 
 of recovery from it should ever hereafter offer itself to me, I 
 will not resist." 
 
 This last sentence ran off his pen — ^not out of his heart. 
 Even when he saw it upon the paper, he began bitterly to 
 weep. That he, under any circumstances, should renounce 
 the happiness — even the wretchedness — of loving Ottilie ! He 
 only now began to feel what he was doing — he was going away 
 without knowing what was to be the result. At any rate he 
 was not to see her again now — with what certainty could 
 he promise himself that he would ever see her again ? But 
 the letter was written — the horses were at the door ; every 
 
102 GOETHK. J 
 
 moment he was afraid he might see Ottilie somewhere, and 
 'hen 'his whole purpose would go to the winds. He collected 
 himself— he rem^mbere^, that, at any rate, he would be able 
 to return at any moment he pleased; and that, by his 
 absence he would have advanced nearer to his wishes : on 
 the other side, he pictured Ottilie to himself forced to leave 
 the house if he stayed. He sealed the letter, ran down the 
 steps, and sprang upon his horse. 
 
 As he rode past the hotel, he saw the beggar to whom he had 
 given so much money the night before, sitting under the trees : 
 the man was busy enjoying his dinner, and, as Edward passed, 
 stood up, and made him the humblest obeisance. That figure 
 had appeared to him yesterday, when Ottilie was on his arm ; 
 now it only served as a bitter reminiscence of the happiest 
 hour of his life. His grief redoubled. The feeling of what 
 he was leaving behind was intolerable. He looked again at 
 the beggar. '* Happy wretch !" he cried, " you can still feed 
 upon the alms of yesterday— and I cannot any more on the 
 happiness of yesterday 1" 
 
 CHAPTER XVn. 
 
 Ottilie heard some one ride away, and went to the win- 
 dow in time just to catch a sight of Edward's back. It was 
 strange, she thought, that he should have left the house with- 
 out seeing her, without having even wished her good morning. 
 She grew uncomfortable, and her anxiety did not diminish 
 when Charlotte took her out for a long walk, and talked of 
 various other things ; but not once, and apparently on pur- 
 pose, mentioning her husband. When they returned she 
 found the table laid only with two covers. 
 
 It is unpleasant to miss even the most trifling thing to which 
 we have been accustomed. In serious things such a loss be- 
 comes miserably painful. Edward and the Captain were not 
 there. The first time, for a long while, Charlotte sate at the 
 head of the table herself — and it seemed to Ottilie as if she 
 was deposed. The two ladies sate opposite each other; Char- 
 lotte talked, without the least embarrassment, of the Captaiu 
 and his appointment, and of the little hope there was of see- 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 103 
 
 ing him again for a long time. The only comfort Ottilie 
 could find for herself was in the idea that Edward had ridden 
 after his friend, to accompany him a part of his journey. 
 
 On rising from table, however, they saw Edward's travel- 
 ling carriage under the window. Charlotte, a little as if she 
 was put out, asked who had had it brought round there. She 
 was told it was the valet, who had some things there to pack 
 up. It required all Ottilie's self-command to conceal her 
 wonder and her distress. 
 
 The valet came in, and asked if they would be so good as 
 to let him have a drinking cup of his master's, a pair of silver 
 spoons, and a number of other things, which seemed to Ottilie 
 to imply that he was gone some distance, and would be away 
 for a long time. 
 
 Charlotte gave him a very cold dry answer. She did not 
 know what he meant — ^he had everything belonging to his 
 master under his own care. What the man wanted was to speak 
 a word to Ottilie, and on some pretence or other to get her 
 out of the room ; he made some clever excuse, and persisted 
 in his request so far that Ottilie asked if she should go to 
 look for the things for him ? But Charlotte quietly said that 
 she had better not. The valet had to depart, and the carriage 
 rolled away. 
 
 It was a dreadful moment for Ottilie. She imderstood 
 nothing — comprehended nothing. She could only feel that 
 Edward had been parted from her for a long time. Charlotte 
 felt for her situation, and left her to herself. 
 
 We will not attempt to describe what she went through, 
 or how she wept. She suffered infinitely. She prayed that 
 God would help her only over this one day. The day passed, 
 and the night, and when she came to herself again she felt 
 herself a changed being. 
 
 She had not grown composed. She was not resigned, but 
 after having lost what she had lost, she was still alive, and 
 there was still something for her to fear. Her anxiety, after 
 returning to consciousness, wris at once lest, now that the 
 gentlemen were gone, she might be sent away too. She 
 never guessed at Edward's threats, which had secured her 
 remaining with her aunt. Yet Charlotte's manner served 
 partially to reassure her. The latter exerted herself to find 
 employment for the poor girl, and hardly ever, — never, if she 
 
104 GOETHE. 
 
 could help it, — ^left her out of her sight ; and although she 
 knew well how little words can do against the power of pas- 
 sion, yet she knew, too, the sure though slow influence of 
 thought and reflection, and therefore missed no opportunity 
 of inducing Ottilie to talk with her on every variety of subject. 
 
 It was no little comfort to Ottilie when one day Charlotte 
 took an opportunity of making (she did it on purpose) the 
 wise observation, " How keenly grateful people were to us 
 when we were able by stilling and calming them to help them 
 out of the entanglements of passion ! Let us set cheerfully to 
 work," she said, " at what the men have left incomplete: we 
 shall be preparing the most charming surprise for them when 
 they return to us, and our temperate proceedings will have 
 carried through and executed what their impatient natures 
 would have spoilt." 
 
 *' Speaking of temperance, my dear aunt, I cannot help 
 saying how I am struck with the intemperance of men, 
 particularly in respect of wine. It has often pained and 
 distressed me, when I have observed how, for hours together, 
 clearness of understanding, judgment, considerateness, and 
 whatever is most amiable about them, will be utterly gone, 
 and instead of the good which they might have done if they 
 had been themselves, most disagreeable things sometimes 
 threaten. How often may not wrong, rash determinations 
 have arisen entirely from that one cause !" 
 
 Charlotte assented, but she did not go on with the subject. 
 She saw only too clearly that it was Edward of whom Ottilie 
 was thinking. It was not exactly habitual with him, but 
 he allowed himself much more frequently than was at all 
 desirable to stimulate his enjoyment and his power of talk- 
 ing and acting by such indulgence. If what Charlotte had 
 just said had set Ottilie thinking again about men, and 
 particularly about Edward, she was all the more struck and 
 startled when her aunt began to speak of the impending 
 marriage of the Captain as of a thing quite settled and 
 acknowledged. This gave a totally different aspect to affairs 
 from what Edward had previously led her to entertain. It 
 made her watch every expression of Charlotte's, every hint, 
 every action, every step. Ottilie had become jealous, sharp- 
 eyed, and suspicious, without knowing it. 
 
 Meanwhile, Charlotte with her clear glance looked thi'ough 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 105 
 
 the whole circumstances of their situation, and made aiTange- 
 ments which would provide, among other advantages, full 
 employment for Ottilie. She contracted her household, not 
 parsimoniously, but into narrower dimensions ; and, indeed, 
 in one point of view, these moral aberrations might be taken 
 for a not unfortunate accident. For in the style in which 
 they had been going on, they had fallen imperceptibly inta 
 extravagance ; and from a want of seasonable reflection, from 
 the rate at which they had been living, and from the variety 
 of schemes into which they had been launching out, their 
 fine fortune, which had been in excellent condition, had been 
 shaken, if not seriously injured. 
 
 The improvements which were going on in the park she did 
 not interfere with ; she rather sought to advance whatever 
 might form a basis for future operations. But here, too, she 
 assigned herself a limit. Her husband on his return should 
 still find abundance to amuse himself with. 
 
 In all this work she could not sufficiently value the assist- 
 ance of the young architect. In a short time the lake lay 
 stretched out under her eyes, its new shores turfed and planted 
 with the most discriminating and excellent judgment. The 
 rough work at the new house was all finished. Everything 
 which was necessary to protect it from the weather she took 
 care to see provided, and there for the present she allowed it 
 to rest in a condition in which what remained to be done could 
 hereafter be readily commenced again. Thus hour by hour she 
 recovered her spirits and her cheerfulness. Ottilie only seemed 
 to have done so. She ^ras only for ever watching, in all that 
 was said and done, for symptoms which might show her 
 whether Edward would be soon returning: and this one 
 thought was the only one in which she felt any interest. 
 
 It was, therefore, a very welcome proposal to her when it 
 was suggested that they should get together the boys of the 
 peasants, and employ them in keeping the park clean and neat. 
 Edward had long entertained the idea. A pleasant-looking 
 sort of uniform was made for them, which they were to put 
 on in the evenings, after they had been properly cleaned and 
 washed. The wardrobe was kept in the castle; the more 
 sensible and ready of the boys themselves were entrusted 
 with the management of it — the Architect acting as chief 
 dii-ector. In a very short time, the children acquired a 
 
106 GOETHE. 
 
 kind of character. It was found easy to mould them into 
 what was desired; and they went through their work not 
 without a sort of mancEuvre. As they marched along, with 
 their garden shears, their long-handled pruning knives, their 
 rakes, their little spades and hoes, and sweeping brooms ; 
 others following after these with baskets to carry off the stones 
 and rubbish ; and others, last of all, trailing along the heavy 
 iron roller — it was a thoroughly pretty, delightful procession. 
 The Architect observed in it a beautiful series of situations 
 and occupations to ornament the frieze of a garden house. 
 Ottilie, on the other hand, could see nothing in it but a kind 
 of parade, to salute the master of the house on his near return. 
 
 And this stimulated her, and made her wish to begin some- 
 thing of the sort herself They had before endeavoured to 
 encourage the girls of the village in knitting, and sewing, and 
 spinning, and whatever else women could do ; and since what 
 had been done for the improvement of the village itself, 
 there had been a perceptible advance in these descriptions of 
 industry. Ottilie had given what assistance was in her power, 
 but she had given it at random, as opportunity or inclination 
 prompted her ; now she thought she would go to work more 
 satisfactorily and methodically. But a company is not to be 
 formed out of a number of girls, as easily as out of a number 
 of boys. She followed her own good sense, and, without 
 being exactly conscious of it, her efforts were solely directed 
 towards connecting every girl as closely as possible each with 
 her own home, her own parents, brothers and sisters : and 
 she succeeded with many of them. One lively little creature 
 only was incessantly complained of as shewing no capacity 
 for work, and as never likely to do any thing if she were left 
 at home. 
 
 Ottilie could not be angry with the girl, for to herself the 
 little thing was especially attached — she clung to her, went 
 after her, and ran about with her, whenever she was permitted 
 — and then she M'ould be active and cheerful and never tire. 
 It appeared to be a necessity of the child's nature to hang 
 abdht a beautiful mistress. At first, Ottilie allowed her to 
 be her companion ; then she herself began to feel a sort of. 
 affection for her ; and, at last, they never parted at all, and 
 Nanny attended her mistress wherever she went. 
 
 The latter"s footsteps were often bent towards the garden, 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 107 
 
 «rhere she liked to watch the beautiful show of fruit. It was 
 just the end of the raspberry and cherry season, the few re- 
 mains of which were no little delight to Nanny. On the other 
 trees there was a promise of a magnificent bearing for the 
 autumn, and the gardener talked of nothing but his master ; 
 and how he wished that he might be at home to enjoy it. 
 Ottilie could listen to the good old man for ever ! He tho- 
 roughly understood his business ; and Edward — Edward — 
 Edward — was for ever the theme of his praise ! 
 
 Ottilie observed, how well all the grafts which had been 
 budded in the spring had taken. " I only wish," the gardener 
 answered, " my good master may come to enjoy them. If 
 he were here this autumn, he would see what beautiful sorts 
 there are in the old castle garden, which the late lord, his 
 honoured father, put there, I think the fruit gardeners that 
 are now don't succeed as well as the Carthusians used to do. 
 We find many fine names in the catalogue, and then we 
 bud from them, and bring up the shoots, and, at last, when 
 they come to bear, it is not worth while to have such trees 
 standing in our garden." 
 
 Over and over again, whenever the faithful old servant saw 
 Ottilie, he asked when his master might be expected home ; 
 and when Ottilie had nothing to tell him, he would look vexed, 
 and let her see in his manner that he thought she did not 
 care to tell him: the sense of uncertainty which was thus 
 forced upon her became painful beyond measui-e, and yet 
 she could never be absent from these beds and borders. What 
 she and Edward had sown and planted together were now in 
 full flower, requiring no further care from her, except that 
 Nanny should be at hand with the watering-pot; and who 
 shall say with what sensations she watched the later flowers, 
 which were just beginning to show, and which were to be in 
 the bloom of their beauty on Edward's birthday, the holiday 
 to which she had looked forward with such eagerness, when 
 these flowers Avere to have expressed her affection and her 
 gratitude to him ! — but the hopes which she had formed of 
 that festival were dead now, and doubt and anxiety never 
 ceased to haunt the soul of the poor girl. 
 
 Into real open, hearty understanding with Charlotte, there 
 was no more a chance of her being able to return; for,- 
 indeed, the position of these two ladies was very different. 
 
108 GOETHB. 
 
 If things could remain in their old state — if it were possible 
 that they could return again into the smooth, even way of calm 
 ordered life, Charlotte gained everything ; she gained happi- 
 ness for the present, and a happy future ojDened before her. 
 On the other hand,for Ottilie all was lost — one may say, all ; for 
 she had first found in Edward what life and happiness meant ; 
 and, in her present position, she felt an infinite and dreary 
 chasm of which before she could have formed no conception. 
 A heart which seeks, feels well that it wants something ; 
 a heart which has lost, feels that something is gone — its yearn- 
 ing and its longing changes into uneasy impatience — and a 
 woman's spirit, which is accustomed to waiting and to en- 
 during, must now pass out from its proper sphere ; become 
 active, and attempt and do something to make its own happi- 
 ness. 
 
 Ottilie had not given up Edward — how could she ? — although 
 Charlotte, wisely enough, in spite of her conviction to the con- 
 trary, assumed it as a thing of course, and resolutely took it 
 as decided that a quiet rational regard was possible between 
 her husband and Ottilie. How often, however, did not Ottilie 
 remain at nights, after bolting herself into her room, on her 
 knees before the open box, gazing at the bii'thday presents, 
 of which as yet she had not touched a single thing — not cut 
 out or made up a single dress ! How often with the sunrise 
 did the poor girl hurry out of the house, in which she once had 
 found all her happiness, away into the free air, into the coun- 
 try M'hich then had had no charms for her. — Even on the solid 
 earth she could not bear to stay • she would spring into the 
 boat, and row out into the middle of the lake, and there, draw- 
 ing out some book of travels, lie rocked by the motion of the 
 waves, reading and dreaming that she was far away, where 
 she would never fail to find her friend — she remaining eveJ 
 nearest to his heart, and he to hers. 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 109 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 It may easily be supposed that the strange, busy gentle- 
 man, whose accjuaintance we have already made — ^littler— 
 as soon as he received information of the disorder which had 
 broken out among his friends, felt desirous, though neither 
 side had as yet called on him for assistance, to fulfil a friend's 
 part towards them, and do what he could to help them in 
 their misfortune. He thought it advisable, however, to wait 
 first a little while ; knowing too well, as he did, that it was 
 more difficult to come to the aid of cultivated persons in their 
 moral perplexities, than of the uncultivated. He left them, 
 therefore, for some time to themselves ; but at last he could 
 withhold no longer, and he hastened to seek out Edward, on 
 whose traces he had already lighted. His road led him to a 
 pleasant, pretty valley, with a range of green, sweetly-wooded 
 meadows, down the centre of which ran a never-failing stream, 
 sometimes winding slowly along, then tumbling and rushing 
 among rocks and stones. The hills sloped gently up on either 
 side, covered with rich corn-fields and well-kept orchards. 
 The villages Avere at proper distances from each other. The 
 whole had a peaceful character about it, and the detached 
 scenes seemed designed expressly, if not for painting, at least 
 for life. 
 
 At last a neatly-kept farm, with a clean, modest dwelling- 
 house, situated in the middle of a garden, fell under his eye. 
 He conjectured that this was Edward's present abode ; and 
 he was not mistaken. 
 
 Of this our friend in his solitude we have only thus much 
 to say — that in his seclusion he was resigning himself utterly 
 to the feeling of his passion, thinking out plan after plan, 
 and feeding himself with innumerable hopes. He could not 
 deny that he longed to see Ottilie there ; that he would like 
 to carry her off there, to tempt her there ; and whatever else 
 (putting, as he now did, no check upon his thoughts) pleased 
 to suggest itself, whether permitted or unpermitted. Then 
 his imagination wandered up and down, picturing every sort 
 of possibility. If he could not have her there, if he could 
 not lawfully possess her, he would secure to her the pos- 
 session of the property for her own. There she should livQ 
 
110 GOETHE. 
 
 for herself, silently, independently ; she should be happy in 
 that spot — sometimes his self-torturing mood would lead him 
 further — be happy in it, perhaps, with another. 
 
 So days flowed away in increasing oscillation between hope 
 and suffering, between tears and happiness — between pur- 
 poses, preparations, and despair. The sight of Mittler did 
 not surprise him ; he had long expected that he would come ; 
 and now that he did, he was partly welcome to him. He 
 believed that he had been sent by Charlotte. He had pre- 
 pared himself with all manner of excuses and delays ; and if 
 these would not serve, with decided refusals ; or else, perhaps, 
 he might hope to learn something of Ottilie, — and then he 
 would be dear to him as a messenger from heaven. 
 
 Not a little vexed and annoyed was Edward, therefore, 
 when he understood that Mittler had not come from the 
 castle at all, but of his own free accord. His heart closed 
 up, and at first the conversation would not open itself. 
 Mittler, however, knew very well that a heart that is occu- 
 pied with love has an urgent necessity to express itself — to 
 pour out to a friend what is passing within it; and he 
 allowed himself, therefore, after a few speeches backwards 
 and forwards, for this once to go out of his character, and 
 play the confidant in place of the mediator. He had calcu- 
 lated justly. He had been finding fault in a good-natured 
 way with Edward, for burying himself in that lonely place, 
 upon which Edward replied : 
 
 *' I do not know how I could spend my time more agree- 
 ably. I am always occupied with her ; I am always close to 
 her. I have the inestimable comfort of being able to think 
 where Ottilie is at each moment — where she is going, where 
 she is standing, where she is reposing. I see her moving 
 and acting before me as usual; ever doing or designing 
 something which is to give me pleasure. But this will not 
 always answer; for how can I be happy away from her? 
 And then my fancy begins to work ; I think what Ottilie 
 should do to come to me ; I write sweet, loving letters in her 
 name to myself, and then I answer them, and keep the sheets 
 together. I have promised that I will take no steps to seek 
 her ; and that promise I will keep. But what binds her, that 
 she should make no advances to me ? Has Charlotte had the 
 barbarity to exact a promise, to exact an oath from her, not 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. Ill 
 
 to write to me, not to send me a word, a hint, about herself ? 
 Very likely she has. It is only natural ; and yet to ire it is 
 monstrous, it is horrible. If she loves me — as I think, as I 
 know that she does — why does she not resolve, why does 
 she not venture to fly to me, and throw herself into my arms ? 
 I often think she ought to do it ; and she could do it. If I 
 ever hear a noise in the hall, I look towards the door. It 
 must be her — she is coming — I look up to see her. Alas ! 
 because the possible is impossible, I let myself imagine that 
 the impossible must become possible. At night, when I lie 
 awake, and the lamp flings an uncertain light about the 
 room, her form, her spirit, a sense of her presence, sweeps 
 over me, approaches me, seizes me. It is but for a moment ;. 
 it is that I may have an assurance that she is thinking, 
 of me, that she is mine. Only one pleasure remains to 
 me. When I was with her I never dreamt of her ; now 
 when I am far away, and, oddly enough, since I have made 
 the acquaintance of other attractive persons in this neigh- 
 bourhood, for the first time, her figure appears to me in 
 my dreams, as if she would say to me, ' Look on them, 
 and on me. You will find none more beautiful, more lovely 
 than I.' And so she is present in every dream I have. In 
 whatever happens to me with her, we arc woven in and 
 in together. Now we are subscribing a contract together. 
 There is her hand, and there is mine ; there is her name, 
 and there is mine ; and they move one into the other, and 
 seem to devour each other. Sometimes she does something, 
 which injures the pure idea which I have of her ; and 
 then I feel how intensely I love her, by the indescribable 
 anguish which it causes me. Again, unlike herself, she will 
 rally and vex me ; and then at once the figure changes — her 
 sweet, round, heavenly face draws out ; it is not her, it i» 
 another ; but I lie vexed, dissatisfied and wretched. Laugh 
 not, dear Mittler, or laugh on cfs you will. I am not 
 ashamed of this attachment, of this — if you please to call it 
 so — ^foolish, frantic passion. No, I never loved before. It is 
 only |now that I know what to love means. Till now, what I 
 have called life was nothing but its prelude — amusement, 
 sport to kill the time with. I never lived till I knew her, 
 till I loved her— entirely and only loved her. People have 
 often said of me, not to my face, but behind my back, that in- 
 
,112 GOETHE, 
 
 most things I was but a botcher and a bungler. It may be 
 so ; for I had not then found in what I could show myself a 
 master. I should like to see the man who outdoes me in the 
 talent of love. A miserable life it is, full of anguish and 
 tears ; but it is so natural, so dear to me, that I could hardly 
 change it for another." 
 
 Edward had relieved himself slightly by this violent un- 
 loading of his heart. But m doing so every feature of his 
 strange condition had been brought out so clearly before his 
 eyes, that, overpowered by the pain of the struggle, he burst 
 into tears, which flowed all the more freely as his heart had 
 been made weak by telling it all. 
 
 Mittler, who was the less disposed to put a check on his 
 inexorable good sense and strong, vigorous feeling, because 
 by this violent outbreak of passion on Edward's part he saw 
 himself driven far from the purpose of his coming, showed 
 sufficiently decided marks of his disapprobation. Edward 
 should act as a man, he said; he should remember what 
 he owed to himself as a man. He should not forget that 
 the highest honour was to command ourselves in misfortune ; 
 to bear pain, if.it must be so, with equanimity and self- 
 collectedness. That was what w« should do, if M'e wished 
 to be valued and looked up to as examples of what was 
 right. 
 
 Stirred and penetrated as Edward was with t!>e bitterest 
 feelings, words like these could but have a hollow, worthless 
 sound. 
 
 " It is well," he cried, " for the man who is happy, who 
 has all that he desires, to talk ; but he would be ashamed of it 
 if he could see how intolerable it was to the sufferer. Nothing 
 short of an infinite endurance would be enough, and easy and 
 ^iontented as he was, what could he know of an infinite agony? 
 There are cases," he continued, " yes, there are, where com- 
 fort is a lie, and despair is a duty. Go, heap your scorn upon 
 the noble Greek, who well knows how to delineate heroes, 
 when in their anguish he lets those heroes weep. He has 
 even a proverb, 'Men who can weep are good.' Leave me, 
 all you with dry heart and dry eye. Curses on the happy, to 
 whom the wretched serve but for a spectacle. "When body and 
 soul are torn in pieces with agony, they<ire to bear it — yes, 
 to be noble and bear it, if they are to be allowed to go off tht 
 
ELECTTYE AFFINITIES. 113 
 
 ocene with applause. Like tlie gladiators, they must die 
 gracefully before the eyes of the multitude. My dear Mittler, 
 I thank you for your visit; but really you would oblige me 
 much, if you would go out and look about you in the garden. 
 We will meet again. I will try to compose myself, and 
 become more like you." 
 
 Mittler was unwilling to let a conversation di'op which it 
 might be difficult to begin again, and still persevered, 
 Edward, too, was quite ready to go on with it; besides that 
 of itself, it was tending towards the issue which he desired. 
 
 "Indeed," said the latter, "this thinking and arguing 
 backwards and forwards leads to nothing. In this very con- 
 versation I myself have first come to understand myself; I 
 have first felt decided as to what I must make up my mind 
 to do. My present and my future life I see before me ; I 
 have to choose onl)^ between misery and happiness. Do you, 
 my best friend, bring about the separation which must take 
 place, which, in fact, is already made ; gain Charlotte's con- 
 sent for me. I will not enter upon the reasons why I believe 
 there will be the less difficidty in prevailing upon her. You, 
 my dear friend, must go. Go, and give us all peace ; make 
 us all happy." 
 
 Mittler hesitated. Edward continued : 
 
 " My fate and Ottilie's cannot be divided, and shall not be 
 shipwrecked. Look at this glass ; our initials are engraved 
 upon it. A gay reveller flung it into the air, that no one 
 should drink of it more. It was to fall on the rock and be 
 dashed to pieces ; but it did not fall ; it was caught. At a 
 high price I bought it back, and now I drink out of it daily — 
 to convince myself that the connection between us cannot be 
 broken ; that destiny has decided." 
 
 " Alas, alas I" cried Mittler, " what must I not endure with 
 my friends ? Here comes superstition, which of all things I 
 hate the worst— the most mischievous and accursed of all the 
 plagues of mankind. We trifle with prophecies, with fore- 
 bodings, and dreams, and give a seriousness to our every-day 
 life with them ; but when the seriousness of life itself begins 
 to show, when everything around us is heaving and rolling, 
 then come in these spectres to make the storm more 
 terrible." 
 
 " In this uncertainty of life,"cried Edward, " poised as it is 
 
 X 
 
114 GOETHE. 
 
 between hope and fear, leave the poor heart its guiding-star. 
 It may gaze towards it, if it cannot steer towards it." 
 
 " Yes, I might leave it ; and it would be very well," replied 
 Mittler, " if there were but one consequence to expect ; but I 
 have always found that nobody will attend to symptoms of 
 warning. Man cares for nothing except what flatters him 
 and promises him fair ; and his faith is alive exclusively for 
 the sunny side." 
 
 Mittler, finding himself carried off into the shadowy 
 regions, in which the longer he remained in them, the more 
 uncomfortable he always felt, v/as the more ready to assent to 
 Edward's eager wish that he should go to Charlotte. Indeed, 
 if he stayed, what was there further which at that moment 
 he could urge on Edward ? To gain time, to inquire in what 
 state things were with the ladies, was the best thing which 
 even he himself could suggest as at present possible. 
 
 He hastened to Charlotte, whom he found as usual, calm 
 and in good spirits. She told him readily of everything 
 which had occurred ; for from what Edward had said he had 
 only been able to gather the effects. On his own side, he felt 
 his way with the utmost caution. He could not prevail upon 
 himself even cursorily to mention the word separation. It 
 was a surprise, indeed, to him, but from his point of view an 
 unspeakably delightful one, when Charlotte, at the end of a 
 number of unpleasant things, finished with saying : 
 
 " I must believe, I must hope, that things will all work 
 round again, and that Edward will return to me. How can 
 it be otherwise, as soon as I become a mother r" 
 
 " Do I understand you right ?" returned Mittler. 
 
 " Perfectly," Charlotte answered. 
 
 " A thousand times blessed be this news !" he cric-d, clasp- 
 ing his hands together. " I know the strength of this argu- 
 ment on the mind of a man. Many a marriage have I seen 
 first cemented by it, and restored again when broken. Such a 
 good hope as this is worth more than a thousand words. Now 
 indeed it is the best hope which we can have. For myself, 
 though," he continued, *' I have all reason to be vexed about 
 it. In this case I can see clearly no self-love of mine will 
 be flattered. I shall earn no thanks from you by my ser- 
 rices ; I am in the same case as a certain medical friend of 
 mine, who succeeds in all cures which he undertakes with the 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 115 
 
 poor for the love of God ; but can seldom do anything for thc- 
 rich who will pay him. Here, thank God, the thing cures 
 itself, after all my talking and trying had proved fruitlesSc" 
 
 Charlotte now asked him if he would carry the news to 
 Edward : if he would take a letter to him from her, and then 
 see what should be done. But he declined undertaking this. 
 " All is done," he cried ; " do you write j^our letter— any 
 messenger will do as w^ell as I— I will come back to wish you 
 joy. I will come to the christening !" 
 
 For this refusal she was vexed with him— as she frequently 
 was. His eager impetuous character brought about much 
 good ; but his over-haste was the occasion of many a failure. 
 No one was more dependent than he on the impressions which 
 he formed on tlie moment. 
 
 Charlotte's messenger came to Edward, who received him 
 half in terror. The letter was to decide his fate, and it might 
 as well contain No as Yes. He did not venture, for a long 
 time, to open it. At last he tore off the cover, and stood 
 petrified at the following passage, with which it concluded : 
 
 *' Remember the night-adventure when you visited your wife 
 as a lover — how you drew her to you, and clasped her as a 
 well-beloved bride in your arms. In this strange accident let 
 us revere the providence of heaven, which has woven a new 
 link to bind us, at the moment when the happiness of our lives 
 was threatening to fall asunder and to vanish." 
 
 What passed from that moment in Edward's soul it would 
 be difficult to describe ! Under the weight of such a stroke, 
 old habits and fancies come out again to assist to kiU the time 
 and fill up the chasms of life. Hunting and fighting are an 
 ever- ready resource of this kind for a nobleman; Edward 
 longed for some outward peril, as a counterbalance to the 
 storm within him. He craved for death, because the burden 
 of life threatened to become too heavy for him to bear. It 
 comforted him to think that he would soon cease to be, and 
 so would make those whom he loved happy by his departure. 
 
 No one made any difficulty in his doing what he purposed 
 —because he kept his intention a secret. He made his will 
 with all due formalities. It gave him a very sweet feeling to 
 secure Ottilie's fortune — provision was made for Charlotte, 
 
 I 2 
 
116 GOETHE. 
 
 for the unborn child, for the Captain, and for the servants. 
 The war, ^yhich had again broken out, favoured his wishes : 
 he had disHked exceedingly the half-soldiering which had 
 fallen to him in his youth, and that was the reason why he 
 had left the service. Now it gave him a fine exhilarating 
 feeling to be able to rejoin it, under a commander of whom 
 it could be said, that under his conduct death was likely, and 
 victory was sure. 
 
 Ottilie, when Charlotte's secret was made known to her, 
 beM'ildered by it, like Edward, and more than he, retired into 
 herself — she had nothing further to say : hope she could not, 
 and wish she dared not. A glimpse into what was passing ir. 
 her we can gather from her Diary, some passages of which we 
 think to communicsits. 
 
PAET II. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Tiieue often happens to us in common life what, in aa 
 epic poem, we are accustomed to praise as a stroke of art in 
 the poet; namely, that when the chief figures go off the 
 scene, conceal themselves or retire into inactivity, some 
 other or others, whom hitherto we have scarcely observed, 
 come forward and fill their places. And these putting out all 
 their force, at once fix our attention and sympathy on them- 
 selves, and earn our praise and admiration. 
 
 Thus, after the Captain and Edward were gone, the 
 Architect, of whom we have spoken, appeared every day a 
 more important person. The ordering and executing of a 
 number of undertakings depended entirely upon him, and he 
 proved himself thoroughly understanding and businesslike in 
 the style in which he went to work ; while in a number of 
 other ways he was able also to make himself of assistance to 
 the ladies, and find amusement for their weary hours. His 
 outward air and appearance were of the kind which win 
 confidence and awake affection. A youth in the full sense 
 of the word, well-formed, tall, perhaps a little too stout; 
 modest without being timid, and easy without being 
 obtrusive, there was no work and no trouble which he was 
 not delighted to take upon himself; and as he could keep 
 accounts with great facility, the whole economy of the house- 
 hold soon was no secret to him, and everywhere his salutary 
 influence made itself felt. Any stranger who came he was 
 commonly set to entertain, and he was skilful either at 
 declining unexpected visits, or at least so far preparing the 
 ladies for them as to spare them any disagreeableness. 
 
 Among others, he had one day no little trouble with a 
 young lawyer, who had been sent by a neighbouring noble- 
 
118 GOETHE. 
 
 man to speak about a matter which, although of no particular 
 moment, jei touched Charlotte to the quick. We have to 
 mention this incident because it gave occasion for a number 
 of things which otherwise might perhaps have remained long 
 untouched. 
 
 We remember certain alterations which Charlotte had 
 made in the churchyard. The entire body of the monuments 
 had been removed from their places, and had been ranged 
 along the walls of the church, leaning against the string- 
 course. The remaining space had been levelled, except a 
 broad walk which led up to the church, and past it to the 
 opposite gate ; and it had been all sown with various kinds 
 of trefoil, which had shot up and flowered most beautifully. 
 
 The new graves were to follow one after another in a 
 regular order from the end, but the spot on each occasion 
 was to be carefully smoothed over and again sown. No one 
 could deny that on Sundays and holidays when the people 
 went to church the change had given it a most cheerful and 
 pleasant appearance. At the same time the clergyman, an 
 old man and clinging to old customs, who at first had not 
 been especially pleased with the alteration, had become 
 thoroughly delighted with it, all the more because when he 
 sat out like Philemon with his Baucis under the old linden 
 trees at his back door, instead of the humps and mounds he 
 had a beautiful clean lawn to look out upon; and which, 
 moreover, Charlotte having secured the use of the spot to the 
 Parsonage, was no little convenience to his household. 
 
 Notsvithstanding this, however, many members of the 
 congregation had been displeased that the means of marking 
 the spots where their forefathers rested had been removed, 
 and all memorials of them thereby obliterated. However 
 well preserved the monuments might be, they could only shew 
 who had been buried, but not where he had been buried, and 
 the where, as many maintained, was everything. 
 
 Of this opinion was a family in the neighbourhood, who 
 for many years had been in possession of a considerable vault 
 for a general resting-place of themselves and their relations, 
 and in consequence had settled a small annual sum for the 
 use of the church- And now this young lawyer had been 
 sent to cancel this settlement, and to show that his client did 
 aot intend to pay it any more, because the condition under 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 119 
 
 tvhieh it had been hitherto made had not been observed by 
 the other party, and no regard had been paid to objection 
 and remonstrance. Charlotte, who was the originator of the 
 alteration herself, chose to speak to the young man, who in a 
 decided though not a violent manner, laid down the grounds 
 on which his client proceeded, and gave occasion in what he 
 said for much serious reflection. 
 
 *' You see," he said, after a slight introduction, in which 
 he sought to justify his peremptoriuess ; " you see, it is right 
 for the lowest as v/ell as for the highest to mark the' spot 
 which holds those who are dearest to him. The poorest 
 peasant, who buries a child, finds it some consolation to plant 
 a light wooden cross upon the grave, and hang a garland 
 upon it, to keep alive the memorial, at least as long as the 
 sorrow remains ; although such a mark, like the mourning, 
 will pass away with time. Those better off change the 
 cross of wood into iron, and fix it down and guard it in 
 various ways ; and here we have endurance for many years. 
 But because this too will sink at last, and become invisible, 
 those who are able to bear the expense see nothing fitter than 
 to raise a stone which shall promise to endure for generations, 
 and which can be restored and made fresh again by posterity. 
 Yet this stone it is not which attracts us ; it is that which is 
 contained beneath it, which is entrusted, where it stands, to 
 the earth. It is not the memorial so much of which we 
 speak, as of the person himself; not of what once was, but of 
 what is. Far better, far more closely, can I embrace some 
 dear departed one in the mound which rises over his bed, than 
 in a monumental writing which only tells us that once he was. 
 In itself, indeed, it is but little ; but around it, as around a 
 central mark, the wife, the husband, the kinsman, the friend, 
 after their departure, shall gather in again; and the living 
 shall have the right to keep far off all strangers and evil- 
 wishers from the side of the dear one who is sleeping there. 
 
 " And, therefore, I hold it quite fair and fitting that my 
 principal shall withdraw his grant to you. It is, indeed, 
 but too reasonable that he should do it, for the members of his 
 family are injured in a way for which no compensation 
 could be even proposed. They are deprived of the sad sweet 
 feelings of laying offerings on the remains of their dead, and 
 of the one comfort in their sorrow of one day lying down at 
 their side." 
 
120 GOETHE. 
 
 "The matter is not of that importance," Charlotte answered, 
 *' that we should disquiet ourselves about it yviih the vexation 
 of a law- suit. I regret so little what I have done, that I will 
 gladly myself indemnify the church for what it loses through 
 you. Only I must confess candidly to you, your arguments 
 have not convinced me ; the pure feeling of an universal 
 equality at last, after death, seems to me more composing than 
 this hard determined persistence in our personalities and in 
 the conditions and circumstances of our lives. What do you 
 say to it ?" she added, turning to the Architect. 
 
 " It is not for me," replied he, " either to argue, or to 
 attempt to judge in such a case. Let me venture, however, 
 to say what my own art and my own habits of thinking 
 suggest to me. Since we are no longer so happy as to be 
 able to press to our breasts the the in-urned renuiins of those 
 we have loved, since we are neither M^ealthy enough, nor of 
 cheerful heart enough to preserve them undccayed in large 
 elaborate sarcophagi; since, indeed, we cannot even find 
 place any more for ourselves and ours in the churches, and 
 are banished out into the oj^en air, we all, I think, ought to 
 approve the method which jou, my gracious lady, have intro- 
 duced. If the members of a common congregation are laid out 
 side by side, they are resting by the side of, and among their 
 kindred; and, if the earth be once to receive us all, I can find 
 nothing more natural or more desirable than that the mounds, 
 which, if they are thrown up, are sure to sink slowly in again 
 together, should be smoothed off at once, and the covering, 
 which all bear alike, will press lighter upon each." 
 
 "And is it all, is it all to pass away," said Ottilie, " with- 
 out one token of remembrance, without anything to call back 
 the past?" 
 
 '* By no means," continued the Architect ; " it is not from 
 remembrance, it is from place that men should be set free. 
 The architect, the sculptor, are highly interested that men 
 should look to their art — to their hand, for a continuance of 
 their being ; and, therefore, I should wish to see well- 
 designed, well-executed monuments ; not sown up and do\vn 
 by themselves at random, but erected all in a single spot, 
 where they can promise themselves endurance. Inasmuch as 
 even the good and the great are contented to surrender the- 
 privilege of resting in person in the churches, we may, at 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 121 
 
 least, erect there or in some fair hall near the burying place, 
 either monuments or monumental writings. A thousand 
 forms might be suggested for them, and a thousand orna- 
 ments with which they might be decorated." 
 
 " If the artists are so rich," replied Charlotte, " then tell 
 me how it is that they are never able to escape from little 
 obelisks, dwarf pillars, and urns for ashes ? Instead of your 
 thousand forms of which you boast, I have never seen any- 
 thing but a thousand repetitions." 
 
 " It is very generally so with us," returned the Architect, 
 " but it is not universal ; and very likely the right taste and 
 the proper application of it may be a peculiar art. In this case 
 especially '.ve have this great difficulty, that the monument 
 must be something cheerful and yet commemorate a solemn 
 subject; while its matter is melancholy, it must not itself be 
 melancholy. As regards designs for monuments of all kinds, 
 I have collected numlDers of them, and I will take some oppor- 
 tunity of showing them to you ; but at all times the fairest 
 memorise ^i a man remains some likeness of himself. This, 
 better than anything else, wiU give a notion of what he was ; 
 it is the best text for many or for few notes, only it ought to 
 be made when he is at his best age, and that is generally 
 neglected ; no one thinks of preserving forms while they are 
 alive, and if it is done at all, it is done carelessly and incom- 
 pletely : and then comes death ; a cast is taken swiftly off 
 the face ; this mask is set upon a block of stone, and that is 
 what is called a bust. How seldom is the artist in a position 
 to put any real life into such things as these !" 
 
 '• You have contrived," said Charlotte, " mtliout perhaps 
 knowing it or wishing it, to lead the conversation altogether 
 in my favour. The likeness of a man is quite independent ; 
 everywhere that it stands, it stands for itself, and we do not 
 require it to mark the site of a particular grave. But I must 
 acknowledge to you to having a strange feeling ; even to 
 likenesses I have a kind of disinclination. Whenever I see 
 them they seem to be silently reproaching me. They point 
 to something far away from us, — gone from us ; and they 
 remind me how difficult it is to pay right honour to the 
 present. If we think how many people we have seen and 
 known, and consider how little we have been to them and 
 how little they have been to us, it is no very pleasant 
 
122 - GOETHE. . 
 
 reflection. We have met a man of genius without having 
 enjoyed much with him. — a learned man without having 
 learnt from him, — a traveller without having been instructed, 
 —a man to love without having shown him any kindness. 
 
 " And, unhappily, this is not the case only with accidental 
 meetings. Societies and families behave in the same way 
 towards their dearest members, towns towards their worthiest 
 citizens, people towards their most admirable princes, nations 
 towards their most distinguished men. 
 
 " I have heard it asked why we heard nothing but good 
 spoken of the dead, while of the living it is never without 
 some exception. It should be answered, because from the 
 former Ave have nothing any more to fear, while the latter 
 may still, here or there, fall in our way. So unreal is our 
 anxiety to preserve the memory of others, — generally no 
 more than a mere selfish amusement ; and the real, holy, 
 earnest feeling, would be what should prompt us to be more 
 diligent and assiduous in our attentions toward those who 
 still are left to us." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Undeh the stimulus of this accident, and of the conversa- 
 tions which arose out of it, they went the following day to 
 look over the burying-place, for the ornamenting of which 
 and relieving it in some degree of its sombre look, the 
 architect made many a happy proposal. His interest too 
 had to extend itself to the church as well ; a building which 
 had caught his attention from the moment of his arrival. 
 
 It had been standing for many centuries, built in old 
 German style, the proportions good, the decorating ela- 
 borate and excellent; and one might easily gather that the 
 architect of the neighbouring monastery had left the stamp 
 of his art and of his love on this smaller building also ; it 
 worked on the beholder with a solemnity and a sweetness, 
 although the change in its internal arrangements for the 
 Protestant service, had taken from it something of its repose 
 and majesty. 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 123 
 
 The Architect found no great difficulty in prevailing on 
 Charlotte to give him a considerable sum of money to restore 
 it externally and internally, in the original spirit, and thus, as 
 he thought, to bring it into harmony with the resurrection- 
 field which lay in front of it. He had himself much practical 
 skill, and a few labourers who were still busy at the lodge, 
 might easily be kept together, until this pious work too 
 should be completed. 
 
 The building itself, therefore, with all its environs, and 
 M'hatever was attached to it, was now carefully and thoroughly 
 examined; and then showed itself, to the greatest surprise 
 and delight of the architect, a little side chapel, which no- 
 body had thought of, beautifully and delicately proportioned, 
 and displaying still greater care and pains in its decoration. 
 It contained at the same time many remnants, carved and 
 painted, of the implements used in the old services, when 
 the different festivals were distinguished by a variety of 
 pictures and ceremonies, and each was celebrated in its own 
 peculiar style. 
 
 It was impossible for him not at once to take this chapel 
 into his plan ; and he determined to bestow especial pains 
 on the restoring of this little spot, as a memorial of old 
 times, and of their taste. He saw exactly how he would 
 like to have the vacant surfaces of the walls ornamented, 
 and delighted himself with the prospect, of exercising his 
 talent for painting upon them ; but of this, at first, he made 
 a secret to the rest of the party. 
 
 Before doing anything else, he fulfilled his promise of show- 
 ing the ladies the various imitations of, and designs from, old 
 monuments, vases, and other such things which he had made; 
 and when they came to speak of the simple barrow-sepid- 
 chres of the northern nations, he brought a collection of 
 weapons and implements which had bgpn found in them. 
 He had got them exceedingly nicely and conveniently 
 arranged in drawers and compartments, laid on boards cut to 
 fit them, and covered over with cloth ; so that these solemn 
 old things, in the way he treated them, had a smart dressy 
 appearance, and it was like looking into the box of a trinket 
 merchant. 
 
 Having once begun to show his curiosities, and finding them 
 prove serviceable to entertain our friends in their loneliness; 
 every evening he would produce one or other of his treasures. 
 
124: GOETHE. 
 
 They were most of them of German origin — pieces of metal^ 
 old coins, seals, and such like. All these things directed the 
 imagination back upon old times ; and when at last thej 
 came to amuse themselves with the first specimens of printing, 
 woodcuts, and the earliest copper-plate engraving, and when 
 the church, in the same spirit, was growing out, every day, 
 more and more in form and colour like the past, they had 
 almost to ask themselves whether they really were living in a 
 modern time, whether it were not a dream, that maimers, cus- 
 toms, modes of life, and convictions were all really so changed. 
 
 After such preparation, a great portfolio, which at last he 
 produced, had the best possible effect. It contained indeed 
 principally only outlines and figures, but as these had been 
 traced upon original pictures, they retained perfectly their 
 ancient character, and most captivating indeed this character 
 was to the spectators. All the figures breathed only the 
 purest feeling ; every one, if not noble, at any rate was 
 good; cheerful composure, ready recognition of One above 
 us, to whom all reverence is due ; silent devotion, in love and 
 tranquil expectation, was expressed on every face, on every 
 gesture. The old bald-headed man, the curly-pated boy, the 
 light-hearted youth, the earnest man, the glorified saint, the 
 angel hovering in the air, all seemed happy in an innocent, 
 satisfied, pious expectation. The commonest object had a 
 trait of celestial life; and every nature seemed adapted to 
 the service of God, and to be, in some way or other, employed 
 upon it. 
 
 Towards such a region most of them gazed as towards a 
 vanished golden age, or on some lost paradise ; only perhaps 
 Ottilie had a chance of finding herself among beings of her 
 own nature. Who could offer any opposition when the 
 Architect asked to be allowed to paint the spaces between 
 the arches and the walls of the chapel in the style of these old 
 pictures ; and thereby leave his own distinct memorial at a 
 place where life had gone so pleasantly with him ? 
 
 He spoke of it with some sadness, for he could see, in the 
 state in which things were, that his sojourn in such delightful 
 society could not last for ever ; indeed, that perhaps it would 
 now soon be ended. 
 
 For the rest, these days were not rich in incidents ; yet full 
 of occasion for serious entertainment. We therefore take 
 the opportunity of communicating something of the remarks 
 
35LECTIVE AFFINITIES, 1,25 
 
 which Ottilie noted do^^■Il among her manuscripts, to which 
 we cannot find a fitter transition than through a simile which 
 suggested itself to us on contemplating her exquisite pages. 
 
 There is, we are told, a curious contrivance in the service 
 of the English marine. The ropes in use in the royal navy, 
 from the largest to the smallest, are so twisted that a red 
 thread runs through them from end to end, which cannot be 
 extracted without undoing the whole ; and by which the 
 smallest pieces may be recognized as belonging to the crown. 
 
 Just so is there di'awn through Ottilie' s diary, a thread of 
 attachment and affection which connects it all together, and 
 characterizes the whole. And thus these remarks, these 
 observations, these extracted sentences, and whatever else it 
 may contain, were, to the writer, of peculiar meaning. Even, 
 the few separate pieces which we select and transcribe will 
 sufficiently explain our meaning. 
 
 FEOM OTTILIE's DIAEY. 
 
 "To rest hereafter at the side of those whom we love is the 
 most delightful thought which man can have when once he 
 looks out beyond the boundary of life. What a sweet 
 expression is that—' He was gathered to his fathers !' " 
 
 " Of the various memorials and tokens which bring nearer 
 to us the distant and the separated— none is so satisfactory 
 as a picture. To sit and talk to a beloved picture, even 
 though it be unlike, has a charm in it, like the charm which 
 there sometimes is in quarrelling with a friend. We feel, 
 in a strange sweet way, that we are divided and yet cannot 
 separate." 
 
 *' We entertain ourselves often with a present person as with 
 a picture. He need not speak to us, he need not look at usj 
 or take any notice of us ; we look at him, we feel the relatioir 
 in which we stand to him ; such relation can even gro\T 
 without his doing anything towards it, without his havingr 
 any feeling of it : he is to us exactly as a pictui-e." 
 
 " One is never satisfied with a portrait of a person that 
 one knows. I have always felt for the portrait-painter ou 
 
126 aoEraE. 
 
 this account. One so seldom requires of people what is 
 impossible, and of them we do really require what is 
 impossible ; they must gather up into their picture the 
 relation of every body to its subject, all their likings and all 
 dislikings ; they must not only paint a man as they see him, 
 but as every one else sees him. It does not surprise me if 
 such artists become by degrees stunted, indifferent, and of 
 but one idea ; and indeed it would not matter what came of 
 it, if it were not that in consequence we, have to go without 
 the pictures of so many persons near and dear to us." 
 
 " It is too true, the Architect's collection of weapons and 
 old implements, which were found with the bodies of their 
 owners, covered in with great hills of earth and rock, proves 
 to us how useless is man's so great anxiety to preserve his 
 personality after he is dead ; and so inconsistent people are ! 
 the Architect confesses to have himself opened these barrows 
 of his forefathers, and yet goes on occupying himself with 
 memorials for posterity." 
 
 *' But after all why should we take it so much to heart ? 
 is all that we do, done for eternity ? Do we not put on our 
 dress in the morning, to throw it off again at night ? Do we 
 not go abroad to return home again ? And why should we 
 not wish to rest by the side of our friends, though it were 
 but for a century?" 
 
 ** When we see the many grave-stones which have fallen 
 in, which have been defaced by the footsteps of the congre- 
 gation, which lie buried under the ruins of the churches, 
 that have themselves crumbled together over them, we may 
 fancy the life after death to be as a second life, into which a 
 man enters in the figure, or the picture, or the inscription, 
 and lives longer there than when he was really alive. But 
 this figure also, this second existence, dies out too, sooner 
 or later. Time will not allow himself to be cheated of his 
 tights with the monuments of men or with themselves." 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 127 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It causes us so agreeable a sensation to occupy ourselves 
 'Tvith. what we can only half do, that no person ought to find 
 fault wuth the dilettante, when he is spending his time over 
 an art which he can never learn ; nor blame the artist if he 
 chooses to pass out over the border of his own art, and 
 amuse himself in some neighbouring field. With such 
 complacency of feeling we regard the preparation of 
 the Architect for the painting the chapel. The colours 
 were got ready, the measurements taken; the cartoon? 
 designed. He had made no attempt at originality, but 
 kept close to his outlines ; his only care was to make a 
 proper distribution of the sitting and floating figures, so as 
 tastefully to ornament his space with them. 
 
 The scaffoldings were erected. The work went forward ; 
 and as soon as anything had been done on which the eye 
 could rest, he could have no objection to Charlotte and OttiHe 
 coming to see how he was getting on. 
 
 The life-like faces of the angels, their robes waving against 
 the blue sky-ground, delighted the eye, while their still and 
 holy air calmed and composed the spirit, and produced the 
 most delicate effect. 
 
 The ladies ascended the scaffolding to him, and Ottilie had 
 scarcely observed how easily and regularly the work was 
 being done, than the power which had been fostered in her 
 by her early education at once appeared to develope. She 
 took a brush, and with a few words of direction, painted a 
 richly folding robe, with as much delicacy as skill. 
 
 Charlotte, who was always glad when Ottilie would occupy 
 or amuse herself with anything, left them both in the chapel, 
 and went to follow the train of her own thoughts, and work 
 her way for herself through her cares and anxieties which 
 she was unable to communicate to a creature. 
 
 When ordinary men allow themselves to be worked up by 
 common every- day difficulties into fever-fits of passion, we can 
 give them nothing but a compassionate smile. But we look 
 with a kind of awe on a spirit in w^hich the seed of a great 
 destiny has been sown, which must abide the unfolding of 
 the germ, and neither dare nor can do anything to precipitate 
 
t28 GOETHEv 
 
 either the good or the ill, either the hapjDincss or the misery, 
 which is to arise out of it. 
 
 Edward had sent an answer by Charlotte's messenger, who 
 had come to him in his solitude. It was written wdth kind- 
 ness and interest, but it w^as rather composed and serious than 
 warm and affectionate. He had vanished almost immediately 
 after, and Charlotte could learn no news about him ; till 
 at last she accidentally found his name in the newspaper, 
 where he was mentioned with honour among those who had 
 most distinguished themselves in a late important engagement. 
 She now understood the method which he had taken ; she 
 perceived that he had escaped from great danger ; only she 
 was convinced at the same time that he would seek out 
 greater ; and it was all too clear to her that in every sense he 
 would hardly be withheld from any extremity. 
 
 She had to bear about this perpetual anxiety in her 
 thoughts, and turn which way she would, there was no light- 
 in which she could look at it that would give her comfort. 
 
 Ottilie, never dreaming of anything of this, had taken to 
 the work in the chapel with the greatest interest, and she 
 had easily obtained Charlotte's permission to go on with it 
 regularly. So now all went swiftly forward, and the azure 
 heaven was soon peopled with worthy inhabitants. By con- 
 tinual practice both Ottilie and the architect had gained more 
 freedom with the last figures ; they became perceptibly better. 
 The faces, too, which had been all left to the architect to 
 paint, showed by degrees a very singular peculiarity. They 
 began all of them to resemble Ottilie. Tlie neighbourhood of 
 the beautiful girl had made so strong an impression on the 
 soul of the young man, who had no variety of faces pre- 
 conceived in his mind, that by degi*ees, on the way from the 
 eye to the hand, nothing was lost, and both worked in exact 
 harmony together. Enough ; one of the last faces succeeded 
 perfectly ; so that it seemed as if Ottilie herself was look- 
 ing down out of the spaces of the sky. 
 
 They had finished with the arching of the ceiling. The 
 walls they proposed to leave plain, and only to cover them 
 over with a bright brown colour. The delicate pillars and 
 the quaintly-moulded ornaments were to be distinguished from 
 them by a dark shade. But as in such things one thing ever 
 ^ads on to another, they determined at least on having 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 129 
 
 festoons of flowers and fruit, which should as it were unite 
 
 together heaven and earth. Here Ottilie was in her element. 
 The gardens provided the most perfect patterns; and al- 
 though the wreaths were as rich as they could make them, 
 it was all finished sooner than they had supposed possible. 
 
 It was still looking rough and disorderly. The scafiblding 
 poles had been run together, the planks thrown one on the 
 top of the other ; the uneven pavement was yet more dis- 
 figured by the particolom-ed stains of the paint which had 
 been spilt over it. 
 
 The Architect begged that the ladies would give him a 
 week to himself, and during that time would not enter the 
 chapel ; at the end of it, one fine evening, he came to them, 
 and begged them both to go and see it. He did not wish to 
 accompany them, he said, and at once took his leave. 
 
 " Whatever surprise he may have designed for us," said 
 Charlotte, as soon as he was gone, " I cannot myself just now 
 go down there. You can go by yourself, and tell me all 
 about it. No doubt he has been doing something which we 
 shall like. I will enjoy it first in your description, and after- 
 wards it will be the more charming in the reality." 
 
 Ottilie, who knew well that in many cases Charlotte took 
 care to avoid everything which could produce emotion, and 
 particularly disliked to be surprised, set off down the walk 
 by herself, and looked round involuntarily for the Architect, 
 who however was nowhere to be seen, and must have con- 
 cealed himself somewhere. She walked into the church, 
 which she found open. This had been finished before; it 
 had been cleaned up, and service had been performed in it. 
 She went on to the chapel door ; its heavy mass, all overlaid 
 with iron, yielded easily to her touch, and she found an 
 unexpected sight in a familiar spot. 
 
 A solemn beautiful light streamed in through the one tall 
 window. It was filled with staii>ed glass, gracefully put to- 
 gether. The entire chapel had thus received a strange tone, 
 and a peculiar genius was thrown over it. The beauty of the 
 vaulted ceiling and the walls was set off by the elegance of 
 the pavement, which was composed of peculiarly shaped tiles, 
 fastened together with gypsum, and forming exquisite, patterns 
 OS they lay. This and the coloured glass for the windows tho 
 
 K 
 
ISO GOETHE, 
 
 Architect had prepared without their knowledge, and a short 
 time was sufficient to have it put in its place. 
 
 Seats had been provided as well. Among the relics of the 
 old church some finely carved chancel chairs had been dis- 
 covered, which now were standing about at convenient places 
 along the walls. 
 
 The parts which she knew so well now meeting her as an 
 imfamiliar whole, delighted Ottile. She stood still, walked up 
 and down, looked and looked again; at last she seated herself 
 in one of the chairs, and it seemed, as she gazed up and 
 down, as if she was, and yet was not— as if she felt and did 
 not feel — as if all this would vanish from before her, and she 
 would vanish from herself ; and it was only when the sun left 
 the window, on which before it had been shining full, that she 
 awoke to possession of herself, and hastened back to the castle. 
 
 She did not hide from herself the strange epoch at which 
 this surprise had occurred to her. It was the evening of 
 Edward" s birthday. Very differently she had hoped to keep 
 it. How was not everything to be dressed out for this festival ? 
 and now all the splendour of the autumn flowers remained 
 ungathered. Those sunflowers still turned their faces to the 
 sky ; those asters still looked out with quiet, modest eye ; and 
 whatever of them all had been wound into wreaths had served 
 as patterns for the decorating a spot which, if it was not to 
 remain a mere artist's fancy, was only adapted as a general 
 mausoleum. 
 
 And then she had to remember the impetuous eagerness 
 with which Edward had kept her birthday-feast. She thought 
 of the newly-erected lodge, under the roof of which they had 
 promised themselves so much enjoyment. The fireworks 
 flashed and hissed again before her eyes and ears ; the more 
 lonely she was, the more keenly her imagination brought it all 
 before her. But she felt herself only the more alone. She 
 no longer leant upon his arm, and she had no hope ever any 
 more to rest herself upon it. 
 
 FKOM OTTILIE's DIABT. 
 
 "I have been struck with an observation of the young 
 architect. 
 
 *' In the ease of the creative artist, as in that of the 
 artizan, it is clear that man is least permitted to appropriate 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 131 
 
 to himself what is most entirely his own. His works forsake 
 him as the birds forsake the nest in which they were hatched. 
 " The fate of the Architect is the strangest, of all in this 
 way. How often he expends his whole soul, his whole heart 
 and passion, to produce buildings into which he himself may 
 never enter. The halls of kings owe their magnificence to 
 him ; but he has no enjoyment of them in their splendour. 
 In the temple he draws a partition line between himself and 
 the Holy of Holies ; he may never more set his foot upon the 
 steps which he has laid down for the heart- thrilling ceremonial ; 
 as tlie goldsmith may only adore from far ofi" the monstrance 
 whose enamel and whose jewels he has himself set together. 
 The builder surrenders to the rich man, with the key of his 
 palace, all pleasure and all right there, and never shares with 
 him in the enjoyment of it. And must not art in this way, 
 step by step, draw oif from the artist, when the work, like a 
 child who is provided for, has no more to fall back upon its 
 father ? And what a power there must be in art itself, for its 
 own self-advancing, when it has been obliged to shape itself 
 almost solely out of what was open to all, only out of what was 
 the property of every one, and therefore also of the artist ! " 
 
 " There is a conception among old nations which is awful, 
 and may almost seem terrible. They pictured their fore- 
 fathers to themselves sitting round on thrones, in enormous 
 caverns, in silent converse ; when a new comer entered, if he 
 were worthy enough, they rose up, and inclined their heads 
 to welcome him. Yesterday, as I w^as sitting in the chapel, 
 and other carved chairs stood round like that in which I was, 
 the thought of this came over me with a soft, pleasant feeling. 
 Wliy cannot you stay sitting here ? I said to myself; stay 
 here sitting meditating with yourself long, long, long, till at 
 last your friends come, and you rise up to them, and with a 
 gentle inclination direct them to their places. The coloured 
 window panes convert the day into a solemn twilight ; and 
 some one should set up for us an ever-burning lamp, that the 
 night might not be utter darkness." 
 
 " We may imagine ourselves in what situation we please, 
 we always conceive ourselves as seeing, I believe men only 
 dream that they may not cease to see. Some day, perhaps, 
 
 K 2 
 
132 G0ETH2. 
 
 the inner iight will come out from within us, and we shall 
 not any more require another. 
 
 " The year dies away, the wind sweeps over the stubble, and 
 there is nothing left to stir under its touch But the red 
 berries on yonder tall tree seem as if they would still remind 
 us of brighter things ; and the stroke of the thrasher's flail 
 awakes the thought how much of nourishment and life lies 
 buried in the sickled ear." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 How strangely, after all this, with the sense so vividly 
 impressed on her of mutability and perishableness, must 
 Ottilie have been afiected by the news which could not any 
 longer be kept concealed from her, that Edward had exposed 
 himself to the uncertain chances of war ! Unhappily, none 
 of the observations which she had occasion to make upon it 
 escajDed her. But it is well for us that man can only endure 
 a certain degree of unhappiness ; what is beyond that, either 
 annihilates him, or passes by him, and leaves him apathetic. 
 There are situations in which hope and fear run together, in 
 which they mutually destroj^ one another, and lose themselves 
 in a dull indifference. If it were not so, how could we bear 
 to know of those who are most dear to us being in hourly 
 peril, and yet go on as usual with our ordinary everyday life ? 
 
 It was therefore as if some good genius was caring for Ottilie, 
 that, all at once, this stillness, in which she seemed to be 
 sinking from loneliness and want of occupation, was suddenly 
 invaded by a wild army, which, while it gave her externally 
 abundance of employment, and so took her out of herself, at 
 the same time awoke in her the consciousness of her own 
 power. 
 
 Charlotte's daughter, Luciana, had scarcely left the school 
 and gone out into the great world ; scarcely had she found 
 herself at her aunt's house in the midst of a large society, than 
 her anxiety to please produced its effect in really pleasing ; 
 and a young, very wealthy man, soon experienced a pas- 
 sionate desire to make her his own. His large property gave 
 him a right to have the best of everything for his use, and 
 nothing seemed to be wanting to him except a perfect wife, 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 133 
 
 /or whom, as for the rest of his good fortune, he should be the 
 envy of the world. 
 
 This incident in her family had been for some time occu- 
 pying Charlotte. It had engaged all her attention, and 
 taken up her whole correspondence, except so far as this 
 was directed to tlie obtaining news of Edward ; so that 
 latterly Ottilie had been left more than was usual to her- 
 self. She knew, indeed, of an intended visit from Luciana, 
 She had been making various changes and arrangements in the 
 house in preparation for it ; but she had no notion that it was 
 so near. Letters, she supposed, would first have to pass, 
 settling the time, and then unsettling it ; and then a final 
 fixing : when the storm broke suddenly over the castle and 
 over herself. 
 
 Up drove, first, lady's maids and men-servants, their car- 
 riage loaded with trunks and boxes. The household was already 
 swelled to double or to treble its size, and then appeared the 
 visitors themselves. There was the great aunt, with Luciana 
 and some of her friends ; and then the bridegroom with some 
 of his friends. The entrance-hall was full of things — bags, 
 portmanteaus, and leather articles of eveiy sort. The boxes 
 had to be got out of their covers, and that was infinite trouble; 
 and of luggage and of rummage there was no end. At inter- 
 vals, moreover, there were violent showers, giving rise to much 
 inconvenience. Ottilie encountered all this confusion with the 
 easiest equanimity, and her happy talent showed in its fairest 
 light. In a very little time she had brought things to order, 
 and disposed of them. Every one found his room, — every 
 one had his things exactly as they wished, and all thought 
 themselves well attended to, because they were not prevented 
 from attending on themselves. 
 
 The journey had been long and fatiguing, and they would 
 all have been glad of a little rest after it. The bridegroom 
 would have liked to pay his respects to his mother-in-law, 
 express his pleasure, his gratitude, and so on. But Luciana 
 could not rest. She had now arrived at the happiness of being 
 able to mount a horse. The bridegroom had beautiful horses, 
 and mount they must on the spot. Clouds and wind, rain 
 and storm, they v/ere nothing to Luciana, and now it was as 
 if they only lived to get wet through, and to dry themselves 
 again. If she took a fancy to go out walking, she never 
 thought what sort of dress she had on, or what her shoes were 
 
134 GOETIIB. 
 
 like, she must go and see the grounds of which she had heard 
 so much; what could not be done on horseback, she ran 
 through on foot. In a little while she had seen everything, 
 and given her opinion about everything; and with such rapidity 
 of character it was not easy to contradict or oppose her. The 
 whole household had much to suffer, but most particularly the 
 lady's maids, who were at w^ork from morning to night, wash- 
 ing, and ironing, and stitching. 
 
 As soon as she had exhausted the house and the park, she 
 thought it was her duty to pay visits all round the neighbour- 
 hood. As they rode and drove very fast, all round the neigh- 
 bourhood was a considerable distance. The castle was flooded 
 with return visits, and that they might not miss one another, 
 it soon came to days being fixed for them. 
 
 Charlotte, in the mean time, with her aunt, and the man 
 of business of the bridegroom, were occupied in determining 
 about the settlements, and it was left to Ottilie, with those 
 under her, to take care that all this crowd of people were 
 properly provided for. Gamekeepers and gardeners, fishermen 
 and shopdealers, were set in motion, Luciana always show- 
 ing herself like the blazing nucleus of a comet with its long 
 tail trailing behind it. The ordinary amusements of the par- 
 ties soon became too insipid for her taste. Hardly would she 
 leave the old people in peace at the card-table. Whoever 
 could by any means be set moving (and who could resist the 
 charm of being pressed by her into service ?) must up, if not 
 to dance, then to play at forfeits, or some other game, where 
 they were to be victimized and tormented. Notwithstanding- 
 all that, however, and although afterwards the redemption of 
 the forfeits had to be settled with herself, yet of those who 
 played with her, never any one, especially never any man, let 
 him be of what sort he would, went quite empty-handed away. 
 Indeed, some old people of rank who were there she succeeded 
 in completely winning over to herself, by having contrived to 
 find out their birthdays or christening days, and marking them 
 with some particular celebration. In all this she showed a 
 skill not a little remarkable. Every one saw himself favoured, 
 and each considered himself to be the one most favoured, a 
 weakness of which the oldest person of the party was the 
 most notably guilty. 
 
 It seemed to be a sort of pride with her, that men who had 
 anything remarkable about them — rank, character, or fume— 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 135 
 
 <;lie must and would gain for herself. Gravity and seriousness 
 she made give way to her, and, wild strange creature as she 
 was, she found favour even with discretion itself. Not that 
 the young were at all cut short in consequence. Everybody 
 had his share, his day, his hour, in which she contrived to 
 charm and to enchain him. It was therefore natural enough 
 that before long she should have had the Architect in her eye, 
 looking out so unconsciously as he did from under his long 
 black hair, and standing so calm and quiet in the back- ground. 
 To all her questions she received short sensible answers ; but 
 he did not seem inclined to allow himself to be can-ied away 
 further, and at last, half provoked, half in malice, she resolved 
 that she would make him the hero of a day, and so gain him 
 for her court. 
 
 It was not for nothing that she had brought that quantity 
 of luggage with her. Much, indeed, had followed her after- 
 wards. She had provided herself with an endless variety ©f 
 dresses. When it took her fancy she would change her dress 
 three or four times a day, usually wearing something of an 
 ordinary kind, but making her appearance suddenly at inter- 
 vals in a thorough masquerade dress, as a peasant girl or a 
 fish maiden, as a fairy or a flower-girl ; and this would go on 
 from morning till night. Sometimes she would even disguise 
 herself as an old woman, that her young face might peep 
 out the fresher from under the cap ; and so utterly in this 
 way did she confuse and mix together the actual and the 
 fantastic, that people thought they were living with a sort of 
 drawing-room witch. 
 
 But the principal use which she had for these disguises 
 were pantomimic tableaux and dances, in which she was 
 skilful in expressing a variety of character. A cavalier in her 
 suite had taught himself to accompany her action on the 
 piano with the little music which was required ; they needed 
 only to exchange a few words and they at once understood 
 one another. 
 
 One day, in a pause of a brilliant ball, they were called 
 upon suddenly to extemporize (it was on a private hint from 
 themselves) one of these exhibitions. Luciana seemed em- 
 barrassed, taken by surprise, and contrary to her custom let 
 herself be asked more than once. She could not decide upon 
 her character, desired the party to choose, and asked, like an 
 improvisatore, for a subject. At last her piano-playing com' 
 
136 GOETHE. 
 
 panlon, with whom it had been all previously arranged, sat 
 down at the instrument, and began to play a mourning march, 
 calling on her to give them the Artemisia which she had been 
 studying so admirably. She consented; and after a short 
 absence reappeared, to the sad tender music of the dead march, 
 in the form of the royal widow, with measured step, carrying 
 an ui'n of ashes before her. A large black tablet was borne 
 in after her, and a carefully cut piece of chalk in a gold pencil 
 case. 
 
 One of her adorers and adjutants, into whose ear she whis- 
 pered something, went directly to call the Architect, to desire 
 him, and if he would not come to drag him up, as master- 
 builder, to draw the grave for the mausoleum, and to tell him 
 at the same time that he was not to play the statist, but 
 enter earnestly into his part as one of the performers. 
 
 Embarrassed as the Architect outwardly appeared (for in 
 nis black, closefitting, modern civilian's dress, he formed a 
 wonderful contrast with the gauze crape fringes, tinsel tassels, 
 and crown), he very soon composed himself internally, and 
 the scene became all the more strange. With the greatest 
 gravity he placed himself in front of the tablet, which 
 was supported by a couple of jDages, and drew carefully an 
 elaborate tomb, which indeed would have suited better a 
 Lombard than a Carian prince ; but it was in such beautiful 
 proportions, so solemn in its parts, so full of genius in its 
 decoration, that the spectators watched it growing with 
 delight, and wondered at it when it was finished. 
 
 All this time he had not once turned towards the queen, 
 but had given his whole attention to what he was doing. 
 At last he inclined his head before her, and signified that he 
 believed he had now fulfilled her commands. She held the 
 urn out to him, expressing her desire to see it represented on 
 the top of the monument. He complied, although unM'il- 
 lingly, as it would not suit the character of the rest of his 
 design. Luciana was now at last released from her im- 
 patience. Her intention had been by no means to get a 
 scientific drawing out of him. If he had only made a few 
 strokes, sketched out something which should have looked 
 like a monument, and devoted the rest of his time to her, it 
 M'ould have been far more what she had wished, and would 
 have pleased her a great deal better. His manner of proceed- 
 ing had thrown her into the greatest embarrassment. Fo? 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 137 
 
 Blthongh in her sorrow, in her directions, in her gestures, in 
 her approbation of the work as it slowly rose before her, she 
 had tried to manage some sort of change of expression, and 
 although she had hung about close to him, only to place herself 
 into some sort of relation to him, yet he had kept himself 
 throughout too stiff, so that too often she had been di'iven to 
 take refuge with her urn ; she had to press it to her heart and 
 look up to heaven, and at last, a situation of that kind having a 
 necessary tendency to intensify, she made herself more like a 
 widow of Ephesus than a Queen of Caria. The representation 
 had to lengthen itself out and became tedious. The piano- 
 forte player, who had usually patience enough, did not know 
 into what tune he could escape. He thanked God when he 
 saw the urn standing on the pyramid, and fell involuntarily 
 as the queen was going to express her gratitude, into a merry 
 air ; by which the whole thing lost its character, the com- 
 pany however being throughly cheered up by it, who forth- 
 with divided, some going up to express their delight and admi- 
 ration of the lady for her excellent performance, and some 
 praising the Architect for his most artistlike and beautiful 
 drawing. 
 
 The bridegroom especially paid marked attention to the 
 Architect, " I am vexed," he said, " that the drawing should 
 be so perishable ; you will permit me however to have it 
 taken to my room, where I should much like to talk to you 
 about it." 
 
 " If it would give you any pleasure," jaid the Architect, 
 *' I can lay before you a number of highly finished designs 
 for buildings and monuments of this kind, of which this is 
 but a mere hasty sketch." 
 
 Ottilie was standing at no great distance, and went up to 
 them. " Do not forget,*' she said to the Architect, " to take 
 an opportunity of letting the Baron see your collection. He- 
 is a friend of art and of antiquity. I should like you to 
 become better acquainted." 
 
 Luciana was passing at the moment. *' What are they 
 speaking of ? " she asked. 
 
 " Of a collection of works of art," replied the Baron, 
 " which this gentleman possesses, and which he is good 
 enough to say that he will show us." 
 
 " Oh, let him bring them immediately," cried Lucian% 
 
i3S GOETHE. 
 
 " you will bring them, will you not ? " she added, in a soft 
 and sweet tone, taking both his hands in hers. 
 
 "The present is scarcely a fitting time," the Architect 
 answered. 
 
 '* What ! " Luciana cried, in a tone of authority ; *' you will 
 not obey the command of your queen ! " and then she begged 
 him again with some piece of absurdity. 
 
 " Do not be obstinate," said Ottilie, in a scarcely audible 
 voice. 
 
 The Architect left them with a bow, which said neither 
 yes nor no. 
 
 He was hardly gone, when Luciana was flying up and down 
 the saloon with a greyhound. *'Alas!" she exclaimed, as 
 she ran accidentally against her mother, " am I not an unfor- 
 tunate creature ? I have not brought my monkey with me. 
 They told me I had better not ; but I am sure it was nothing 
 but the laziness of my people, and it is such a delight to me. 
 But I will have it brought after me ; somebody shall go and 
 fetch it. If I could only see a picture of the dear creature, 
 it would be a comfort to me ; I certainly will have his picture 
 taken, and it shall never be out of my sight." 
 
 " Perhaps I can comfort you," replied Charlotte. *' There 
 is a whole volume full of the most wonderful ape faces in 
 the library, which you can have fetched if you like." 
 
 Luciana shrieked for joy. The great folio was produced in- 
 stantly. The sight of these hideous creatures, so like to men, 
 and with the resemblance even more caricatured by the 
 artist, gave Luciana the greatest delight. Her amusement 
 with each of the animals, was to find some one of her 
 acquaintance whom it resembled. "Is that not like my 
 uncle?" she remorselessly exclaimed ; "and here, look, here is 
 my milliner M., and here is Parson S., and here the image of 
 that creature — bodily! After all, these monkeys are 
 the real incroyahles, and it is inconceivable why they are not 
 admitted into the best society.*' 
 
 It was in the best society that she said this, and yet no one 
 took it ill of her. People had become accustomed to allow 
 her so many liberties in her prettinesses, that at last they 
 came to allow them in what was unpretty. 
 
 During this time, Ottilie was talking to the bridegroom ; she 
 was looking anxiously for the return of the Ai'chitect, whose 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 139 
 
 serious and tasteful collection was to deliver the party from the 
 apes ; and in the expectation of it, she had made it the subject 
 of her conversation with the Baron, and directed his attention 
 on various things which he was to see. But the Architect 
 stayed away, and when at last he made his appearance, he 
 lost himself in the crowd, without having brought anything 
 with him, and without seeming as if he had been asked for 
 anything. 
 
 For a moment Ottilie became — what shall we call it? 
 — annoyed, put out, perplexed. She had been saying so much 
 about him — she had promised the bridegroom an hour of 
 enjoyment after his own heart ; and with all the depth of his 
 love for Luciana, he was evidently suffering from her present 
 behaviour. 
 
 The monkeys had to give place to a collation. Round 
 games followed, and then more dancing ; at last, a general 
 uneasy vacancy, with fruitless attempts at resuscitating ex- 
 hausted amusements, which lasted this time, as indeed they 
 usually did, far beyond midnight. It had already become a 
 habit with Luciana to be never able to get out of bed in the 
 morning or into it at night. 
 
 About this time, the incidents noticed in Ottilie's diary 
 become more rare, while we find a larger number of maxims 
 and sentences drawn from life and relating to life. It is not 
 conceivable that the larger proportion of these could have 
 arisen from her own reflection, and most likely some one had 
 shown her varieties of them, and she had written out what 
 took her fancy. Many, however, with an internal bearing, 
 can be easily recognized by the red thread. 
 
 FEOJI ottilie's DIAEY. 
 
 *'We like to look into the future, because the undeter- 
 mined in it, which may be affected this or that way, we 
 feel as if we could guide by our silent wishes in our own 
 favour." 
 
 *'We seldom find ourselves in a large party without 
 thinking ; the accident which brings so many here together, 
 should brins our friends to us as well." 
 
 Let us live in as small a circle as we will, W!9 are 
 
140 GOETHE. 
 
 either debtors or creditors before we have had timt to look 
 round." 
 
 " If we meet a person who is under an obligation to us, we 
 remember it immediately. But how often may we meet people 
 to whom we are ourselves under obligation, without its even 
 
 occurring to us !' 
 
 " It is nature to communicate one's-self ; it is culture to 
 receive what is communicated as it is given." 
 
 " No one would talk much in society, if he only knew how 
 often he misunderstands others." 
 
 " One alters so much what one has heard from others in 
 repeating it, only because one has not understood it." 
 
 "Whoever indulges long in monologue in the presence 
 of others, without flattering his listeners, provokes ill-will.'* 
 
 *' Every word a man utters provokes the opposite opinion." 
 
 " Argument and flattery are but poor elements out of which 
 to form a conversation." 
 
 " The pleasantest society is when the members of it have 
 an easy and natural respect for one another." 
 
 *' There is nothing in which people more betray their 
 character than in what they find to laugh at." 
 
 " The ridiculous arises out of a moral contrast, in which 
 two things are brought together before the mind in an 
 innocent way." 
 
 " The foolish man often laughs where there is nothing to 
 laugh at. Whatever touches him, his inner nature comes to 
 the surface." 
 
 " The man of understanding finds almost everything 
 ridiculous ; the man of thought scarcely anything." 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 141 
 
 ** Some one found fault with an elderly man for continuing 
 to pay attention to young ladies. ' It is the only means,* 
 he replied, ' of keeping one's-self young, and everybody likes 
 to do that.'" 
 
 " People will allow their faults to be shown them ; they 
 will let themselves be punished for them ; they ^vill patiently 
 endure many things because of them ; they only become 
 impatient when they have to lay them aside." 
 
 *' Certain defects are necessary for the existence of indi- 
 viduality. We should not be pleased, if old friends were to 
 lay aside certain peculiarities." 
 
 " There is a saying, * He will die soon,' when a man acts 
 unlike himself." 
 
 " What kind of defects may we bear with and even cul- 
 tivate in ourselves ? Such as rather give pleasure to others 
 than injure them." 
 
 " The passions are defects or excellencies only in excess.'* 
 
 " Our passions are true phoenixes : as the old bum out, [_/ 
 the new straight rise up out of the ashes." 
 
 " Violent passions are incurable diseases ; the means 
 which will cure them are what first make them thoroughly L^ 
 dangerous." 
 
 "Passion is both raised and softened by confession. In ^ 
 nothing, perhaps, were the middle way more desirable than in 
 knowing what to say and what not to say to those we love." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 So swept on Luciana in the social whirlpool, driving the 
 rush of life along before her. Her court multiplied daily, 
 partly because her impetuosity roused and attracted so many, 
 partly because she knew how to attach the rest to her by 
 kindness and aUcntion. Generous she was in the highest 
 
142 GOETHE. 
 
 degree ; her aunt's affection for her, and her bridegroom's 
 love, had heaped her with beautiful and costly presents, but 
 she seemed as if nothing which she had was her own, and as 
 if she did not know the Milue of the things which had 
 streamed in upon her. One day she saw a young lady look- 
 ing rather poorly dressed by the side of the rest of the party, 
 and she did not hesitate a moment to take off a rich shawl 
 which she was wearing and hang it over her, — doing it, at 
 the same time, in such a humorous, graceful way that no 
 one could refuse such a present so given. One of her courtiers 
 always carried about a purse, with orders, whatever place 
 they passed through, to inquire there for the most aged and 
 most helpless persons, and give them relief, at least for the 
 moment. In this way she gained for herself all round the 
 country a reputation for charitableness which caused her not a 
 little inconvenience, attracting about her far too many trouble- 
 some sufferers. 
 
 Nothing, however, so much added to her popularity as 
 her steady and consistent kindness towards an unhappy 
 yoimg man, who shrank from society because, while other- 
 wise handsome and well-formed, he had lost his right hand, 
 although with high honour, in action. This mutilation 
 weighed so heavily upon his spirits, it was so annoying to 
 him that every new acquaintance he made had to be told the 
 story of his misfortune, that he ohose rather to shut himself 
 up altogether, devoting himself to reading and other studious 
 pursuits, and once for all would have nothing more to do with 
 society. 
 
 She heard of the state of this young man. At once she con- 
 trived to prevail him upon to come to her, first to small parties, 
 then to greater, and then out into the world with her. She 
 showed , more attention to him than to any other person ; 
 particularly she endeavoured, by the services which she 
 pressed upon him, to make him sensible of what he had lost 
 in labouring herself to supply it. At dinner, she would make 
 him sit next to her ; she cut up his food for him, that he might 
 only have to use his fork. If people older or of higher rank 
 prevented her from being close to him, she would stretch her 
 attention across the entire table, and the servants were 
 hurried off to make up to him what distance threatened to 
 deprive him of. At last she encouraged him to write with 
 Lis left hand. All his attempts he was to address to her, 
 
ELECTITE AFFINITIES. 145 
 
 and thus, whether far or near, she always kept herself in 
 correspondence with him. The young man did not know 
 what had happened to him, and from that moment a new life 
 opened out before him. 
 
 One may perhaps suppose that such behaviour must have 
 caused some uneasiness to her bridegroom. But, in fact, it 
 was quite the reverse. He admired her exceedingly for her 
 exertions, and he had the more reason for feeling entirely 
 satisfied about her, as she had certain features in her charac- 
 ter almost in excess, which kept anything in the slightest de- 
 gree dangerous utterly at a distance. She would run about 
 with any body, just as she fancied ; no one was free from 
 danger of a push or a pull, or of being made the object of 
 some sort of freak. But no person ever ventured to do the 
 same to her ; no person dared to touch her, or return, in the 
 remotest degree, any liberty which she had taken herself 
 She kept every one within the strictest barriers of propriety in 
 their behaviour to herself, while she, in her own behaviour, 
 was every moment overleaping them. 
 
 On the whole, one might have supposed it had been a 
 maxim with her to expose herself indifferently to praise or 
 blame, to regard or to dislike. If in many ways she took 
 pains to gain people, she commonly herself spoiled all the 
 good she had done, by an ill tongue, which spared no one. 
 Not a visit was ever paid in the neighbourhood, not a single^ 
 piece of hospitality was ever shown to herself and her party 
 among the surrounding castles or mansions, but what on her 
 return her excessive recklessness let it appear that all men 
 and all human things she was only inclined to see on the 
 ridiculous side. 
 
 There were three brothers who, purely out of compliment 
 to each other, which should many first, had been overtaken 
 by old age before they had got the question settled ; here was 
 a little young wife with a great old husband ; there, on the 
 other hand, was a dapper little man and an unwieldy giantess. 
 In one house, every step one took one stumbled over a child ;. 
 another, however many people were crammed into it, never 
 would seem full, because there were no children there at alL 
 Old husbands (supposing the estate was not entailed) should 
 get themselves buried as quickly as possible, that such a 
 thing as a laugh might be heard again in the house. Young 
 
144 GOETHE. 
 
 tnarrled people should travel : housekeeping did not sit well 
 U])on them. And as she treated the persons, so she treated 
 -what belonged to them ; their houses, their furniture, their 
 dinner-services — everything. The ornaments of the walls of the 
 rooms most particularly provoked her saucy remarks. From 
 the oldest tapestry to the most modern printed paper ; from 
 the noblest family pictures to the most frivolous new copper- 
 plate : one as well as the other had to suffer — one as well as 
 the other had to be pulled in pieces by her satirical tongue, so 
 that, indeed, one had to wonder how, for twenty miles round, 
 anything continued to exist. 
 
 It was not, perhaps, exactly malice which produced all 
 this destructiveness ; wilfulness and selfishness were what 
 ordinarily set her off upon it : but a genuine bitterness grew 
 up in her feelings towards Ottilie. 
 
 She looked dovvn with disdain on the calm, uninterrupted 
 activity of the sweet girl, which every one had observed and 
 admired, and when something was said of the care which 
 Ottilie took of the garden and of the hot-houses, she not only 
 spoke scornfully of it, in affecting to be surprised, if it were 
 80, at there being neither flowers nor fruit to be seen, not 
 caring to consider that they were living in the depth of winter, 
 but every faintest scrap of green, every leaf, every bud which 
 showed, she chose to have picked every day and squandered 
 on, ornamenting the rooms and tables, and Ottilie and the 
 gardener were not a little distressed to see their hopes for 
 the next year, and perhaps for a bnger time, destroyed in this 
 wanton recklessness. 
 
 As little would she be content to leave Ottilie to her quiet 
 work at home, in which she could live with so much com- 
 fort. Ottilie must go Avith them on their pleasure-parties and 
 sledging-parties ; she must be at the balls which were being 
 got ujj all about the neighbourhood. She was not to mind 
 the snow, or the cold, or the night-air, or the storm ; other 
 people did not die of such things, and why should she? The 
 delicate girl suffered not a little from it all, but Luciana gained 
 nothing. For although Ottilie went about very simply 
 dressed, she was always, at least so the men thought, the 
 Eiost beautiful person present. A soft attractiveness gathered 
 them all about her ; no matter whereaboats in the great 
 rooms she was, first or last, it was always the same. Evea 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 145 
 
 Luciana's bridegroom was constantly occupied with her ; the 
 more so, indeed, because he desired her advice and assistance 
 in a matter with which lie was just then engaged. 
 
 He had cultivated the acquaintance of the Architect. On 
 seeing his collection of works of art, he had taken occasion to 
 talk much with him on history and on other matters, and 
 especially from seeing the chapel had learnt to appre- 
 ciate his talent. The Baron was young and wealthy. He 
 was a collector ; he wished to build. His love for the arts 
 was keen, his knowledge small. In the Architect he thought 
 that he had found the man he wanted ; that with his assistance 
 there was more than one aim at which he could arrive at once. 
 He had spoken to his bride of what he wished. She praised 
 him for it, and was infinitely delighted with the proposal. 
 But it was more, perhaps, that she might carry off this young 
 man from Ottilie (for whom she fancied she saw in him a 
 kind of inclination), than because she thought of applying his 
 talents to any purpose. He had shown himself, indeed, very 
 ready to help at any of her extemporized festivities, and had 
 suggested various resources for this thing and that. But 
 she always thouglit she understood better than he what 
 should be done, and as her inventive genius was usually 
 somewhat common, her designs could be as well executed 
 with the help of a tolerably handy domestic as with that of 
 the most finished artist. Further than to an altar on which 
 something was to be offered, or to a crowning, whether of a 
 living head or of one of plaster of Paris, the force of her 
 imagination could not ascend, when a birthday, or other 
 such occasion, made her wish to pay some one an especial 
 compliment. 
 
 Ottilie was able to give the Baron the most satisfactory 
 answer to his inquiries as to the relation of the Architect 
 with their family. Charlotte had already, as she was aware, 
 been exerting herself to find some situation for him ; had it 
 not been indeed for the arrival of the party, the young man 
 would have left them immediately on the completion of the 
 chapel, the winter having brought all building operations to 
 a standstill ; and it was, therefore, most fortunate if a new 
 patron could be found to assist him, and to make use of his 
 talents. 
 
 Ottilie's own personal position with the Architect was as 
 
 L 
 
143 GOETHE. 
 
 pure and unconscious as possible. His agreeable presence, 
 and his industrious nature, had charmed and entertained her, 
 as the presence of an elder brother might. Her feelings for 
 him remained at the calm unimpassioned level of blood re- 
 lationship. For in her heart there was no room for more ; 
 it was filled to overflowing with love for Edward ; only God, 
 ■who interpenetrates all things, could share with him the 
 possession of that heart. 
 
 Meantime the winter sank deeper; the weather grew 
 wilder, the roads more impracticable, and therefore it 
 seemed all the pleasanter to spend the waning days in agree- 
 able society. With short intervals of ebb, the crowd from 
 time to time flooded up over the house. Officers found their 
 way there from distant garrison towns ; the cultivated among 
 them being a most welcome addition, the ruder the incon- 
 venience of every one. Of civilians too there was no lack ; 
 and one day the Count and the Baroness quite unexpectedly 
 came driving up together. 
 
 Their presence gave the castle the air of a thorough court. 
 The men of rank and character formed a circle about the 
 Baron, and the ladies yielded precedence to the Baroness. 
 The surprise at seeing both together, and in such high spirits 
 was not allowed to be of long continuance. It came out that 
 the Count's wife was dead, and the new marriage was to take 
 place as soon as ever decency would allow it. 
 
 Well did Ottilie remember their first visit, and every word 
 which was then uttered about marriage and separation, bind- 
 ing and dividing, hope, expectation, disappointment, renun- 
 ciation. Here were these two persons, at that time without 
 prospect for the future, now standing before her, so near their 
 wished-for happiness, and an involuntary sigh escaped out of 
 her heart. 
 
 No sooner did Luciana hear that the Count was an ama- 
 teur of music, than at once she must get up something of a 
 concert. She herself would sing and accompany herselt on 
 the guitar. It was done. The instrument she did not play 
 without skill ; her voice w^as agreeable : as for the words one 
 understood about as little of them as one commonly does 
 when a German beauty sings to the guitar. However, every 
 one assured her that she had sung with exquisite expression, 
 and she found quite enough approbation to satisfy her. A 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 147 
 
 singular misfortune befell her, however, on this occasion. 
 Among the party there happened to be a poet, whom she 
 hoped particularly to attach to herself, wishing to induce him to 
 write a song or two, and address them to her. This evening, 
 therefore, she produced scarcely anything except songs of 
 his composing. Like the rest of the party he was perfectly 
 courteous to her, but she had looked for more. She spoke 
 to him several times, going as near the subject as she dared, 
 but nothing further could she get. At last, unable to bear it 
 any longer, she sent one of her train to him, to sound him 
 and find out whether he had not been delighted to hear his 
 beautiful poems so beautifully executed. 
 
 "My poems?" he replied, with amazement; " pray ex- 
 cuse me, my dear sir," he added, " I heard nothing but the 
 vowels, and not all of those ; however, I am in duty bound 
 to express all gratitude for so amiable an intention." The 
 dandy said nothing and kept his secret ; the other endea- 
 voured to get himself out of the scrape by a few well-timed 
 compliments. She did not conceal her desire to have some- 
 thing of his which should be written for herself. 
 
 If it would not have been too ill-natured, he might have 
 handed her the alphabet, to imagine for herself, out of that, 
 such laudatory poem as would please her, and set it to the 
 first melody that came to hand ; but she was not to escape 
 out of this business without mortification. A short time after, 
 she had to learn that the very same evening he had written, 
 at the foot of one of Ottilie's favourite melodies, a most 
 lovely poem, which was something more than complimentaiy. 
 
 Luciana, like all persons of her sort, who never can dis- 
 tinguish between where they show to advantage and where 
 to disadvantage, now determined to try her fortune in reciting. 
 Her memory was good, but, if the truth must be told, her 
 execution was spiritless, and she was vehement without 
 being passionate. She recited ballad stories, and whatever 
 else is usually delivered in declamation. At the same time 
 she had contracted an unhappy habit of accompanying what 
 «he delivered with gestures, by which, in a disagreeable way, 
 what is purely epic and lyric is more confused than con- 
 nected with the dramatic. 
 
 The Count, a keensighted man, soon saw through the 
 j)arty, their inclinations, dispositions, wishes, and capabi 
 
 X.2 
 
148 GOETHE. 
 
 lities, and by some means or other contrived to bring Luciaiia 
 to a new kind of exhibition, which was jDerfectly suited to her. 
 
 " I see here," he said, " a number of persons with fine 
 figures, who would surely be able to imitate pictorial emo- 
 tions and postures. Suppose they were to try, if the thing 
 is new to them, to represent some real and well-known 
 picture. An imitation of this kind, if it requires some 
 labour in arrangement, has an inconceivably charming effect," 
 
 Luciana was quick enough in perceiving that here she was 
 on her own ground entirely. Her fine shape, her well- 
 rounded form, the regularity and yet expressiveness of her 
 features, her light-brown braided hair, her long neck — she 
 ran them all over in her mind, and calculated on their picto- 
 rial efiects, and if she had only known that her beauty showed 
 to more advantage when she was still than when she was in 
 motion, because in the last case certain ungracefulnesses con- 
 tinually escaped her, she would have entered even more 
 eagerly than she did into this natural picture-making. 
 
 They looked out the engravings of celebrated pictures, and 
 the first which they chose was Van Dyk's Belisarius. A 
 large well-proportioned man, somewhat advanced in years, 
 was to represent the seated, blind general. The Architect 
 was to be the affectionate soldier standing sorrowing before 
 him, there really being some resemblance between them. 
 Luciana, half from modesty, had chosen the part of the 
 young woman in the background, counting out some large 
 alms into the palm of his hand, while an old woman beside 
 her is trying to prevent her, and representing that she is 
 giving too much. Another woman w^ho is in the act of giving 
 him something, was not forgotten. Into this and other pic- 
 tures they threw themselves with all earnestness. The Count 
 gave the Architect a few hints as to the best style of arrange- 
 ment, and he at once set up a kind of theatre, all necessary 
 pains being taken for the proper lighting of it. They were 
 already deep in the n'idst of their preparations, before they 
 observed how large an outlay what they were undertaking 
 would require, and that in the country, in the middle of 
 winter, many things w^hich they required it would be difficult 
 to procure; consequently, to prevent a stoppage, Luciana 
 had nearly her whole wardrobe cut in pieces, to supply the 
 various costumes which the original artist had arbitrarily 
 t^lected. 
 
ELECTIVE A?FINrTIE3. 149 
 
 The appointed evening came, and tlie exhibition was car- 
 ried out in the presence of a large assemblage, and to tho 
 universal satisfaction. They had some good music to excite 
 expectation, and the performance opened with the Belisarius. 
 The figures were so successful, the colours were so happily 
 distributed, and the lighting managed so skilfully, that they 
 might really have fancied themselves in another world, only 
 that the presence of the real instead of the apparent, pro- 
 duced a kind of uncomfortable sensation. 
 
 The curtain fell, and was more than once raised again by 
 general desire. A musical interlude kept the assembly amused 
 while preparation was going forward, to surprise them with 
 a picture of a higher stamp ; it was the well-known design 
 of Poussin, Ahasuerus and Esther. This time Luciana had 
 done better for herself. As the fainting, sinking queen she 
 had put out all her charms, and for the attendant maidens 
 who were supporting her, she had cunningly selected pretty 
 well-shaped figures, not one among whom, however, had the 
 slightest pretension to be compared with herself. From this 
 picture, as from all the rest, Ottilie remained excluded. To 
 sit on the golden throne and represent the Zeus-like monarch, 
 Luciana had picked out the finest and handsomest man of the 
 party, so that this picture was really of inimitable perfection. 
 
 For a third they had taken the so-called " Father's Admo- 
 nition" of Terburg, and who does not know Wille's admirable 
 engraving of this picture ? One foot thrown over the other, 
 sits a noble knightly-looking father; his daughter stands 
 before him, to whose conscience he seems to be addressing 
 himself. She, a fine striking figure, in a folding drapery of 
 white satin, is only to be seen from behind, but her whole 
 bearing appears to signify that she is collecting herself. That 
 the admonition is not too severe, that she is not being 
 utterly put to shame, is to be gathered from the air and 
 attitude of the father, while the mother seems as if she 
 were trying to conceal some slight embarrassment — she is 
 looking into a glass of wine, which she is on the point of 
 drinking. 
 
 Here was an opportunity for Luciana to appear in her 
 highest splendour. Her back hair, the form of her head, 
 neck, and shoulders, were beyond all conception beautiful ; 
 and the waist, which in the modern antique of the ordinary 
 dresse? of yocmg ladies is hardly visible, showed to the 
 
150 GOETHE. 
 
 greatest advantage in all its graceful slender elegance in tli9 
 really old costume. The Architect had contrived to dispose 
 the rich folds of the white satin with the most exquisite 
 natctre, and, without any question whatever, this living imita- 
 tion far exceeded the original picture, and produced imiversal 
 delight. 
 
 The spectators could never be satisfied with demanding 
 a repetition of the performance, and the very natural wish 
 to see the face and front of so lovely a creature, when they 
 had done looking at her from behind, at last became so 
 decided, that a merry impatient young wit, cried out aloud 
 the words one is accustomed to write at the bottom of a page, 
 "Tournez, s'il vous plait," which was echoed all round the room. 
 
 The performers, however, understood their advantage too 
 well, and had mastered too completely the idea of these 
 works of art to yield to the most general clamour. The 
 daughter remained standing in her shame, without favouring 
 the spectators with the expression of her face. The father 
 continued to sit in his attitude of admonition, and the mother 
 did not lift nose or eyes out of the transparent glass, in 
 which, although she seemed to be drinking, the wine did not 
 (liminish. 
 
 We need not describe the number of smaller after-pieces ; 
 for which had been chosen Flemish public-house scenes 
 and fair and market days. 
 
 The Count and the Baroness departed, promising to return 
 in the first happy weeks of their approaching union. And 
 Charlotte now had hopes, after having endured two weary 
 months of it, of ridding herself of the rest of the party at the 
 same time. She was assured of her daughter's happiness, 
 as soon as the first tumult of youth and betrothal should 
 have subsided in her ; for the bridegroom considered himself 
 the most fortunate person in the world. His income was 
 large, his disposition moderate and rational, and now he 
 found himself further wonderfully favoured in the happiness 
 of becoming the possessor of a young lady with whom all the 
 world must be charmed. He had so peculiar a way of 
 referring everything to her, and only to himself through her, 
 that it gave him an unpleasant feeling when any newly- 
 arrived person did not devote himself heart and soul to her, 
 and was far from flattered if, as occasionally happened, pare 
 ticularly with elderly men, he neglected her for a closr- 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 15i 
 
 intimacy with himself. Everything was settled about the 
 Architect. On New-year's day he was to follow him, and 
 spend the Carnival at his house in the city, where Luciana was 
 promising herself infinite happiness from a repetition of her 
 charmingly successful pictures, as well as from a hundred other 
 things ; all the more as her aunt and her bridegroom seemed 
 to make so light of the expense which was required for her 
 amusements. 
 
 And now they were to break up. But this could not be 
 managed in an ordinary way. They were one day making 
 fun of Charlotte aloud, declaring that they Mould soon have 
 eaten out her winter stores, Avhen the nobleman who had 
 represented Belisarius, being fortunately a man of some 
 wealth, carried away by Luciana' s charms, to which he had 
 been so long devoting himself, cried out unthinkingly, "Why 
 not manage then in the Polish fashion ? you come now and 
 cat up me, and then we will go on round the circle." No 
 sooner said than done. Luciana willed that it should be so. 
 The next day they all packed up and the swarm alighted on a 
 new property. There indeed they found room enough, but 
 few conveniences and no preparations to receive them. Out 
 of this arose many contretemps, which entirely enchanted 
 Luciana ; their life became ever wilder and wilder. Huge 
 hunting-parties were set on foot in the deep snow, attended 
 with every sort of disagreeableness ; women were not allowed 
 to excuse themselves any more than men, and so they trooped 
 on, hunting and riding, sledging and shouting, from one place to 
 another till at last they approached the residence, and there 
 the news of the day and the scandals and what else forms 
 the amusement of people at courts and cities gave the imagi- 
 nation another direction, and Luciana with her train of 
 attendants (her aunt had gone on some time before) swept at 
 once into a new sphere of life. 
 
 FKOM OTTI lie's DIARY. 
 
 " We accept every person in the world as that for which 
 he gives himself out, only he must give himself out for some- 
 thing. We can put up with the unpleasant more easily 
 than we can endure the insignificant. 
 
 "' We venture upon anything in society except only what 
 involves a consequence. 
 
152 GOETHE. 
 
 " We never learn to know people when they come to us : 
 we must go to them to find out how things stand with 
 them. 
 
 " I find it almost natural that we should see many faults 
 in visitors, and that directly they are gone we should judge 
 them not in the most amiable manner. For we have, so to 
 say, a right to measure them by our own standard. Even 
 cautious, sensible men can scarcely keep themselves in such 
 cases from being sharp censors. 
 
 *' When, on the contrary, we are staying at the houses of 
 others, when we have seen them in the midst of oil their 
 habits and environments among those necessary conditions 
 from which they cannot escape, when we have seen how they 
 affect those about them, and how they adapt themselves to 
 their circumstances, it is ignorance, it is worse, it is ill-will, 
 to find ridiculous what in more than one sense has a claim on 
 our respect. 
 
 " That which we call politeness and good breeding effects 
 what otherwise can only be obtained by violence, or not even 
 by that. 
 
 ''Intercourse with women is the element of good manners- 
 
 " How can the character, the individuality of a man co* 
 exist with polish of manner ? 
 
 " The individuality can only be properly made prominent 
 through good manners. Every one likes M^hat has something 
 in it, only it must not be a disagreeable something. 
 
 " In life generally, and in society no one has such high 
 advantages as a well-cultivated soldier. 
 
 " The rudest fighting people at least do not go out of their 
 character, and generally behind the roughness there is a 
 certain latent good humour, so that in difficulties it is pos- 
 sible to get on even with them. 
 
 " No one is more intolerable than an underbred civilian. 
 From him one has a right to look for a delicacy, as he has no 
 rough work to do. 
 
 "When we are living with people who have a delicate 
 sense of propriety, we are in misery on their account when 
 anything unbecoming is committed. So I always feel for and 
 with Charlotte, when a person is tipping his chair. She can- 
 not endure it. 
 
 " No one would ever come into a mixed party with spec- 
 tacles on his nose, if he did but know that at once we women 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 153 
 
 lose all pleasure in looking at him or listening to M'hut he 
 has to say. 
 
 " Free-and-easiness, where there ought to be respect, is 
 always ridiculous. No one would put his hat down when he 
 had scarcely paid the ordinary compliments if he knew how 
 comical it looks. 
 
 " There is no outward sign of courtesy that does not rest 
 on a deep moral foundation. The proper education would be 
 that which communicated the sign and the foundation of it 
 at the same time. 
 
 " Behaviour is a mirror in which every one displays his 
 o^^'n image. 
 
 " There is a courtesy of the heart. It is akin to love. Out 
 of it arises the purest courtesy in the outward behaviour. 
 
 " A freely offered homage is the most beautiful of all re- 
 lations. And how were that possible without love ? 
 
 "We are never further from our wishes than when we 
 imagine that we possess what we have desired. 
 
 " No one is more a slave than the man who thinks himself 
 free while he is not. 
 
 " A man has only to declare that he is free, and the next 
 moment he feels the conditions to which he is subject. Let 
 him venture to declare that he is under conditions, and then 
 he will feel that he is free. 
 
 " Against great advantages in another, there are no means 
 of defending ourselves except love. 
 
 " There is something terrible in the sight of a highly-gifted 
 man lying under obligations to a fool. 
 
 " ' No man is a hero to his valet,' the proverb says. But 
 that is only because it requires a hero to recognize a hero. 
 The valet will probably know how to value the valet-hero. 
 
 " Mediocrity has no greater consolation than in the thought 
 that genius is not immortal. 
 
 *' The greatest men are connected with their own century 
 always through some weakness. 
 
 " One is apt to regard people as more dangerous than they 
 are. 
 
 " Fools and modest people are alike innocuous. It is only 
 your half-fools and your half- wise who are really and truly 
 dangerous. 
 
 "There is no better deliverance from the world than 
 
154 a3ETH3. 
 
 through art; and a man can form no sm-er bond with it 
 than through art. 
 
 "Alike in the moment of our highest fortune and our 
 deepest necessity, we require the artist. 
 
 " The business of art is with the difficult and the good. 
 
 " To see the difficult easily handled, gives us the feeling of 
 the impossible. 
 
 " Difficulties increase the nearer we are to our cud. 
 
 " Sowing is not so difficult as reaping.'* 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The very serious discomfort which this Tisit had caused 
 to Charlotte was in some way compensated to her through the 
 fuller insight which it had enabled her to gain into her 
 daughter's character. In this, her knowledge of the world 
 was of no slight service to her. It was not the first time 
 that so singular a character had come across her, although 
 she had never seen any in which the unusual features were 
 so largely developed ; and she had had experience enough to 
 show her that such persons after having felt the discipline 
 of life, after having gone through something of it, and been 
 in intercourse with older people, may come out at last 
 really charming and amiable ; the selfishness may soften and 
 eager restless activity find a definite direction for itself. 
 And therefore, as a mother, Charlotte was able to endure the 
 appearance of symptoms which for others might perhaps 
 have been nnpleasing, from a sense that where strangers 
 only desire to enjoy, or at least not to have their taste 
 offended, the business of parents is rather to hope. 
 
 After her daughter's departure, however, she had to be 
 pained in a singular and unlooked-for manner, in finding 
 that, not so much through what there really was objectionable 
 in her behaviour, as through what was good and praise- 
 worthy in it, she had left an ill report of herself behind her. 
 Luciana seemed to have prescribed it as a rule to herself not 
 only to be merry with the merry, but miserable with the 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 155 
 
 miserable ; and in order to give full swing to the spirit of 
 contradiction in her, often to make the happy, uncomfortable, 
 and the sad, cheerful. In every family among whom she came, 
 she inquired after such members of it as were ill or infirm, 
 and unable to appear in society. She would go to see them 
 in their rooms, enact the physician, and insist on prescribing 
 powerful doses for them out of her own travelling medicine- 
 chest, which she constantly took with her in her carriage ; 
 her attempted cures, as may be supposed, either succeeding 
 or failing as chance happened to direct. 
 
 In this sort of benevolence she was thoroughly cruel, and 
 would listen to nothing that was said to her, because she was 
 convinced that she was managing admirably. One of these 
 attempts of hers on the moral side failed very disastrously, 
 and this it was which gave Charlotte so much trouble, inas- 
 much as it involved consequences and every one wns talking 
 about it. She never had heard of the story till Luciana was 
 gone ; Ottilie, who had made one of the party present at the 
 time, had to give her a circumstantial account of it. 
 
 One of several daughters of a family of rank had the 
 misfortune to have caused the death of one of her younger 
 sisters ; it had destroyed her peace of mind, and she had 
 never been properly herself since. She lived in her own 
 room, occupying herself and keeping quiet ; and she could 
 only bear to see the members of her own family when they 
 came one by one. If there were several together, she sus- 
 pected at once that they were making reflections upon her, and 
 upon her condition. To each of them singly she would speak 
 rationally enough, and talk freely for an hour at a time. 
 
 Luciana had heard of this, and had secretly determined 
 with herself, as soon as she got into the house, that she 
 would forthwith work a miracle, and restore the young lady 
 to society. She conducted herself in the matter more pru- 
 dently than usual, managed to introduce herself alone to the 
 poor sick-souled girl, and, as far as people could understand, 
 had wound her way into her confidence through music. At 
 last came her fatal mistake ; wishing to make a scene, and 
 fancying that she had sufficiently prepared her for it, one 
 evening she suddenly introduced the beautiful pale creature 
 into the midst of the brilliant glittering assembly ; ani 
 perhaps, even then, the attempt might not have so utterly 
 
156 aoETHa. 
 
 failed, had not the crowd themselves, between curiosity and 
 apprehension, conducted themselves so unwisely, first gather-' 
 ing about the invalid, and then shrinking from her again ; 
 and with their whispers, and shaking their heads together, 
 confusing and agitating her. Her delicate sensibility could 
 not endure it. With a dreadful shriek, which expressed, as 
 it seemed, a horror at some monster that was rushing upon 
 her, she fainted. The crowd fell back in terror on every 
 side, and Ottilie had been one of those who had carried back 
 the sufferer utterly insensible to her room. 
 
 Luciana meanwhile, just like herself, had been reading an 
 angry lecture to the rest of the party, without reflecting for 
 a moment that she herself was entirely to blame, and with- 
 out letting herself be deterred by this and other failures, 
 from going on with her experimentalizing. 
 
 The state of the invalid herself had since that time 
 become more and more serious; indeed, the disorder had 
 increased to such a degree, that the poor thing's parents were 
 unable to keep her any longer at home, and had been forced 
 to confide her to the care of a public institution. Nothing 
 remained for Charlotte, except, by the delicacy of her own 
 attention to the family, in some degree to alleviate the pain 
 which had been occasioned by her daughter. On Ottilie, the 
 thing had made a deep impression. She felt the more for 
 the unhappy girl, as she was convinced, she did not attempt 
 to deny it to Charlotte, that by a careful treatment the dis- 
 order might have been unquestionably removed. 
 
 So there came, too, as it often happens that we dwell 
 more on past disagreeables than on past agreeables, a slight 
 misunderstanding to be spoken of, which had led Ottilie to 
 a wrong judgment of the Architect, when he did not choose 
 to produce his collection that evening, although she had so 
 eagerly begged him to produce it. His practical refusal 
 had remained, ever since, hanging about her heart, she her- 
 self could not tell why. Her feelings about the matter were 
 undoubtedly just ; what a young lady like Ottilie could desire, 
 a young man like the Architect ought not to have refused. 
 The latter, however, when she took occasion to give him a 
 gentle reproof for it, had a very valid excuse to offer for 
 himself. 
 
 " If you knew," he said, " how roughly even cultivated 
 
* ELECTIVE AFFr:^ITIES. 157 
 
 people allow themselves to handle the most valuable v,'orks 
 of art, you would forgive me for not producing mine among 
 the crowd. No one will take the trouble to hold a medal 
 by the rim. They will finger the most beautiful impressions, 
 and the smoothest surfaces ; they will take the rarest coins 
 between the thumb and forefinger, and rub them up and 
 down, as if they were testing the execution with the touch. 
 Without remembering that a large sheet of paper ought to 
 be held in two hands, they will lay hold, with one, of an 
 invaluable proof-engraving of some drawing which cannot 
 be replaced, like a conceited politician laying hold of a 
 newspaper, and passing judgment by anticipation, as he is 
 cutting the pages, on the occurrences of the world. Nobody 
 cares to recollect that if twenty people, one after the other, 
 treat a work of art in this way, the one-and-twentieth will 
 not find much to see there." 
 
 " Have not I often vexed you in this way ?" asked Ottilie. 
 " Have not I, through my carelessness, many times injured 
 your treasures I" 
 
 " Never once," answered the Architect, "never. For you 
 it would be impossible. In you the right thing is innate." 
 
 " In any case," replied Ottilie, " it would not be a bad 
 plan, if in the next edition of the book of good manners, 
 after the chapters which tell us how we ought to eat and 
 drink in company, a good circumstantial chapter were in- 
 serted, how to behave among works of art and in museums." 
 
 *' Undoubtedly," said the Architect ; " and then curiosity- 
 collectors and amateurs would be better contented to show 
 their valuable treasures to the world." 
 
 Ottilie had long, long forgiven him; but as he seemed 
 to have taken her reproof sorely to heart, and assured her 
 again and again that he would gladly produce everything— 
 that he was delighted to do anything for his friends — she 
 felt that she had wounded his feelings, and that she owed 
 him some compensation. It was not easy for her, therefore, 
 to give an absolute refusal to a request which he made her 
 in the conclusion of this conversation, although when she 
 called her heart into counsel about it, she did not see how 
 she could allow herself to do what he wished. 
 
 The circumstances of the matter were these : Ottilie's 
 exclusion from the pictui*e-exhibition by Luciana's jealousy. 
 
158 GOETHE. 
 
 had irritated him in the highest degree; and at the same 
 time he had observed with regret, that at this, the most 
 brilliant part of all the amusements at the castle, ill health 
 had prevented Charlotte from being more than rarely pre- 
 sent ; and now he did not wish to go away, without some 
 additional proof of his gratitude, and, for the honour of one 
 and the entertainment of the other, preparing a far more 
 beautiful exhibition than any of those which had preceded 
 it. Perhaps, too, unknown to himself, another secret motive 
 was working on him. It was so hard for him to leave the 
 house, and to leave the family. It seemed impossible to him 
 to go away from Ottilie's eyes, under the calm, sweet, gentle 
 .glance of which the latter part of the time he had been living 
 almost entirely alone. 
 
 The Christmas holidays were approaching ; and it became 
 at once clear to him that the very thing which he wanted 
 was a representation with real figures of one of those pictures 
 of the scene in the stable,— a sacred exhibition such as at 
 this holy season good Christians delight to offer to the divine 
 Mother and her Child, of the manner in which she, in her 
 seeming lowliness, was honoured first by the shepherds and 
 afterwards by kings. 
 
 He had thoroughly brought before himself how such a 
 picture should be contrived. A fair, lovely child was foimd, 
 and there would be no lack of shepherds andshepherdesses. 
 But without Ottilie the thing could not be done. The young 
 man had exalted her in his design to be the mother of God, 
 and if she refused, there was no question but the undertaking 
 must fall to the ground. Ottilie, half embarrassed at the 
 proposal, referred him and his request to Charlotte. The 
 latter gladly gave her permission, and lent her assistance in 
 overcoming and overpersuading Ottilie's hesitation in as- 
 suming so sacred a personality. The Architect worked day 
 and night, that by Christmas-eve everything might be ready. 
 
 Day and night, indeed, in the literal sense. At all times 
 he was a man who had but few necessities ; and Ottilie's pre- 
 sence seemed to be to him in the place of all delicacies. 
 When he was working for her, it was as if he required no 
 sleeji ; when he was busy about her, as if he could do without 
 food. Accordingly by the hour of the evening solemnity, all 
 was completed. He had found the means of collecting some 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 159 
 
 well-toned wind instruments to form an introduction, and pro- 
 duce the desired temper of thought and feeling. But when the 
 curtain rose, Charlotte was taken completely by surprise. The 
 picture which presented itself to her had been repeated so often 
 in the world, that one could scarcely have expected any new 
 impression to be produced. But here, the reality as repre- 
 senting the picture had its especial advantages. The whole 
 space was the colour rather of night than of twilight, and 
 there was nothing even of the details of the scene which was 
 obscure. The inimitable idea that all the light should pro- 
 ceed from the child, the artist had contrived to carry out by 
 an ingenious method of illumination which was concealed by 
 the figures in the foreground, who were all in shadow. 
 Bright looking boys and girls were standing round, their fresh 
 faces sharply lighted from below ; and there were angels too, 
 whose own brilliancy grew pale before the divine, whose 
 ethereal bodies showed dim and dense, and needing other 
 light in the presence of the body of the divine humanity. 
 By good fortune the infant had fallen asleep in the loveliest 
 attitude, so that nothing disturbed the contemplation when 
 the eye rested on the seeming mother, who with infinite grace 
 had lifted off a veil to reveal her hidden treasure. At this 
 moment the picture seemed to have been caught, and there 
 to have remained fixed. Physically dazzled, mentally sur- 
 prised, the people round appeared to have just moved to 
 turn away their half-blinded eyes, to be glancing again towards 
 the child with curious delight, and to be showing more wonder 
 and pleasure than awe and reverence, — although these emotions 
 were not forgotten, and were to be traced upon the features 
 of some of the older spectators. 
 
 But Ottilie's figure, expression, attitude, glance, excelled 
 all which any painter has ever represented. A man who 
 had true knowledge of art, and had seen this spectacle, 
 would have been in fear lest any portion of it should move ; 
 he would have doubted whether anything could ever so much 
 please him again. Unluckily, there was no one present who 
 could comprehend the whole of this effect. The Architect 
 alone, who, as a tall, slender shepherd, was looking in from 
 the side over those who were kneeling, enjoyed, although he 
 was not in the best position for seeing, the fullest pleasure. 
 And who can describe the mien of the new-made queeu of 
 
180 GOETHE. 
 
 heaven ? The purest humility, the most exquisite feeling of 
 modesty, at the great honour which had undeservedly been 
 bestowed upon her, with indescribable and immeasurable 
 happiness, was displayed upon her features, expressing as 
 much her own personal emotion as that of the character which 
 she was endeavouring to represent. 
 
 Charlotte was delighted with the beautiful figures ; but 
 what had most effect on her was the child. Her eyes filled 
 with tears, and her imagination presented to her in the live- 
 liest colours that she might soon hope to have such another 
 darling creature on her own lap. 
 
 They had let down the curtain, partly to give the exhibitors 
 some little rest, partly to make an alteration in the exhibition. 
 The artist had proposed to himself to transmute the first 
 scene of night and lowliness into a picture of splendour and 
 glory; and for this purpose had prepared a blaze of light to 
 fall in from every side, which this interval was required to 
 kindle. 
 
 Ottilie, in the semi- theatrical position in which she found 
 herself, had hitherto felt perfectly at her ease, because, with 
 the exception of Charlotte and a few members of the house- 
 hold, no one had witnessed this devout piece of artistic dis- 
 play. She was, therefore, in some degree annoyed when in 
 the interval she learnt that a stranger had come into the 
 saloon, and had been warmly received by Charlotte. Who it 
 was no one was able to tell her. She therefore made up her 
 mind not to produce a disturbance, and to go on with her 
 character. Candles and lamps blazed out, and she was sur- 
 rounded by splendour perfectly infinite. The curtain rose. 
 It was a sight to startle the spectators. The whole pictm-e 
 was one blaze of light; and instead of the full depth of 
 shadow, there now were only the colours left remaining, 
 which, from the skill with which they had been selected, pro- 
 duced a gentle softening of tone. Looking out under he? 
 long eyelashes, Ottilie perceived the figure of a man sitting 
 by Charlotte. She did not recognize him ; but the voice she 
 fancied was that of the assistant at the school. A singular 
 emotion came over her. How many things had happened 
 since she last heard the voice of that her kind instructor ! 
 Like a flash of forked lightning the stream of her joys and 
 her sorrow rushed swiftly before her soul, and the question 
 
ELECTIVE ArriNITIES. 161 
 
 rose m her heart. Dare you confess, dare you acknowledge 
 it all to him ? If not, how little can you deserve to appear 
 before him under this sainted form ; and how strange must 
 it not seem to him who has only known you as your natural 
 self to see you now under this disguise? In an instant, 
 swift as thought, feeling and reflection began to clash and 
 gain within her. Her eyes filled with tears, while she 
 forced herself to continue to appear as a motionless figure, 
 and it was a relief, indeed, to her when the child began to 
 Btir, — and the artist saw himself compelled to give the sign 
 that the curtain should fall again. 
 
 If the painful feeling of being unable to meet a valued 
 friend had, during the last few moments, been disti-essing 
 Ottilie in addition to her other emotions, she was now in still 
 greater embarrassment. Was she to present herself to him 
 in this strange disguise ? or had she better change her dress ? 
 She did not hesitate — she did the last; and in the interval she 
 endeavoured to collect and to compose herself; nor did she 
 properly recover her self-possession until at last, in her ordi- 
 nary costume, she had welcomed the new visitor. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IiT SO far as the Architect desired the happiness of his kind 
 patronesses, it was a pleasure to him, now that at last he 
 was obliged to go, to know that he was leaving them in good 
 society with the estimable Assistant. At the same time, 
 however, when he thought of their goodness in its relation 
 to himself, he could not help feeling it a little painful to 
 see his place so soon, and as it seemed to his modesty, so 
 well, so completely supplied. He had lingered and lingered, 
 but now he forced himself away ; what, after he was gone, 
 he must endure as he could, at least he could not stay to 
 witness with his own eyes. 
 
 To the great relief of this half-melancholy feeling, the 
 ladies at his departure made him a present of a waistcoat, 
 upon which he had watched them both for some time past at 
 work, with a silent envy of the fortunate unknown, to whom 
 
1G2 GOETHE. 
 
 it was by-and-bye to belong. Such a present is the most 
 agreeable which a true-hearted man can receive ; for while 
 he thinks of the unwearied play of the beautiful fingers at 
 the making of it, he cannot help flattering himself that in so 
 long- sustained a labour the feeling could not have remained 
 utterly without an interest in its accomplishment. 
 
 The ladies had now a new visitor to entertain, for whom 
 they felt a real regard, and whose stay with them it would be 
 their endeavour to make as agreeable as they could. There 
 is in all women a peculiar circle of inward interests, which 
 remain always the same, and from which nothing in the world 
 can divorce them. In outward social intercourse, on the other 
 hand, they will gladly and easily allow themselves to take their 
 tone from the person with whom at the moment they are 
 occupied ; and thus by a mixture of impassiveness and suscep- 
 tibility, by persisting and by yielding, they continue to keep 
 the government to themselves, and no man in the cultivated 
 world can ever take it from them. 
 
 The Architect, following at the same time his own fancy 
 and his own inclination, had been exerting himself and put- 
 ting out his talents for their gratification and for the pur- 
 poses of his friends ; and business and amusement, while he 
 was with them, had been conducted in this spirit, and directed 
 to the ends which most suited his taste. But now in a short 
 time, through, the presence of the Assistant, quite another 
 sort of life was commenced. His great gift was to talk well, 
 and to treat in his conversation of men and human relations, 
 particularly in reference to the cultivation of young people. 
 Thus arose a very perceptible contrast to the life which had 
 been going on hitherto, all the more as the Assistant could 
 not entirely approve of their having interested themselves in 
 such subjects so exclusively. 
 
 Of the impersonated picture which received him on his 
 arrival, he never said a single word. On the other hand, 
 when they took him to see the church and the chapel with 
 their new decorations, expecting to please him as much as 
 they were pleased themselves, he did not hesitate to express 
 a very contrary opinion about it. 
 
 "This mixing up of the holy with the sensuous," he 
 said, " is anything but pleasing to my taste ; I cannot like 
 men to set apart certain especial places, consecrate them, 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 163 
 
 and deck tliem out, that by so doing they may nourish in 
 themselves a temper of piety. No ornaments, not even the 
 very simplest, should disturb in us that sense of the Divine 
 Being which accompanies us wherever we are, and can conse- 
 crate every spot into a temple. What pleases me is to see 
 a home-service of God held in the saloon where people come 
 together to eat, where they have their parties, and amuse 
 themselves with games and dances. The highest, the most 
 excellent in men, has no form ; and one should be cautious 
 how one gives it any form except noble action." 
 
 Charlotte, who was already generally acquainted with his 
 mode of thinking, and in the short time he had been at the 
 castle, had already probed it more deeply, found something 
 also which he might do for her in his own department ; and 
 she had her garden children, whom the Architect had re- 
 viewed shortly before his departure, marshalled up into the 
 gi'eat saloon. In their bright, clean uniforms, with their 
 regular orderly movement, and their own natural vivacity, they 
 looked exceedingly well. The Assistant examined them in 
 his own way, and by a variety of questions, and by the turns 
 which he gave them, soon brought to light the capacities and 
 dispositions of the children ; and without its seeming so, in 
 the space of less than one hour he had really given them 
 important instruction and assistance. 
 
 " How did you manage that?" said Charlotte, as the chil- 
 dren marched away. " I listened w^ith all my attention. 
 Nothing was brought forward except things which were quite 
 familiar, and yet I cannot tell the least how I should begin, 
 to bring them to be discussed in so short a time so methodi- 
 cally, with all this questioning and answering.'* 
 
 " Perhaps," replied the Assistant, " we ought to make a 
 secret of the tricks of our own handicraft. However, I will 
 not hide from you one very simple maxim, with the help of 
 which you may do this, and a great deal more than this. 
 Take any subject, a substance, an idea, whatever j'ou like; 
 keep fast hold of it; make yourself thoroughly acquainted 
 with it in all its parts, and then it will be easy for you, in 
 conversation, to find out, with a mass of children, how much 
 about it has already developed itself in them ; what requires 
 to be stimulated, what to be directly communicated The 
 
 m2 
 
164 GOETHE. 
 
 ansA\ers to your questions may be as unsatisfactory as they 
 will, they may wander wide of the mark ; if you only take 
 care that your counter-question shall draw their thoughts and 
 senses inwards again; if you do not allow yourself to be 
 driven from your own position — the children will at last 
 reflect, comprehend, learn only what the teacher desires them 
 to learn, and the subject will be presented to them in the 
 light in which he wishes them to see it. The greatest mis- 
 take which he can make is to allow himself to be run away 
 with from the subject ; not to know how to keep fast to the 
 point with which he is engaged. Do you try this on your 
 own account the next time the children come ; you will find 
 you w^ill be greatly entertained by it yourself." 
 
 "That is very good," said Charlotte. *' The right method 
 of teaching is the reverse, I see, of what we must do in life. 
 In society we must keep the attention long upon nothing, 
 and in instruction the first commandment is to permit no 
 dissipation of it." 
 
 "Variety, without dissipation, were the best motto for 
 both teaching and life, if this desirable equipoise were easy 
 to be preserved," said the Assistant, and he was going on 
 further wdth the subject, when Charlotte called out to him to 
 look again at the children, whose merry troop were at the 
 moment moving across the court. He expressed his satisfac- 
 tion at seeing them wearing a uniform. " Men," he said, 
 "should wear a uniform from their childhood upwards. 
 They have to accustom themselves to work together; to lose 
 themselves among their equals; to obey in masses, and to 
 work on a large scale. Every kind of uniform, moreover, 
 generates a military habit of thought, and a smart, straight- 
 forward carriage. All boys are born soldiers, whatever you 
 do with them. You have only to watch them at their mock 
 nghts and games, their storming parties and scaling parties." 
 
 " On the other hand, you will not blame me," replied 
 Ottilie, *'if I do not insist with my girls on such unity of 
 costume. When I introduce them to you, I hope to gratify 
 you by a party-coloured mixture." 
 
 "I approve of that, entirely," replied the other. "Wo- 
 men should go about in every sort of variety of dress ; each 
 following her own style and her own likings, that each may 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 165 
 
 learn to feel what sits well upon her and becomes her. And 
 for a more weighty reason as well — because it is appointed 
 for them to stand alone all their lives, and work alone." 
 
 "That seems io me to be a paradox," answered Charlotte. 
 "Are we then to be never anj'thing for om-selves?" 
 
 *'0, yes!" replied the Assistant. "In respect of other 
 women assm-edly. But observe a young lady as a lover, as a 
 bride, as a housewife, as a mother. She always stands 
 isolated. She is always alone, and will be alone. Even the 
 most empty-headed woman is in the same case. Each one of 
 them excludes all others. It is her nature to do so ; because 
 of each one of them is required everything which the entire 
 sex have to do. With a man it is altogether different. He 
 would make a second man if there were none. But a woman 
 might live to an, eternity, without even so much as thinking 
 of producing a duplicate of herself." 
 
 " One has only to say the truth in a strange way," said 
 Charlotte, " and at last the strangest thing will seem to be 
 true. We will accept what is good for us out of your obser- 
 vations, and yet as women we will hold together with 
 women, and do common work with them too; not to give 
 the other sex too great an advantage over us. Indeed, you 
 must not take it ill of us, if in future we come to feel a little 
 malicious satisfaction when our lords and masters do not get 
 on in the very best way together." 
 
 With much care, this wise, sensible person went on to 
 examine more closely how Ottilie proceeded with her little 
 pupils, and expressed his marked approbation of it. " You 
 are entirely right," he said, " in directing these childi'en 
 only to what they can immediately and usefully put in prac- 
 tice. Cleanliness, for instance, will accustom them to wear 
 their clothes with pleasure to themselves ; and everything is 
 gained if they can be induced to enter into what they do 
 with cheerfulness and self- reflection." 
 
 In other ways he found, to his great satisfaction, that 
 nothing had been done for outward display; but all was 
 inward, and designed to supply what was indispensably 
 necessary. "In how few words," he cried, "might the 
 whole business of education be summed up, if people had 
 but cars to huai'!" 
 
166 OOETHE. 
 
 *'Will you try whether I have any ears?" said Ottilie, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Indeed I will," answered he, " only you must not betray 
 me. Educate the boys to be servants, and the girls to bo 
 mothers, and everything is as it should be." 
 
 "To be mothers?" replied Ottilie. *' Women would 
 scarcely think that sufficient. They have to look forward, 
 without being mothers, to going out into service. And, 
 indeed, our young men think themselves a great deal too 
 good for servants. One can see easily, in every one of them, 
 that he holds himself far fitter to be a master." 
 
 ** And for that reason we should say nothing about it f o 
 them," said the Assistant. "We flatter ourselves on into 
 life; but life flatters not us. How many men would like to 
 acknowledge at the outset, what at the end they must acknow- 
 ledge whether they like it or not ? But let us leave these 
 considerations, which do not concern us here. 
 
 *' I consider you very fortunate in having been able to 
 go so methodically to work with your pupils. If your very 
 little ones run about with their dolls, and stitch together a 
 few petticoats for them; if the elder sisters will then take 
 care of the younger, and the whole household know how to 
 supply its own wants, and one member of it help the others, 
 the further step into life will not then be great, and such a girl 
 will find in her husband what she has lost in her parents. 
 
 "But among the higher ranks the problem is a sorely 
 intricate one. We have to provide for higher, finer, more 
 delicate relations; especially for such as arise out of society. 
 We are, therefore, obliged to give our pupils an outward cul- 
 tivation. It is indispensable, it is necessary, and it may be 
 really valuable, if we do not overstep the proper measure in 
 it. Only it is so easy, while one is proposing to cultivate the 
 children for a wider circle, to drive them out into the indefi- 
 nite, without keeping before our eyes the real requisites o£ 
 the inner nature. Here lies the problem which more or less 
 must be either solved or blundered over by all educators. 
 
 " Many things, with which we furnish our scholars at the 
 school, do not please me ; because experience tells me of hoy 
 little service they are likely to be in after-life. How much is! 
 uot at once stripped off; how much is not at once committed 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 167 
 
 to oblivion, as soon as the young lady finds lieisclf in tlie 
 position of a housewife or a mother ! 
 
 " In the meantime, since I have devoted myself to this 
 occupation, I cannot but entertain a devout hope that one 
 day, with the companionship of some faithful helpmate, I 
 may succeed in cultivating purely in my pupils that, and that 
 only, which they will recjuire when they pass out into the field 
 of independent activity and self-reliance ; that I may be able 
 to say to myself, in this sense is their education completed. 
 Another education there is indeed which will again speedily 
 recommence, and work on well nigh through all the years of 
 our life — ^the education which circumstances will give us, if 
 we do not give it to ourselves." 
 
 How true Ottilie felt were these words! What had not a 
 passion, little dreamed of before, done to educate her in the 
 })ast year ! What trials did she not see hovering before her 
 if she looked forward only to the next — to the very next, 
 which was now so near ! 
 
 It was not without a purpose that the young man had 
 spoken of a helpmate — of a wife ; for with all his diffidence, 
 he could not refrain from thus remotely hinting at his own 
 wishes. A number of circumstances and accidents, indeed, 
 combined to induce him on this visit to ai)proach a few steps 
 towards his aim. 
 
 The Lady Superior of the school was advanced in years. 
 She had been already for some time looking about among her 
 fellow-labourers, male and female, for some person whom she 
 could take into partnership with herself, and at last had made 
 proposals to the Assistant, in whom she had the highest 
 ground for feeling confidence. He was to conduct the busi- 
 ness of the school with herself. He was to work with her in 
 it, as if it was his own ; and after her death, as her heir, to 
 enter upon it as sole proprietor. 
 
 The principal thing now seemed to be, that he should find 
 a wife who would co-operate with him. Ottilie was secretly 
 before his eyes and before his heart. A number of difficulties 
 suggested themselves, and yet again there were favourable 
 'circumstances on the other side to counterbalance them. Lu- 
 ciana had left the school; Ottilie could therefore return with 
 the less difficulty. Of the affair with Edward, some little 
 had transpired. It passed, however, as many such things 
 
168 GOETHE. 
 
 do, as a matter of indifference, and this "very circumstancje 
 might make it desirable that she should leave the castle. 
 And yet, perhaps, no decision would have been arrived at, 
 no step would have been taken, had not an unexpected visit 
 given a special impulse to his hesitation. The appearance of 
 remarkable people, in any and every circle, can never be 
 without its effects. 
 
 The Count and the Baroness, who often found themselves 
 asked for their opinion, almost every one being in difficulty 
 about the education of their children, as to the value of the 
 various schools, had found it desirable to make themselves 
 particularly acquainted with this one, which was generally so 
 well spoken of; and under their present circumstances, they 
 were more easily able to carry on these inquiries in com- 
 pany. 
 
 The Baroness, however, had something else in view as 
 well. While she was last at the castle, she had talked over 
 with Charlotte the whole affair of Edward and Ottilie. She 
 had insisted again and again that Ottilie must be sent away. 
 She tried every means to encourage Charlotte to do it, and to 
 keep her from being frightened by Edward's threats. Several 
 modes of escape from the difficulty were suggested. Acci- 
 dentally the school was mentioned, and the Assistant and his 
 incipient passion, which made the Baroness more resolved 
 than ever to pay her intended visit there. 
 
 She went; she made acquaintance with the Assistant; 
 looked over the establishment, and spoke of Ottilie. The 
 Count also spoke with much interest of her, having in his 
 recent visit learnt to know her better. She had been drawn 
 towards him ; indeed, she had felt attracted by him ; believing 
 that she could see, that she could perceive in his solid, sub- 
 stantial conversation, something to which hitherto she had 
 been an entire stranger. In her intercourse with Edward, 
 the world had been utterly forgotten ; in the presence of the 
 Count, the world appeared first worth regarding. The attrac- 
 tion was mutual. The Count conceived a liking for Ottilie ; 
 he would have been glad to have had her for a daughter. 
 Thus a second time, and worse than the first time, she was iu 
 the way of the Baroness. Who knows what, in times when 
 passions ran hotter than they do now-a-days, this lady might 
 not have devised against her? As things were, it was enough 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 169 
 
 If she could get her married, and render her more innocuous 
 for the future to the peace of mind of married women. She 
 therefore artfully urged the Assistant, in a delicate, but eflfec- 
 tive manner, to set out on a little excursion to the castle ; 
 where his plans and his wishes, of which he made no secret 
 to the lady, he might forthwith take steps to realize. 
 
 With the fullest consent of the Superior he started off on 
 his expedition, and in his heart he nourished good hopes of 
 success. He knew that Otlilie was not ill-disposed towards 
 him ; and although it was true there was some disproportion, 
 of rank between them, yet distiuctions of this kind were fast 
 disappearing in the temper of the time. Moreover, the 
 Baroness had made him perceive clearly that Ottilie must 
 always remain a poor portionless maiden. To be related to 
 a wealthy family, it was said, could be of service to nobody. 
 For even with the largest property, men have a feeling that 
 it is not right to deprive of any considerable sum, those who, 
 as standing in a nearer degree of relationship, appear to have 
 a fuller right to possession; and really it is a strange thing, 
 that the immense privilege which a man has of disposing of 
 his property after his death, he so very seldom uses for the 
 benefit of those whom he loves, out of regard to established 
 usage only appearing to consider those who would inherit 
 his estate from him supposing he made no will at all. 
 
 Thus, while on his journey, he grew to feel himself entirely 
 on a level with Ottilie. A favourable reception raised his 
 hopes. He found Ottilie indeed not altogether so open with 
 him as usual, but she was considerably matured, more deve- 
 loped, and, if you please, generally more conversible than 
 he had known her. She was ready to give him the fullest 
 insight into many things which were in any way connected 
 with his profession; but when he attempted to approach 
 his proper object, a certain inward shyness always held 
 him back. 
 
 Once, however, Charlotte gave him an opportunity for 
 saying something. In Ottilie's presence she said to him, 
 " Well now, you have looked closely enough into eveiy thing 
 which is going forward in my circle. How do you find 
 Ottilie ? you had better say while she is here." 
 
 Hereupon the Assistant signified, with a clear perception 
 and composed expression, how that, in respect of a freer car- 
 
170 GOETHE. 
 
 > 
 
 liage, of an easier manner in speaking, of a higher tnsight 
 into the things of the world, which showed itself more in 
 actions than in words, he found Ottilie altered much for the 
 better ; but that he still believed it might be of serious advan- 
 tage to her if she would go back for some little time to the 
 school, in order methodically and thoroughly to make her own 
 for ever wha,t the world was only imparting to her in frag- 
 ments and pieces, rather perplexing her than satisfying her, 
 and often too late to be of service. Hf3 did not wish to be 
 prolix about it. Ottilie herself knew best how much method 
 and connection there was in the style of instruction out of 
 which, in that case, she would be taken. 
 
 Ottilie had nothing to say against this ; she could not 
 acknowledge what it was which these words made her feel, 
 because she was hardly able to explain it to herself. It 
 seemed to her as if nothing in the world was disconnected so 
 long as she thought of the one person whom she loved : and 
 she could not conceive how, without him, anything could be 
 connected at all. 
 
 Charlotte replied to the proposal v>^ith a wise kindness. 
 She said that she herself, as well as Ottilie, had long desired 
 her return to the school. At that time, however, the pre- 
 sence of so dear a companion and helper had become indis- 
 pensable to herself; still she would offer no obstacle at some 
 future period, if Ottilie continued to wish it, to her going 
 back there for such a time as would enable her to complete 
 what she had begun, and to make entirely her own what had 
 been interrupted. 
 
 The Assistant listened with delight to this qualified assent. 
 Ottilie did not venture to say anything against it, although the 
 very thought made her shudder. Charlotte, on her side, 
 thought only how to gain time. She hoped that Edward 
 would soon come back and find himself a happy father, then 
 she was convinced all would go right ; and one way or another 
 they would be able to settle something for Ottilie. 
 
 After an important conversation which has furnished matter 
 for after-reflection to all who have taken part in it, there com- 
 monly follows a sort of pause, which in appearance is like a 
 general embarrassment. They walked up and down the saloon. 
 The Assistant turned over the leaves of various books, and 
 came at lust on the folio of engravings which had remained 
 
ELECTIVE AFriNlTIES. ITI 
 
 lying there since Luciana's time. As soon as he &aw that it 
 contained nothing but apes, he shut it up again. 
 
 It may have been this, however, which gave occasion to a 
 conversation ol which we find traces in Ottilie's diary. 
 
 FROM OTTILIE's DIARY. 
 
 *' It is strange how men can have the heart to take such 
 pains with the pictures of those hideous monkeys. One lowers, 
 one's-sclf sufficiently when one looks at them merely as ani- 
 mals, but i6 is really wicked to give way to the inclination to 
 look for people whom we know behind such masks." 
 
 " It is a sure mark of a certain obliquity, to take pleasure 
 in caricatures and monstrous faces, and pigmies. 1 have to 
 thank our kind Assistant that I have never been vexed 
 with natural history ; I could " never make myself at home 
 with worms and beetles." 
 
 " Just nov/ he acknowledged to me, that it Tvas the same 
 with him. ' Of nature,' he said, ' we ought to know nothing 
 except what is actually alive immediately around us. With 
 the trees M-hich blossom and put out leaves and bear fruit in 
 our own neighbourhood, with every shrub which we pass by, 
 with every blade of grass on which we tread, we stand in a 
 real relation. They are our genuine compatriots. The birds 
 which hop up and down among our branches, which sing 
 among our leaves, belong to us ; they speak to us from our 
 childhood upwards, and we learn to understand their language. 
 But let a man ask himself whether or not every strange crea- 
 ture, torn out of its natural environment, does not at first sight 
 make a sort of painful impression upon him, which is only 
 deadened by custom. It is a mark of a motley, dissipated 
 sort of life, to be able to endure monkeys, and parrots, and 
 black people, about one's-self." 
 
 " Many times when a certain longing curiosity about these 
 strange objects has come over me, I have envied the traveller 
 who sees such marvels in living, every-day connection with 
 other marvels. But he, too, must have become another man. 
 Palm-trees will not allow a man to wander among them witt 
 
172 GOETHE. 
 
 impunity ; and doubtless his tone of thinking becomes very 
 different in a land where elephants and tigers are at home." 
 
 " The only inquirers into nature whom we care to respect, 
 are such as know how to describe and to represent to us the 
 strange wonderful things which they have seen in their 
 proper locality, each in its own especial element. How I 
 should enjoy once hearing Humboldt talk!" 
 
 " A cabinet of natural curiosities we may regard like an 
 Egyptian burying-place, where the various plant gods and 
 animal gods stand about embalmed. It may be mcII enough 
 for a priest-caste to busy itself with such things in a twilight 
 of mystery. But in general instruction, they have no place 
 or business ; and we must beware of them all the more, 
 because what is nearer to us, and more valuable, may be so 
 easily thrust aside by them." 
 
 *' A teacher who can arouse a feeling for one single good 
 action, for one single good poem, accomplishes more than he 
 who fills our memory with rows on rows of natural objects, 
 classified with name and form. For what is the result of all 
 these, except what we know as well without them, that the 
 human figure pre-eminently and peculiarly is made in the 
 image and likeness of God r " 
 
 " Individuals may be left to occupy themselves with what- 
 ever amuses them, with whatever gives them pleasure, what- 
 ever they think useful ; but the proper study of mankind is 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 There are but few men who care to occupy themselves 
 with the immediate past. Either we are forcibly bound up 
 in the present, or we lose ourselves in the long gone-by, and 
 seek back for what is utterly lost, as if it were possible to 
 summon it up again, and rehabilitate it. Even in great and 
 •wealthy families who are under large obligations to their 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. It3 
 
 ancestors, we commonly find mea thinking more of their 
 grandfathers than their fathers. 
 
 Such reflections as these suggested themselves to our 
 Assistant, as, on one of those beautiful days in which the 
 departing winter is accustomed to imitate the spring, he had 
 been walking up and down the great old castle garden, and 
 admiring the tall avenues of the lindens, and the formal 
 walks and flower-beds which had been laid out by Edward's 
 father. The trees had thriven admirably, according to the 
 design of him who had planted them, and now when they 
 ought to have begun to be valued and enjoyed, no one ever 
 spoke of them. Hardly any one even went near them, and 
 the interest and the outlay was now directed to the other side, 
 out into the free and the open. 
 
 He remarked upon it to Charlotte on his return ; she did 
 not take it unkindly. " While life is sweeping us forwards," 
 she replied, " we fancy that we are acting out our own im- 
 pulses ; we believe that we choose ourselves what we will do, 
 and what we will enjoy. But in fact, if we look at it closely, 
 our actions are no more than the plans, and the desires of the 
 time which we are compelled to carry out." 
 
 *' No doubt," said the Assistant. " And who is strong 
 enough to withstand the stream of what is round him ? Time 
 passes on, and in it, opinions, thoughts, prejudices, and inte- 
 rests. If the youth of the son falls in the era of revolution, 
 we may feel assured that he will have nothing in common 
 with his father. If the father lived at a time when the desire 
 was to accumulate property, to secure the possession of it, to 
 narrow and to gather one's-self in, and to base one's enjoy- 
 ment in separation from the world, the son will at once seek 
 to extend himself, to communicate himself to others, to spread 
 himself over a wide surface, and open out his closed stores." 
 
 " Entire periods," replied Charlotte, " resemble this father 
 and son whom you have been describing. Of the state of 
 things when every little town was obliged to have its walls 
 and moats, when the castle of the nobleman was built in a 
 swamp, and the smallest manor-houses were only accessible 
 by a draw-bridge, we are scarcely able to form a conception. 
 In our days, the largest cities take down their walls, the 
 moats of the princes' castles are filled in ; cities are no more 
 than great places, and when one travels and sees all this, one 
 
174 GOETHE. 
 
 might fancy that universal peace was just established, and 
 the golden age was before the door. No one feels himsell 
 easy in a garden which does not look like the open country 
 There must be nothing to remind him of form and constraint , 
 we choose to be entirely free, and to draw our breath without 
 sense of confinement. Do you conceive it possible, my friend, 
 that we can ever return again out of this into another, into 
 our former condition 1 " 
 
 " Why should we not?" replied the Assistant. "Every 
 condition has its own burden along with it, the most relaxed as 
 well as the most constrained. The first presupposes abun- 
 dance, and leads to extravagance. Let want re-appear, and 
 the spirit of moderation is at once with us again. Men who 
 are obliged to make use of their space and their soil, will 
 speedily enough raise walls up round their gardens to be sure 
 of their crops and plants. Out of this will arise by degrees a 
 new phase of things : the useful will again gain the upper 
 hand ; and even the man of large possessions will feel at last 
 that he must make the most of all which belongs to him. 
 Believe me, it is quite possible that your son may become 
 indifierent to all which you have been doing in the park, 
 find draw in again behind the solemn walls and the tall 
 lindens of his grandfather." 
 
 The secret pleasure which it gave Charlotte to have a son 
 foretold to her, made her forgive the Assistant his somewhat 
 unfriendly prophecy of how it might one day fare with her 
 lovely, beautiful park. She therefore answered without any 
 discomposure : " You and I are not old enough yet to have 
 lived through very much of these contradictions ; and yet when 
 I look back into my own early youth, when I remember the 
 style of complaints which I used then to hear from older 
 people, and when I think at the same time of what the country 
 and the town then were, I have nothing to advance against 
 what you say. But is there nothing which one can do to 
 remedy this natural course of things ? Are father and son» 
 parents and children, to be always thus unable to understand 
 each other ? You have been so kind as to prophesy a boy to 
 me. Is it necessary that he must stand in contradiction to 
 his father ? Must he destroy what his parents have erected, 
 instead of completing it, instead of following on upon the 
 same idea, and elevating it ? 
 
ELECTIVE AFriXITIES. 175 
 
 " There is a rational remedy for it," replied the Assistant. 
 *' But it is one which will be but seldom put in practice by 
 men. The father should raise his son to a joint ownership 
 with himself. He should permit him to plant and to build ; 
 and allow him the same innocent libarty which he allows to 
 himself. One form of activity may be woven into another, 
 but it cannot be pieced on to it. A young shoot may be 
 readily and easily grafted with an old stem, to which no 
 grown branch admits of being fastened." 
 
 The Assistant was glad to have had the opportunity, at 
 the moment when he saw himself obliged to take his leave, 
 of saying something agreeable to Charlotte, and thus making 
 himself a new link to secure her favour. He had been 
 already too long absent from home, and yet he could not make 
 up his mind to return there, until after a full conviction that 
 he must allow the approaching epoch of Charlotte's confine- 
 ment first to pass by, before he could look for any decision from 
 her in respect to Ottilie. He therefore accommodated him- 
 self to the circumstances, and returned with these prospects 
 and hopes to the Superior. 
 
 Charlotte's confinement was now approaching ; she kept 
 more in her own room. The ladies who had gathered about 
 her were her closest companions. Ottilie managed all 
 domestic matters, hardly able, however, the while, to think 
 what she was doing. She had indeed utterly resigned her- 
 self; she desired to continue to exert herself to the extent 
 of her power for Charlotte, for the child, for Edward. But 
 she could not see how it would be possible for her. Nothing 
 could save her from utter distraction, except patiently to do 
 the duty which each day brought with it. 
 
 A son was brought happily into the world, and the ladies 
 declared, with one voice, it was the very image of its Either. 
 Only Ottilie, as she wished the new mother joy, and kissed 
 the child with all her heart, was unable to see the likeness. 
 Once already Charlotte had felt most painfully the absence 
 of her husband, when she had to make preparations for her 
 daughter's marriage. And now the father could not be 
 present at the birth of his son. He could not have the choos- 
 ing of the name by which the child was hereafter to be called. 
 
 The first among all Charlotte's friends who came to wish 
 her joy was Mittler. He had placed expresses ready to 
 
1 73 aOETHE. 
 
 bring him news the instant the event took place. He was 
 admitted to see her, and, scarcely able to conceal his triumph 
 even before Ottilie, when alone with Charlotte he broke 
 fairly out with it ; and was at once ready with means to 
 remove all anxieties, and set aside all immediate difficulties. 
 The baptism should not be delayed a day longer than neces- 
 sary. The old clergyman, who had one foot already in the 
 grave, should leave his blessing, to bind together the past 
 and the future. The child should be called Otto ; what name 
 would he bear so fitly as that of his father and of his father's 
 friend ? 
 
 It required the peremptory resolution of this man to set aside 
 the innumerable considerations, arguments, hesitations, diffi- 
 culties ; what this person knew, and that person knew better ; 
 the opinions, up and down, and backwards and forwards, 
 which every friend volunteered. It always happens on such 
 occasions that when one inconvenience is removed, a fresh 
 inconvenience seems to arise ; and in wishing to spare all 
 sides, we inevitably go wrong on one side or the other. 
 
 The letters to friends and relations were all undertaken by 
 Mittler, and they were to be written and sent off at once. 
 It was highly necessary, he thought, that the good fortune 
 which he considered so important for the family, should be 
 known as widely as possible through the ill-natured and 
 misinterpreting world. For indeed these late entanglements 
 and perplexities had got abroad among the public, Avhich at 
 all times has a conviction that whatever happens, happens 
 only in order that it may have something to talk about. 
 
 The ceremony of the baptism was be observed with all due 
 honour, but it was to be as brief and as private as possible. 
 The people came together ; Ottilie and Mittler were to hold 
 the child as sponsors. The old pastor, supported by the 
 servants of the church, came in with slow steps ; the prayers 
 were offered. The child lay in Ottilie's arms, and as she 
 was looking affectionately down at it, it opened its eyes and 
 she was not a little startled when she seemed to see her own 
 eyes looking at her. The likeness w^ould have surprised 
 any one. Mittler, who next had to receive the child, started 
 as well; he fancying he saw in the little features a most 
 striking likeness to the Captain. He had never seen a 
 resemblance so marked. 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 177 
 
 The infirmity of the good old clergyman had not permitted 
 him to accompany the ceremony with more than the usual 
 liturgy. 
 
 Mittler, however, who was full of his subject, recollected 
 his old performances when he had been in the ministry, and 
 indeed it was one of his peculiarities that on every sort of 
 occasion, he always thought what he would like to say, and 
 how he would express himself about it. 
 
 At this time he was the less able to contain himself, as he 
 was now in the midst of a circle consisting entirely of well 
 known friends. He began therefore towards the conclusion of 
 the service, to put himself quietly into the place of the clergy- 
 man ; to make cheerful speeches aloud, expressive of his duty 
 and his hopes as godfather, and to dwell all the longer on the 
 subject, as he thought he saw in Charlotte's gratified manner 
 that she was pleased with his doing so. 
 
 It altogether escaped the eagerness of the orator, that the 
 good old man would gladly have sat down ; still less did he 
 think that he was on the way to occasion a more serious evil. 
 After he had described with all his power of impressiveness 
 the relation in which every person present stood toward the 
 child, thereby putting Ottilie's composure sorely to the proof, 
 he turned at last to the old man with the words, "And you, my 
 worthy father, you may now well say with Simeon, ' Lord, 
 now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes 
 have seen the saviour of this house.' " 
 
 He was now in full swing towards a brilliant peroration, 
 when he perceived the old man to whom he held out the 
 child, first appear a little to incline towards it, and imme- 
 diately after to totter and sink backwards. Hardly prevented 
 from falling, he was lifted to a seat ; but, notwithstanding the 
 instant assistance which was rendered, he was found to be 
 dead. 
 
 To see thus side by side birth and death, the coffin and 
 the cradle, to see them and to realise them, to comprehend, 
 not with the eye of imagination, but with the bodily eye, at 
 one moment these fearful opposites, was a hard trial to the 
 spectators ; the harder, the more utterly it had taken them 
 by surprise. Ottilie alone stood contemplating the slum- 
 b^rer, whose features stiU. retained their gentle sweet expres- 
 fcioa, with a kind of envy. The life of her soul was killed* 
 
 21 
 
178 GosrHE. 
 
 why should the bodily life any longer drag on in wean- 
 ness ? 
 
 But though Ottilie was frequently led by melancholy inci- 
 dents which occurred in the day, to thoughts of the past, of 
 separation and of loss, at night she had strange visions given 
 her to comfort her, which assured her of the existence of 
 her beloved, and thus strengthened her, and gave her life for 
 her own. When she laid herself down at night to rest, and 
 was floating among sweet sensations between sleep and 
 w^aking, she seemed to be looking into a clear but softly 
 illuminated space. In this she would see Edward with the 
 greatest distinctness, and not in the dress in which she had 
 been accustomed to see him, but in military uniform ; never 
 in the same position, but always in a natural one, and not the 
 least with anything fantastic about him, either standing or 
 walking, or lying down or riding. The figure, which was 
 painted with the utmost minuteness, moved readily before 
 her without any effort of hers, without her willing it or 
 exerting her imagination to produce it. Frequently she saw 
 him surrounded with something in motion, which was darker 
 than the bright ground ; but the figures were shadowy, and 
 she could scarcely distinguish them— sometimes they were 
 like men, sometimes they were like horses, or like trees, or 
 like mountains. She usually went to sleep in the midst of 
 the apparition, and when, after a quiet night, she woke again 
 in the morning, she felt refreshed and comforted; she could 
 say to herself, Edward still lives, and she herself was still 
 remaining in the closest relation towards him. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The spring was come; it was late, but it therefore burst out 
 more rapidly and more exhilaratingly than usual. Ottilie 
 now found in the garden the fruits of her carefulness. Every- 
 thing shot up and came out in leaf and flower at its proper 
 time. A number of plants which she had been training up 
 under glass frames and in hotbeds, now burst forward at once 
 to meet, at last, the advances of nature i and whatever there 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 179 
 
 v/as to do, and to take care of, it did not remain the mere 
 labour of hope which it had been, but brought its reward 
 in immediate and substantial enjoyment. 
 
 There was many a chasm however among the finest shoots 
 produced by Luciana's wild ways, for which she had to con- 
 sole the gardener, and the symmetry of many a leafy coro- 
 Dct was destroyed. She tried to encom-age him to hope that it 
 would all be soon restored again, but he had too deep a feel- 
 ing, and too pure an idea of the nature of his business, for 
 such grounds of comfort to be of much service with him. Little 
 as the gardener allowed himself to have his attention dissi- 
 pated by other tastes and inclinations, he could the less bear 
 to have the peaceful course interrupted which the plant 
 follows towards its enduring or its transient perfection. A 
 plant is like a self-willed man, out of whom we can obtain 
 all which we desire, if we will only treat him his own way. 
 A calm eye, a silent method, in all seasons of the year, and 
 at every hour, to do exactly what has then to be done, is 
 required of no one perhaps more than of a gardener. These 
 qualities the good man possessed in an eminent degree, and 
 it was on that account that Ottilie liked so well to work with 
 him ; but for some time past he had not found himself ablo 
 to exercise his peculiar talent with any pleasure to himself. 
 Whatever concerned the fruit-gardening or kitchen-garden- 
 ing, as well as whatever had in time past been required in 
 the ornamental gardens, he understood perfectly. One man 
 succeeds in one thing, another in another ; he succeeded in 
 these. In his management of the orangery, of the bulbous 
 flowers, in budding shoots and growing cuttings from the 
 carnations and auriculas, he might challenge nature herself. 
 But the new ornamental shrubs and fashionable flowers 
 remained in a measure strange to him. He had a kind of 
 shyness of the endless field of botany, which had been lately 
 opening itself, and the strange names humming about his 
 cars made him cross and ill-tempered. The orders for flowers 
 which had been made by his lord and lady in the course of 
 the past year, he considered so much useless waste and ex- 
 travagance. All the more, as he saw many valuable plants 
 disappear; and as he had ceased to stand on tho best possible 
 terms with the nursery gardenei*s, who he fancied had not 
 been serving him honestly. 
 
 u 2 
 
180 GOETHE. 
 
 Consequently, after a number of attempts, he had formed 
 a sort of a plan, in which Ottilie encouraged him the more 
 readily, because its first essential condition was the return of 
 Edward, whose absence in this, as in many other matters, 
 every day had to be felt more and more seriously. 
 
 Now that the plants were ever striking new roots, and 
 putting out their shoots, Ottilie felt herself even more 
 fettered to this spot. It was just a year since she had 
 come there as a stranger, as a mere insignificant creature. 
 How much had she not gained for herself since that time ! 
 but, alas ! how much had she not also since that time lost 
 again! Never had she been so rich, and never so poor. The 
 feelings of her loss and of her gain alternated momentarily 
 one with another, chasing each other through her heart; 
 and she could find no other means to help herself, except 
 always to set to work again at what lay nearest to her, with 
 such interest and eagerness as she could command. 
 
 That everything which she knew to be dear to Edward 
 received especial care from her may be supposed. And why 
 should she not hope that he himself would now soon come back 
 again ; and that when present, he would show himself grateful 
 for all the care and pains which she had taken for him in 
 his absence? 
 
 But there was also a far different employment which she 
 took upon herself in his service ; she had undertaken the 
 principal charge of the child, whose immediate attendant it 
 was all the easier for her to be, as they had determined not 
 to put it into the hands of a nurse, but to bring it up them- 
 selves by hand with milk^nd water. In the beautiful season 
 it was much out of doors, enjoying the free air, and Ottilie 
 liked best to take it out herself, to carry the unconscious 
 sleeping infant among the flowers and blossoms which 
 should one day smile so brightly on its childhood, — among 
 the young shrubs and plants, which, by their youth, seemed 
 designed to grow up with the young lord to their after 
 stature. When she looked about her, she did not hide from 
 herself to what a high position that child was born : far and 
 wide, wherever the eye could see, all would one day belong to 
 him. How desirable, how necessary it must therefore be, 
 that it should grow up under the eyes of its father and its 
 mother, and renew and sti*engtheu the union between them! 
 
* ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 181 
 
 Ottllie saw all this so clearly, that she represented it to 
 herself as conclusively decided, and for herself, as concerned 
 with it, she never felt at all. Under this fair heaven, by this 
 bright sunshine, at once it became clear to her, that her love 
 if it would perfect itself, must become altogether unselfish ; 
 and there were many moments in which she believed it was an 
 elevation which she had already attained. She only desired 
 the well-being of her friend. She fancied herself able to resign 
 him, and never to see him any more, if she could only know 
 that he was happy. The one only determination which she 
 formed for herself was never to belong to another. 
 
 They had taken care that the autumn should be no less 
 brilliant than the spring. Sun-flowers were there, and all 
 the other plants which are never tired of blossoming in 
 autumn, and continue boldly on into the cold ; asters espe- 
 cially were sown in the greatest abundance, and scattered 
 about in all directions, to form a starry heaven upon the 
 earth. 
 
 FROM OTTILIE's DIAEY. 
 
 " Any good thought which we have read, anything striking 
 which we have heard, we commonly enter in our diary ; but 
 if we would take the trouble, at the same time, to copy out 
 of our friends' letters the remarkable observations, the origi- 
 nal ideas, the hasty words so pregnant in meaning, which we 
 might find in them, we should then be rich indeed. We lay 
 aside letters never to read them again, and at last we destroy 
 them out of discretion, and so disappears the most beautiful, 
 the most immediate breath of life, irrecoverably for our- 
 selves and for others. I intend to make amends in future 
 for such neglect." 
 
 " So, then, once more the old story of the year is being 
 repeated over again. We are come now, thank God, again 
 to its most charming chapter. The violets and the may- 
 flowers are as its superscriptions and its vignettes. It always 
 makes a pleasant impression on us when we open again at 
 these pages in the book of life." 
 
 " We find fault with the poor, particularly with the little 
 ones among them, when they loiter about the streets and beg. 
 
182 . GOETHE. 
 
 Do we not observe, that they begin to work again, as soon as 
 ever there is anything for them to do ? Hardly has nature 
 unfolded her smiling treasures, than the children are at once 
 upon her track to open out a calling for themselves. None 
 of them beg any more ; they have each a nosegay to offer 
 you; they were out and gathering it before you had awakened 
 out of your sleep, and the supplicating face looks as sweetly 
 at you as the present which the hand is holding out. No 
 person ever looks miserable who feels that he has a right to 
 make a demand upon you." 
 
 " How is it that the year sometimes seems so short, and 
 sometimes is so long? How is it that it is so short when it 
 is passing, and so long as we look back over it? When I 
 think of the past (and it never comes so powerfully over 
 me as in the garden), I feel how the perishing and the 
 enduring work one upon the other, and there is nothing 
 whose endurance is so brief as not to leave behind it some 
 trace of itself, something in its own likeness." 
 
 *' We are able to tolerate the winter. We fancy that we 
 can extend ourselvts more freely when the trees are so 
 spectral, so transparent. They are nothing, but they con- 
 ceal nothing ; but when once the germs and buds begin to 
 show, then we become impatient for the full foliage to come 
 out, for the landscape to put on its body, and the tree tc 
 stand before us as a form." 
 
 " Everj'thing which is perfect in its kind, must pass out 
 beyond and transcend its kind. It must be an inimitable 
 something of another and a higher" nature. In many of its 
 tones the nightingale is only a bird ; then it rises up above 
 its class, and seems as if it would teach every feathered 
 creature what singing really is." 
 
 " A life without love, without the presence of the beloved, 
 is but poor comedie a tiroir. We draw out slide after slide, 
 swiftly tiring of each, and pushing it back to make haste to 
 the next. Even what we know to be good and important, 
 hangs but wearily together ; every step is an end, and every 
 step is a fresh beginning/' 
 
ELECTIVE AFriNITIES. 183 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Chahlotte meanwhile was well and in good spirits. She 
 was happy in her beautiful boy, whose fair promising little 
 form every hour was a delight to both her eyes and heart. 
 In him she found a new link to connect her with the world 
 and with her property. Her old activity began anew to stir 
 in her again. 
 
 Look which way she would, she saw how much had been 
 done in the year that was past, and it was a pleasure to her 
 to contemplate it. Enlivened by the strength of these feel- 
 ings, she climbed up to the summer-house with Ottilie and 
 the child, and as she laid the latter down on the little table, 
 as on the altar of her house, and saw the two seats still 
 vacant, she thought of gone- by times, and fresh hopes rose 
 out before her for herself and for Ottilie. 
 
 Young ladies, perhaps, look timidly round them at this or 
 that young man, carrying on a silent examination, whether they 
 would like to have him for a husband ; but whoever has a 
 daughter or a female ward to care for, takes a wider circle 
 in her survey. And so it fared at this moment with Charlotte, 
 to whom, as she thought of how they had once sat side by 
 side in that summer-house, a union did not seem impossible 
 between the Captain and Ottilie. It had not remained un- 
 known to her, that the plans for the advantageous marriage, 
 which had been proposed to the Captain, had come to 
 nothing. 
 
 Charlotte went on up the cliff, and Ottilie carried the child. 
 A number of reflections crowded upon the former. Even on 
 the firm land there are frequent enough shipwrecks, and the 
 true wise conduct is to recover ourselves, and refit our vessel 
 as fast as possible. Is life to be calculated only by its gains 
 and losses? Who has not made arrangement on arrange- 
 ment, and has not seen them broken in pieces ? How often 
 does not a man strike into a road and lose it again! How 
 often are we not turned aside from one point which we had 
 sharply before our eye, but only to reach some higher stage! 
 The traveller, to his greatest annoyance, breaks a wheel upon 
 his jou-rncy, and through this unpleasant accident makes 
 
184 aOETHE. 
 
 some charming acquaintance, and forms some new connection, 
 which has an influence on all his life. Destiny grants us our 
 wishes, but in its own way, in order to give us something 
 beyond our wishes. 
 
 Among these and similar reflections they reached the new 
 building on the hill, where they intended to establish them- 
 selves for the summer. The view all round them was far 
 more beautiful than could have been supposed ; every little 
 obstruction had been removed ; all the loveliness of the land- 
 scape, whatever nature, whatever the season of the year had 
 done for it, came out in its beauty before the eye ; and already 
 the young plantations, which had been made to fill up a few 
 openings, were beginning to look green, and to form an 
 agreeable connecting link between parts which before stood 
 separate. 
 
 The house itself was nearly habitable ; the views, parti- 
 cularly from the upper rooms, were of the richest variety. 
 The longer you looked round you, the more beauties you 
 discovered. What magnificent effects would not be produced 
 here at the different hours of day — by sunlight and by moon- 
 light ? Nothing could be more delightful than to come and 
 live there, and now that she found all the rough w^ork finished, 
 Charlotte longed to be busy again. An upholsterer, a tapestry- 
 hanger, a painter, who could lay on the colours with patterns, 
 and a little gilding, were all which were required, and these 
 were soon found, and in a short time the building was com- 
 pleted. Kitchen and cellar stores were quickly laid in ; 
 being so far from the castle, it was necessary to have all 
 essentials provided ; and the two ladies with the child went 
 up and settled there. From this residence, as from a new 
 centre point, unknown walks opened out to them ; and in 
 these high regions the free fresh air and the beautiful 
 weather were thoroughly delightful. 
 
 Ottilie's favourite walk, sometimes alone, sometimes with 
 the child, was down below, towards the plane-trees ; along 
 a pleasant footpath, leading directly to the point where one of 
 the boats was kept chained in which people used to go across 
 the water. She often indulged herself in an expedition on 
 the water, only without the child, as Charlotte was a little 
 uneasy about it. She never missed, however, paying a daily 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 185 
 
 risit to the castle garden and the gardener, and going to look 
 with him at his show of greenhouse plants, which were all 
 out now, enjoying the free air. 
 
 At this beautiful season, Charlotte was much pleased to 
 receive a visit from an English nobleman, who had made 
 acquaintance with Edward abroad, having met him more 
 than once, and who was now curious to see the laying out of 
 his park, which he had heard so much admired. He brought 
 with him a letter of introduction from the Count, and intro- 
 duced at the same time a quiet but most agreeable man as 
 his travelling companion. He went about seeing everything, 
 sometimes with Charlotte and Ottilie, sometimes with the 
 gardeners and the foresters, often with his friend, and now 
 and then alone ; and they could perceive clearly from his 
 observations that he took an interest in such matters, and 
 understood them well ; indeed, that he had himself probably 
 executed many such. 
 
 Although he was now advanced in life, he entered warmly 
 into everything which could serve for an ornament to life, 
 or contribute anything to its importance. 
 
 In his presence, the ladies came first properly to enjoy 
 what was round them. His practised eye received every 
 effect in its freshness, and he found all the more pleasure in 
 what was before him, as he had not previously known th& 
 place, and was scarcely able to distinguish what man had done 
 there from what nature had presented to him ready made. 
 
 We may even say that through his remarks the park grew 
 and enriched itself ; he was able to anticipate in their fulfil- 
 ment the promises of the growing plantations. There was- 
 not a spot where there was any effect which could be either 
 heightened or produced, but what he observed it. 
 
 In one place he pointed to a fountain which, if it was cleaned 
 out, promised to be the most beautiful spot for a pic-nic 
 party. In another, to a cave which had only to be enlarged 
 and swept clear of rubbish to form a desirable seat. A few 
 trees might be cut down, and a view would be opened from 
 it of some grand masses of rock, towering magnificently 
 against the sky. He wished the owners joy that so much 
 was still remaining for them to do, and he besought them not 
 to be in a hurry about it, but to keep for themselves for ycarsi 
 to come the pleasui*es of shaping and improving. 
 
183 GOETHE. 
 
 At the hours which the ladies usually spent alone he was 
 never in the way, for he was occupied the greatest part of the 
 day in catching such views in the park as would make good 
 paintings, in a portable camera obscura, and drawing from 
 them, in order to secure some desirable fruits from his 
 travels for himself and others. For many years past he 
 had been in the habit of doing this in all remarkable places 
 which he visited, and had provided himself by it with a 
 most charming and interesting collection. He showed the 
 ladies a large portfolio which he had brought with him, and 
 entertained them with the pictures and with descriptions. 
 And it w^as a real delight to them, here in their solitude, to 
 travel so pleasantly over the world, and see sweep past them, 
 shores and havens, mountains, lakes, and rivers, cities, castles, 
 and a hundred other localities which have a name in history. 
 
 Each of the two ladies had an especial interest in it 
 — Charlotte the more general interest in whatever was his- 
 torically remarkable ; Ottilie dwelling in preference on the 
 scenes of which Edward used most to talk, — ^where he liked 
 best to stay, and which he would most often revisit. Every 
 man has somewhere, far or near, his peculiar localities which 
 attract him ; scenes which, according to his character, either 
 from first impressions, or from particular associations, or 
 from habit, have a charm for him beyond all others. 
 
 She, therefore, asked the Eai 1 which, of all these places, 
 pleased him best, where he would like to settle, and live for 
 himself, if he might choose. There was more than one lovely 
 spot which he pointed out, with what had happened to him 
 there to make him love and value it ; and the peculiar accen- 
 tuated French in which he spoke, made it most pleasant to 
 listen to him. 
 
 To the further question, which was his ordinary residence, 
 which he properly considered his home ; he replied, with- 
 out any hesitation, in a manner quite unexpected by the 
 ladies. 
 
 "I have accustomed myself by this time to be at homo 
 everywhere, and I find, after all, that it is much more agree- 
 able to allow others to plant, and build, and keep house for 
 mc. I have no desire to return to my own possessions, partly 
 on political grounds, but principally because my son, for 
 whose sake alone it was any pleasure to me to remain anJ 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 187 
 
 work there,— who will, by-and-bye, inherit it, and with 
 whom I hoped to enjoy it, — took no interest in the place at 
 all, but has gone out to India, where, like many other foolish 
 fellows, he fancies he can make a higher use of his life. He 
 is more likely to squander it. 
 
 " Assuredly we spend far too much labour and outlay in 
 preparation for life. Instead of beginning at once to make 
 ourselves happy in a moderate condition, we spread ourselves 
 out wider and wider, only to make ourselves more and more 
 uncomfortable. Who is there now to enjoy my mansion, my 
 park, my gardens? Not I, nor any of mine, — strangers, 
 visitors, or curious, restless travellers. 
 
 *' Even with large means, we are ever but half and half at 
 home, especially in the country, where we miss many things 
 to which we have oecome accustomed in town. The book for 
 which we are most anxious is not to be had, and just the 
 thing which we most wanted is forgotten. We take to being 
 domestic, only again to go out of ourselves ; if we do not go 
 astray of our own will and caprice, circumstances, passions, 
 accidents, necessity, and one does not know what besides, 
 manage it for us." 
 
 liittle did the Earl imagine how deeply his friend would 
 be touched by these random observations. It is a danger to 
 which we are all of us exposed when we venture on general 
 remarks in a society the circumstances of which we might 
 have supposed were well enough known to us. Such casual 
 wounds, even from well-meaning, kindly-disposed people, 
 were nothing new to Charlotte. She so clearly, so thoroughly 
 knew and understood the world, that it gave Her no particular 
 pain if it did happen that through somebody's thoughtless- 
 ness or imprudence she had her attention forced into this or 
 that unpleasant direction. But it was veiy different with 
 Ottilie. At her half-conscious age, at which slie rather felt 
 than saw, and at which she was dLsposed, indeed was obliged, 
 to turn her eyes away from what she should not or would not 
 see, Ottilie was thrown by this melancholy convei'sation into 
 the most pitiable state. It rudely tore away the pleasant veil 
 from before her eyes, and it seemed to her as if everything 
 which had been done all this time for house and court, for park 
 and garden, for all their wide environs, were utterly in vain, be- 
 cause he to whom it all belonged could not enjoy it; because he, 
 
188 GOETHE. 
 
 like their present visitor, had been driven out to wander up and 
 down in the world — and, indeed, in the most perilous paths 
 of it — by those who were nearest and dearest to him. She 
 "was accustomed to listen in silence, but on this occasion sh& 
 sate on in the most painful condition ; which, indeed, wa& 
 made rather wor«;o than better by what the stranger went on 
 to say, as he continued with his peculiar, humorous gravity : 
 
 " 1 think I am now on the right way. I look upon myself 
 steadily as a traveller, who renounces many things in order 
 to enjoy more. I am accustomed to change; it has become, 
 indeed, a necessity to me ; just as in the opera, people are- 
 always looking out for new and new decorations, because 
 there have already been so many. I know very well what 
 I am to expect from the best hotels, and what from ther 
 worst. It may be as good or it may be as bad as it will, but 
 I nowhere find anything to which I am accustomed, and in 
 the end it comes to much the same thing whether we depend 
 for our enjoyment entirely on the regular order of custom, or 
 entirely on the caprices of accident. I have never to vex 
 myself now, because this thing is mislaid, or that thing is 
 lost ; because the room in which I live is uninhabitable, and 
 I must have it repaired ; because somebody has broken my 
 favourite cup, and for a long time nothing tastes well out of 
 any other. All this I am happily raised above. If the house 
 catches fire about my ears, my people quietly pack my things 
 up, and we pass away out of the town in search of other 
 quarters. And considering all these advantages, when I 
 reckon carefully, I calculate that, by the end of the year, I 
 have not sacrificed more than it would have cost me to be at 
 home." 
 
 In this description Ottilie saw nothing but Edward before 
 her ; how he too was now amidst discomfort and hardship, 
 marching along untrodden roads, lying out in the fields in 
 danger and want, and in all this insecurity and hazard 
 growing accustomed to be homeless and friendless, learning 
 to fling away everything that he might have nothing to lose. 
 Fortunately, the party separated for a short time. Ottilie 
 escaped to her room, where she could give way to her tears. 
 No weight of sorrow had ever pressed so heavily upon her a? 
 this clear perception (which she tried, as peoj^le usually do, t» 
 make still clearer to herself), that men love to dally with and 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 189 
 
 exaggerate the evils which circumstances have once begun to 
 inflict upon them. 
 
 . The state in which Edward was, came before her in a light 
 60 piteous, so miserable, that she made up her mind, let it 
 cost her what it would, that she would do everything in her 
 power to unite him again with Charlotte, and she herself 
 would go and hide her sorrow and her love in some silent 
 scene, and beguile the time with such employment as she 
 could find. 
 
 Meanwhile the Earl's companion, a quiet, sensible man 
 and a keen observer, liad remarked the mistake in the con- 
 versation, and spoke to his friend about it. The latter knew 
 nothing of the circumstances of the family ; but the other 
 being one of those persons whose principal interest in travel- 
 ling lay in gathering up the strange occurrences which 
 arose out of the natural or artificial relations of society, 
 which were produced by the conflict of the restraint of law 
 with the violence of the will, of the understanding with the 
 reason, of passion with prejudice — had some time before 
 made himself acquainted with the outline of the story, and 
 since he had been in the family he had learnt exactly all 
 that had taken place, and the present position in which 
 things were standing. 
 
 The Earl, of course, was very sorry, but it was not a thing 
 to make him uneasy. A man must hold his tongue altogether 
 in society if he is never to find himself in such a position ; 
 for not only remarks with meaning in them, but the most 
 trivial expressions, may happen to clash in an inharmonious 
 key with the interest of somebody present. 
 
 "We will set things right this evening," said he, 
 *'and escape from any general conversation; you shall let 
 them hear one of the many charming anecdotes with which' 
 your portfolio* and your memory have enriched themselveh 
 while we have been abroad." 
 
 However, with the best intentions, the strangers did not, 
 on this next occasion, succeed any better in gratifying their 
 friends with unalloyed entertainment. The Earl's friend told 
 a number of singular stories — some serious, some amusing, 
 some touching, some terrible — with which he had roused 
 their attention and strained their interest to the highest 
 tension, and he thought to conclude with a strange but soflc* 
 
190 GOETHE. 
 
 incident, little dreaming how nearly it would touch Ms 
 listeners. 
 
 IIIE TWO STEANGE CHILDREN 
 
 *'Two children of neighbouring families, a boy and a girl, 
 of an age which would suit well for them at some future 
 time to marry, were brought up together with this agreeable 
 prospect, and the parents on both sides, who were people of 
 some position in the world, looked forward with pleasui-e to 
 their future union. 
 
 "It was too soon observed, however, that the purpose 
 seemed likely to fail ; the dispositions of both children pro- 
 mised everything which was good, but there was an unac- 
 countable antipathy between them. Perhaps they were too 
 much like each other. Both were thoughtful, clear in their 
 wills, and firm in their purposes. Each separately was beloved 
 and respected by his or her companions, but whenever they 
 were together they were always antagonists. Forming 
 separate plans for themselves, they only met mutually to 
 cross and thwart one another ; never emulating each other 
 in pursuit of one aim, but always fighting for a single object. 
 Good-natured and amiable everywhere else, they were spite- 
 ful and even malicious whenever they came in contact. 
 
 " This singular relation first showed itself in their childish 
 games, and it continued with their advancing years. The 
 boys used to play at soldiers, divide into parties, and give 
 each other battle, and the fierce haughty young lady set 
 herself at once at the head of one of the armies, and fought 
 against the other with such animosity and bitterness that the 
 latter would have been put to a shameful flight, except for 
 the desperate bravery of her own particular rival, who at last 
 disarmed his antagonist and took her prisoner; and even 
 then she defended herself with so much fury that to save his 
 eyes from being torn out, and at the same time not to injure 
 his enemy, he had been obliged to take ofi" his silk handker- 
 chief and tie her hands with it behind her back. 
 
 " This she never forgave him : she made so many attempts, 
 she laid so many plans to injure him, that the parents, who 
 had been long watchmg these singular passions, came to an 
 
aiLECTIVE AFFINITIES. 191 
 
 understanding together and resolved to separate these two 
 hostile creatures, and sacrifice their favourite hopes. 
 
 "The boy shot rapidly forward in the new situation in 
 which he was placed. He mastered every subject which he 
 was taught. His friends and his own inclination chose the 
 urmy for his profession, and everywhere, let him be where 
 he would, he was looked up to and beloved. His disposi- 
 tion seemed formed to labour for the well-being and the 
 pleasure of others; and he himself, without being clearly 
 conscious of it, was in himself happy at having got rid of the 
 only antagonist which nature had assigned to him. 
 
 *' The girl, on the other hand, became at once an altered 
 creature. Her growing age, the progress of her education, 
 above all, her own inward feelings, drew her away from the 
 boisterous games with boys in which she had hitherto 
 delighted. Altogether she seemed to want something; 
 there was nothing anywhere about her which could deserve 
 to excite her hatred, and she had never found any one whom 
 she could think worthy of her love. 
 
 " A young man, somewhat older than her previous neigh- 
 bour-antagonist, of rank, property, and consequence, beloved 
 in society, and much sought after by women, bestowed his 
 affections upon her. It was the first time that friend, lover, 
 or servant had displayed any interest in her. The preference 
 which he showed for her above others who were older, more 
 cultivated, and of more brilliant pretensions than herself, 
 was naturally gratifying; the constancy of his attention, 
 which was never obtrusive, his standing by her faithfully 
 through a number of unpleasant incidents, his quiet suit, 
 which was declared indeed to her parents, but which as she 
 was still very young he did not press, only asking to be 
 allowed to hope ; all this engaged him to her, and custom 
 and the assumption in the world that the thing was already 
 settled, canied her along with it. She had so often been 
 called his bride that at last she began to consider herself so, 
 and neither she nor any one else ever thought any further 
 trial could be necessary before she exchanged rings with tho 
 person who for so long a time had passed for her bridegroom. 
 
 "The peaceful course which the affair had all along 
 followed was not at all precipitated by the betrothal. Things 
 were allowed to go on both sides just as they were; they were 
 
192 GOETHU. 
 
 •happy in being together, and they could enjoy to the end the 
 fair season of the year as the spring of their future moro 
 -serious life. 
 
 " The absent youth had meanwhile grown up into every- 
 thing which was most admirable. He had obtained a well- 
 deserved rank in his profession, and came home on leave to 
 visit his family. Towards his fair neighbour he found him- 
 self again in a natural but singular position. For some 
 time past she had been nourishing in herself such affectionate 
 family feelings as suited her position as a bride ; she was in 
 harmony with everything about her ; she believed that she 
 "was happy, and in a certain sense she was so. Now first 
 for a long time something again stood in her way. It was 
 not to be hated — she had become incapable of hatred. In- 
 deed the childish hatred, which had in fact been nothing 
 more than an obscure recognition of inward worth, expressed 
 itself now in a happy astonishment, in pleasure at meeting, 
 in ready acknowledgments, in a half willing, half unwilling, 
 and yet irresistible attraction; and all this was mutual. 
 Their long separation gave occasion for longer conversations ; 
 even their old childish foolishness served, now that they had 
 grown wiser, to amuse them as they looked back ; and they 
 felt as if at least they were bound to make good their petulant 
 hatred by friendliness and attention to each other — as if 
 their first violent injustice to each other ought not to be left 
 without open acknowledgment. 
 
 On his side it all remained in a sensible, desirable mode- 
 ration. His position, his circumstances, his efforts, his 
 iimbition, found him so abundant an occupation, that the 
 friendliness of this pretty bride he received as a very thank- 
 worthy present ; but without, therefore, even so much as 
 thinking of her in connection with himself, or entertaining the 
 slightest jealousy of the bridegroom, with whom he stood on 
 the best possible terms. 
 
 With her, however, it was altogether different. She 
 seemed to herself as if she had awakened out of a dream. 
 Her fightings with her young neighbour had been the 
 beginnings of an affection ; and this violent antagonism was 
 no more than an equally violent innate passion for him, first 
 Bhowing under the form of opposition. She could remember 
 nothing else than that she had always loved him. She 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 193 
 
 laughed over her martial encounter with him with weaponf? 
 in her hand ; she dwelt upon the delight of her feelings when 
 he disarmed her. She imagined that it had given her the 
 greatest happiness when he bound her; and whatever she 
 had done afterwards to injure him, or to vex him, presented 
 itself to her as only an innocent means of attracting his 
 attention. She cursed their separation. She bewailed the 
 sleepy state into which she had fallen. She execrated the 
 insidious lazy routine which had betrayed her into accepting 
 60 insignificant a bridegroom. She was transformed — doubly 
 transformed, forwards or backwards, which ever way we like 
 to take it. 
 
 " She kept her feelings entirely to herself; but if any one 
 could have divined them and shared them with her, he could 
 not have blamed her : for indeed the bridegroom could not 
 sustain a comparison Avith the other as soon as they were seen 
 together. If a sort of regard to the one could not be refused, 
 the other excited the fullest trust and confidence. If one 
 made an agreeable acquaintance, the other we should desire 
 for a companion; and in extraordinary cases, where higher 
 demands might have to be made on them, the bridegroom 
 was a person to be utterly despaired of, while the other would 
 give the feeling of perfect security. 
 
 *' There is a peculiar innate tact in women which discovers 
 to them difierences of this kind; and they have cause as well 
 as occasion to cultivate it. 
 
 " The more the fair bride was nourishing all these feelings 
 in secret, the less opportunity there was for any one to speak a 
 word which could tell in favour of her bridegroom, to remind 
 her of what her duty and their relative position advised and 
 commanded — indeed, what an unalterable necessity seemed 
 now irrevocably to require ; the poor heart gave itself up 
 entirely to its passion. 
 
 *' On one side she was bound inextricably to the bride- 
 groom by the world, by her family, and by her own promise ; 
 on the other, the ambitious young man made no secret of 
 what he was thinking and planning for himself, conducting 
 himself towards her no more than a kind but not at all a 
 tender brother, and speaking of his departure as immediately 
 impending; and now it seemed as if her early childish 
 spirit woke up again in her with all its spleen and violence, 
 
 o 
 
194 GOETHE. 
 
 and was preparing itself in its distemper, on this higher stage 
 of life, to work more effectively and destructively. She 
 determined that she would die to punish the once hated, and 
 now so passionately loved, youth for his want of interest in 
 her ; and as she could not possess himself, at least she would 
 wed herself for ever to his imagination and to his repentance. 
 Her dead image should cling to him, and he should never be 
 free from it. He should never cease to reproach himself for 
 not having understood, not examined, not valued her feelings 
 toward him. 
 
 "This singular insanity accompanied her wherever she went. 
 She kept it concealed under all sorts of forms ; and although 
 people thought her very odd, no one was observant enough or 
 clever enough to discover the real inward reason. 
 
 " In the mean time, friends, relations, acquaintances had 
 exhausted themselves in contrivances for pleasure parties. 
 Scarcely a day passed, but something new and unexpected 
 was set on foot. There was hardly a pretty spot in the 
 country round which had not been decked out and prepared 
 for the reception of some merry party. And now our 
 young visitor before departing wished to do his part as well, 
 and invited the young couple, with a small family circle, to 
 an expedition on the water. They went on board a large 
 beautiful vessel dressed out in all its colours, — one of the 
 yachts which had a small saloon and a cabin or two besides, 
 and are intended to carry with them upon the water the 
 comfort and conveniences of land. 
 
 " They set out upon the broad river with music playing. 
 The party had collected in the cabin, below deck, during 
 the heat of the day, and were amusing themselves with 
 games. Their young host, who could never remain without 
 doing something, had taken charge of the helm, to relieve 
 the old master of the vessel, and the latter had lain down 
 and was fast asleep. It was a moment when the steerer 
 required all his circumspectness, as the vessel Avas nearing a 
 spot where two islands narrowed the channel of the river, 
 while shallow banks of shingle stretching off, first on one side 
 and then on the other, made the navigation difficult and 
 dangerous. Prudent and sharp-sighted as he was, he thought 
 for a moment that it would be better to wake the master ; but 
 he felt confident in himself, and he thought he would venture 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 195 
 
 and make straight for the narrows. At this moment his 
 fair enemy appeared upon deck with a wreath of flowers in 
 her hair. 'Take this to remember me by,' she cried out. She 
 took it off" and threw it the steerer. 'Don't disturb me,' he 
 answered quickly, as he caught the wreath ; ' I require all my 
 powers and all my attention now.* 'You will never be disturbed 
 by me any more/ she cried ; ' you will never see me again.' 
 As she spoke, she rushed to the forward part of the vessel, 
 and from thence she sprang into the water. Voice upon 
 voice called out, 'Save her, save her, she is sinking!' He was 
 in the most terrible difficulty. In the confusion the old ship- 
 master woke, and tried to catch the rudder, which the young 
 man bid him take. But there w^as no time to change hands. 
 The vessel stranded ; and at the same moment, flinging off 
 the heaviest of his upper garments, he sprang into the water 
 and swam towards his beautiful enemy. The water is a 
 friendly element to a man who is at home in it, and who knows 
 how to deal with it ; it buoyed him up, and acknowledged 
 the strong swimmer as its master. He soon overtook the 
 beautiful girl, who had been swept away before him ; he 
 caught hold of her, raised her and supported her, and both of 
 them were carried violently down by the current, till the 
 shoals and islands were left far behind, and the river was again 
 open and running smoothly. He now began to collect 
 himself; they had past the first immediate danger, in which 
 he had been obliged to act mechanically without time to 
 think ; he raised his head as high as he could to look about 
 him ; and then swam with all his might to a low bushy point, 
 which ran out conveniently into the stream. There he brought 
 his fair burden to dry land, but he could find no signs of 
 life in her ; he was in despair, when he caught sight of a 
 trodden path leading among the bushes. Again he caught 
 ^er up in his arms, hurried forward, and presently reached a 
 solitary cottage. There he found kind, good people — a young 
 ijaarried couple ; the misfortunes and the dangers explained 
 themselves instantly ; every remedy he could think of was 
 instantly applied ; a bright fire blazed up : w^ooUen blankets 
 were spread on a bed, counterpane, cloaks, skins, w^hatever 
 there was at hand which would serve for warmth, were 
 heaped over her as fast as possible. The desire to save life 
 ovei'powered, for the present, every other consideration. 
 
 o2 
 
196 GOETHE. 
 
 Nothing was left undone to bring back to life the beautiful 
 half-torpid, naked body. It succeeded ; she opened her eyes ! 
 her friend was before her; she threw her heavenly arms about 
 his neck. In tliis position she remained for a time ; and then 
 a (btream of tears burst out and completed her recovery. 
 ' Will you forsake me,' she cried, ' now when I find you again 
 thus ?' 'Never,' he answered, 'never:' hardly knowing what 
 he said or did. *Only consider yourself,' she added; 'take 
 care of yourself, for your sake and for mine.' 
 
 " She now began to collect herself, and for the first time 
 recollected the state in which she was ; she could not be 
 ashamed before her darling, before her preserver; but she 
 gladly allowed him to go, that he might take care of himself; 
 for the clothes which he still wore were wet and dripping." 
 
 " Their young hosts considered what could be done. The 
 husband offered the young man, and the wife offered the 
 fair lady, the dresses in which they had been married, which 
 wiere hanging up in full perfection, and sufficient for a 
 complete suit, inside and out, for two people. In a short 
 time our pair of adventurers were not only equipped, but 
 in full costume. They looked most charming, gazed at one 
 another, when they met, with admiration, and then with 
 infinite affection, half laughing at the same time at the quaint- 
 ness of their appearance, they fell into each other's arms. 
 
 " The power of youth and the quickening spirit of love 
 in a few moments completely restored them ; and there was 
 nothing wanted but music to have set them both off dancing. 
 
 " To have found themselves brought from the water on 
 dry land, from death into life, from the circle of their 
 families into a wilderness, from despair into rapture, from 
 indifference to affection and to lov(;, all in a moment : the 
 head was not strong enough to bear it; it must either 
 burst, or go distracted; or if so distressing an alternative were 
 to be escaped, the heart must put out all its efforts. 
 
 " Lost- wholly in each other, it was long before they 
 recollected the alarm and anxiety of those who had been left 
 behind ; and they themselves, indeed, could not well think, 
 without alarm and anxiety, how they were again to encounter 
 them. ' Shall we run away ? shall wc hide ourselves ?' said 
 the young man. 'We will remain together,' she said, as she 
 clung about his neck. 
 
ELECTIVE ATFINITIES. 197 
 
 "The peasant having heard them say that a party was 
 aground on the shoal, had hurried down, without stopping to 
 ask another question, to the shore. When he arrived there, he 
 saw the vessel coming safely down the stream. After much 
 labour it had been got off ; and they were now going on in 
 uncertainty, hoping to find their lost ones again somewhere. 
 The peasant shouted and made signs to them, and at last 
 caught the attention of those on board; then he ran to a spot 
 where there was a convenient place for landing, and went on 
 signalling and shouting till the vessel's head was turned 
 towards the shore; and what a scene there was for them 
 when they landed. The parents of the two betrothed first 
 pressed on the banks; the poor loving bridegroom had 
 almost lost his senses. They had scarcely learnt that their 
 dear children had been saved, when in their strange disguise 
 the latter came forward out of the bushes to meet them. No 
 one recognised them till they were come quite close. ' Who 
 do I see?' cried the mothers. 'What do I see?' cried the 
 fathers. The preserved ones flung themselves on the ground 
 before them. ' Your children,' they called out ; ' a pair.* 
 'Forgive us!' cried the maiden. * Give us your blessing!' 
 cried the young man. ' Give us your blessing ! ' they cried 
 both, as all the world stood still in wonder. Your blessing ! 
 was repeated the third time ; and who would have been able 
 to refuse it?" 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The narrator made a pause, or rather he had already 
 finished his story, before he observed the emotion into which 
 Charlotte had been thrown by it. She got up, uttered 
 some sort of an apology, and left the room. To her it was 
 a well-known history. Tlie principal incident in it had really 
 taken place with the Captain and a neighbour of her own ; 
 not exactly, indeed, as the Englishman had related it. But 
 the main features of it were the same. It had only been 
 more finished off and elaborated in its details, as stories of 
 that kind always are, when they have passed first thiough 
 
198 GOETHE. 
 
 the lips of the multitude, and then througTi the fancy of a 
 clever and imaginative narrator; the result of the process 
 being usually to leave everything and nothing as it was. 
 
 Ottilie followed Charlotte, as the two friends begged her 
 to do ; and then it was the Earl's turn to remark, that per- 
 haps they had made a second mistake, and that the subject 
 of the story had been well known to or was in some way 
 connected with the family. " We must take care," he added, 
 *' that we do no more mischief here ; we seem to bring little 
 good to our entertainers for all the kindness and hospitality 
 which they have shown us ; we will make some excuse for 
 ourselves, and then take our leave." 
 
 " I must confess," answered his companion, " that there is 
 something else which still holds me here, which I should be 
 very sorry to leave the house without seeing cleared up or in 
 some way explained. You were too busy yourself yesterday 
 when we were in the park with the camera, in looking for 
 spots where you could make your sketches, to have observed 
 anything else which was passing. You left the broad walk, 
 you remember, and went to a sequestered place on the side 
 of the lake. There was a fine view of the opposite shore 
 which you wished to take. Well, Ottilie, who was with us, 
 got up to follow ; and then proposed that she and I should 
 find our way to you in the boat. I got in with her, and was 
 delighted with the skill of my fair conductress. I assured 
 her that never since I had been in Switzerland, where the 
 young ladies so often fill the place of the boatmen, had I been 
 so pleasantly ferried over the water. At the same time I 
 could not help asking her why she had shown such an objec- 
 tion to going the way which you had gone, along the little 
 bye-path. I had observed her shrink from it with a sort of 
 painful uneasiness. She was not at all offended. * If you 
 will promise not to laugh at me,' she answered, ' I will tell 
 you as much as I know about it ; but to myself it is a mys- 
 tery which I cannot explain. There is a particular spot in 
 that path which I never pass without a strange shiver passing 
 over me, which I do not remember ever feeling anywhere 
 else, and which I cannot the least understand. But I shrink 
 from exposing myself to the sensation, because it is followed 
 immediately after by a pain on the left side of my head, from 
 which at other times I suffer severelv.' We landed. Ottilie 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 199 
 
 vas engaged with you, and I took the opportunity of exa- 
 mining the spot, which she pointed out to me as we went by 
 on the water. I was not a little surprised to find there dis- 
 tinct traces of coal, in sufficient quantities to convince me 
 that at a short distance below the surface there must be a 
 considerable bed of it. 
 
 " Pardon me, my Lord ; I see you smile ; and I know very 
 well that you have no faith in these things about which I am 
 so eager, and that it is only your sense and your kindness 
 which enable you to tolerate me. However, it is impossible 
 for me to leave this place without trying on that beautiful 
 creature an experiment with the pendulum." 
 
 The Earl, whenever these matters came to be spoken of, 
 never failed to repeat the same objections to them over and 
 over again; and his friend endured them all quietly and 
 patiently, remaining firm, nevertheless, to his own opinion, 
 and holding to his own wishes. He, too, again repeated, 
 that there was no reason, because the experiment did not 
 succeed with every one, that they should give them up, as 
 if there was nothing in them but fancy. They should be 
 examined into all the more earnestly and scrupulously; and 
 there was no doubt that the result would be the discovery of 
 a number of affinities of inorganic creatures for one another, 
 and of organic creatures for them, and again for each other, 
 which at present were unknown to us. 
 
 He had already spread out his apparatus of gold rings, 
 markasites, and other metallic substances, a pretty little box of 
 which he always carried about with himself; and he suspended 
 a piece of metal by a string over another piece, which he 
 placed upon the table. " Now, my Lord," he said, " you may 
 take what pleasure you please (I can see in your face what 
 you are feeling), at perceiving that nothing will set itself in 
 motion with me, or for me. But my operation is no more 
 than a pretence ; when the ladies come back, they will be 
 curious to know what strange work we are about." 
 
 Thd ladies returned. Charlotte understood at once what 
 was going on. " I have heard much of these things," she 
 said; "but I never saw the effect myself. You have every- 
 thing ready there. Let me try whether I can succeed iu 
 producing anything." 
 
 She took the thread in her hand, and as she was perfectly 
 
200 GOETHi:. 
 
 serious, she held it steady, and without any agitation. Not 
 the slightest motion, however, could be detected. Ottilia 
 was then called upon to try. She held the pendulum still 
 more (juietly and unconsciously over the plate on the table. 
 Eut in a moment the swinging piece of metal began to stir 
 with a distinct rotatory action, and turned as they moved the 
 position of the plate, first to one side and then to the other ; 
 now in circles, now in ellipses ; or else describing a series of 
 straight lines ; doing all the Earl's friend could expect, and 
 far exceeding, indeed, all his expectations. 
 
 The Earl himself was a little staggered ; but the other could 
 never be satisfied, from delight and curiosity, and begged 
 for the experiment again and again with all sorts of varia- 
 tions. Ottilie was good-natured enough to gratify him ; till at 
 last she was obliged to desire to be allowed to go, as her head- 
 ache had come on again. In further admiration and even 
 rapture, he assured her with enthusiasm that he would cure 
 her for ever of her disorder, if she would only trust herself 
 to his remedies. For a moment they did not know what he 
 meant ; but Charlotte, who comprehended immediately after, 
 declined his well-meant offer, not liking to have introduced 
 and practised about her a thing of which she had always had 
 the strongest apprehensions. 
 
 The strangers were gone, and notwithstanding their having 
 been the inadvertent cause of strange and painful emotions, 
 left the wish behind them, that this meeting might not be 
 the last. Charlotte now made use of the beautiful weather 
 to return visits in the neighbourhood, which, indeed, gave 
 her work enough to do, seeing that the whole country round, 
 some from a real interest, some merely from custom, had 
 been most attentive in calling to inquire after her. At home 
 her delight was the sight of the child, and really it well 
 deserved all love and interest. People saw in it a wonderful, 
 indeed a miraculous child ; the brightest, sunniest little face ; 
 a fine, well-proportioned body, strong and healthy; and what 
 surprised them more, the double resemblance, which became 
 more and more conspicuous. In figure and in the features of 
 the face, it was like the Captain ; the eyes every day it was 
 less easy to distinguish from the eyes of Ottilie. 
 
 Ottilie herself, partly from this remarkable affinity, per- 
 haps still more under the influence of that sweet woman's 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 201 
 
 feeling which makes them regard with the most tender 
 affection the offspring, even by another, of the man they 
 love, was as good as a mother to the little creature as it 
 grew, or rather, she was a second mother of another kind. 
 If Charlotte was absent, Ottilie remained alone with the 
 child and the nurse. Nanny had for some time past been 
 jealous of the boy for monopolizing the entire affections of 
 her mistress ; she had left her in a fit of crossness, and gone- 
 back to her mother. Ottilie would carry the child about in 
 the open air, and by degrees took longer and longer walks 
 with it. She took her bottle of milk to give the child its 
 food when it wanted any. Generally, too, she took a book 
 with her ; and so with the child in her arms, reading and 
 wandering, she made a very pretty Penscrosa, 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The object of the campaign was attained, and Edward^ 
 with crosses and decorations, was honourably dismissed. He' 
 betook himself at once to the same little estate, where he 
 found exact accounts of his family waiting for him, on whom 
 all this time, without their having observed it or known of it,. 
 a sharp watch had been kept under his orders. His quiet 
 residence looked most sweet and pleasant when he reached 
 it. In accordance with his orders, various improvements had 
 been made in his absence, and what was wanting to tho 
 establishment in extent, was compensated by its internal 
 comforts and conveniences. Edward, accustomed by his more 
 active habits of life, to take decided steps, determined to 
 execute a project which he long had sufficient time to think 
 over. First of all, he invited the Major to come to him.. 
 This pleasure in meeting again was very great to both of 
 them. The friendships of boyhood, like relationship of blood, 
 possess this important advantage, that mistakes and misun- 
 derstandings never produce iiTcparable injury; and the old 
 regard after a time will always re- establish itself. 
 
 Edward began with inquiring about the situation of his 
 
202 GOETHE. 
 
 friend, and learnt that fortune had favoured him exactly as 
 he most could have wished. He then half- seriously asked 
 whether there w^as not something going forward about a 
 marriage ; to which he received a most decided and positive 
 denial. 
 
 " I cannot and will not have any reserve with you," he 
 proceeded. " I will tell you at once what my own feelings 
 are, and what I intend to do. You know my passion for 
 Ottilie ; you must long have comprehended that it was this 
 which drove me into the campaign. I do not deny that 
 I desired to be rid of a life which, without her, would be 
 of no further value to me. At the same time, however, I 
 acknowledge that I could never bring myself utterly to 
 despair. The prospect of happiness with her was so beau- 
 tiful, so infinitely charming, that it was not possible for me 
 entirely to renounce it. Feelings, too, which I cannot ex- 
 plain, and a number of happy omens, have combined to 
 strengthen me in the belief, in the assurance, that Ottilie will 
 one day be mine. The glass with our initials cut upon it, 
 which was thrown into the air when the foundation-stone was 
 laid, did not go to pieces ; it was caught, and I have it again 
 in my possession. After many miserable hours of uncer- 
 tainty, spent in this place, I said to myself, * I will put myself 
 in the place of this glass, and it shall be an omen whether 
 our union be possible or not. I will go; I will seek for 
 death ; not like a madman, but like a man who still hopes 
 that he may live. Ottilie shall be the prize for which I fight. 
 Ottilie shall be behind the ranks of the enemy; in every 
 entrenchment, in every beleaguered fortress, I shall hope to 
 find her, and to win her. I will do w^onders, with the wish 
 to survive them ; v/ith the hope to gain Ottilie, not to lose 
 her.' These feelings have led me on; they have stood by 
 me through all dangers ; and now I find myself like one who 
 has arrived at his goal, who has overcome every difficulty 
 and who has nothing more left in his way. Ottilie is mine, 
 and whatever lies between the thought and the execution of 
 it, I can only regard as unimportant." 
 
 " With a few strokes you blot out," replied the Major, 
 *' all the objections that we can or ought to urge upon you, and 
 yet they must be repeated. I must leave it to yourself to recall 
 
ELECTIVE AFFI^'ITIES. 203 
 
 the full value of your relation with your wife ; but you owe it 
 to her, and you owe it to yourself, not to close your eyes to it. 
 How can I so much as recollect that you have had a son given 
 to you, without acknowledging at once that you two belong 
 to one another for ever ; that you are bound, for this little 
 creature's sake, to live united, that united you may educate 
 it, and provide for its future welfare?" 
 
 " It is no more than the blindness of parents," answered 
 Edward, " when they imagine their existence to be of so much 
 importance to their children. Whatever lives, finds nourish- 
 ment and finds assistance ; and if the son who has early lost 
 his father does not spend so easy, so favoured a youth, he 
 profits, perhaps, for that very reason, in being trained sooner 
 for the world, and comes to a timely knowledge that he must 
 accommodate himself to others, a thing which sooner or later 
 we are all forced to learn Here, however, even these con- 
 siderations are irrelevant ; we are sufficiently well off to be 
 able to provide for more children than one, and it is neither 
 right nor kind to accumulate so large a property on a single 
 head." 
 
 The Major attempted to say something of Charlotte's worth, 
 and Edward's long-standing attachment to her ; but the latter 
 hastily interrupted him. " We committed ourselves to a 
 foolish thing, that I see all too clearly. Whoever, in middle 
 age, attempts to realize the wishes and hopes of his early 
 youth, invariably deceives himself. Each ten years of a 
 man's life has its own fortunes, its own hopes, its own desires. 
 Woe to him who, either by circumstances or by his own infa- 
 tuation, is induced to grasp at anything before him or behind 
 him. We have done a foolish thing. Are we to abide by it 
 all our lives ? Are we, from some respect of prudence, to 
 refuse to ourselves what the customs of the age do not forbid ? 
 In how many matters do men recall their intentions and their 
 actions ; and shall it not be allowed to them here, here, where 
 the question is not of this thing or of that, but of everything ; 
 not of our single condition of life, but of the whole complex 
 Ufe itself?" 
 
 Again the Major powerfully and impressively urged on 
 Edward to consider what he owed to his wife, what was due 
 to his family, to the world, and to his own position ; but he 
 could not succeed in producing the slightest impression. 
 
204 OOETHB. 
 
 •' All these questions, my friend," he returned, " I have 
 considered already again and again. They have passed before 
 me in the storm of battle, when the earth was shaking with 
 the thunder of the cannon, with the balls singing and whistling 
 round me, with my comrades falling right and left, my horse 
 shot under me, my hat pierced with bullets. They have 
 floated before me by the still watch-fire under the starry vault 
 of the sky. I have thought them all through, felt them all 
 through. I have weighed them, and I have satisfied myself 
 about them again and again, and now for ever. At such 
 moments why should I not acknowledge it to you ? you too 
 were in my thoughts, you too belonged to my circle; as, 
 indeed, you and I have long belonged to one another. If I 
 have ever been in your debt I am now in a position to repaj^ 
 it with interest; if you have been in mine you have now 
 the means to make it good to me. I know that you love 
 Charlotte, and she deserves it. I know that you are not 
 indifierent to her, and why should she not feel your worth ? 
 Take her at my hand and give Ottilie to me, and we shall be J 
 the happiest beings upon the earth." * 
 
 " If you choose to assign me so high a character," replied 
 the Major, " it is the more reason for me to be firm and pru- 
 dent. Whatever there may be in this proposal to make it 
 attractive to me, instead of simplifying the problem, it only 
 increases the difficulty of it. The question is now of me as 
 well as of you. The fortunes, the good name, the honour of 
 two men, hitherto unsullied with a breath, will be exposed to 
 hazard by so strange a proceeding, to call it by no harsher 
 name, and we shall appear before the world in a highly ques- 
 tionable light." 
 
 " Our very characters being what they are," replied 
 Edward, " give us a right to take this single liberty. A man 
 who has borne himself honourably through a whole life, makes 
 an action honourable which might appear ambiguous in others. 
 As concerns myself, after these last trials which I have taken 
 upon myself, after the difficult and dangerous actions which I 
 have accomplished for others, I feel entitled now to do some- 
 thing for myself. For you and Charlotte, that part of the 
 business may, if you like it, be given up ; but neither you 
 nor any one shall keep me from doing what I have determined. 
 If I may look for help and furtherance, I shall be ready tc 
 
ELECTIVE APFINITIES. 205 
 
 do everything which can be wished ; but if I am to be left 
 to myself, or if obstacles are to be thrown in my way, some 
 extremity or other is sure to follow." 
 
 The Major thought it his duty to combat Edward's purposes 
 as long as it was possible ; and now he changed the mode of 
 his attack and tried a diversion. He seemed to give way, 
 and only spoke of the form of what they would have to do to 
 bring about this separation, and these new unions ; and so 
 mentioned a number of ugly, undesirable matters, which threw 
 Edward into the worst of tempers. 
 
 " I see plainly," he cried at last, " that what we desire can 
 only be carried by storm, whether it be from our enemies or 
 from our friends. I keep clearly before my own eyes what I 
 demand, what, one way or another, I must have ; and I will 
 seize it promptly and sui'ely. Connections like ours, I know 
 very well, cannot be broken up and reconstructed again with- 
 out much being thrown down which is standing, and much 
 having to give way which would be glad enough to continue. 
 We shall come to no conclusion by thinking about it. All 
 rights are alike to the understanding, and it is always easy 
 to throw extra weight into the ascending scale. Do you 
 make up your mind, my friend, to act, and act promptly, for 
 me and for yourself. Disentangle and untie the knots, and 
 tie them up again. Do not be deterred from it by nice 
 respects. We have already given the world something to say 
 about us. It will talk about us once more ; and when we 
 have ceased to be a nine days' wonder, it will forget us as it 
 forgets everything else, and allow us to follow our own way 
 without further concern with us." The Major had nothing 
 further to say, and was at last obliged to sit silent ; while 
 Edward treated the affair as now conclusively settled, talked 
 through in detail all that had to be done, and pictured the 
 future in every most cheerful colour, and then he went on 
 again seriously and thoughtfully : " If we think to leave our- 
 selves to the hope, to the expectation, that all will go right 
 again of itself, that accident will lead us straight, and take 
 care of us, it will be a most culpable self-deception. In such 
 a way it would be impossible for us to save ourselves, or re- 
 establish our peace again. I who have been the innocent cause 
 of it all, how am I ever to console myself? By my own impor- 
 tunity I prevailed on Charlotte to write to you to stay with 
 
206 GOETHE. 
 
 US ; and Ottilie followed in consequence. We have had no 
 more control over what ensued out of this, but we have the 
 power to make it innocuous ; to guide the new circumstances 
 to our own happiness. Can you turn away your eyes from 
 the fair and beautiful prospects which I open to us ? Can you 
 insist to me, can you insist to us all, on a wretched renunci- 
 ation of them ? Do you think it possible ? Is it possible ? 
 Will there be no vexations, no bitterness, no inconvenience 
 to overcome, if we resolve to fall back into our old state ? and 
 will any good, any happiness whatever, arise out of it ? Will 
 your own rank, will the high position which you have earned, 
 be any pleasure to you, if you are to be prevented from visit- 
 ing me, or from living with me ? And after what has passed, 
 it would not be anything but painful. Charlotte and I, with 
 all our property, would only find ourselves in a melan- 
 choly state. And if, like other men of the world, you can 
 persuade yourself that years and separation will eradicate 
 our feelings, will obliterate impressions so deeply engraved ; 
 why, then the question is of these very years, which it would 
 be better to spend in happiness and comfort than in pain 
 and misery. But the last and most important point of all 
 which I have to urge is this : supposing that we, our outward 
 and inward condition being what it is, could nevertheless 
 make up our minds to wait at all hazards, and bear what is 
 laid upon us, what is to become of Ottilie ? She must leave 
 our family ; she must go into society where we shall not 
 be to care for her, and she will be driven wretchedly to and 
 fro in a hard, cold world. Describe to me any situation in 
 which Ottilie, without me, without us, could be happy, and 
 you will then have employed an argument which will be 
 stronger than every other ; and if I will not promise to yield 
 to it, if I will not undertake at once to give up all my own 
 hopes, I will at least reconsider the question, and see how 
 what you have said will afiect it." 
 
 This problem was not so easy to solve ; at least, no satisfac- 
 tory answer to it suggested itself to his friend, and nothing 
 was left to him except to insist again and again, how grave 
 and serious, and in many senses how dangerous, the whole 
 undertaking was ; and at least that they ought maturely to 
 consider how they had better enter upon it. Edward agreed 
 to this, and consented to wait before he took any steps ; but 
 
ELECTI"VE AFFINITIES. 207 
 
 only under the condition that his friend should not leave him 
 until they had come to a perfect understanding about it, and 
 until the first measures had been taken. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Men who are complete strangers, and wholly indifferent to 
 one another, if they live a long time together, are sure both of 
 them to expose something of their inner nature, and thus a 
 kind of intimacy will arise between them. All the more was 
 it to be expected that there would soon be no secrets between 
 our two friends, now that they were again under the same 
 roof together, and in daily and hourly intercourse. They 
 went over again the earlier stages of their history, and the 
 Major confessed to Edward that Charlotte had intended 
 Ottilie for him at the time at which he returned from 
 abroad, and hoped that some time or other he might marry 
 her. Edward was in ecstacies at this discovery , he spoke 
 Virithout reserve of the mutual affection of Charlotte and the 
 Major, which, because it happened to fall in so conveniently 
 with his own wishes, he painted in very lively colours. 
 
 Deny it altogether, the Major could not; at the same 
 time, he could not altogether acknowledge it. But Edward 
 only insisted on it the more. He had pictured the whole 
 thing to himself not as possible, but as already concluded ; 
 all parties had only to resolve on what they all wished ; there 
 would be no difficulty in obtaining a separation ; the marriages 
 should follow as soon after as possible, and Edward could 
 travel with Ottilie. 
 
 Of all the pleasant things which imagination pictures to 
 us, perhaps there is none more charming than when lovers 
 and young married people look forward to enjoying their new 
 relation to each other in a fresh, new world, and test the 
 endurance of the bond between them in so many changing 
 circumstances. The Major and Charlotte were in the mean- 
 time to have unrestricted powers to settle all questions of 
 money, property, and other such important worldly matters ; 
 and to do whatever was right aud proper for the satisfaction 
 
208 GOETHE. 
 
 ►of nil parties. What Edward dwelt the most upon, however, 
 what he seemed to promise himself the most advantage from 
 was this: — as the child would have to remain with the 
 mother, the Major would charge himself with the education 
 of it ; he would train the boy according to his own views, 
 and develop what capacities there might be in him. It was 
 not for nothing that he had received in his baptism the name 
 of Otto, which belonged to them both. 
 
 Edward had so completely arranged everything for him- 
 self, that he could not wait another day to carry it into exe- ] 
 oution. On their way to the castle, they arrived at a small ' 
 town, where Edward had a house, and where he was to stay 
 to await the return of the Major. He could not, however, 
 prevail upon himself to alight there at once, and accompanied 
 his friend through the place. They were both on horseback, 
 and falling into some interesting conversation, rode on further 
 together. 
 
 On a sudden they saw, in the distance, the new house on 
 the height, with its red tiles shining in the sun. An irre- 
 sistible longing came over Edward; he would have it all 
 settled that very evening ; he would remain concealed in a 
 village close by. The Major was to urge the business on 
 Charlotte with all his power ; he would take her prudence 
 by surprise ; and oblige her by the unexpectedness of his 
 proposal to make a free acknowledgment of her feelings. 
 Edward had transferred his own wishes to her ; he felt cer- 
 tain that he was only meeting her half-way, and that her 
 inclination were as decided as his own ; and he looked for an 
 immediate consent from her, because he himself could think 
 of nothing else. 
 
 Joyfully he saw the prosperous issue before his eyes ; and 
 that it might be communicated to him as swiftly as possible, 
 a few cannon shots were to be fired off, and if it was dark, a 
 rocket or two sent up. 
 
 The Major rode to the castle. He did not find Charlotte 
 there ; he learnt that for the present she was staying at the 
 new house ; at that particular time, however, she was paying 
 a visit in the neighbourhood, and she probably would not 
 have returned till late that evening. He walked back to the 
 hotel, to which he had previously sent his horse. 
 
 Edward, in the meantime, unable to sit still from rest- 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 209 
 
 lessness and impatience, stole away out of his concealment 
 along solitary paths only known to foresters and fishermen, 
 into his park ; and he found himself towards evening in the 
 copse close to the lake, the broad mirror of which he now 
 for the first time saw spread out in its perfectness before 
 him. 
 
 Ottilie had gone out that afternoon for a walk along the 
 shore. She had the child with her, and read as she usually 
 did while she went along. She had gone as far as the oak- 
 tree by the ferry. The boy had fallen asleep; she sat down; 
 laid it on the ground at her side, and continued reading. 
 The book was one of those which attract persons of delicate 
 feeling, and afterwards will not let them go again. She 
 forgot the time and the hours ; she never thought what a 
 long way round it was by land to the new house ; but she 
 sat lost in her book and in herself, so beautiful to look at, 
 that the trees and the bushes round her ought to have been 
 alive, and to have had eyes given them to gaze upon her and 
 admire her. The sun was sinking ; a ruddy streak of light 
 fell upon her from behind, tinging with gold her cheek and 
 shoulder. Edward, who had made his way to the lake 
 without being seen, finding his park desolate, and no trace of 
 human creature to be seen anywhere, went on and on. At last 
 he broke through the copse behind the oak-tree, and saw her. 
 At the same moment she saw him. He flew to her, and threw 
 himself at her feet. After a long, silent pause, in which 
 they both endeavoured to collect themselves, he explained in 
 a few words why and how he had come there. He had sent 
 the Major to Charlotte ; and perhaps at that moment their 
 common destiny was being decided. Never had he doubted 
 her affection, and she assuredly had never doubted his. He 
 begged for her consent ; she hesitated ; he implored her. 
 He offered to resume his old privilege, and throw his arms 
 around her, and embrace her ; she pointed down to the child. 
 
 Edward looked at it, and was amazed. " Great God !" he 
 cried ; " if I had cause to doubt my wife and my friend, this 
 face would witness fearfully against them Is not this the 
 very image of the Major ? I never saw such a likeness." 
 
 *' Indeed!'* rei^lied Ottilie ; "all the world say it is like 
 me." 
 
 ** Is it possible?" Edward answered; and at the moment 
 
210 GOETHE. 
 
 the child opened its eyes — two large, black, piercing eyes, 
 deep and full of love ; already the little face was full of 
 intelligence. He seemed as if he knew both the figures 
 which he saw standing before him. Edward threw himself 
 down beside the child, and then knelt a second time before 
 Ottilie. *' It is you," he cried ; " the eyes are yours ! ah, 
 but let me look into yours ; let me throw a veil over that 
 ill-starred hour which gave its being to this little creature. 
 Shall I shock your pure spirit with the fearful thought, that 
 man and wife who are estranged from each other, can yet 
 press each other to their heart, and profane the bonds by 
 which the law unites them by other eager wishes ? Oh yes ! 
 As I have said so much ; as my connection with Charlotte 
 must now be severed ; as you will be mine, why should I 
 not speak out the words to you ? This child is the ojffspring 
 of a double adultery. It should have been a tie between 
 my wife and myself ; but it severs her from me, and me from 
 her. Let it witness, then, against me. Let these fair eyes 
 say to yours, that in the arms of another I belonged to you. 
 You must feel, Ottilie, oh ! you must feel, that my fault, my 
 crime, I can only expiate in your arms." 
 
 *'Hark!" he called out, as he sprang up and listened. 
 He thought that he had heard a shot, and that it was the 
 sign which the Major was to give. It was the gun of a 
 forester on the adjoining hill. Nothing followed. Edward 
 grew impatient. 
 
 Ottilie now first observed that the sun was down behind 
 the mountains ; its last rays were shining on the windows of 
 the house above. "Leave me, Edward," she cried; "go. 
 Long as we have been parted, much as we have borne, 
 yet remember what we both owe to Charlotte. She must 
 decide our fate ; do not let us anticipate her judgment. I 
 am yours if she will permit it to be so. If she will not, I 
 must renounce you. As you think it is now so near an 
 issue, let us wait. Go back to the village, where the Major 
 supposes you to be. Is it likely that a rude cannon-shot will 
 inform you of the results of such an interview? Perhaps 
 at this moment he is seeking for you. He will not have 
 found Charlotte at home ; of that I am certain. He may 
 have gone to meet her; for they knew at the castle where 
 she was. How many things may have happened! Leavu 
 
ELECTIVE AFEINITIES. 211 
 
 me ! she must be at home by this time ; she is expecting me 
 with the baby above." 
 
 Ottilie spoke hurriedly ; she called together all the possi- 
 bilities. It was too delightful to be with Edward ; but she 
 felt that he must now leave her. " I beseech, I implore you, 
 my beloved," she cried out; "go back and wait for the Major." 
 
 " I obey your commands," cried Edward. He gazed at 
 her for a moment with rapturous love, and then caught her 
 close in his arms. She wound her own about him, and 
 pressed him tenderly to her breast. Hope streamed away, 
 like a star shooting in the sky, above their heads. They 
 thought then, they believed, that they did indeed belong to 
 one another. For the first time they exchanged free, genuine 
 kisses, and separated with pain and effort. 
 
 The sun had gone down. It was twilight, and a damp 
 mist was rising about the lake. Ottilie stood confused and 
 agitated. She looked across to the house on the hill, and 
 she thought she saw Charlotte's white dress on the balcony. 
 It was a long way round by the end of the lake; and she 
 knew how impatiently Charlotte would be waiting for the 
 child. She saw the plane-trees just opposite her, and only a 
 narrow interval of water divided her from the path which led 
 straight up to the house. Her nervousness about venturing 
 on the water with the child vanished in her present embar- 
 rassment. She hastened to the boat ; she did not feel that 
 her heart was beating; that her feet were tottering; that 
 her senses were threatening to fail her. 
 
 She sprang in, seized the oar, and pushed off. She had to 
 use force ; she pushed again. The boat shot off, and glided, 
 swaying and rocking into the open water. With the child in 
 her left arm, the book in her left hand, and the oar in het 
 right, she lost her footing, and fell over the seat; the oar 
 slipped from her on one side, and as she tried to recover 
 herself, the child and the book slipped on the other, all into 
 the water. She caught the floating dress, but lying en- 
 tangled as she was herself, she was unable to rise. Her 
 right hand was free, but she could not reach round to help 
 herself up with it ; at last she succeeded. She drew the 
 child out of the water ; but its eyes were closed, and it had 
 ceased to breathe. 
 
 In a moment, she recovered all her self-possession ; but so 
 
 p2 
 
212 GOETHE. 
 
 nmch the greater was her agony ; the boat was driving fast 
 into the middle of the lake ; the oar was swimming far away 
 from her. She saw no one on the shore ; and, indeed, if she 
 had, it would have been of no service to her. Cut off from all 
 assistance, she was floating on the faithless, unstable clement. 
 
 She sought for help from herself; she had often heard o* 
 the recovery of the drowned ; she had herself witnessed an 
 instance of it on the evening of her birthday ; she took ofi' 
 the child's clothes, and dried it with her muslin dress ; she 
 threw open her bosom, laying it bare for the first time to the 
 free heaven. For the first time she pressed a living being to 
 her pure, naked breast. Alas ! and it was not a living being. 
 The cold limbs of the ill-starred little creature chilled 
 lier to the heart. Streams of tears gushed from her eyes, 
 and lent a show of life and warmth to the outside of the 
 torpid limbs. She persevered with her efforts ; she wrapped 
 it in her shawl, she drew it close to herself, stroked it, 
 breathed upon it, and with tears and kisses laboured to supply 
 the help which, cut off as she was, she was unable to find. 
 
 It was all in vain ; the child lay motionless in her arms ; 
 motionless the boat floated on the glassy water. But even 
 here her beautiful spirit did not leave her forsaken. She 
 turned to the Power above. She sank down upon her knees 
 in the boat, and with both arms raised the unmoving child 
 above her innocent breast, like marble in its whiteness; 
 alas, too like marble, cold; with moist eyes she looked up 
 and cried for help, where a tender heart hopes to find it in 
 its fulness, when all other help has failed. 
 
 The stars were beginning one by one to glimmer down 
 upon her; she turned to them and not in vain; a soft air stole 
 over the surface, and wafted the boat under the plane trees. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 She hurried to the new house, and called the surgeon and 
 gave the child into his hands. It was carried at once to 
 Charlotte's sleeping-room. Cool and collected from a wide 
 experience, he submitted the tender body to the usual 
 process. Ottilie stood by him, through it all. She prepared 
 everything, she fetched everything, but as if she were 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 213 
 
 moving in another world ; for the height of misfortune, like 
 the height of happiness, alters the aspect of every object. And 
 it was only when after every resoui'ce had been exhausted, 
 the good man shook his head, and to her questions, whether 
 there was hope, first was silent, and then answered with 
 a gentle No ! that she left the apartment, and had scarcely 
 entered the sitting-room, when she fell fainting, with her face 
 upon the carpet, unable to reach the sofa. 
 
 At that moment Charlotte was heard driving up. The 
 surgeon implored the servants to keep back, and allow him 
 to go to meet her and prepare her. But he was too late ; 
 while he was speaking she had entered the drawing-room. 
 She found Ottilie on the ground, and one of the girls of the 
 house came running and screaming to her open-mouthed. 
 The surgeon entered at the same moment, and she was 
 informed of everything. She could not at once, however, 
 give up all hope. She was flying up stairs to the child, 
 but the physician besought her to remain where she was. 
 He went himself, to deceive her with a show of fresh exer- 
 tions, and she sat down upon the sofi. Ottilie was still 
 lying on the ground; Charlotte raised her, and supported 
 her against herself, and her beautiful head sank down upon 
 her knee. The kind medical man went backwards and for- 
 wards ; he appeared to be busy about the child ; his real 
 care was for the ladies ; and so came on midnight, and the 
 stillness grew more and more deathly. Charlotte did not 
 try to conceal from herself any longer that her child woidd 
 never return to life again. She desired to see it now. It 
 had been wrapped up in warm woollen coverings. And it 
 was brought down as it was, lying in its cot, which was 
 placed at her side on the sofa. The little face was un- 
 covered ; and there it lay in its calm sweet beauty. 
 
 The report of the accident soon spread through the 
 village ; every one was roused, and the story reached the 
 hotel. The Major hurried up the well-known road; he 
 went round and round the house ; at last he met a servant 
 who was going to one of the out-buildings to fetch some- 
 thing. He learnt from him in what state things were, and 
 desired him to tell the surgeon that he was there. The 
 latter came out, not a little surprised at the appearance of 
 his old patron. He told him exactly what had happened. 
 
214 GOETHE. 
 
 and undertook to prepare Charlotte to see him. He then 
 went in, began some conversation to distract her attention, 
 and led her imagination from one object to another, till at 
 last he brought it to rest upon her friend, and the depth of 
 feeling and of sympathy which would surely be called out in 
 him. From the imaginative she was brought at once to the 
 real. Enough ! she was informed that he was at the door, 
 that he knew everything and desired to be admitted. 
 
 The Major entered. Charlotte received him with a 
 miserable smile. He stood before her; she lifted off the 
 green silk covering under which the body was lying ; and 
 by the dim light of a taper, he saw before him, not without 
 a secret shudder, the stiffened image of himself. Charlotte 
 pointed to a chair, and there they sate opposite to one 
 another, without speaking, through the night. Ottilie was 
 still lying motionless on Charlotte's knee; she breathed 
 softly, and slept or seemed to sleep. 
 
 The morning dawned, the lights went out; the two 
 friends appeared to awake out of a heavy dream. Charlotte 
 looked towards the Major, and said quietly : "Tell me through 
 what circumstances you have been brought hither, to take part 
 in this mourning scene." 
 
 " The present is not a time," the Major answered, in the 
 same low tone as that in which Charlotte had spoken, for 
 fear lest she might disturb Ottilie; " this is not a time, and 
 this is not a place for reserve. The condition in which 
 I find you is so fearful that even the earnest matter on 
 which I am here, loses its importance by the side of it." Ho 
 then informed her, quite calmly and simply, of the object of 
 his mission, in so far as he was the ambassador of Edward : 
 of the object of his coming, in so far as his own free will and 
 his own interests were concerned in it. He laid both before 
 her, delicately but uprightly ; Chailotte listened quietly, and 
 showed neither surprise nor unwillingness. 
 
 As soon as the Major had finished, she replied, in a voice 
 so light that to catch her words he was obliged to draw his 
 chair closer to her: '*In such a case as this I have never 
 before found myself; but in similar cases I have always said 
 to myself, how will it be to-morrow ? I feel very clearly 
 that the fate of many persons is now in my hands, and what 
 I have to do is soon said without scruple or hesitation, i 
 
ELECTIVE AEFIXITIES. 215 
 
 consent to the separation; I ought to have made up my 
 mind to it before ; by my unwillingness and reluctance I have 
 destroyed my child. There are certain things on which 
 destiny obstinately insists. In vain may reason, may virtue, 
 may duty, may all holy feelings place themselves in its way. 
 Something shall be done which to it seems good, and which 
 to US seems not good ; and it forces its own way through at 
 last, let us conduct ourselves as we will. 
 
 *' And, indeed, what am I saying ? It is but my own desire, 
 my own purpose, against which I acted so unthinkingly, 
 which destiny is again bringing in my way? Did I not 
 long ago, in my thoughts, design Edward and Ottilie for one 
 another ? Did I not myself labour to bring them together ? 
 And you, my friend, you yourself were an accomplice in my 
 plot. Why, why, could I not distinguish mere man's 
 obstinacy from real love ? Why did I accept his hand, when 
 I could have made him happy as a friend, and when another 
 could have made him happy as a wife .^ And now, look here 
 on this unhappy slumberer. I tremble for the moment when 
 she will recover out of this half death sleep into consciouness. 
 How can she endure to live ? How shall she ever console 
 herself, if she may not hope to make good that to Edward, 
 of which, as the instrument of the most wonderful destiny, 
 she has deprived him ? And she can make it all good again 
 by the passion, by the devotion with which she loves him. If 
 love be able to bear all things, it is able to do yet more ; it can 
 restore all things : of myself at such a moment I may not think. 
 
 *' Do you go quietly away, my dear Major ; say to Edward 
 that I consent to the separation ; that I leave it to him, to 
 you, and to Mittler, to settle whatever is to be done. I have 
 no anxiety for my own future condition ; it may be what it 
 will ; it is nothing to me. I will subscribe whatever paper is 
 submitted to me, only he must not require me to join actively. 
 T cannot have to think about it, or give advice." 
 
 The Major rose to go. She stretched out her hand to him 
 across Ottilie. He pressed it to his lips, and whispered 
 gently : " And for myself, may I hope anything ?" 
 
 "Do not ask me now!" replied Charlotte. *' I will tell 
 you another time. We have not deserved to be miserable ; 
 but neither can we say that we have deserved to be happy 
 together." 
 
 The Major left her, aud went, feeling for Charlotte to the 
 
216 GOETHE. 
 
 bottom of his heart, but not being able to be sorry for the fate 
 of the poor child. Such an offering seemed necessary to him 
 for their general happiness He pictured Ottilie to himself 
 with a child of her own in her arms, as the most perfect 
 compensation for the one of which she had deprived Edward. 
 He pictured himself with his own son on his knee, who should 
 have better right to resemble him than the one which was 
 departed. 
 
 With such flattering hopes and fancies passing through his 
 mind, he returned to the hotel, and on his way back he met 
 Edward, who had been waiting for him the whole night 
 through in the open air, since neither rocket nor report of 
 cannon would bring him news of the successful issue of hi» 
 undertaking. He had already heard of the misfortune ; and 
 he too, instead of being sorry for the poor creature, regarded 
 what had befallen it, without being exactly ready to confess it 
 to himself, as a convenient accident, through which the only 
 impediment in the way of his happiness was at once removed. 
 
 The Major at once informed him of his wife's resolution, 
 and he therefore easily allowed himself to be prevailed upon to 
 return again with him to the village, and from thence to go 
 for a while to the little town, where they w^ould consider 
 what was next to be done, and make their arrangements. 
 
 After the Major had left her, Charlotte sate on, buried in 
 her own reflections; but it was only for a few minutes. 
 Ottilie suddenly raised herself from her lap, and looked full 
 with her large eyes in her friend's face. Then she got up 
 from off the ground, and stood upright before her. 
 
 *' This is the second time," began the noble girl, with an 
 irresistible solemnity of manner, "this is the second time that 
 the same thing has happened to me. You once said to me 
 that similar things often befall people more than once in their 
 lives in a similar way, and if they do, it is always at impor- 
 tant moments. I now find that what you said is true, and I 
 have to make a confession to you. Shortly after my mother's 
 death, when I was a very little child, I was sitting one day 
 on a footstool close to you. You were on the sofa, as you are 
 at this moment, and my head rested on your knees. I was 
 not asleep, I was not awake : I was in a trance. I knew every- 
 thing which was passing about me. I heard every word 
 which was said with the greatest distinctness, and yet I could 
 not stir, I could not speak ; and if I had wished it, I could not 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 217 
 
 bave given a hint that I was conscious. On that occasion you 
 were speaking about mo to one of your friends ; you were 
 commiserating my fate, left as I was a poor orphan in the 
 world. You described my dependent position, and how 
 unfortunate a future was before me, unless some very happy 
 star watched over me. I understood well what you said. 
 I saw, perhaps too clearly, what you appeared to hope of me, 
 and what you thought I ought to do. I made rules to myself, 
 according to such limited insight as I had, and by these I 
 have long lived ; by these, at the time when you so kindly 
 took charge of me, and had me with you in your house, I 
 regulated whatever I did, and whatever I left undone. 
 
 *' But I have wandered out of my course ; I have broken 
 my rules ; I have lost the very power of feeling them. And 
 now, after a dreadful occurrence, you have again made clear 
 to me my situation, which is more pitiable than the first. 
 While lying in a half torpor on your lap, I have again, as if 
 out of another world, heard every syllable which you uttered. 
 I know from you how all is with me. I shudder at the 
 thought of myself; but again, as I did then, in my half sleep 
 of death, I have marked out my new path for myself. 
 
 " I am determined, as I was before, and what I have 
 determined I must tell you at once. I will never be Edward's 
 wife. In a terrible manner God has opened my eyes to see 
 the sin in which I was entangled. I will atone for it, and let 
 no one think to move me from my purpose. It is by this, 
 my dearest, kindest friend, that you must govern your own 
 conduct. Send for the ]Major to come back to you. Write 
 to him that no steps must be taken. It made me miserable 
 that I could not stir or speak when he went ; — I tried to 
 rise, — I tried to cry out. Oh, why did you let him leave you 
 with such unlawful hopes !" 
 
 Charlotte saw Ottilie's condition, and she felt for it ; but 
 she hoped that by time and persuasion she might be able to 
 prevail upon her. On her uttering a few words, however, 
 which pointed to a future, — to a time when her sufferings 
 would be alleviated, and when there might be better room for 
 hope, "No!" Ottilie cried, with vehemence, " do not endeavour 
 to move me ; do not seek to deceive me. At the moment at 
 which I learn that you have consented to the separation, in 
 that same lake I will expiate my errors and my crimes." 
 
2]S GOETHH. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Friends and relations, and all persons living in the same 
 house together, are apt, when life is going smoothly and 
 peacefully with them, to make what they are doing, or what 
 they are going to do, even more than is right or necessary, 
 a subject of constant conversation. They talk to each other 
 of their plans and their occupations, and, without exactly 
 taking one another's advice, consider and discuss together the 
 entire progress of their lives. But this is far from being the 
 case in serious moments ; just when it would seem men most 
 require the assistance and support of others, they all draw 
 singly within themselves every one to act for himself, every 
 one to work in his own fashion ; they conceal from one another 
 the particular means which they employ, and only the result, 
 the object, the thing which they realize, is again made com- 
 mon property. 
 
 After so many strange and unfortunate incidents, a sort of 
 silent seriousness had passed over the two ladies, which 
 showed itself in a sweet mutual effort to spare each other's 
 feelings. The child had been buried privately in the chapel. 
 It rested there as the first offering to a destiny full of ominous 
 foreshadowings. 
 
 Charlotte, as soon as ever she could, turned back to life and 
 occupation, and here she first found Ottilie standing in need 
 of her assistance. She occupied herself almost entirely 
 with her, without letting it be observed. She knew how 
 deeply the noble girl loved Edward. She had discovered by 
 degrees the scene which had preceded the accident, and had 
 gathered every circumstance of it, partly from Ottilie herself, 
 partly from the letters of the Major. 
 
 Ottilie, on her side, made Charlotte's immediate life much 
 more easy for her. She M^as open, and even talkative, but 
 she never spoke of the present, or of what had lately past. 
 She had been a close and thoughtful observer. She knew 
 much, and now it all came to the surface. She entertained, 
 she amused Charlotte, and the latter still nourished a hope in 
 secret to see her married to Edward after all. 
 
 But something very different was passing in Ottilie. She 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITxES. 219 
 
 Had disclosed the secret of the course of her life to her 
 friend, and she showed no more of her previous restraint and 
 Bubmissiveness. By her repentance and her resolution she 
 felt herself freed from the burden of her fault and her mis - 
 fortune. She had no more violence to do to herself. In the 
 bottom of her heart she had forgiven herself solely under 
 condition of the fullest renunciation, and it was a condition 
 which would remain binding for all time to come. 
 
 So passed away some time, and Charlotte now felt how 
 deeply house and park, and lake and rocks and trees, served 
 to keep alive in them all their most painful reminiscences, 
 rhey wanted change of scene, both of them, it was plain 
 enough ; but how it was to be effected was not so easy to 
 decide. 
 
 Were the two ladies to remain together? Edward's pre- 
 viously-expressed will appeared to enjoin it, — his declarations 
 and his threats appeared to make it necessary ; only it could 
 not be now mistaken that Charlatte and Ottilie, with all their 
 goodwill, with all their sense, with all their efforts to conceal 
 it, could not avoid finding themselves in a painful situation 
 towards one another. In their conversation there was a 
 constant endeavour to avoid doubtful subjects. They were 
 often obliged only half to understand some allusion; more 
 often, expressions were misinterpreted, if not by their under- 
 standings, at any rate by their feelings. They were afraid to 
 give pain to one another, and this very fear itself produced 
 the evil which they were seeking to avoid. 
 
 If they were to try change of scene, and at the same time 
 (at any rate for a while) to part, the old question came up 
 again, where Ottilie was to go? There was the grand, rich 
 family, who still wanted a desirable companion for their 
 daughter, their attempts to find a person whom they could 
 trust having hitherto proved ineffectual. The last time the 
 Baroness had been at the castle, she had urged Charlotte to 
 send Ottilie there, and she had been lately pressing it again 
 and again in her letters. Charlotte now a second time 
 proposed it ; but Ottilie expressly declined going anywhere, 
 where she would be thrown into what is called the great 
 world. 
 
 *' Do not think me foolish or self-willed, my dear aunt," she 
 said ; " I had better tell you what I feel, for fear you should 
 
220 GOETHE. 
 
 judge hardly of me; although in any other case it would 
 be my duty to be silent. A person who has fallen into 
 uncommon misfortunes, however guiltless he may be, carries 
 a frightful mark upon him. His presence, in every one who 
 sees him and is aware of his history, excites a kind of horror. 
 People see in him the terrible fate which has been laid upon 
 him, and he is the object of a diseased and nervous curiosity. 
 It is so with a house, it is so with a town, where any terrible 
 action has been done ; people enter them with awe ; the 
 light of day shines less brightly there, and the stars seem to 
 lose their lustre. 
 
 *' Perhaps we ought to excuse it, but how extreme is the 
 indiscretion with which people behave towards such unfortu- 
 nates, with their foolish importunities and awkward kindness! 
 You must forgive me for speaking in this way, but that poor 
 girl whom Luciana tempted out of her retirement, and with 
 such mistaken good nature tried to force into society and 
 amusement, has haunted me and made me miserable. The 
 pool* creature, when she was so frightened and tried to 
 escape, and then sank and swooned away, and I caught her 
 in my arms, and the party came all crowding round in terror 
 and curiosity ! little did I think, then, that the same fate was 
 in store for me. But my feeling for her is as deep and warm 
 and fresh as ever it was ; and now I may direct my com2)as- 
 sion upon myself, and secure myself from being the object of 
 any similar exposure." 
 
 " But, my dear child," answered Charlotte, " you will never 
 be able to withdraw yourself where no one can see you ; we 
 have no cloisters now : otherwise, there, with your present 
 feelings', would be your resource." 
 
 " Solitude would not give me the resource for which I 
 wish, my dear aunt," answered Ottilie. " The one true and 
 valuable resource is to be looked for where we can be active 
 and useful ; all the self-denials and all the penances on earth 
 will fail to deliver us from an evil-omened destiny, if it be 
 determined to persecute us. Let me sit still in idleness and 
 serve as a spectacle for the world, and it will overpower me 
 and crush me. But find me some peaceful employment, 
 where I can go steadily and unweariedly on doing my duty, 
 end I shall be able to bear the eyes of men, when I need 
 «ot shrink under the eyes of God." 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 221 
 
 " Unless I am much mistaken," replied Charlotte, *' your 
 inclination is to return to the school." 
 
 '' Yes," Ottilie answered; "I do not deny it. I think 
 it a happy destination to train up others in the beaten 
 -way, after having been trained in the strangest myself. 
 And do we not see the same great fact in history? some 
 moral calamity drives men out into the wilderness ; but they 
 are not allowed to remain as they had hoped in their con- 
 cealment there. They are summoned back into the world, to 
 lead the wanderers into the right way ; and who are fitter 
 for such a service, than those who have been initiated into 
 the labyrinths of life ? They are commanded to be the sup- 
 port of the unfortunate ; and who can better fulfil that 
 command than those who have no more misfortunes to fear 
 upon earth?" 
 
 *' You are selecting an uncommon profession for yourself," 
 replied Charlotte. " I shall not oppose you, however. Let 
 it be as you wish ; only I hope it will be but for a short 
 time." 
 
 " Most warmly I thank you," said Ottilie, " for giving me 
 leave at least to try, to make the experiment. If I am not 
 flattering myself too highly, I am sure I shall succeed : where- 
 ever I am, I shall remember the many trials which I went 
 through myself, and how small, how infinitely small they 
 were compared to those which I afterwards had to undergo. 
 It will be my happiness to watch the embarrassments of the 
 little creatures as they grow ; to cheer them in their childish 
 sorrows, and guide them back with a light hand out of their 
 little aberrations. The fortunate is not the person to be of 
 help to the fortunate ; it is in the nature of man to require 
 ever more and more of himself and others, the more he has 
 received. The unfortunate who has himself recovered, know? 
 best how to nourish, in himself and them, the feeling that*. 
 every moderate good ought to be enjoyed with rapture." 
 
 *' I have but one objection to make to >vhat you propose,'* 
 said Charlotte, after some thought, *' although that one seems 
 to me of great importance. I am not thinking of you, but 
 of another person : you are aware of the feelings towards you 
 of that good, right-minded, excellent assistant. In the way in 
 which you desire to proceed, you will become every day 
 more valuable and more indispensable to him. Already he 
 
222 GOETHE. 
 
 himself believes that he can never live happily without you, 
 and hereafter, when he has become accustomed to have you 
 to work with him, he will be unable to carry on his business 
 if he loses you ; you will have assisted him at the beginning 
 only to injure him in the end." 
 
 *' Destiny has not dealt with me with too gentle a hand," 
 replied Ottilie; " and whoever loves me has perhaps not much 
 better to expect. Our friend is so good and so sensible, that 
 I hope he will be able to reconcile himself to remaining in a 
 simple relation with me ; he will learn to see in me a con- 
 secrated person, lying under the shadow of an awful cala- 
 mity, and only able to support herself and bear up against 
 it by devoting herself to that Holy Being who is invisibly 
 around us, and alone is able to shield us from the dark 
 powers which threaten to overwhelm us.'* 
 
 All this, which the dear girl poured out so warmly, Char- 
 lotte privately reflected over ; on many different occasions, 
 although only in the gentlest manner, she had hinted at the 
 possibility of Ottilie's being brought again in contact with 
 Edward ; but the slightest mention of it, the faintest hope, 
 the least suspicion, seemed to wound Ottilie to the quick. 
 One day when she could not evade it, she expressed herself 
 to Charlotte clearly and peremptorily on the subject. 
 
 " If your resolution to renounce Edward," returned Char- 
 lotte, " is so firm and unalterable, then you had better avoid 
 the danger of seeing him again. At a distance from the 
 object of our love, the warmer our affection, the stronger is 
 the control which we fancy that we can exercise on ourselves ; 
 because the whole force of the passion, diverted from its 
 outward objects, turns inwards on ourselves. But how soon, 
 how swiftly is. our mistake made clear to us, when the thing 
 which we thought that we could renounce, stands again 
 before our eyes as indispensable to us ! You must now do 
 what you consider best suited to your circumstances. Look 
 well into yourself; change, if you prefer it, the resolution which 
 you have just expressed. But do it of yourself, with a free 
 consenting heart. Do not allow yourself to be drawn in by 
 an accident ; do not let yourself be surprised into your former 
 position. It will place you at issue with yourself and will 
 be intolerable to you. As I said, before you take this step, 
 before you remove from me, and enter upon a new life, which 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 223 
 
 will lead you no one knows in what direction, consider once 
 more whether really, indeed, you can renounce Edward for 
 the whole time to come. If you have faithfully made up your 
 mind that you will do this, then will you enter into an engage- 
 ment with me, that you will never admit him into your 
 presence ; and if he seeks you out and forces himself upon 
 you, that you will not exchange words with him?" 
 
 Ottilie did not hesitate a moment; she gave Charlotte the 
 promise, which she had already made to herself. 
 
 Now, however, Charlotte began to be haunted with 
 Edward's threat, that he would only consent to renounce 
 Ottilie, as long as she was not parted from Charlotte. Since 
 that time, indeed, circumstances were so altered, so many 
 things had happened, that an engagement which was wrung 
 from him in a moment of excitement might well be supposed 
 to have been cancelled. She was unwilling, however, in the 
 remotest sense to venture anything or to undertake anything 
 which might displease him, and Mittler was therefore to 
 find Edward, and inquire what, as things now were, he 
 wished to be done. 
 
 Since the death of the child, Mittler had often been at the 
 castle to see Charlotte, although only for a few moments at a 
 time. The unhappy accident which had made her reconcilia- 
 tion with her husband in the highest degree improbable, had 
 produced a most painful effect upon him. But ever, as 
 his nature was, hoping and striving, he rejoiced secretly at 
 the resolution of Ottilie. He trusted to the softening 
 influence of passing time ; he hoped that it might still be 
 possible to keep the husband and the wife from separating ; 
 and he tried to regard these convulsions of passion only as 
 trials of wedded love and fidelity. 
 
 Charlotte, at the very first, had informed the Major by 
 letter of Ottilie's declaration. She had entreated him most 
 earnestly to prevail on Edward to take no further steps for 
 the present. They should keep quiet and wait, and see 
 whether the poor girl's spirits would recover. She had let 
 him know from time to time whatever was necessary of what 
 had more lately fallen from her. And now Mittler had to un- 
 dertake the really difficult commission of preparing Edward 
 for an alteration in her situation. Mittler, however, well 
 knowing that men can be brought more easily to submit to 
 
224 GOETHE. 
 
 what is already done, than to give 'their consent to what is yet 
 to be done, persuaded Charlotte that it would be better" to 
 send Ottilie off at once to the school. 
 
 Consequently as soon as Mittler was gone, preparations 
 were at once made for the journey. Ottilie put her things 
 together; and Charlotte observed that neither the beautiful 
 box, nor anything out of it, was to go with her. Ottilie had 
 said nothing to her on the subject ; and she took no notice, but 
 let her alone. The day of the departure came ; Charlotte's 
 carriage was to take Ottilie the first day as far as a place where 
 they were well known, where she was to pass the night, and 
 on the second she would go on in it to the school. It was 
 settled that Nanny was to accompany her, and remain as her 
 attendant. 
 
 This capricious little creature had found her way back to 
 her mistress after the death of the child, and now hung about 
 her as warmly and passionately as ever ; indeed she seemed, 
 with her loquacity and attentiveness, as if she wished to make 
 good her past neglect, and henceforth devote herself entirely to 
 Ottilie's service. She was quite beside herself now for joy at 
 the thought of travelling with her, and of seeing strange places, 
 when she had hitherto never been away from the scene of her 
 birth ; and she ran from the castle to the village to carry the 
 news of her good fortune to her parents and her relations, and 
 to take leave. Unluckily for herself, she went among other 
 places into a room where a person was who had the measles, 
 and caught the infection, which came out upon her at once. 
 The journey could not be postponed. Ottilie herself was 
 urgent to go. She had travelled once already the same road. 
 She knew the people of the hotel where she was to sleep. 
 The coachman from the castle was going with her. There 
 could be nothing to fear. 
 
 Charlotte made no opposition. She, too, in thought, was 
 making haste to be clear of present embarrassments. The 
 rooms which Ottilie had occupied at the castle she would 
 have prepared for Edward as soon as possible, and restored 
 to the old state in which they had been before the arrival of 
 the Captain. The hope of bringing back old happy days 
 burns up again and again in us, as if it never could be 
 extinguished. And Charlotte was quite right; there was 
 nothing else for her except to hope as she did. 
 
ELECTITE AFFINITIES. 225 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Whett Mittler was come to talk the matter over with 
 Edward, he found him sitting by himself, with his head sup- 
 ported on his right hand, and his arm resting on the table. 
 He appeared in great suffering. 
 
 " Is your headache troubling you again ?" asked Mittler. 
 
 " It is troubling me," answered he ; " and yet I cannot wish 
 it were not so, for it reminds me of Ottilie. She too, I say 
 to myself, is also suffering in the same way at this same 
 moment, and suffering more perhaps than I ; and why cannot 
 I bear it as well as she ? These pains are good for me. I 
 might almost say that they were welcome ; for they serve to 
 bring out before me with the greater vividness her patience 
 and all her other graces. It is only when we suffer ourselves, 
 that we feel really the true nature of all the high qualities 
 which are required to bear suffering." 
 
 Mittler, finding his friend so far resigned, did not hesitate 
 to communicate the message with which he had been sent. 
 He brought it out piecemeal, however; in order of time, as the 
 idea had itself arisen between the ladies, and had gradually 
 ripened into a purpose. £dward scarcely made an objection. 
 From the little which he said, it appeared as if he was willing 
 to leave everything to them ; the pain which he was suffering 
 at the moment making him indifferent to all besides. 
 
 Scarcely, however, was he again alone, than he got up, and 
 walked rapidly up and down the room ; he forgot his pain, his 
 attention now turning to what was external to himself. Mit- 
 tler's story had stirred the embers of his love, and awakened 
 his imagination in all its vividness. He saw Ottilie by her- 
 self, or as good as by herself, travelling on a road which was 
 well known to him — in a hotel with every room of which 
 he was familiar. He thought, he considered, or rather he 
 neither thought nor considered; he only wished — he only 
 desired. He would see her ; he would speak to her. Why, 
 or for what good end that was to come of it, he did not care 
 to ask himself; but he made up his mind at once. He must 
 do it. 
 
 He summoned his valet into his council, and through him 
 he Inade himself acquainted with the day and hour whea 
 
 Q 
 
226 GOETHE. 
 
 Ottllie was to set out. fhe morning broke. Without taking 
 any person with him, Edward mounted his horse, and rode off 
 to the place where she was to pass the night. He was there 
 too soon. The hostess was overjoyed at the sight of him ; she 
 was under heavy obligations to him for a service which he had 
 been able to do for her. Her son had been in the army, 
 where he had conducted himself with remarkable gallantry. 
 He had performed one particular action of which no one had 
 been a witness but Edward ; and the latter had spoken of it 
 to the commander-in-chief in terms of such high praise, that 
 notwithstanding the opposition of various ill-wishers, he had 
 obtained a decoration for him. The mother, therefore, could 
 never do enough for Edward. She got ready her best room 
 for him, which indeed was her own wardrobe and store-room, 
 with all possible speed. He informed her, however, that a 
 young lady was coming to pass the night there, and he ordered 
 an apartment for her at the back, at the end of the gallery. 
 It sounded a mysterious sort of affair ; but the hostess was 
 ready to do anything to please her patron, who appeared so 
 interested and so busy about it. And he, what were his sen- 
 sations as he watched through the long, weary hours till 
 evening ? He examined the room round and round in which 
 he was to see her ; with all its strangeness and homeliness it 
 seemed to him to be an abode for angels. He thought over 
 and over what he had better do ; whether he should take her 
 by surprise, or whether he should prepare her for meeting him. 
 At last the second course seemed the preferable one. He sat 
 down and wrote a letter, which she was to read : 
 
 EDWABD TO OTTILIE. 
 
 " While you read this letter, my best beloved, I am close to 
 you. Do not agitate yourself; do not be alarmed; you have 
 nothing to fear from me. I will not force myself upon you. 
 I will see you or not, as you yourself shall choose. 
 
 *' Consider, oh ! consider your condition and mine. How 
 must I not thank you, that you have taken no decisive step ! 
 But the step which you have taken is significant enough. 
 Bo not persist in it. Here, as it were, at a parting of the 
 ways, reflect once again. Can you be mine? — will you be 
 mine? Oh, you will be showing mercy on us all if you 
 will ; and on me, infinite mercy. 
 
l-r FrnVK AFFINITIES. " li27 
 
 ** Let me see you again ! — happily, joyfully see you once 
 more ! Let me make my request to you with my own lips ; 
 and do you give me your answer your own beautiful self, on 
 my breast, Ottilie ! where you have so often rested, and which 
 belongs to you for ever !'* 
 
 As he was writing, the feeling rushed over him that what he 
 was longing for was coming — was close — would be there almost 
 immediately. By that door she would come in ; she would 
 read that letter ; she in her own person would stand there 
 before him as she used to stand ; she for whose appearance he 
 had thirsted so long. Would she be the same as she was ? — 
 was her form, were her feelings changed ? He still held the 
 pen in his hand ; he was going to write as he thought, when 
 the carriage rolled into the court. With a few hurried strokes 
 he added: " I hear you coming. For a moment, farewell !" 
 
 He folded the letter, and directed it. He had no time for 
 sealing. He darted into the room through which there was a 
 second outlet into the gallery, when the next moment he 
 recollected that he had left his watch and seals lying on the 
 table. She must not see these first. He ran back and 
 brought them away with him. At the same instant he heard 
 the hostess in the antechamber showing Ottilie the way to her 
 apartments. He sprang to the bedroom door. It was shut. 
 In his haste, as he had come back for his watch, he had for- 
 gotten to take out the key, which had fallen out, and lay the 
 other side. The door had closed with a spring, and he could 
 not open it. He pushed at it with all his might, but it would 
 Aot yield. Oh, how gladly would he have been a spirit, to 
 escape through its cracks ! In vain. He hid his face against 
 the panels. Ottilie entered, and the hostess, seeing him, 
 retired. From Ottilie herself, too, he could not remain con- 
 cealed for a moment. He turned towards her; and there 
 stood the lovers once more, in such strange fashion, in one 
 another's presence. She looked at him calmly and earnestly, 
 without advancing or retiring. He made a movement to 
 approach her, and she withdrew a few steps towards the table. 
 He stepped back again. " Ottilie !" he cried aloud, *' Ottilie ! 
 let me break this frightful silence ! Are we shadows, that we 
 stand thus gazing at each other ? Only listen to me ; listen 
 to this at least. It is an accident that you find me here 
 
 q2 
 
228 GOETHE. 
 
 thus. There is a letter on the table, at your side therr 
 which was to have prepared you. Read it, I implore you— 
 read it — an-d then determine as you will !" 
 
 She looked down at the letter ; and after thinking a few 
 seconds, she took it up, opened it, and read it : she finished it 
 without a change of expression ; and she laid it lightly down ; 
 then joining the palms of her hands together, turning them 
 upwards, and drawing them against her breast, she leant her 
 body a little forward, and regarded Edward with such a look, 
 that, eager as he was, he was compelled to renounce every- 
 thing he wished or desired of her. Such an attitude cut him 
 to the heart ; he could not bear it. It seemed exactly as if 
 she would fall upon her knees before him, if he persisted. He 
 hurried in despair out of the room, and leaving her alone, sent 
 the hostess in to her. 
 
 He walked up and down the antechamber. Night had 
 come on, and there was no sound in the room. At last the 
 hostess came out and drew the key out of the lock. The 
 good woman was embarrassed and agitated, not knowing 
 what it would be proper for her to do. At last as she 
 turned to go, she offered the key to Edward, who refuse-d it; 
 and putting down the candle, she went away. 
 
 In misery and wretchedness, Edward flung himself down 
 on the threshold of the door which divided him from 
 Ottilie, moistening it with his tears as he lay. A more un- 
 happy night had been seldom passed by two lovers in such 
 close neighbourhood! 
 
 Day came at last. The coachman brought round the car- 
 riage, and the hostess unlocked the door and went in. Ottilie 
 was asleep in her clothes ; she went back and beckoned to 
 Edward with a significant smile. They both entered and 
 stood before her as she lay ; but the sight was too much for 
 Edward. He could not bear it. She was sleeping so quietly 
 that the hostess did not like to disturb her, but sat down 
 opposite her, waiting till she woke. At last Ottilie opened 
 her beautiful eyes, and raised herself on her feet. She declined 
 taking any breakfast, and then Edward went in again and 
 stood before her. He entreated her to speak but one word 
 to him ; to tell him what she desired. He would do it, be it 
 what it would, he swore to her ; but she remained silent. 
 He asked her once more, passionately and tenderly, whether 
 
ELECTITE AFFINITIES. 229 
 
 she would be his. With downcast eyes, and with the deepest 
 tenderness of manner she shook her head to a gentle No, 
 He asked if she still desired to go to the school. Without 
 any show of feeling she declined. Would she then go back 
 to Charlotte? She inclined her head in token of assent, 
 with a look of comfort and relief. He went to the window 
 to give directions to the coachman, and when his back was 
 turned she darted like lightning out of the room, and was 
 down the stairs and in the carriage in an instant. The coach- 
 man drove back along the road which he had come the day 
 before, and Edward followed at some distance on horseback. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 It was with the utmost surprise that Charlotte saw the car- 
 riage drive up with Ottilie, and Edward at the same moment 
 ride into the court-yard of the castle. She ran down to the hall. 
 Ottilie alighted, and approached her and Edward. Violently 
 and eagerly she caught the hands of the wife and husband, 
 pressed them together, and hurried off to her own room. 
 Edward threw himself on Charlotte's neck and burst into 
 tears. He could not give her any explanation ; he besought 
 her to have patience with him, and to go at once to see Ottilie. 
 Charlotte followed her to her room, and she could not enter 
 it without a shudder. It had been all cleared out. There 
 was nothing to be seen but the empty walls, which stood 
 there looking cheerless, vacant, and miserable. Everything 
 had been carried away except the little box, which from an 
 uncertainty what was to be done with it, had been left in the 
 middle of the room. Ottilie was lying stretched upon the 
 ground, her arm and head leaning across the cover. Charlotte 
 bent anxiously over her, and asked what had happened ; but 
 she received no answer. 
 
 Her maid had come with restoratives. Charlotte left her 
 with Ottilie, and herself hastened back to Edward. She found 
 him in the saloon, but he could tell her nothing. He threw 
 himself down before her ; he bathed her hands with tears ; 
 he flew to his own room, and she was going to follow him 
 
230 GOETHE. 
 
 tHther, when she met his valet. From this man she gathered 
 as much as he was able to tell. The rest she put together in 
 her own thoughts as well as she could, and then at once set 
 herself resolutely to do what the exigencies of the moment 
 required. Ottilie's room was put to rights again as quickly 
 as possible ; Edward found his, to the last paper, exactly as 
 he had left it. 
 
 The three appeared again to fall into some sort of relation 
 with one another. But Ottilie persevered in her silence, and 
 Edward could do nothing except entreat his wife to exert a 
 patience which seemed wanting to himself. Charlotte sent 
 messengers to Mittler and to the Major. The first was absent 
 from home and could not be found. The latter came. To him 
 Edward poured out all his heart, confessing every most trifling 
 circumstance to him, and thus Charlotte learnt fully what had 
 passed ; what it had been which had produced such violent 
 excitement, and how so strange an alteration of their mutual 
 position had been brought about. 
 
 She spoke with the utmost tenderness to her husband. She 
 had nothing to ask of him, except that for the present he 
 would leave the poor girl to herself. Edward was not insen- 
 sible to the worth, the affection, the strong sense of his wife ; 
 but his passion absorbed him exclusively. Charlotte tried to 
 cheer him with hopes. She promised that she herself would 
 make no difficulties about the separation ; but it had small 
 effect with him. He was so much shaken that hope and 
 faith alternately forsook him. A species of insanity appeared 
 to have talien possession of him. He urged Charlotte to 
 promise to give her hand to the Major. To satisfy him and 
 to humour him, she did what he required. She engaged to 
 become herself the wife of the Major, in the event of Ottilie 
 consenting to the marriage with Edward ; with this express 
 condition, however, that for the present the two gentlemen 
 should go abroad together. The Major had a foreign appoint- 
 ment from the court, and it was settled that Edward should 
 accompany him. They arranged it all together, and in doing 
 so found a sort of comfort for themselves in the sense that at 
 least something was being done. 
 
 In the meantime they had to remark that Ottilie took scarcely 
 anything to eat or drink. She still persisted in refusing to 
 speak. They at first used to talk to her, but it appeared to 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 231 
 
 ilistrcss lier, and they left it off. We are not, universally at 
 least, so weak as to persist in torturing people for their good. 
 Charlotte thought over what could possibly be done. At last 
 she fancied it might be well to ask the Assistant of the school 
 to come to them. He had much influence with Ottilie, and 
 had been writing with much anxiety to inquire the cause oi 
 her not having arrived at the time he had been expecting her ; 
 but as yet she had not sent him any answer. 
 
 In order not to take Ottilie by surprise, they spoke of their 
 intention of sending this invitation in her presence. It did 
 not seem to please her ; she thought for some little time ; at 
 last she appeared to have formed some resolution. She retired 
 to her own room, and before the evening sent the following 
 letter to the assembled party : 
 
 OTTILIE TO HER FRIENDS. 
 
 " Why need I express in words, my dear friends, what is 
 in itself so plain ? I have stepped out of my course, and I 
 cannot recover it again. A malignant spirit which has gained 
 power over me seems to hinder me from without, even if 
 within I could again become at peace with myself. 
 
 " My purpose was entirely firm to renounce Edward, and 
 to separate myself from him for ever. I had hoped that we 
 might never meet again ; it has turned out otherwise. Against 
 his own will he stood before me. Too literally, perhaps, I 
 have observed my promise never to admit him into conversa- 
 tion with me. My conscience and the feelings of the moment 
 Aept me silent towards him at the time, and now I have 
 nothing more to say. I have taken upon myself, under the 
 accidental impulse of the moment, a difficult vow, which if 
 it had been formed deliberately, might perhaps be painful 
 and distressing. Let me now persist in the observance of 
 it so long as my heart shall enjoin it to me. Do not call in 
 any one to mediate ; do not insist upon my speaking ; do not 
 urge me to eat or to drink more than I absolutely must. 
 Bear with me and let me alone, and so help me on through 
 the time; I am young, and youth has many unexpected 
 means of restoring itself. Endure my presence among you ; 
 (;heer me with your love ; make me wiser and better with 
 what you say to one another : but leave me to my own inward 
 self." 
 
232 GOETH35. 
 
 The two friends had made all preparation for their joumev 
 but their departure was still delayed by the formalities of the 
 foreign appointment of the Major, a delay most welcome to 
 Edward. Ottilie's letter had roused all his eagerness again ; 
 he had gathered hope and comfort from her words, and now 
 felt himself encouraged and justified in remaining and waiting. 
 He declared, therefore, that he would not go ; it would be 
 folly, indeed, he cried, of his own accord, to throw away, 
 by over precipitateness, what was most valuable and most 
 necessary to him, when although there was a danger of losing 
 it, there was nevertheless a chance that it might be preserved. 
 *' What is the right name of conduct such as that?" he said. 
 "It is only that we desire to show that wg are able to will and 
 to choose. I myself, under the influences of the same ridiculous 
 folly, have torn myself away, days before there was any neces- 
 sity for it, from my friends, merely that I might not be forced 
 to go by the definite expiration of my term. This time I 
 will stay: what reason is there for my going; is she not 
 already removed far enough from me ? I am not likely now 
 to catch her hand or press her to my heart; I could not 
 even think of it without a shudder. She has not separated 
 herself from me ; she has raised herself far above me." 
 
 And so he remained as he desired, as he was obliged ; but 
 he was never easy except when he found himself with Ottilie. 
 She, too, had the same feeling with him ; she could not tear 
 herself away from the same happy necessity. On all sides they 
 exerted an indescribable, almost magical power of attraction 
 c)ver one another. Living, as they were, under one roof, 
 without even so much as thinking of each other, although 
 they might be occupied with other things, or diverted this 
 way or that way by the other members of the party, they 
 always drew together. If they were in the same room, in a 
 short time they were sure to be either standing or sitting near 
 each other ; they were only easy when as close together as 
 they could be, but they were then completely easy. To be 
 near was enough ; there was no need for them either to look 
 or to speak : they did not seek to touch one another, or make 
 sign or gesture, but merely to be together. Then there were 
 not two persons, there was but one person in unconscious and 
 perfect content, at peace with itself and with the world. So 
 it was that if either of them had been imprisoned at tha 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 23^ 
 
 further end of the house, the other would by degrees, without 
 intending it, have moved towards its fellow till it found it ; 
 life to them was a riddle, the solution of which they could 
 only find in union. 
 
 Ottilie was throughout so cheerful and quiet that they 
 were able to feel perfectly easy about her ; she was seldom 
 absent from the society of her friends : all that she had 
 desired was that she might be allowed to eat alone, with no 
 one to attend upon her but Nanny. 
 
 What habitually befiills any person repeats itself more often 
 than one is apt to suppose, because his own nature gives the 
 immediate occasion for it. Character, individuality, incli- 
 nation, tendency, locality, circumstance, and habits, form 
 together a whole, in which every man moves as in an atmo- 
 sphere, and where only he feels himself at ease in his proper 
 element. 
 
 And so we find men, of whose changeableness so many 
 complaints are made, after many years, to our surprise, un- 
 changed, and in all their infinite tendencies, outward and 
 inward, unchangeable. 
 
 Thus in the daily life of our friends, almost everything 
 glided on again in its old smooth track. Ottilie still displayed 
 by many silent attentions her obliging nature, and the others 
 like her continued each themselves ; and then the domestic 
 circle exhibited an image of their former life, so like it, that 
 they might be pardoned if at times they dreamt that it might 
 all be again as it was. 
 
 The autumn days, which were of the same length with 
 those old spring days, brought the party back into the house 
 out of the air about the same hour. The gay fruits and 
 flowers which belonged to the season, might have made them 
 fancy it was now the autumn of that first spring, and the 
 interval dropped out and forgotten; for the flowers which 
 now were blowing, were the same as those which then they 
 had sown, and the fruits which were now ripening on the trees, 
 were those which at that time they had seen in blossom. 
 
 The Major went backwards and forwards, and Mittler came 
 frequently. The evenings were generally spent in exactly the 
 same way. Edward usually read aloud, with more life and 
 feeling than before ; much better, and even it may be said with 
 more cheerfulness. It appeared as if he was endeavouringt 
 
234 GOETHE. 
 
 by light-heartedness as much as by devotion, to quicken 
 Ottilie's torpor into life, and dissolve her silence. He seated 
 himself in the same position as he used to do, that she might 
 look over his book ; he was uneasy and distracted unless she 
 was doing so, unless he was sm-e that she was following his 
 words with her eyes. 
 
 Every trace had vanished of the unpleasant, ungracious 
 feelings of the intervening time. No one had any secret 
 complaint against another ; there were no cross purposes, no 
 bitterness. The Major accompanied Charlotte's playing with 
 his violin, and Edward's flute sounded again, as formerly, in 
 harmony with Ottilie's piano. Thus they were now approach- 
 ing Edward's birthday, which the year before they had 
 missed celebrating. This time they were to keep it with- 
 out any outward festivities, in quiet enjoyment among them- 
 selves. They had so settled it together, half expressly, half 
 from a tacit agreement. As they approached nearer to this 
 epoch, however, an anxiety about it, which had hitherto 
 been more felt than observed, became more noticeable in 
 Ottilie's manner. She was to be seen often in the garden 
 examining the flowers: she had signified to the gardener 
 that he was to save as many as he could of every sort, and 
 she had been especially occupied with the asters, which this 
 year were blowing in immense profusion. 
 
 CHAPTER XVHI. 
 
 The most remarkable feature, however, which was observed 
 about Ottilie was that, for the first time, she had now un- 
 packed the box, and had selected a variety of things out of 
 it, which she had cut up, and which were intended evidently 
 to make one complete suit for her. The rest, with Nanny's 
 assistance, she had endeavoured to replace again, and she 
 had been hardly able to get it done, the space being over full, 
 although a portion had been taken out. The covetous little 
 Nanny could never satisfy herself with looking at all the 
 pretty things, especially as she found provision made there fo/ 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 235 
 
 every article of dress which could be wanted, even the 
 smallest. Numbers of shoes and stockings, garters with 
 devices on them, gloves, and various other things were left, 
 and she begged Ottilie just to give her one or two of them. 
 Ottilie refused to do that, but opened a drawer in her ward- 
 robe, and told the girl to take what she liked. The latter 
 hastily and awkwardly dashed in her hand and seized what 
 she could, running off at once with her booty, to show it off 
 and display her good fortune among the rest of the servants. 
 
 At last Ottilie succeeded in packing everythin-g carefully 
 into its place. She then opened a secret compartment, 
 which was contrived in the lid, where she kept a number of 
 notes and letters from Edward, many dried flowers, the 
 mementos of their early walks together, a lock of his hair, 
 and various other little matters. She now added one more 
 to them, her father's portrait, and then locked it all up, and 
 hung the delicate key by a gold chain about her neck, against 
 her heart. 
 
 In the mean time, her friends had now in their hearts 
 begun to entertain the best hopes for her. Charlotte was 
 convinced that she would one day begin to speak again. 
 She had latterly seen signs about her which implied that she 
 was engaged in secret about something ; a look of cheerful 
 self-satisfaction, a smile like that which hangs about the face 
 of persons who have something pleasant and delightful, 
 which they are keeping concealed from those whom they 
 love. No one knew that she spent many hours in extreme 
 exhaustion, and that only at rare intervals, when she ap- 
 peared in public through the power of her will, she was able 
 to rouse herself. 
 
 Mittler had latterly been a frequent visitor, and when he 
 came he staid longer than he usually did at other times. 
 This strong-M'illed, resolute person was only too well aware 
 that there is a certain moment in which alone it will answer 
 to smite the iron. Ottilie's silence and reserve he inter- 
 preted according to his own wishes ; no steps had as yet been 
 taken towards a separation of the husband and wife. He 
 hoped to be able to determine the fortunes of the poor girl 
 in some not undesirable way. He listened, he allowed him- 
 self to seem convinced ; he was discreet and unobtrusive, 
 and conducted himself in his own way with sufficient pru*- 
 
236 GOETHE. 
 
 dence. There was but one occasion on which he uniformly 
 forgot himself — when he found an opportunity for giving 
 his opinion upon subjects to which he attached a great im- 
 portance. He lived much within himself, and when he was 
 with others, his only relation to them generally was in active 
 employment on their behalf; but if once, when among 
 friends, his tongue broke fairly loose, as on more than one 
 occasion we have already seen, he rolled out his words in 
 utter recklessness, whether they wounded or whether they 
 pleased, whether they did evil or whether they did good. 
 
 The evening before the birthday, the Major and Charlotte 
 were sitting together expecting Edward, who had gone out 
 for a ride ; Mittler was walking up and down the saloon ; 
 Ottilie was in her own room, laying out the dress which she 
 was to wear on the morrow, and making signs to her maid 
 about a number of things, which the girl, M'ho perfectly un- 
 derstood her silent language, arranged as she was ordered. 
 
 Mittler had fallen exactly on his favourite subject. One 
 of the points on which he used most to insist was, that in the 
 education of children, as well as in the conduct of nations, 
 there was nothing more worthless and barbarous than laws 
 and commandments forbidding this and that action. " Man is 
 naturally active," he said, "wherever he is ; and if you know 
 how to tell him what to do, he will do it immediately, and 
 keep straight in the direction in which you set him. 1 my- 
 self, in my own circle, am far better pleased to endure faults 
 ani mistakes, till I know what the opposite virtue is that I 
 am to enjoin, than to be rid of the faults and to have nothing 
 good to put in their place. A man is really glad to do what 
 is right and sensible, if he only knows how to get at it. It 
 is no such great matter with him ; he does it because he must 
 have something to do, and he thinks no more about it after- 
 wards than he does of the silliest freaks which he engaged 
 in out of the purest idleness. I cannot tell you how it 
 annoys me to hear people going over and over those Ten 
 Commandments in teaching children. The fifth is a 
 thoroughly beautiful, rational, preceptive precept. * Thou 
 shalt honour thy father and thy mother.' If the children 
 will inscribe that well upon their hearts, they have the whole 
 day before them to put it in practice. But the sixth now ? 
 What can we say to that ? ' Thou shalt do no murder;' as if 
 
ELECTIVE AFFIHITIES. ii37 
 
 any man ever felt the slightest general inclination to strike 
 another man dead. Men will hate sometimes ; they will fly 
 into passions and forget themselves ; and as a consequence of 
 this or other feelings, it may easily come now and then to a 
 murder ; but what a barbarous precaution it is to tell children 
 that they are not to kill or murder ! If the commandment ran, 
 * Have a regard for the life of another — put away whatever 
 can do him hurt — save him though with peril to yourself — if 
 you injure him, consider that you are injuring yourself;' — that 
 is the form which should be in use among educated, reason- 
 able people. And in our Catechism teaching we have only an 
 awkward clumsy way of sliding into it, through a ' w^hat do 
 you mean by that?' 
 
 " And as for the seventh ; that is utterly detestable. 
 What ! to stimulate the precocious curiosity of children to 
 pry into dangerous mysteries ; to obtrude violently upon their 
 imaginations ideas and notions which beyond all things 
 you should wish to keep from them ! It were far better if 
 such actions as that commandment speaks of were dealt with 
 arbitrarily by some secret tribunal, than prated openly of 
 before church and congregation " 
 
 At this moment Ottilie entered the room. 
 
 " ' Thou shalt not commit adultery,' " — Mittler went on— 
 *' How coarse ! how brutal ! What a different sound it has, 
 if you let it run, * Thou shalt hold in reverence the bond of 
 marriage. When thou seest a husband and a wife between 
 whom there is true love, thou shalt rejoice in it, and their 
 happiness shall gladden thee like the cheerful light of a 
 beautiful day. If there arise anything to make division 
 between them, thou shalt use thy best endeavour to clear it 
 away. Thou shalt labour to pacify them, and to soothe them ; 
 to show each of them the excellencies of the other. Thou 
 shalt not think of thyself, but purely and disinterestedly thou 
 shalt seek to further the well-being of others, and make them 
 feel what a happiness is that which arises out of all duty 
 done ; and especially out of that duty which holds man and 
 wife indissolubly bo\ind together.' " 
 
 Charlotte felt as if she was sitting on hot coals. The 
 situation was the more distressing, as she was convinced that 
 Mittler was not thinking the least where he was or what he 
 was sayiuis ; and before she was able to interrupt him, she 
 
238 , GOETHE. 
 
 saw Ottllie, after changing colour painfully for a few seconds, 
 rise and leave the room, 
 
 Charlotte constrained herself to seem unembarrassed : 
 " You will leave us the eighth commandment," she said, with 
 a faint smile. 
 
 " All the rest," replied Mittler, " if I may only insist first 
 on the foundation of the whole of them." 
 
 At this moment Nanny rushed in, screaming and crying : 
 " She is dying; the young lady is dying; come to her, 
 come." 
 
 Ottilie had found her way back with extreme difficulty to 
 her own room. The beautiful things which she was to wear 
 the next day were laid out on a number of chairs ; and the 
 girl, who had been running from one to the other, staring 
 at them and admiring them, called out in her ecstacy, " Look, 
 dearest madam, only look ! There is a bridal dress worthy 
 of you." 
 
 Ottilie heard the word, and sank upon the sofa. Nanny 
 saw her mistress turn pale, fall back, and faint. She ran for 
 Charlotte, who came. The medical friend was on the spot 
 in a moment. He thought it was nothing but exhaustion. 
 He ordered some strong soup to be brought. Ottilie refused 
 it with an expression of loathing : it almost threw her into 
 convulsions, when they put the cup to her lips. A light 
 seemed to break on the physician: he asked hastily and 
 anxiously what Ottilie had taken that day. The little girl 
 hesitated. He repeated his question, and she then acknow- 
 ledged that Ottilie had taken nothing. 
 
 There was a nervousness of manner about Nanny which 
 made him suspicious. He carried her with him into the 
 adjoining room; Charlotte followed; and the girl threw 
 herself on her knees, and confessed that for a long time past 
 Ottilie had taken as good as nothing; at her mistress's 
 urgent request, she had herself eaten the food which had 
 been brought for her ; she had said nothing about it, because 
 Ottilie had by signs alternately begged her not to tell any 
 one, and threatened her if she did ; and, as she innocently 
 added, *' because it was so nice." 
 
 The Major and Mittler now came up as well. They found 
 Charlotte busy with the physician. The pale, beautiful girl 
 vras sitting, apparently conscious, in the corner of the sofa. 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 239 
 
 They had begged her to lie down ; she had declined to do 
 this ; but she made signs to have her box brought, and 
 resting her feet upon it, placed herself in an easy, half 
 recumbent position. She seemed to be wishing to take 
 leave ; and by her gestures, was expressing to all about her 
 the tenderest affection, love, gratitude, entreaties for forgive- 
 ness, and the most heartfelt farewell. 
 
 Edward, on alighting from his horse, was informed of what 
 had happened ; he rushed to the room ; threw himself down 
 at her side ; and seizing her hand, deluged it with silent 
 tears. In this position he remained a long time. At last 
 he called out : " And am I never more to hear your voice ? 
 Will you not turn back toward life, to give me one single 
 word? Well, then, very well. I will follow you yonder, 
 and there we will speak in another language." 
 
 She pressed his hand with all the strength she had ; she 
 gazed at him with a glance full of life and full of love ; and 
 drawing a long breath, and for a little while moving her lips 
 inarticulately, with a tender effort of affection she called out, 
 " Promise me to live ;" and then fell back immediately. 
 
 " I promise, I promise!" he cried to her; but he cried 
 only after her ; she was already gone. 
 
 After a miserable night, the care of providing for the loved 
 remains fell upon Charlotte. The Major and Mittler assisted 
 her. Edward's condition was utterly pitiable. His first 
 thought, when he was in any degi-ee recovered from his 
 despair, and able to collect himself, was, that Ottilie should 
 not be carried out of the castle ; she should be kept there, 
 and attended upon as if she were alive : for she was not 
 dead ; it was impossible that she should be dead. They did 
 what he desired ; at least, so far as that they did not do what 
 he had forbidden. He did not ask to see her. 
 
 There was now a second alarm, and a further cause for 
 anxiety. Nanny, who had been spoken to sharply by the 
 physician, had been compelled by threats to confess, and 
 after her confession had been overwhelmed with reproaches, 
 had now disappeared After a long search she was found ; 
 but she appeared to be out of her mind. Her parents took 
 her home ; but the gentlest treatment had no effect upon her^ 
 and she had to be locked up for fear she should run away 
 again. 
 
S40 GOETHE. 
 
 They succeeded by degrees in recovering Edward from 
 the extreme agony of despair ; but only to make him more 
 /eally wretched. He now saw clearly, he could not doubt 
 now, that the happiness of his life was gone from him for 
 ever. It was suggested to him that if Ottilie was placed 
 in the chapel, she would still remain among the living, and 
 it would be a calm, quiet, peaceful home for her. There 
 was much difficulty in obtaining his consent; he would 
 only give it under condition that she should be taken there 
 in an open coffin ; that the vault in which she was laid, if 
 covered at all, should be only covered with glass, and a 
 lamp should be kept always burning there. It was arranged 
 that this should be done, and then he seemed resigned. 
 
 They clothed the delicate body in the festal dress, 
 which she had herself prepared. A garland of asters was 
 wreathed about her head, which shone sadly there like 
 melancholy stars. To decorate the bier and the church and 
 chapel, the gardens were robbed of their beauty; they lay 
 desolate, as if a premature winter had blighted all theil 
 loveliness. In the earliest morning she was borne in an 
 open coffin out of the castle, and the heavenly features were 
 once more reddened with the rising sun. The mourners 
 crowded about her as she was being taken along. None 
 would go before; none would follow; every one would be 
 where she was, every one would enjoy her presence for the 
 last time. Men and women, and little boys, there was not 
 one unmoved ; least of all to be consoled were the girls, who 
 felt most immediately what they had lost. 
 
 Nanny was not present ; it had been thought better not to 
 allow it, and they had kept secret from her the day and the 
 hour of the funeral. She was at her parents' house, closely 
 watched, in a room looking towards the garden. But when 
 she heard the bells tolling, she knew too well what they 
 meant; and her attendant having left her out of curiosity 
 to see the funeral, she escaped out of the window into a 
 /assage, and from thence, finding all the doors locked, into 
 an upper open loft. At this moment the funeral was passing 
 through the village, which had been all freshly strewed 
 with leaves. Nanny saw her mistress plainly close below 
 her, more plainly, more entirely, than any one in the 
 |)rocession underneath ; she appeared to be lifted above the 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 241 
 
 earth, borne as it were on clouds or waves, and the girl 
 fancied she was making signs to her ; her senses swam, shi- 
 tottered, swayed herself for a moment on the edge, and fell 
 to the ground. The crowd fell asunder on all sides ^vith a 
 cry of horror. In the tumult and confusion, the bearers 
 were obliged to set down the coffin ; the girl lay close by it : 
 it seemed as if every limb was broken. They lifted her 
 up, and by accident or providentially she was allowed to 
 lean over the body ; she appeared, indeed, to be endeavouring 
 with what remained to her of life to reach her beloved 
 mistress. Scarcely, however, had the loosely hanging 
 limbs touched Ottilie's robe, and the powerless finger 
 rested on the folded hands, than the girl started up, and 
 first raising her arms and eyes towards heaven, flung herself 
 down upon her knees before the coffin, and gazed with 
 passionate devotion at her mistress. 
 
 At last she sprang, as if inspired, from off the ground, 
 and cried with a voice of ecstasy : " Yes, she has forgiven 
 me ; what no man, what I myself could never have forgiven. 
 God forgives me through her look, her motion, her lips. Now 
 she is lying again so still and quiet, but you saw how she 
 raised herself up, and unfolded her hands and blessed me, 
 and how kindly she looked at me. You all heard, you can 
 witness that she said to me : ' You are forgiven.' I am not a 
 murderess any more. She has forgiven me. God has forgiven 
 me, and no one may now say anything more against me.' '* 
 
 The people stood crowding around her. They were 
 amazed ; they listened and looked this way and that, and no 
 one knew what should next be done. " Bear her on to her 
 rest," said the girl. " She has done her part ; she has suf- 
 fered, and cannot now remain any more among us." The 
 bier moved on, Nanny now following it; and thus they 
 reached the church and the chapel. 
 
 So now stood the coffin of Ottilie, with the child's coffin 
 at her head, and her box at her feet, inclosed in a resting- 
 place of massive oak. A woman had been provided to watch 
 the body for the first part of the time, as it lay there so 
 beautifully beneath its glass covering. But Nanny would not 
 permit this duty to be taken from herself. She would remain 
 alone without a companion, and attend to the lamp which 
 was now kindled for the first time ; and she begged to be 
 
 s. 
 
242 GOETHE. 
 
 allowed to do it with so much eagerness and perseverance, 
 that they let her have her waj^ to prevent any greater evil 
 Mat might ensue. 
 
 But she did not long remain alone. As night was falling, 
 and the hanging lamp began to exercise its full right and 
 shed abroad a larger lustre, the door opened and the Archi- 
 tect entered the chapel. The chastely ornamented walls in 
 the mild light looked more strange, more awful, more 
 antique, than he was prepared to see them. Nanny was 
 sitting on one side of the coffin. She recognized him imme- 
 diately ; but she pointed in silence to the pale form of her 
 mistress. And there stood he on the other side, in the vigour 
 of youth and of grace, with his arm^s drooping, and his hands 
 clasped piteously together, motionless, with head and eye 
 inclined over the inanimate body. 
 
 Once already he had stood thus before in the Belisarius ; he 
 had now involuntarily fallen into the same attitude. And this 
 time how naturally! Here, too, was something of inesti- 
 mable worth thrown down from its high estate. There were 
 courage, prudence, power, rank, and wealth in one single 
 man, lost irrevocably ; the7'e were qualities which, in decisive 
 moments, had been of indispensable service to the nation 
 and the prince ; but which, when the moment was passed, 
 were no more valued, but flung aside and neglected, and cared 
 for no longer. And here were many other silent virtues, which 
 had been summoned but a little time before by nature out of 
 the depths of her treasures, and now swept rapidly away again 
 by her careless hand — rare, sweet, lovely virtues, whose 
 peaceful workings the thirsty world had welcomed, while it 
 had them, with gladness and joy; and now was sorrowing for 
 them in unavailing desire. 
 
 Both tlie youth and the girl were silent for a long time. 
 But when she saw the tears streaming fast down his cheeks, 
 and he appeared to be sinking under the burden of his sor- 
 row, she spoke to him with so much truthfulness and power, 
 with such kindness and such confidence, that, astonished at 
 the flow of her words, he was able to recover himself, and 
 he saw his beautiful fi-icnd floating before him in the new life 
 of a higher world. His tears ceased flowing ; his sorrow 
 grew lighter: on his knees he took leave of Ottilie, and 
 with a warm pressure of the hand of Nanny, he rode away 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. 243 
 
 from the spot into the night without having seen a single 
 other person. 
 
 The surgeon had, without the girl being aware of it, 
 remained all night in the church; and when he went in the 
 morning to see her, he found her cheerful and tranquil. He 
 was prepared for wild aberrations. He thought that she 
 would be sure to speak to him of conversations which she had 
 held in the night with Ottilie, and of other such apparitions. 
 But she was natural, quiet, and perfectly self-possessed. She 
 remembered accurately what had happened in her previous 
 life; she could describe the circumstances of it with the 
 greatest exactness, and never in anything which she said 
 stepped out of the course of what was real and natural, ex- 
 cept in her account of what had passed with the body, which 
 she delighted to repeat again and again, how Ottilie had 
 raised herself up, had blessed her, had forgiven her, and 
 thereby set her at rest for ever. 
 
 Ottilie remained so long in her beautiful state, which more 
 resembled sleep than death, that a number of persons were 
 attracted there to look at her. The neighbours and the vil- 
 lagers wished to see her again, and every one desired to hear 
 Nanny's incredible story from her own mouth. Many laughed 
 at it, most doubted, and some few were found who were able 
 to believe. 
 
 Difficulties, for which no real satisfaction is attainable, 
 compel us to faith. Before the eyes of all the world, Nanny's 
 limbs had been broken, and by touching the sacred body she 
 had been restored to strength again. Why should not others 
 find similar good fortune ? Delicate mothers first privately 
 brought their children who were suffering from obstinate 
 disorders, and they believed that they could trace an imme- 
 diate improvement. The confidence of the people increased, 
 and at last there was no one so old or so weak as not to have 
 come to seek fresh life and health and strength at this place, 
 The concourse became so great, that they were obliged, ex- 
 cept at the hours of divine service, to keep the church and 
 chapel closed. 
 
 Edward did not venture to look at her again ; he lived on 
 mechanically; he seemed to have no tears left, and to be 
 incapable of any further suffering ; his power of taking in- 
 terest in what was going on diminished eveiy day ; his appetite 
 
 r2 
 
244 GOETHE. 
 
 gradually failed. The only refreshment which did him any 
 good was what he drank out of the glass, which to him, 
 indeed, had been but an untrue prophet. He continued to 
 gaze at the intertwining initials, and the earnest cheerfulness 
 of his expression seemed to signify that he still hoped to be 
 united with her at last. And as every little circumstance com- 
 bines to favour the fortunate, and every accident contributes to 
 elate him ; so do the most trifling occurrences love to unite 
 to crush and overwhelm the unhappy. One day as Edward 
 raised the beloved glass to his lips, he put it down and thrust 
 it from him with a shudder. It was the same and not the 
 same. He missed a little private mark upon it. The valet 
 was questioned, and had to confess that the real glass had 
 not long since been broken, and that one like it belonging to 
 the same set had been substituted in its place. 
 
 Edward could not be angry. His destiny had spoken out 
 with sufficient clearness in the fact, and how should he be 
 affected by the shadow ? and yet it touched him deeply. He 
 seemed now to dislike drinking, and thenceforward purposely 
 to abstain from food and from speaking. 
 
 But from time to time a sort of restlessness came over him; 
 he would desire to eat and drink something, and would begin 
 again to speak. "Ah!" he said, one day to the Major, who 
 now seldom left his side, " how unhappy I am that all my 
 efforts are but imitations ever, and false and fruitless. What 
 was blessedness to her, is pain to me; and yet for the sake of 
 this blessedness I am forced to take this pain upon myself. 
 I must go after her ; follow her by the same road. But my 
 nature and my promise hold me back. It is a terrible diffi- 
 culty, indeed, to imitate the inimitable. I feel clearl)'-, my 
 dear friend, that gemus is required for everything ; for mar- 
 tyrdom as well as the rest." 
 
 What shall we say of the endeavours which in this hopeless 
 condition were made for him? his wife, his friends, his phy- 
 sician, incessantly laboured to do something for him. But it 
 was all in vain : at last they found him dead. Mittler was the 
 first to make the melancholy discovery ; he called the phy- 
 sician, and examined closely, with his usual presence of mind, 
 the circumstances under Avhich he had been found. Charlotte 
 rushed in to them ; she was afraid that he had committed 
 suicide, and accused herself and accused others of unpardon- 
 
ELECTIVE AFFINITIES. ' 245 
 
 nble carelessness. But the physician on natural, and Mittler 
 on moral grounds, were soon able to satisfy her of the con- 
 trary. It was quite clear that Edward's end had taken him 
 by surprise. In a quiet moment he had taken out of his 
 pocket-book and out of a casket everything which remained 
 to him as memorials of Ottilie, and had spread them out before 
 him ; a lock of hair ; flowers which had been gathered in some 
 happy hour, and every letter which she had written to him 
 from the first, which his wife had omii-ously happened to 
 give him. It was impossible that he would intentionally 
 have exposed these to the danger of being seen, by the first 
 person who might happen to discover him. 
 
 But so lay the heart, which but a short time before had 
 been so swift and eager, at rest now, where it could never 
 be disturbed ; and falling asleep, as he did, with his thoughts 
 on one so saintly, he might well be called blessed. Char- 
 lotte gave him his place at Ottilie's side, and arranged that 
 thenceforth no other person should be placed with them in the 
 same vault. 
 
 In order to secure this, she made it a condition under which 
 she settled considerable sums of money on the church and the 
 school. 
 
 So lie the lovers, sleeping side by side. Peace hovers 
 above their resting-place. Fair angel faces gaze down upon 
 them from the vaulted ceiling, and what a happy moment that 
 will be when one day they wake again together ! 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 
 
 I HAVE carefully collected whatever I have been able to 
 learn of the story of poor Werther, and here present it to 
 you, knowing that you will thank me for it. To his spirit 
 and character you cannot refuse your admiration and love ; 
 to his fate you will not deny your tears. 
 
 And thou, good soul, who sufferest the same distress as he 
 once endured, draw comfort from his sorrows ; and let this 
 little book be thy friend, if from fortune or thine own fault 
 thou canst find no dearer companion. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 May 4.th. 
 How happy am I to be away ! My dear friend, what a 
 thing is the heart of man! To leave you, from whom I 
 have been inseparable, whom I love so dearly, and yet to 
 feel happy ! I know you will forgive me. Have not other 
 attachments been specially appeinted by fate to torment a 
 head like mine ? Poor Leonora ! and yet I was not to blame. 
 Was it my fault that whilst the peculiar charms of her sister 
 afforded me an agreeable entertainment, a passion for me 
 was engendered in her feeble heart ? And yet am I wholly 
 blameless ? Did I not encourage her emotions ? Did I 
 not feel charmed at those truly genuine expressions of 
 nature, which, though but little mirthful in reality, so ofteu 
 amused us ? Did I not , but oh, what is man, that he 
 
248 GOETHE. 
 
 dares so to accuse himself ? My dear friend, I promise you 
 I will improve ; I will no longer, as has ever been my habit, 
 continue to ruminate on every pretty vexation which fortune 
 may dispense ; I will enjoy the present, and the past shall be 
 for me the past. You are doubtless right, my best of friends, 
 there would be far less suffering amongst mankind, if men 
 • — and God knows why they are so fashioned — did not 
 employ their imaginations so assiduously in recalling the 
 memory of past sorrow, instead of bearing their present lot 
 with equanimity. 
 
 Be kind enough to inform my mother that I shall attend to 
 her business to the best of my ability, and shall give her the 
 earliest information about it. I have seen my aunt, and find 
 her very far from the disagreeable person our friends allege 
 her to be. She is a lively, cheerful woman, with the best of 
 hearts. I explained to her my mother's wrongs with regard 
 to that part of her portion which has been withheld from 
 her. She told me the motives and reasons of her own con- 
 duct, and the terms upon which she is willing to give up the 
 whole, and do more than we have asked. In short, I cannot 
 write further upon this subject at present, only assure my 
 mother that all will go on well. And I have again observed, 
 my dear friend, in this trifling aflair, that misunderstandings 
 and neglect occasion more mischief in the world than even 
 malice and wickedness. At all events, the two latter are of 
 less frequent occurrence. 
 
 In other respects, I am very happy here. Solitude in this 
 terrestrial paradise is a genial balsam to my mind, and the 
 young spring cheers with its bounteous promises my often- 
 times misgiving heart. Every tree, every bush, is full of 
 flowers, and one might wish himself transformed into a but- 
 tei-fly, to float about in this ocean of perfume and find his 
 whole existence therein. 
 
 The town itself is disagreeable, but then, all around, you 
 find an inexpressible beauty of nature. This induced the late ' 
 
 Count M to lay out a garden on one of the sloping hills 
 
 which here intersect each other with the most charming 
 variety, and form the most lovely valleys. The garden is 
 simple, and it is easy to perceive, even upon your first en- 
 trance, that the plan was not designed by a scientific gar- 
 dener, but by a sensitive heart, who wished here to study its 
 
THE SORROWS OF TOUNG WERTHEK. 249 
 
 owa enjoyment. Many a tear have I already shed to the 
 memory of its departed master, in a summer-house., now 
 reduced to ruins, whie^ was his favourite resort, and is now 
 mine. I shall soon be master of the place. The gardener 
 has become attached to me within the last few days, and he 
 will be no loser thereby. 
 
 May IQtth. 
 A wonderful serenity has taken possession of my entire 
 soul, like these sweet mornings of Spring which I enjoy with 
 my whole heart. I am alone, and feel the charm of existence 
 in this spot, which was created for the bliss of souls like 
 mine. I am so happy, my dear friend, so absorbed in the 
 exquisite sense of mere tranquil existence, that I neglect my 
 talents. I should be incapable of drawing a single stroke at 
 the present moment, and yet I feel that I never was a greater 
 artist than now. When the lovely valley teems with 
 vapour around me, and the meridian sun strikes the upper 
 surface of the impenetrable foliage of my trees, and but a 
 few stray gleams steal into the inner sanctuary, than I 
 throw myself down in the tall grass by the trickling stream, 
 and as I lie close to the earth, a thousand unknown plants 
 discover themselves to me. When I hear the buzz of the 
 little world among the stalks, and grow familiar with the 
 countless indescribable forms of the insects and flies, then I 
 feel the presence of the Almighty, who formed us in His own 
 image, and the breath of that universal love which bears and 
 sustains us, as it floats round us in an eternity of bliss ; and 
 then, my friend, when darkness overspreads my eyes, and 
 heaven sitd earth seem to dwell in my soul, and absorb its 
 power, like the idea of a beloved mistress, then I often long 
 and think : O ! that you could describe these conceptions, 
 that you could impress upon paper all that lives so full and 
 warm within you, that it might be the mirror of your soul, 
 as your soul is the mirror of the infinite God! O, my 
 friend — but it is too much for my strength — I sink imder the 
 weight of the grandeur of these visions. 
 
 May \2th. 
 I know not whether some deceiving spirits haunt this spot, 
 or whether it be the warm celestial fancy in my own heart. 
 
250 GOETHE. 
 
 which makes everything around me seem like Paradise. In 
 front of the house is a fountain — a fountain to which I am 
 bound by a charm like Melusina and her sisters. Descending 
 a gentle slope, you come to an arch, where, some twenty 
 steps lower down, water of the clearest crystal gushes from the 
 marble rock. The narrow wall which incloses it above, the 
 tall trees which encircle the spot, and the coolness of the 
 place itself, — everything imparts a pleasant but sublime im- 
 pression. Not a day passes that I do not spend an hour 
 there. The young maidens come from the town to fetch 
 water, — innocent and necessary employment, and formerly 
 the occupation of the daughters of kings. As I take my 
 rest there, the idea of the old patriarchal life is awakened 
 around me. I see them, our old ancestors, how they formed 
 their friendships and contracted alliances at the fountain-side, 
 and I feel how fountains and streams were guarded by 
 beneficent spirits. He who is a stranger to these sensations 
 has never really enjoyed cool repose at the side of a fountain 
 after the fatigue of a weary summer day. 
 
 May 25tL 
 You ask if you shall send me books. My dear friend, I 
 beseech you, for the love of God, relieve me from such a yoke. 
 I need no more to be guided, agitated, heated. My heart 
 ferments sufficiently of itself. I want strains to lull me, and 
 I find them to perfection in my Homer. Often do I strive 
 to allay the burning fever of my blood, and you have never 
 witnessed anything so unsteady, so uncertain, as my heart. 
 But need I confess this to you, my dear friend, who have so 
 often endured the anguish of witnessing my sudden tran- 
 sitions from sorrow to immoderate joy, and from sweet 
 melancholy to violent passions ? I treat my poor heart like a 
 sick child, and gratify its every fancy. Do not mention this 
 again ; there are people who would censure me for it. 
 
 Jiay ISth. 
 
 The common people of the place know me already, and 
 
 love me, particularly the children. At first when I associated 
 
 with them, and inquired in a friendly tone about their various 
 
 trifles, some fancied that I wished to ridicule them,and turned 
 
THE SOKEOWS OF YOUNG WEETHEE. 251 
 
 from me in exceeding ill-humour. I did not allow that cir- 
 cumstance to grieve me ; I only felt most keenly what I have 
 often before observed. Persons of some pretension to rank 
 keep themselves coldly aloof from the common people, as 
 though they feared to lose their importance by the contact, 
 whilst wanton idlers and poor pretenders to understanding 
 affect to descend to their level only to make the poor people 
 feel their impertinence more keenly. 
 
 I know very well that we are not and cannot be all equal ; 
 but in my opinion he who avoids the common people in order 
 to command their respect, is as culpable as a coward who 
 hides himself from his enemy because he fears defeat. 
 
 The other day I went to the fountain, and found a young 
 servant-girl, who had set her pitcher on the lowest step, and 
 looked round to see if one of her companions was approach- 
 ing to place it on her head. I ran down and looked at her. 
 " Shall I help you, pretty lass ?" said I. She blushed deeply. 
 "O, sir!" she exclaimed. "No ceremony!" I replied. 
 She placed herself properly, and I helped her. She thanked 
 me, and went up the steps. 
 
 May nihi 
 I have made all sorts of acquaintance, but as yet have 
 found no society. I know not what attraction I possess for 
 the people, so many of them like me, and attach themselves 
 to me, and then I feel sorry when our road together only 
 goes a short distance. If you inquire what the people are 
 like here, I must answer, "The same as everywhere !" The 
 human race is but a monotonous affair. Most of them labour 
 the greater part of their time for mere subsistence, and the 
 small portion of freedom which remains unemployed so 
 troubles them that they use every exertion to get rid of it. 
 O. the destiny of man ! 
 
 But they are a right good sort of people I If I occasion- 
 ally forget myself, and take part in the innocent pleasure? 
 which are not yet forbidden to the peasantry, and enjoy 
 myself, for instance, with genuine freedom and sincerity, 
 round a well-covered table, or arrange an excursion or dance 
 opportunely, and so forth, all this produces a good effect 
 upon my disposition ; only I must forget that so many other 
 
£52 GOETHE. 
 
 qualities lie dormant within me, which moulder uselessly, and 
 which I am obliged to keep carefully concealed. Ah ! this 
 thought affects my spirits fearfully. And yet to be misunder- 
 stood IS the fate of us all. 
 
 Alas, that the friend of my youth is gone ! Alas, that I 
 ever knew her ! I might say to myself, '' You are a dreamer 
 to seek what is not to be found here below." But she has 
 been mine. I have possessed that heart, that noble soul, in 
 whose presence I seemed to be more than I really was, 
 because I was all that I could be. Good Heaven ! did a single 
 power of my soul remain then unexercised ? In her presence 
 could I not display the entire of that mysterious feeling with 
 which my heart embraces nature ? Was not our intercourse 
 a perpetual web of the finest emotions, of the keenest wit, 
 whose varieties, even in their very eccentricity, bore the 
 stamp of genius ? Alas ! the few years by which she was my 
 senior, brought her to the grave before me. Never can I 
 forget her strong sense or her heavenly patience. 
 
 A few days ago I met a certain young V , a frank open 
 
 fellow, with a most happy expression of face. He has just 
 left the University. He does not fancy himself overwise, 
 but believes he knows more than other people. He has 
 worked hard, as I can perceive from many circumstances, and, 
 in short, possesses a large stock of information. When he 
 heard that I drew a good deal, and could read Greek, (two 
 wonderful things for this part of the country,) he came to 
 see me, and displayed his whole store of learning, from 
 Batteaux to Wood, from De Piles to Winkelmann: he assured 
 me had read through the first part of Sultzer's theory, and 
 also possessed a manuscript of Heyne, on the study of the 
 antique. I allowed it all to pass. 
 
 I have become acquainted also with a very worthy person, 
 the district judge, a frank and open-hearted man. I am told 
 it is a most delightful thing to see him in the midst of his 
 children, of whom he has nine. His eldest daughter is much 
 spoken of. He has invited me to go and see him, and I in- 
 tend to do so the first opportunity. He lives at one of the 
 royal hunting-lodges, an hour and a half's walk from hence, 
 which he obtained leave to inhabit after the loss of his wife, 
 as his residence in town and at the court was so painful to 
 him. 
 
THE SOIIROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 253 
 
 A few other originals, of a questionable sort, have come in 
 my way, who are in all respects undesirable, and most into- 
 lerable in their demonstrations of friendship. Good bye. 
 This letter will please you : it is quite a history. 
 
 May 22nd. 
 
 That the life of man is but a dream is the opinion of many, 
 and this feeling pursues me everywhere. When I consider 
 the narrow limits within which our active and enquiring 
 faculties are confined, — when I see how all our energies are 
 wasted in providing for mere necessities, which again have 
 no further end than to prolong a wretched existence, — and then 
 that all our satisfaction upon certain subjects of investigation 
 ends in nothing better than a passive resignation, whilst we 
 amuse ourselves with painting our prison- walls with bright 
 figures and brilliant landscapes, — when 1 consider all this, 
 Wilhelm, I am silent. I examine my own being, and "find 
 there a world, but a world rather of imagination and dim 
 desires, than of distinctness and living power. Then every- 
 thing swims before my senses ; I smile and dream my way 
 back into existence. 
 
 All learned professors and doctors are agreed, that children 
 do not comprehend the cause of their desires ; but that grown 
 people should wander about this earth like children, without 
 knowing whence they come or whither they go, influenced as 
 little by fixed motives, but guided like them by biscuits, 
 sugar-plums, and chastisements, — this is what nobody is will- 
 ing to acknowledge, and yet I think it can be made palpable. 
 
 I know what you will say in reply, and I am ready to 
 admit, that the happiest are those who, like children, amuse 
 themselves with their playthings, dress and undress their 
 dolls, and attentively watch the cupboard where mamma has 
 locked her sweet things, and when at last they get a delicious 
 morsel, eat it greedily and cry for more. These are certainly 
 happy beings ; but others also are objects of envy, who dig- 
 nify their paltry employments, and sometimes even their 
 passions, with pompous titles, representing them to mankind 
 as achievements of a superior order, accomplished for their 
 welfare and glory. But the man who humbly acknowledges 
 the vanity of all this, who observes with what pleasure the 
 thriving citizen converts his little garden into a paradise, 
 
254 GOETHE. 
 
 aud how patiently even the poor man pursues his weary way 
 under his burden, and how all wish equally to behold the 
 light of the sun a little longer ; — yes, such a man is at peace, 
 and creates his own world within himself; and he is also 
 happy, because he is a man. And then, however limited 
 his sphere, he still preserves in his bosom the sweet feeling 
 of liberty, and knows that when he will he can burst his 
 prison. 
 
 May 2Qth, 
 You know of old my ways of finding amusement ; how I 
 select a little cottage in some sequestered spot, and there put 
 up with every inconvenience. I have just discovered such a 
 spot here, which possesses peculiar charms for me. 
 
 About a league from the town is a place called Walheim,* 
 It is delightfully situated on the side of a hill, and by pro- 
 ceeding along one of the footpaths which lead out of the 
 village, you can have a view of the whole valley. A good 
 old woman lives there, who keeps a small inn. She sells wine, 
 beer, and coffee, and is cheerfal and pleasant notwithstand- 
 ing her age. The chief charm of this spot consists in two 
 linden-trees, which spread their enormous branches over the 
 little green before the church, which is entirely surrounded 
 by peasants' cottages, with their barns and homesteads. I 
 have seldom seen a place so retired and peaceable, and I 
 often have my table and chair brought out from the little 
 inn, and there I drink my coffee and read my Homer. Acci- 
 dent brought me to the spot one fine afternoon, and I found 
 it perfectly deserted. Everybody was in the fields, except a 
 little boy about four years old, who was sitting on the ground 
 and held between his knees a child about six months old ; 
 he pressed it to his bosom with both arms, which thus formed 
 a sort of arm-chair, and notwithstanding the liveliness which 
 sparkled in its black eyes, it remained perfectly still. The 
 sight charmed me. I sat down upon a plough opposite, and 
 sketched with great delight this little picture of brotherly 
 tenderness. I added the neighbouring hedge, the barn-door, 
 and some broken cart-wheels, just as they happened to lie ; 
 
 * The reader need not take the trouble to look for the place thus 
 designated. We have found it necessary to change the names a<i they 
 stood in the original. 
 
THE SORBOWS OF YOUNG WEKTIIER. 255 
 
 and I found in about an hour that I had made a very correct 
 and interesting drawing, without putting in the slightest 
 ihing of my own. This confirmed me in my resolution of 
 adhering for the future entirely to nature. She alone is in- 
 exfeaustibk, and , capable of forming the greatest masters. 
 MtrctTmaybe alleged in favour of rules, as much may be 
 likewise advanced in favour of the laws of society ; an artist 
 formed upon them will never produce anything absolutely 
 bad or disgusting, as a man who observes the laws and obeys 
 decorum, can never be an absolutely intolerable neighbour, 
 nor a decided villain ; but yet say what you will of rules, 
 they destroy the genuine feeling of nature as well as its true 
 expression. Do not tell me " that this is too hard, that they 
 omy restrain and prune superfluous branches, &c." My 
 good friend, I will illustrate this by an analogy. These 
 things resemble love. A warm-hearted youth becomes 
 strongly attached to a maiden, he spends every hour of the 
 day in her company, wears out his health, and lavishes his 
 fortune, to afford continual proof that he is wholly devoted 
 to her. Then comes a man of the world, a man of place and 
 respectability, and addressee -• him thus : — " My good young 
 friend, love is natural, but you must love within bounds. 
 Divide your time, devote a portion to business, and give the 
 hours of recreation to your mistress. Calculate your fortune, 
 and out of the superfluity you may make her a present, only 
 not too often, on her birthday and such occasions." Pursu- 
 ing this advice, he may become a useful member of society, 
 and I should advise some prince to give him an appointment; 
 but his love is annihilated, and if he be an artist, his genius 
 is fled. Oh, my friends, why is it that the torrent of genius 
 so seldom bursts forth, so seldom rolls in full flowing stream, 
 overwhelming your wondering soul? Because, on either 
 side of this stream, cold and respectable persons have taken, 
 up their abodes, and forsooth their summer-houses and tulip- 
 beds would suffer from the torrent, wherefore they dig 
 trenches and raise embankments betimes, in order to avert 
 the impending danger. 
 
 Marj 21th. 
 I find I have fallen into ruptures, declamation, and similes, 
 md have forgotten in consequence to tell you what became 
 
256 QOETIIE. 
 
 of the children. Absorbed in my artistic contemplations, 
 which I briefly described in my letter of yesterday, I conti- 
 nued sitting on the plough for two hours. Towards evening, 
 a young woman, with a basket on her arm, came running 
 towards the children, who had not moved all that time. She 
 exclaimed, from a distance, "You are a good boy, Philip.'" 
 She saluted me ; I returned it, rose and approached her. I 
 inquired if she was the mother of those pretty children? 
 "Yes," she said ; and, giving the eldest a piece of bread, she 
 took the little one in her arms, and kissed it with a mother's 
 tenderness. " I left my child with Philip to take care of,'* 
 she said, " whilst I went into the town with my eldest boy to 
 buy some white bread, some sugar, and an earthen pot." I 
 saw the various articles in the basket, from which the cover 
 had fallen. " I shall make some broth to-night for my little 
 Hans (which was the name of the youngest); that wild 
 fellow, the big one, broke the pot for me yesterday, whilst he 
 was scrambling with Philip for what remained of the con- 
 tents." I inquired for the eldest, and she had scarcely time 
 to tell me that he was driving a couple of geese home from 
 the meadovf, when he ran up, and handed Philip an ozier- 
 twig. I talked a little longer with the woman, and found 
 that she was the daughter of the schoolmaster, and that her 
 husband was gone on a journey into Switzerland for some 
 money a relation had left him. "They wanted to cheat 
 him," she said, "and would not answer his letters, so he is 
 gone there himself; I hope he has met with no accident, 
 as I have heard nothing of him since his departure." I left 
 the woman with regret, giving each of the children a 
 kreutzer, with an additional one for the youngest, to buy 
 some white bread for his broth when she went to town next, 
 and so we parted. 
 
 I assure you, my dear friend, when my thoughts are all in 
 tumult, the sight of such a creature as this tranquillizes my 
 disturbed liiind. She moves in a happy thoughtlessness 
 .within the confined' circle of her existence; she supplies her 
 ; waTnts from day to day ; and when she sees the leaves fall, 
 they raise no other idea in her mind than that winter is 
 approaching. 
 
 Since that time I have gone out there frequently. The 
 children have become ouite familiar with me ; and each get 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER 257 
 
 a lump of su<^ar when I drink my coffee, and they share my 
 milk and bread and butter in the evening. They always 
 receive their kreutzer on Sundays, for when I do not go 
 there after evening service, the good woman has orders to 
 give it to them. 
 
 They are quite at home with me, tell me everything, and 
 I am particularly amused with observing their tempers, and 
 the simplicity of their behaviour, when some of the other 
 village children are assembled with them. 
 
 It has given me a deal of trouble to satisfy the anxiety of 
 the mother, lest (as she says) " they should inconvenience the 
 gentleman." 
 
 May SOih, 
 
 What I have lately said of painting is equally true with 
 respect to poetry. It is only necessary for us to know what 
 is really excellent, and venture to give it expression, and that 
 is saying much in few words. To-day I have had a scene, 
 which if literally related, would make the most beautiful 
 idyl in the world. But why should I talk of poetry, and 
 scenes, and idyls? Can we never take pleasure in nature, 
 without requiring the assistance of art? 
 
 If you expect anything grand or magnificent from this in- 
 troduction, you will be sadly mistaken. It relates merely to 
 a peasant-lad who has excited in me the warmest interest. 
 As usual, I shall tell my story badly ; and you, as usual, will 
 think me extravagant. It is Walheim once more — always 
 Walheim — which produces these wonders. 
 
 A party had assembled outside the house under the linden- 
 trees, to drink coffee. The company did not exactly please 
 me, and under one pretext or another, I lingered behind. 
 
 A peasant came from an adjoining house, and set to work 
 arranging some part of the same plough which I had lately 
 fiketched. His appearance pleased me, and I spoke to him ; 
 inquired about his circumstances, made his acquaintance, 
 and, as is usual with me amongst persons of that class, was 
 soon admitted into his confidence. He said he was servant 
 to a youngs widow, with whom he was in high favour. He 
 spoke so much of his mistress, and praised her so extrava- 
 gantly, that I could soon see he was desperately in love with 
 
258 QOETHU. 
 
 her. '* She is no longer young," he said; "and she was 
 treated so badly by her former husband, that she does not 
 mean to marry again." From his account, it was plain she- 
 possessed incomparable charms for him, and that he wished 
 ardently she would select him tc extinguish the recollection 
 of her first husband's ill- conduct. But T should repeat his 
 own words, to describe the depth of the poor fellow's attach* 
 ment, truth, and devotion. It would, in fact, require the 
 gifts of a great poet to convey the expression of his features, 
 the harmony of his voice, and the heavenly fire of his eye. 
 No words can pour tray the tenderness of his every move- 
 ment, and of every feature : no effort of mine could do jus- 
 tice to the scene. His alarm lest I should misconceive his 
 relation towards his mistress, or question the propriety of her 
 conduct, particularly touched me. The charming manner 
 with which he described her form and her person , which, 
 without possessing the graces of youth, won and attached 
 him to her, are inexpressible, and must be left to the imagi- 
 nation. I have never in my life witnessed, or fancied, or 
 conceived the possibility of such intense devotion, such ardent 
 affections united with so much purity. Do not blame me if I 
 say, that the recollection of this innocence and truth is 
 deeply impressed upon my very soul; that this picture of 
 fidelity and tenderness haunts me incessantly, and that my 
 own heart, enkindled by the flame, glows and burns within 
 me. 
 
 I mean how to try and see her as soon as I can, or, 
 perhaps, on second thoughts, I had better not. It is better I 
 should behold her through the eyes of her lover. To my 
 sight, perhaps, she would not appear as she now stand? 
 before me ; and why should I destroy so sweet a picture ? 
 
 June 16th. 
 
 " Why do I not write to you ?" You pretend to penetration, 
 and ask such a question. You should have guessed that I 
 was well, but that — ^in a word, I have made an acquaint- 
 ance who has won my heart; I have found — I know not 
 what. 
 
 To give you a regular account of the manner in w^hich I 
 have become acquainted with the most amiable of women. 
 
THE SORROWS OP YOUNG WERTHER. 259 
 
 would bfc a difficult task. I am a happy and contented mortal, 
 but a poor historian. 
 
 An angel ! Nonsense ! Everybody so describes his mistress : 
 and yet I find it impossible to tell you how perfect she is, or 
 why she is so perfect ; enough to say she has captivated all 
 my senses. 
 
 So niuch simplicity, with so much understanding — so mild, 
 a^^^^et soTesoIute— a mind so placid, and a life so active. 
 
 i5ut tins is all mere common-place abstract ideas, which 
 express no single character or feature. Some other time- 
 but no, not some other time, but now, this very instant, will 
 I tell you all about it. Now or never. Well, between our- 
 selves, since I commenced my letter, I have been on the 
 point three times of throwing down my pen, ordering my 
 horse, and riding out. And yet I vowed this morning that I 
 would not ride to-day, and I run every moment to the window 
 to see how high the sun is. 
 
 ***** 
 
 I could not restrain myself — go to her I must. I have just 
 returned, Wilhelm, and whilst I am taking supper I will 
 write to you. What a delight it was for my soul to see her 
 in the midst of her dear, beautiful children—eight brothers 
 and sisters ! 
 
 But if I proceed thus, you will be no wiser at the end of 
 my letter than you were at the beginning. Attend then, and I 
 will compel myself to give you the details. 
 
 I mentioned to you the other day that I had become ac- 
 quainted with S , the district judge, and that he had 
 
 invited me to go and visit him in his retirement, or rather in 
 his little kingdom. But I neglected going, and perhaps 
 should never have gone if chance had not discovered to me 
 the treasure which lay concealed in that retired spot. Some 
 of our young people had proposed giving a ball in the coun- 
 try, at which I consented to be present. I offered my hand 
 for the evening to a pretty and agTceable, but rather common- 
 place sort of girl, from the immediate neighbourhood; and 
 it was agreed that I should engage a carriage, and call upon 
 Charlotte, with my partner and her aunt, to convey them to 
 the ball. My companion informed me, as we drove along 
 through the park to the hunting-lodge, that I should make 
 the acquaintance of a very charming young lady. *' Take 
 
260 GOETHE. 
 
 care," added the aunt, " that you do not lose your heart.'* 
 " Why ?'* said I. " Because she is already engaged to a 
 very worthy man," she replied, ''who is gone to settle his 
 affairs upon the death of his father, and will succeed to a very 
 considerable inheritance." This information possessed no 
 interest for me. When we arrived at the gate, the sun was 
 setting behind the tops of the mountains. The atmosphere 
 was heavy, and the ladies expressed their fears of an ap- 
 proaching storm, as masses of low black clouds were gathering 
 in the horizon. I relieved their anxieties by pretending to 
 be weather-wise, although I myself had some apprehensions 
 lest our pleasure should be interrupted. 
 
 I alighted, and a maid came to the door and begged us 
 to wait a moment for her mistress. I walked across the 
 court to a well-built house, and ascending the flight of steps 
 in front, opened the door, and saw before me the most 
 charming spectacle I had ever witnessed. Six children, from 
 eleven to two years old. were running about the hall, and sur- 
 rounding a lady of middle height, with a lovely figure, dressed 
 in a robe of simple white, trimmed with pink ribands. She 
 held a brown loaf in her hand, and M^as cutting slices for the 
 little ones all round in proportion to their age and appetitie. 
 She performed her task in a graceful and afiectionate manner, 
 each claimant awaiting his turn with outstretched hands, and 
 boisterously shouting his thanks. Some of them ran away at 
 once to enjoy their evening meal, whilst others of a gentler 
 disposition retired to the courtyard to see the stranger, and 
 survey the carriage which was to carry away their Charlotte. 
 " Pray forgive me for giving you the trouble to come for me, 
 and for keeping the ladies waiting, but dressing and the ar- 
 ranging some household duties before I leave had made me 
 forget my children's supper, and they do not like to take -"* 
 from any one but me." I uttered some immeaning compliment, 
 but my whole soul was absorbed by her air, her voice, her 
 manner, and I had scarcely recovered myself when she ran 
 into her room to fetch her gloves and fan. The young ones 
 threw inquiring glances at me from a distance, whilst I ap- 
 proached the youngest, a most delicious little creature. He 
 drew back, and Charlotte entering at the very moment, said, 
 *' Louis, shake hands with your cousin." The little fellow 
 obeyed willingly, and I could not resist giving him a hearty 
 
THE SORROWS OF TOTJNG WERTHER. 261 
 
 kiss. " Cousin," said I, to Charlotte, as I handed her down; 
 " do you think I deserve the happiness of being related to 
 you ?" She replied, with an arch smile, " Oh, I have such a 
 number of cousins, that I should be sorry if you were the 
 most undeserving of them." In taking leave, she desired 
 her next sister, Sophy, a girl about eleven years old, to take 
 great care of the children, and to say good-bye to papa for her 
 when he came home from his ride. She desired the little 
 ones to obey their sister Sophy, as they would herself, upon 
 which some promised that they would, but a little fair-haired 
 girl, about six years old, looked discontented, and said, ' ' But 
 Sophy is not you, Charlotte, and we like you best." The two 
 eldest boys had clambered up the carriage, and at my request 
 she permitted them to accompany us a little way through the 
 forest, upon their promising to sit very still and hold fast. 
 
 We were hardly seated, and the ladies had scarcely ex- 
 changed compliments, making the usual remarks upon each 
 eacli other's dress, and upon the company they expected to 
 meet, when Charlotte stopped the carriage, and made her 
 brothers get down. They insisted upon kissing her hands 
 once more, which the eldest did with all the tenderness of a 
 youth of fifteen, but the other in a lighter and more careless 
 manner. She desired them again to give her love to the 
 children, and we drove oiF. 
 
 The aunt inquired of Charlotte whether she had finished 
 the book she had last sent her. " No," said Charlotte, " I 
 did not like it ; you can have it again ; and the one before 
 was not much better." I was surprised, upon asking the title, 
 
 to hear that it was* . I f^ujiilji(ejag.trj&iiQjj., aad c^^ 
 
 in everything she said ; every expression seemed to brighten 
 "TiSTnfeattiYes with new charms — with new rays of genius — 
 which unfolded by degrees, as she felt herself understood. 
 
 " When I was younger," she observed, " I loved nothing 
 so much as romances. Nothing could equal my delight when, 
 on some holiday, I could settle down quietly in a corner, and 
 enter with my whole heart and soul into the joys or sorrows 
 of some fictitious Leonora. I do not deny that they even 
 possess, some charms for me yet. But I read so seldom, that 
 
 * We feel obliged to suppress the passage in the letter, to prevent any 
 one from feeling aggrieved ; although no author need pay much attention 
 to the opinion of a mere girl, or that of an unsteady young man. 
 
 i 
 
262 GOETHE. 
 
 I prefer books suited exactly to my taste. And I like those 
 authors best whose scenes describe my own situation in life, 
 and the friends who are about me, whose stories touch me 
 with interest, from resembling my own homely existence, 
 which, without being absolutely Paradise, is on the whole a 
 source of indescribable happiness." 
 
 I endeavoured to conceal the emotion which these words 
 occasioned, but it did not last long, for when she had ex- 
 pressed her opinion truly and beautifully of the Vicar of 
 Wakefield, and of other works, whose names I omit,"^' I could 
 no longer contain myself, but gave utterance to all my own 
 thoughts on the subject; and it was not until Char.iotte had 
 addressed herself to the two other ladies, that I remembered 
 their presence, and observed them sitting mute with astonish- 
 ment. The aunt looked at me several times Avith an air of 
 raillery, which, however, I did not at all mind. 
 
 We talked of the pleasures of dancing. "If it is a fault 
 to love it," said Charlotte, " I confess myself extremely 
 guilty, as no amusement is more agreeable to me. If any 
 thing disturbs me, I go to the piano, play an air to which I 
 have danced, and all goes right again directly." 
 
 You who know me can fancy how steadfastly I gazed upon 
 her rich dark eyes during these remarks ; how my very soul 
 gloated over her warm lips, and fresh glowing cheeks ; how 
 I became lost in the delightful meaning of her words, to such 
 a degree, that I scarcely heard the actual expressions. In 
 fine, I alighted from the carriage like a person in a dream, 
 and was so lost to the dim world around me, that I scarcely 
 heard the music which resounded from the illuminated 
 saloon. 
 
 The two Messrs. Andranand a certain N. N., — (I cannot 
 trouble myself with the names) — who were tlie Aunt's and 
 Charlotte's partners, received us at the carriage door, and 
 took possession of their ladies, whilst I followed with mine. 
 
 We commenced with a minuet. I led out one lady after 
 another, and precisely those who were the most disagreeable 
 could not bring themselves to leave off. Charlotte and her 
 partner began an English country dance, and you must imagine 
 
 * Though the names are omitted, yet the authors mentioned deserve 
 Charlotte's approbation, and will feel it in their hearts when they read 
 this passage. It concerns no other person. 
 
THE SOKROWS OF YOUNG WEETHEB. 263 
 
 my delight when it came to their turn to dance the figure 
 with us. You should see Charlotte dance. She dances with 
 her whole heart and soul; her figure is all harmony, elegance, 
 and grace, as if she were conscious of nothing else, and had 
 no other thought or feeling, and doubtless for the moment 
 every other sensation is extinct. 
 
 She was engaged for the second country dance, but she 
 promised me the third, and she assured me, with the most 
 agreeable freedom, that she was very fond of waltzing. " It 
 is the custom here," she said, " for the previous partners to 
 waltz together ; but my partner is an indifferent waltzer, and 
 will feel delighted if I save him the trouble. Your partner 
 is not allowed to waltz, and indeed is equally incapable ; but 
 I observed during the country dance that you waltz well, so 
 if you will waltz with me, I beg you to propose it to my 
 partner, and I will propose it to yours." We agreed, and it 
 was arranged that our partners should mutually entertain 
 each other. 
 
 We set ofi*, and at first delighted ourselves with the usual 
 graceful motions of the arms. With what grace, with what 
 ease she moved. When the waltz commenced, and the 
 dancers whirled round each other in the giddy maze, ther« 
 was a little confusion arising from the incapacity of some. 
 But we judiciously remained still, allowing the others to 
 weary themselves, and when the awkward dancers had with- 
 drawn, we joined in and kept it up famously together with 
 one other couple, Andran and his partner. Never did I dance 
 more lightly. I felt myself more than mortal, holding this 
 loveKest of creatures in my arms, flying with her as rapidly 
 as the wind, till I lost sight of every other object ; and, oh ! 
 Wilhelm, I vowed at that moment, that a maiden whom I 
 loved, or for whom I felt the slightest attachment, never, 
 never should waltz with another than with me, if I went to 
 perdition for it — you will understand this. 
 
 We took a few turns in the room to recover our breath. 
 Charlotte sat down and felt refreshed by partaking of some 
 oranges, which I had privately brought with me, and were 
 difficult to procure ; but every slice which she kindly offered 
 to her* neighbours was a dagger to my heart. 
 
 We were the second couple in the third country dance. 
 As we were going down (and Heaven knows with what 
 
264 OOETHE. 
 
 ectasy I gazed upon her arms and her eyes, which beamed 
 with the sweetest feeling of pure and genuine enjoyment), we 
 passed a lady whom I had noticed for her charming expres- 
 sion of countenance, although she was no longer young. She 
 looked at Charlotte with a smile ; then holding up her finger 
 in a threatening attitude, repeated twice in a very significant 
 tone of voice the name of "Albert." 
 
 "Who is Albert," said I to Charlotte, *' if it is not imper- 
 tinent to ask?" She was about to answer, when we were 
 obliged to separate, by a figure in the dance, and as we crossed 
 over again in front of each other, I perceived she looked a 
 little pensive. " Why need I conceal it from you," she said, 
 as she gave me her hand for the promenade, " Albert is a 
 worthy man, to whom I am engaged." Now there was 
 nothing new to me in this (for the girls had told me of it on 
 the way), but it was so far new that I had not thought of it in 
 connection with her, whom in so short a time I had learned 
 to prize so highly. Enough, I became confused, got out in 
 the figure, and occasioned general confusion, so that it re- 
 quired all Charlotte's presence of mind to set me right, by 
 pulling and pushing me into my proper place. 
 
 The dance was not yet finished when the lightning, which 
 had for some time been seen in the horizon, and which I had 
 asserted to proceed entirely from heat, grew more violent, 
 and the thunder was heard above the music. When any 
 distress or terror surprises us in the midst of our amuse- 
 ments, it naturally makes a deeper impression than at other 
 times, either because the contrast makes us more keenly sus- 
 ceptible, or rather perhaps because our senses are then more 
 open to impressions, and the shock is consequently stronger. 
 To this caiise I must ascribe the fright and shrieks of the 
 ladies. One sagaciously sat down in a corner with her back 
 to the window, and held her fingers to her ears ; a second 
 knelt down before her, and hid her face in her lap ; a third 
 threw herself between them and embraced her sister with a 
 thousand tears ; some insisted upon going home, others, un- 
 conscious of their actions, wanted sufficient presence of mind 
 to repress the impertinence of their young partners, who 
 sought to direct to themselves those sighs which the lips of 
 our agitated beauties intended for Heaven. Some of the gen- 
 tlemen had gone down stairs to smoke a quiet cigar, and the 
 
THE SOEROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 265 
 
 rest of the company gladly embraced a happy suggestion of 
 the hostess to retire into another room, which was provided 
 with shutters and curtains. We had hardly got there when 
 Charlotte placed the chairs in a circle, and when the com- 
 pany had sat down in compliance with her request, she 
 forthwith j^roposed a round game. 
 
 I observed some of the company prepare their mouths and 
 draw themselves up at the prospect of some agreeable forfeit. 
 " Let us play at counting," said Charlotte. " Observe now, 
 I go round the circle from right to left, and each person is to 
 count, one after the other, the number that comes to him, and 
 must count fast ; whoever stops or mistakes is to have a box 
 on the ear, and so on, till we have counted a thousand." It 
 was delightful to see the fun. She went round the circle 
 with upraised arm. "One," said the first; "two," the 
 second ; " three," the third, and so on, till Charlotte went 
 faster and faster. One made a mistake, instantly a box on 
 the ear ; and amid the laughter that ensued came another 
 box, and so on, faster and faster. I myself came in for two. 
 I fancied they were harder than the rest, and felt quite 
 delighted. A general laughter and confusion put an end to 
 the play long before we had reached a thousand. The party 
 broke up into little separate knots, the storm had ceased, and 
 I followed Charlotte into the saloon. On the way she said : 
 " The game banished their fears of the storm." I could 
 make no reply. " I myself," she continued, " was as much 
 frightened as any of them ; but by affecting courage, to keep 
 up the spirits of the others, I forgot my apprehensions." We 
 went to the window. It still thundered at a distance ; a soft 
 rain was pouring down over the country, and filled the air 
 around us with delicious odours. Charlotte leaned forward 
 upon her arm ; her eyes wandered over the scene ; she raised 
 them to Heaven, and then turned them upon me ; they were 
 moistened with tears ; she placed her hand upon mine, and 
 said : " Klopstock !" at once I remembered the magnificent 
 ode which was in her thoughts ; I felt oppressed with the 
 weight of my sensations, and sank under them. It was more 
 than I could bear. I bent over her hand and kissed it in a 
 stream of delicious tears. As I raised myself, I looked 
 steadfastly in her face. Divine Klopstock ! why didst thou 
 not see thy apotheosis in those eyes? And thy name, so 
 
266 GOETHE. 
 
 often profaned, why should I ever desire to hear it again 
 repeated ? 
 
 June 19M. 
 
 I no longer remember where I broke off with my narra- 
 tive ; I only know it was two in the morning when I went to 
 bed, and if you had been with me that I might have talked 
 instead of writing to you, in all probability I should have 
 kept you up till daylight. 
 
 I believe I have not related what happened on our way 
 home from the ball, and I have not time to tell you now. It 
 was a most magnificent sunrise ; the whole country was re- 
 freshed, and the rain fell drop by drop from the trees in the 
 forest. Our companions were asleep. Charlotte asked me 
 if I did not wish to sleep too, and desired I would not make 
 any ceremony on her account. Looking steadfastly at her 
 I answered, " As long as those eyes continue open, there is 
 ho fear of mine." We both continued awake till we reached 
 her door. The maid opened it softly, and assured her, in 
 answer to her inquiries, that her father and the children were 
 well, and still asleep. I left her, asking permission to visit 
 her in the course of the day. She consented, and I went ; 
 and since that time, sun, moon, and stars may pursue their 
 course ; I know not whether it is day or night ; the whole 
 world. is nothing to me. 
 
 June 2\st. 
 
 My days are as happy as those reserved by God for his 
 elect, and whatever be my fate hereafter, I can never say that 
 I have not tasted joy, — the purest joy of life. You know 
 Walheim. I am now completely settled there. In that spot 
 I am only half a league from Charlotte, and there I enjoy 
 myself, and taste all the pleasure which can fall to the lot 
 of man. 
 
 Little did I imagine when I selected Walheim for my 
 pedestrian excursions, that all heaven lay so near it. How 
 often in my wanderings from the hill- side or from the 
 meadows across the river, have I beheld this hunting-lodge, 
 which now contains within it all the joy of my heart ! 
 
 I have often, my dear Wilhelm, reflected on the eagerness 
 
TEE SORKOWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 9.67 
 
 men feel to wander and make new discoveries, and upon 
 that secret impulse which afterwards inclines them to return 
 back to their narrow circle, to conform to the laws of custom, 
 and to embarrass themselves no longer with what passes 
 around them. 
 
 It is so strange how, when I came here first and gazed 
 upon that lovely valley from the hill-side, I felt charmed with 
 the entire scene around me. The little wood opposite, — how 
 delightful to sit under its shade ! How fine the view from 
 that point of rock ! Then that delightful chain of hills and 
 the exquisite valleys at their feet ! Could I but wander and 
 lose myself amongst them ! I went and returned without 
 finding what I wished. Distance, my friend, is like futurity. 
 A dim vastness is spread before our souls ; the perceptions of 
 our mind are as obscure as those of our vision, and we desire 
 earnestly to surrender up our whole being, that it may be 
 filled with the complete and perfect bliss of one glorious 
 emotion. But, alas I when we have attained our object, when 
 the distant there becomes the present here, all is changed 
 again ; we are as poor and circumscribed as ever, and our 
 souls still languish for unattainable happiness. 
 
 So the restless traveller pants for his native soil, and finds 
 in his own cottage, in the arms of his wife, in the affections 
 of his children, and in the labour necessary for their support, 
 that happiness which he had sought in vain through the wide 
 world. 
 
 When I go out at sunrise in the morning to Walheim, and| 
 with my own hands gather the peas in the garden, which are 1 
 to serve for my dinner, when I sit down to shell them and 
 read my Homer during the intervals, and then selecting a 
 saucepan from the kitchen, fetch my own butter, put my mess 
 on the fire, cover it up, and sit down to stir it as occasion ; 
 requires, I figure to myself the illustrious suitors of Penelope, \ 
 killing, dressing, and preparing their own oxen and swine. | 
 Nothing fills me with a more pure and genuine sense of | 
 happiness than those traits of patriarchal life which, thank i 
 Heaven! I can imitate without affectation. Happy is it, 
 indeed, for me that my heart is capable of feeling the same 
 simple and innocent pleasure as the peasant, whose table is 
 covered with food of his own rearing, and who not only 
 
268 > GOETHE. 
 
 enjoys his meal, but remembers with delight the happy days 
 and sunny mornings when he planted it, the soft evenings 
 when he watered it, and the pleasure he experienced in 
 ■watching its daily growth. 
 
 June l^th. 
 
 The day before yesterday, the physician came from the town 
 to pay a visit to the Judge. He found me on the floor play- 
 ing with Charlotte's children. Some of them were scram- 
 bling^ over me, and others romped with me, and as I caught 
 and tickled them they made a great noise. The Doctor is a 
 formal sort of personage ; he adjusts the plaits of his ruffles, 
 and continually settles his frill whilst he speaks with you, and 
 he thought my conduct beneath the dignity of a sensible man. 
 I could perceive this by his countenance. But I did not suffer 
 myself to be disturbed. I allowed him to continue his wise 
 conversation whilst I rebuilt the children's card-houses for 
 them as fast as they threw them down. He went about the 
 town, afterwards, complaining that the Judge's children were 
 spoiled enough before, but that now Werther was completely 
 ruining them. 
 
 Nothing on this earth, my dear Wilhelm, affects my heart 
 so much as children. When I consider them, when I mark 
 in the little creatures the seeds of all those virtues and 
 qualities which they will one day find so indispensable ; when 
 I behold in the obstinate all the future firmness and constancy 
 of a noble character ; in the capricious, that levity and gaiety 
 of temper which will carry them lightly over the dangers and 
 troubles of life, their whole nature simple and unpolluted ; 
 then I call to mind the golden N^yords of the Great Teacher of 
 mankind, " It you become not like one of these !" And now, 
 my friend, these children, who are our equals, whom we ought 
 to consider as our models, we treat them as subjects. They 
 are allowed no will of their own ! And have we then none 
 ourselves ? Whence comes our exclusive right ? Is it be- 
 cause we are older and more experienced ? Great God ! 
 from the height of thy heaven, thou beholdest great children 
 and little children, and no others ; and thy Son has long since 
 declared which afford Thee greatest pleasure. But they 
 
THE SORROWS OP YOUNG WERTHER. 269 
 
 believ^ in Him, and hear Him not, — that too is an old story » 
 and they train their children after their own image, &c. 
 
 Adieu, Wilhelm, I will not further bewilder myself with 
 this subject. 
 
 July \st. 
 The consolation which Charlotte can bring to an invalid, I 
 experience from my own heart, which suffers more from her 
 absence, than many a poor creature who lingers on a bed of 
 sickness. She is gone to spend a few days in the town, with 
 a very worthy woman, who is given over by the physicians, 
 and wishes to have Charlotte near her in her last moments. 
 I accompanied her last week on a visit to the vicar of S— , 
 a small village in the mountains, about a league from hence. 
 We arrived about four o'clock ; Charlotte had taken her 
 little sister with her. W hen we entered the vicarage court, 
 we found the good old man sitting upon a bench before the 
 door, under the shade of two large walnut-trees. At the 
 sight of Charlotte he seemed to gain new life, rose up, forgot 
 his stick, and ventured to walk towards her. She ran to 
 him, and made him sit down again; then placing herself by 
 his side, she gave him a number of messages from her father, 
 and then caught up his youngest child, a dirty, ugly little 
 thing, the joy of his old age, and kissed it. I wish you 
 could have witnessed her attention to this old man, — ^how she 
 raised her voice on account of his deafness, — how she told 
 him of healthy young people, who had been carried off" when 
 it was least expected ; praised the virtues of Carlsbad, and 
 commended his determination to spend the ensuing summer 
 there ; and assured him that he looked better and stronger 
 than he did when she saw him last. I, in the mean time, 
 paid attention to his good lady. The old man seemed quite 
 in spirits ; and, as I could not help admiring the beauty of 
 the walnut-trees which formed such an agreeable shade over 
 our heads, he began, though with some little difficulty, to 
 tell us their history. "As to the oldest," said he, "we do 
 not know who planted it, — some say one clergyman, and 
 some another; but the younger one, there behind us, is 
 exactly the age of my wife, fifty years old next October ; her 
 father planted it in the morning, and in the evening she 
 
270 GOETHE. 
 
 carAe into the world. My wife's father was my predecessor 
 here, and I cannot tell you how fond he was of that tree, and 
 it is fully as dear to me. Under the shade of that very tree, 
 upon a log of wood, my wife was seated knitting, when I, a 
 poor student, came into this court for the first time, just 
 seven-and- twenty years ago." Charlotte inquired for his 
 daughter. He said she was gone with Herr Schmidt to the 
 meadows, and was with the haymakers. The old man then 
 resumed his story, and told us how his predecessor had taken 
 a fancy to him, as had his daughter likewise ; and how he had 
 become first his curate, and subsequently his successor. He 
 had scarcely finished his story, when his daughter returned 
 through the garden, accompanied by the above-mentioned 
 Herr Schmidt. She welcomed Charlotte afiectiona-tely, and 
 I confess I was much taken with her appearance. She was 
 a lively-looking, good humoured brunette, quite competent 
 to amuse one for a short time in the country. Her lover (for 
 such Herr Schmidt evidently appeared to be) was a polite, 
 reserved personage, and would not join our conversation, 
 notwithstanding all Charlotte's endeavours to draw him out. 
 I was much annoyed at observing, by his countenance, that 
 his silence did not arise from want of talent, but from 
 caprice and ill-humour. This subsequently became very 
 evident, when we set out to take a walk, and Frederica 
 joining Charlotte, with whom I was talking, the worthy gen- 
 tleman's face, which was naturally rather sombre, became so 
 dark and angry, that Charlotte was obliged to touch my arm, 
 and remind me that I was talking too much to Frederica. 
 Nothing distresses me more than to see men torment each 
 other ; particularly when in the flower of their age, in the 
 very season of pleasure, they waste their few short days of 
 sunshine in quarrels and disputes, and only perceive their 
 error when it is too late to repair it. This thought dwelt 
 upon my mind ; and in the evening, when we returned to the 
 vicar's, and were sitting round the table, with our bread and 
 milk, the conversation turned on the joys and sorrows of the 
 world, I could not resist the temptation to inveigh bitterly 
 against ill-humour. "We are apt," said I, "to complain, 
 but with very little cause, that our happy days are few, and 
 our evil days many. If our hearts were always disposed to 
 receive the benefits which Heaven sends us, we should acquire 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHEK. 271 
 
 strength to support evil when it comes." "But," observefl 
 the vicar's wife, " we cannot always command our tempers, 
 so much depends upon the constitution: when the body 
 suffers, the mind is ill at ease." " I acknowledge that," I 
 continued ; " but we must consider such a disposition in the 
 light of a disease, and inquire whether there is no remedy 
 for it." "I should be glad to hear one," said Charlotte; 
 *' at least I think very much depends upon ourselves : I know 
 it is so with me. When anything annoys me, and disturbs 
 my temper, I hasten into the garden, hum a couple of 
 country dances, and it is all right with me directly." "That 
 is what I meant," I replied ; " ill-humour resembles indo- 
 lence ; it is natural to us : but if once we have courage to 
 exert ourselves, we find our work run fresh from our hands, 
 and we experience in the activity from which we shrank a 
 real enjoyment." Frederica listened very attentively, and 
 the young man objected, that we were not masters of our- 
 selves, and still less so of our feelings. " The question is 
 about a disagreeable feeling," I added, " from which every 
 one would willingly escape, but none know their own power 
 without trial. Invalids are glad to consult physicians, and 
 submit to the most scrupulous regimen, the most nauseous 
 ■medicines, to recover their health." I observed that the 
 good old man inclined his head, and exerted himself to hear 
 our discourse ; so I raised my voice, and addressed myself 
 directly to him. "We preach against a great many crimes,'* 
 I observed, " but I never remember a sermon delivered 
 against ill-humour." " That may do very well for your 
 town clergymen," said he ; "country people are never ill- 
 humoured ; though, indeed, it might be useful, occasionally, 
 to ray wife, for instance, and the Judge." We all laughed, 
 as did he likewise very cordially, till he fell into a fit of 
 coughing, which interrupted our conversation for a time. 
 Hcrr Schmidt resumed the subject. " You call ill-humour a 
 crime," he remarked, "but I think you use too strong a 
 term." " Not at all," I replied, "if that deserves the name, 
 which is so pernicious to ourselves and our neighbours. Is it 
 not enough that we want the power to make one another 
 happy, — must we deprive each other of the pleasure which 
 ^e can all make for ourselves ? Show me the man who has 
 lie courage to hide his ill-humour, who bears the whole 
 
272 GOETHE. 
 
 burden himself, without disturbing the peace of those 
 around him. No; ill-humour arises from an inward con- 
 sciousness of our own want of merit, — from a discontent, 
 which ever accompanies that envy which foolish vanity en- 
 genders. We see people happy, whom we have not made 
 so, and cannot endure the sight." Charlotte looked at me 
 with a smile ; she observed the emotion with which I spoke ; 
 and a tear in the eyes of Frederica stimulated me to pro- 
 ceed. " Woe unto those," I said, " who use their power 
 over a human heart, to destroy the simple pleasures it would 
 naturally enjoy ! All the favours, all the attentions in the 
 world cannot compensate for the loss of that happiness which 
 a cruel tyranny has destroyed." My heart was full as I 
 spoke. A recollection of many things which had happened 
 pressed upon my mind, and filled my eyes with tears. " We 
 should daily repeat to ourselves," I exclaimed, "that we 
 should not interfere with our friends, unless to leave them in 
 possession of their own joys, and increase their happiness by 
 sharing it with them. But when their souls are tormented 
 by a violent passion, or their hearts rent with grief, is it 
 in your power to afford them the slightest consolation? 
 
 And when the last fatal malady seizes the being whose un- 
 timely grave you have prepared, when languid and exhausted 
 she lies before you, her dim eyes raised to heaven, and the 
 damp of death upon her pallid brow, then you stand at her 
 bed-side like a condemned criminal, with the bitter feeling 
 that your whole fortune could not save her ; and the agonizing 
 thought wrings you, that all your efforts are powerless to im- 
 part even a moment's strength to the departing soul, or 
 quicken her with a transitory consolation." 
 
 At these words the remembrance of a similar scene at 
 which I had been once present, fell with full force upon my 
 heart. I buried my face in my handkerchief and hastened 
 from the room, and was only recalled to my recollection by 
 Charlotte's voice, who reminded me that it was time to return 
 home. With what tenderness she chid me on the way, for 
 the too eager interest I took in everything ! She declared it 
 would do me injury, and that I ought to spare myself.— Yes^ 
 my angel ! I will do so for your sake. 
 
THE SOBEOWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 273 
 
 July Qth. 
 
 She is still with her dying friend, and is still the same 
 bright, beautiful creature, whose presence softens pain and 
 sheds happiness around whichever way she turns. She went 
 out yesterday with her little sisters ; I knew it, and went to 
 meet them, and we walked together. In about an hour and 
 a half we returned to the town. We stopped at the spring 
 I am so fond of, and which is now a thousand times dearer 
 to me than ever. Charlotte seated herself upon the low wall, 
 and we gathered about her. I looked around and recalled 
 the time when my heart was unoccupied and free. — " Dear 
 fountain !" I said, " since that time, I have no more come to 
 enjoy cool repose by thy fresh stream; I have passed thee 
 with careless steps, and scarcely bestowed a glance upon 
 thee." I looked down and observed Charlotte's little sister, 
 Jane, coming up the steps with a glass of water. I turned 
 towards Charlotte, and I felt her influence over me. Jane at 
 the moment approached with the glass. Her sister, IMari- 
 anne, wished to take it from her. " No !" cried the child, 
 with the sweetest expression of face, '* Charlotte must drink 
 first." 
 
 The affection and simplicity with which this was uttered 
 BO charmed me, that I sought to express my feelings by catch- 
 ing lip the child and kissing her heartily. She was frightened 
 and began to cry. — ''You should not do that," said Charlotte: 
 I felt perplexed. — " Come, Jane," she continued, taking 
 her hand and leading her down the steps again, " it is no 
 matter; wash yourself quickly in the fresh water." I stood 
 and watched them, and when I saw the little dear rubbing 
 her cheeks with her wet hands, in full belief that all the im- 
 purities contracted from my iigly beard would be washed off 
 by the miraculous water, and how, though Charlotte said it 
 M'ould do, she continued still to wash with all her might, as 
 though she thought too much were better than too little, I 
 assm-e you, Wilhelm, I never attended a baptism with greater 
 reverence; and when Charlotte came up from the well, I 
 could have prostrated myself as before the prophet of an 
 eastern nation. 
 
 In the evening I could not resist telling the story to a 
 person, M'ho I thought possessed some natural feeling, be- 
 cause he was a man of understanding. But what a mistake 
 
 T 
 
274 GOETHE. 
 
 I made !i. He maintained it was very wrong of Chailotte,— 
 that we should not deceive children, — that such things occa- 
 sioned countless mistakes and superstitions, from which we 
 w^ere bound to protect the young. It occurred to me then, 
 that this very man had been baptized only a week before, so I 
 said nothing further, but maintained the justice of my own con- 
 victions. We should deal with children as God deals with us, 
 —we are happiest under the influence of innocent delusions. 
 
 July Sth. 
 What a child is man ! that he should be so solicitous about 
 a look ! What a child is man ! We had been to Walheim: 
 the ladies went in a carriage, but during our walk I thought 
 I saw in Charlotte's dark eyes — I am a fool — but forgive me ! 
 you should see them — those eyes; — however, to be brief, 
 (for my own eyes are weighed down with sleep,) you must 
 know, when the ladies stepped into their carriage again, 
 young W. Seldstadt, Andran, and I were standing about the 
 door. They are a merry set of fellows, and they were all 
 laughing and joking together. I watched Charlotte's eyes ; 
 they wandered from one to the other, but they did not light 
 on me, — on me, who stood there motionless, and who saw 
 nothing but her! My heart bade her a thousand times 
 adieu, but she noticed me not. The carriage drove ofi", and 
 my eyes filled with tears. I looked after her ; suddenly I 
 saw Charlotte's bonnet leaning out of the window, and she 
 turned to look back, — was it at me? My dear friend, I 
 know not, and in this uncertainty I find consolation. Per- 
 haps she turned to look at me. Perhaps ! Good night,— 
 what a child I am ! 
 
 July 10 th, 
 
 You should see how foolish I look in company when her 
 
 name is mentioned, particularly when I am asked plainly 
 
 how I like her? How I like her!— -I detest the phrase. 
 
 What sort of creature must he be who merely liked Charlotte, 
 
 whose whole heart and senses were not entirely absorbed by 
 
 \her. Like herl Some one asked me lately how I liked 
 
 I Ossian. 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WEETHEB. 276 
 
 July Wth. 
 
 Mcadame M. is very ill. I pray for her recovery, because 
 Charlotte shares my suiferings. I see her occasionally at my 
 friend's house, and to-day she has told me the strangest cir- 
 cumstance. Old M. is a covetous, miserly fellow, who has 
 long worried and annoyed the poor lady sadly ; but she has 
 borne her afflictions patiently. A few days ago, when the 
 physician informed us that her recovery was hopeless, she 
 sent for her husband, (Charlotte was present,) and addressed 
 him thus : " I have something to confess, which, after my 
 decease, may occasion trouble and confusion. I have hitherto 
 conducted your household as frugally and economically as 
 possible, but you must pardon me for having defrauded you 
 for thirty years. At the commencement of our married life, 
 you allowed a small sum for the wants of the kitchen, and 
 the other household expenses. When our establishment 
 increased and our property grew larger, I could not persuade 
 you to increase the weekly allowance in proportion ; in short 
 you know that when our wants were greatest, you required 
 me to supply everything with seven florins a week. I took 
 the money from you without an observation, but made up 
 the weekly deficiency from the money-chest, as nobody 
 would suspect your wife of robbing the household bank. 
 But I have wasted nothing, and should have been content to 
 meet my eternal Judge without this confession, if she, upon 
 whom the management of your establishment will devolve 
 after my decease, would be free from embarrassment upon 
 your insisting that the allowance made to me, youi- former 
 wife, was sufficient." 
 
 I talked with Charlotte of the inconceivable manner in 
 which men allow themselves to be blinded ; how any one could 
 avoid suspecting some deception, when seven florins only 
 were allowed to defray expenses twice as great. But I have 
 myself known people who believed, without any visible 
 astonishment, that their house possessed the prophet's never- 
 failing cruise of oil. 
 
 July \ZtK 
 No, I am not deceived. In her dark eyes I read a genuine 
 interest in me and in my fortunes. Yes, I feel it, and I may 
 
 T 2 
 
-^76 GOETHE. 
 
 believe my own heart which tells me — dare I say it ? — dare 
 I pronounce the divine words ? — that she loves me ! 
 
 That she loves me ! How the idea exalts me in my own 
 eyes ! and as you can understand my feelings, I may say to 
 you, how I honour myself since she loves me ! 
 
 Is this presumption, or is it a consciousness of the truth r 
 I do not know a man able to supplant me in the heart of 
 Charlotte ; and yet when she speaks of her betrothed with so 
 much warmth and affection, I feel like the soldier who has 
 been stripped of his honours and titles, and deprived of his 
 sword. 
 
 July IQth. 
 
 How my heart beats when by accident I touch her finger, 
 or my feet meet hers under the table ! I draw back as if 
 from a furnace, but a secret force impels me forward again, 
 and my senses become disordered. Her innocent, imconscious 
 heart never knows what agony these little familiarities inflict 
 upon me ! Sometimes when we are talking she lays her 
 hand upon mine, and in the eagerness of conversation comes 
 closer to me, and her balmy breath reaches my lips, — when I 
 feel as if lightning had struck me, and that I could sink into 
 the earth. And yet, Wilhelm ! with all this heavenly con- 
 fidence, — if I know myself and should ever dare — you under- 
 stand me No, no, my heart is not so corrupt, — it is weak, 
 
 weak enough — but is not that a degree of corruption? 
 
 She is to me a sacred being. All passion is still in her 
 presence ; I cannot express my sensations when I am near 
 her. I feel as if my soul beat in every nerve of my body. 
 There is a melody which she plays on the piano with angelic 
 skill, — so simple is it and yet so spiritual ! It is her favourite 
 air; and when she plays the first note, all pain, care, and 
 sorrow^ disappear from me in a moment. 
 
 I believe every word that is said of the magic of ancient 
 music. How her simple song enchants me ! Sometimes^ 
 when I am ready to commit suicid^,,^she sings that^dfTand 
 instantly the gloom arid madness which hung over me are 
 dispersed, and I breathe freely again. 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 27T 
 
 July 18</i. 
 Wilhelm! what is the world to our hearts without love? 
 What is a magic lantern without light ? You have but to 
 kindle the flame within, and the brightest figures shine 0:1 
 the white wall ; and if love only show us fleeting shadows, 
 w^e are yet happy when, like mere children, we behold them, 
 and are transported with the splendid phantoms. I have not 
 been able to see Charlotte to-day. I was prevented by com- 
 pany from which I could not disengage myself. What was 
 to be done ? I sent my servant to her house, that I might, 
 at least, see somebody to-day who had been near her. Oh \ 
 the impatience with which I waited for his return — the joy 
 with which I welcomed him ! I should certainly have caught 
 him in my arms and kissed him, if I had not been ashamed. 
 
 It is said that the Bonona stone, when placed in the sun, 
 attracts the rays, and for a time appears luminous in the dark 
 So was it with me and this servant. The idea that Charlotte's 
 eyes had dw^elt on his countenance, his cheek, his very apparel, 
 endeared them all inestimably to me, so that at the moment I 
 would not have parted from him for a thousand crowns. His 
 presence made me so happy ! Beware of laughing at me, 
 Wilhelm. Can that be a delusion which makes us happy ? 
 
 July \9th. 
 " I shall see her to-day !" I exclaim with delight, when I j 
 rise in the morning, and look out with gladness of heart at i 
 the bright, beautiful sun. — " I shall see her to day!" and then ; 
 I have no further wish to form ; all — all is included in that | 
 une thought. 
 
 *o" 
 
 July 20th. 
 I cannot assent to your proposal that I should accompany 
 
 the Ambassador to . I do not love subordination, and 
 
 we all know that he is a rough, disagreeable person to be 
 connected . with. You. say my mother wishes me to be 
 employed. I could not help laughing at that. Am I not 
 sufficiently employed? And is it not in reality the same, 
 whether I shell peas or count lentils ? The world runs on 
 from one folly to another, and the man who, solely from, 
 regard to the opinion of others, and without any wish or 
 
278 . GOETHE. 
 
 necessity of his own, toils after gold> honour, or any othei 
 phantom, is no better than a fooL 
 
 July 24th. 
 
 You insist so much on my not neglecting my drawing, that 
 it would be as well for me to say nothing as to confess how 
 little I have lately done. 
 
 I never J(?lt . happier ; I never understood nature better^^. 
 even' d"6wn to the veriest stem, or smallest blade of grass ; 
 and yet 1 am unable to express myself; my powers of exe- 
 cution are so weak, everything seems to swim and float before 
 me, so that I cannot make a clear, bold outline ; but I fancy 
 I should succeed better if I had some clay or wax to model. 
 I shall try, if this state of mind continues much longer, and 
 will take to modelling, if I only knead dough. 
 
 I have commenced Charlotte's portrait three times, and 
 have as often disgraced myself. This is the more annoying, 
 as I was formerly very happy in taking likenesses. I have 
 since sketched her profile, and must content myself with 
 Nhat. 
 
 July 25th. 
 Yes, dear Charlotte ! I will order and arrange everything. 
 Only give me more commissions, — the more the better. One 
 thing, however, I must request. Use no more writing-sand 
 with the dear notes you send me. To-day I raised your 
 letter hastily to my lips, and it set my teeth on edge. 
 
 July 2eth. 
 I have often determined not to see her so frequently. 
 But who could keep such a resolution? Every day I am 
 exposed to the temptation, and promise, faithfully, that to- 
 morrow I will really stay away ; but, w^hen to-morrow comes, I 
 find some irresistible reason for seeing her ; and, before I can 
 account for it, I am with her again. Either she has said on 
 the previous evening, " You will be sure to call to-morrow !" 
 — and who could stay away then? — or she gives me some 
 commission, and I find it essential to take her the answer in 
 person ; or the day is fine and I walk to Walheim, and when 
 I am there it is only half a league further to her. I am within 
 
THE SORKOWS OP YOUNG WERTHER. 279 
 
 the charmed atmosphere, and soon find myself at her side. 
 My grandmother used to tell us a story of a mountain of load- 
 stone. When any vessels came near it, they were deprived 
 instantly of their ironwork, the nails flew to the mountain, 
 and the unhappy crew perished amongst the disjointed 
 planks. 
 
 July ZOth. 
 
 Albert is arrived and I must take my departure. Were 
 he the best and noblest of men and I in every respect his 
 inferior, I could not endure to see him in possession of such a 
 perfect being. Possession ! — enough, Wilhelm ; her betrothed 
 is here! _A^_fijie« "vyorthy fellow, whom one cannot heh) 
 liking. Fortunately I was not present at their meeting. It 
 would have broken my heart ! And he is so considerate ; 
 he has not given Charlotte one kiss in my presence. Heaven 
 reward him for it ! I must love him for the respect with 
 which he treats her. He shows a regard for me, but for this 
 I suspect I am more indebted to Charlotte than to his own 
 fancy for me. Women have a delicate tact in such matters ; 
 and it should be so. They cannot always succeed in keeping 
 two rivals on terms with each other ; but when they do, they 
 are the only gainers. 
 
 I cannot help esteeming Albert. The coolness of his 
 temper contrasts strongly with the impetuosity of mine, 
 which I cannot conceal. He has a great deal of feeling, and 
 is fully sensible of the treasure he possesses in Charlotte. He 
 is free from ill-humour, which you know is the fault I detest 
 most. 
 
 He regards me as a man of sense, and my attachment to 
 Charlotte, and the interest I take in all that concerns her, 
 augment his triumph and his love. I shall not inquire whether 
 he may not at times teaze her with some little jealousies, as I 
 know that were I in his place, I should not be entirely free 
 from such sensations. 
 
 But be that as it may, my pleasure with Charlotte is over. 
 Call it folly, or infatuation, what signifies a name ? The thing 
 speaks for itself. Before Albert came, I knew all that I know 
 now. 'I knew I could make no pretensions to her, nor did I 
 offer any ; that is, as far as it was possible in the presence of 
 «) much loveliness, not to pant for its enjoyment. And now. 
 
 y 
 
280 GOETHE. 
 
 behold roe, like a silly fellow, staring with astonishment when 
 another cornea in and deprives me of my love. 
 
 I bite my lips and feel infinite scorn for those who tell me 
 to be resigned, because there is no help for it. Let me 
 escape from the yoke of such silly subterfuges ! I ramble 
 through the woods, and when I return to Charlotte, and find 
 Albert sitting by her side in the summer-house in the garden, 
 I am unable to bear it ; behave like a fool ; and commit a 
 thousand extravagancies. " For Heaven's sake,' ' said Charlotte 
 to-day, " let us have no more scenes like those of last night. 
 You terrify me when you are so violent.'* Between our- 
 selves, I am always away now when he visits her, and I feel 
 delighted when I find her alone. 
 
 Angitst 8th. 
 
 Believe me, dear Wilhelm, I did not allude to you when I 
 spoke so severely of those who advise resignation to inevitable 
 fate. I did not think it possible for you to indulge such a 
 sentiment. But in fact you are right. I only suggest one 
 objection. In this world one is seldom reduced to make a 
 selection between two alternatives. There are as many 
 varieties of conduct and opinion as there are turns of feature 
 between an aquiline nose and a flat one. . 
 
 You will, therefore, permit me to concede your entire 
 argument, and yet contrive means to escape your dilemma. 
 
 Your position is this : " Either you have hopes of obtaining 
 Charlotte, or you have none. Well, in the first case, pursue 
 your course, and press on to the fulfilment of your wishes. 
 In the second, be a man, and shake off a miserable passion, 
 which will enervate and destroy you." My dear friend, this 
 is well and easily said. 
 
 But would you require a wretched being, whose life is 
 slowly wasting under a lingering disease, to despatch himself 
 at once by the stroke of a dagger? Does not the very 
 disorder which consumes his strength, deprive him of the 
 courage to effect his deliverance ? 
 
 You may answer me, if you please, with a similar analogy. 
 " Who would not prefer the amputation of an arm to the 
 perilling of life by doubt and procrastination?" But I 
 Know not if I am right, and let us leave these comparisons. 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 281 
 
 Enough ! — There are moments, Wilhelm, when I could rise 
 up and shake it all off, and when, if I only knew where to go,. 
 I could fly from this place. 
 
 The same evening. 
 My diary, which I have for some time neglected, came 
 before me to-day, and I am amazed to see how deliberately I 
 have entangled myself step by step. To have seen my position 
 so clearly, and yet to have acted so like a child ! Even still 
 I behold the result plainly, and yet have no thought of acting: 
 with greater prudence. 
 
 August 10 fJi. 
 
 If I were not a fool, I could spend the happiest and most 
 delightful life here. So many agreeable circumstances, and 
 of a kind to ensure a worthy man's happiness, are seldom 
 united. Alas ! I feel it too sensibly — the heart alone makes 
 our happiness. To be admitted into this most charming 
 family, to be loved by the father as a son, by the children as 
 a father, and by Charlotte ! — then the noble Albert, who 
 never disturbs my happiness by any appearance of ill-humour, 
 receiving me with the heartiest aftection, and loving me next 
 to Charlotte, better than all the world ! Wilhelm, you would 
 be delighted to hear us in our rambles and conversations about 
 Charlotte ; nothing in the world can be more absurd than 
 our connection, and yet the thought of it often moves me to 
 tears. 
 
 He tells me sometimes of her excellent mother — how upon 
 her death-bed she had committed her house and children to 
 Charlotte, and had given Charlotte herself in charge to him — 
 how since that time a new spirit had taken possession of 
 her — how in care and anxiety for their welfare she became 
 a real mother to them — how every moment of her time was 
 devoted to some labour of love in their behalf — and yet her 
 mirth and cheerfulness had never forsaken her. I walk by 
 his side, pluck flowers by the way, arrange them carefully 
 into a nosegay, then fling them into the first stream I pass^ 
 and watch them as they float gently away. I forget whether 
 I told you that Albert is to remain here. He has received a, 
 government appointsaent, with a very good salary, and I 
 
282 GOETHE. 
 
 understand he is in high favour at court. I have met few 
 persons so punctual and methodical in business. 
 
 August \1th. 
 Certainly Albert is the best fellow in the world. I had a 
 strange scene with him yesterday. I went to take leave ot 
 him, for I took it into my head to spend a few days in these 
 mountains, from whence I now write to j^ou. As I was 
 walking up and down his room, my eye fell upon his pistols. 
 *' Lend me those pistols," said I, " for my journey."' •' By all 
 means," he replied, ''if you will take the trouble to load them, 
 for they only hang there for form." I took down one of 
 them, and he continued : " Ever since I was near suffering 
 for my extreme caution, I have had nothing to do Mdth such 
 things." I was curious to hear the story. " I was staying," 
 said he, " some three months ago, at a friend's house in the 
 country. I had a brace of pistols with me unloaded, and I 
 slept without any anxiety. One rainy afternoon I was sitting 
 by myself, doing nothing, when it O'ccurred to me — I do not 
 not know how — that the house might be attacked — that we 
 might require the pistols — that we might — in short, you know 
 how we go on fancying, when we have nothing better to do. 
 I gave the pistols to the servant to clean and load. He was 
 playing with the maid, and trying to frighten her, when the 
 pistol went off— God knows how ! — the ramrod was in the 
 barrel, and it went straight through her right hand, and shat- 
 tered the thumb. I had to endure all the lamentation and the 
 surgeon's bill to pay ; so since that time I have kept all my 
 weapons unloaded. But, my dear friend, what is the use of 
 prudence ? We can never be on our guard against all possible 
 dangers. However," — now you must know I can tolerate all 
 men till they come to "however," for it is self-evident that 
 every universal rule must have its exceptions. But he is so 
 exceedingly accurate, that if he only fancies he has said a word 
 too precipitate, or too general, or only half true, he never 
 ceases to qualify, to modify, and extenuate, till at last he 
 appears to have said nothing at all. Upon this occasion Albert 
 was deeply immersed in his subject ; I ceased to hear him, and 
 became lost in reverie. With a sudden motion I pointed the 
 mouth of the pistol to my forehead, over the right eye. 
 
THE SORROWS OP YOUNG WERTHER. 283 
 
 **What do you mean ?" cried Albert, turning back the pistol. 
 " It is not loaded," said I. " And even if not," he answered 
 with impatience, " what can you mean ? I cannot comprehend 
 how a man can be so mad as to shoot himself, and the bare 
 idea of it shocks me." 
 
 '' But why should any one," said I, " in speaking of an ] 
 action, venture to pronounce it mad, or wise, or good, or . 
 bad ? What is the meaning of all this ? Have you carefully 
 studied the secret motives of our actions ? Do you under- 
 stand — can you explain the causes which occasion them, and 
 make them inevitable ? If you can, you will be less hasty 
 with your decision." 
 
 " But you will allow," said Albert, " that some actions are 
 criminal, let them spring from whatever motives they may." 
 I granted it, and shrugged my shoulders. 
 
 "But still, my good friend," I continued, "there are some 
 exceptions here too. Theft is a crime, but the man who 
 commits it from extreme poverty, with no design but to save 
 his family from perishing, is he an object of pity or of 
 punishment? Who shall throw the first stone at a husband, 
 who, in the heat of just resentment, sacrifices his faithless 
 wife and her perfidious seducer? or at the young maiden, 
 who in her weak hour of rapture, forgets herself in the 
 impetuous joys of love ? Even our laws, cold and cruel as 
 they are, relent in such cases, and withhold their punish- 
 ment." 
 
 " That is quite another thing," said Albert ; " because a 
 man under the influence of violent passion, loses all power of 
 reflection, and is regarded as intoxicated or insane." 
 
 " O ! you people of sound understandings," I replied, 
 smiling, "are ever ready to exclaim, 'Extravagance and 
 madness, and intoxication !' You moral men are so calm 
 and so subdued ! You abhor the drunken man, and detest 
 the extravagant; you pass by like the Levite, and thank 
 God, like the Pharisee, that you are not like one of them. I 
 have been more than once intoxicated, rny passions have 
 always bordered on extravagance ; I am not ashamed to con- 
 fess it, for I have learnt, by my own experience, that all 
 extraordinary men, who have accomplished great and as- 
 tonishing actions, have ever been decried by the world as 
 drunken or insane. And in private life, too, is it not in- 
 
284 
 
 GOETHE. 
 
 tolerable that no one can undertake the execution of a noble 
 or generous deed, without giving rise to the exclamation that 
 the doer is intoxicated or mad ? Shame upon you, ye 
 sages !" 
 
 "This is another of your extravagant humours," said 
 Albert; "you always exaggerate a case, and in this matter 
 your are undoubtedly wrong, for we were speaking of suicide, 
 which you compare with great actions, M'hen it is impossible 
 to regard it as anything but a weakness. It is much easier 
 to die than to bear a life of misery with fortitude." 
 
 I was on the point of breaking off the conversation, for 
 nothing puts me so completely out of patience as the utter- 
 ance of a wretched common-place, when I am tallying from 
 my inmost heart. However, I composed myself, for I had 
 often heard the same observation with sufficient vexation, 
 and I answered him, therefore, with a little warmth : " You 
 call this a weakness — beware of being led astray by appear- 
 ances. When a nation which has long groaned under the 
 intolerable yoke of a tyrant, rises at last and throws off its 
 chains, — do you call that weakness ? The man, who to rescue 
 his house from the flames, finds his physical strength re- 
 doubled, so that he lifts burdens with ease, which in the 
 absence of excitement he could scarcely move ; he who under 
 the rage of an insult attacks and puts to flight half a score of 
 his enemies — are such persons to be called weak ? My good 
 friend, if resistance be strength, how can the highest degree 
 of resistance be a weakness?" 
 
 Albert looked steadfastly at me, and said, " Pray forgive 
 me, but I do not see that the examples you have adduced 
 bear any relation to the question." " Very likely," I an- 
 swered, " for I have often been told that my style of illus- 
 tration borders a little on the absurd. But let us see if we 
 cannot place the matter in another point of view, by in- 
 quiring what can be a man's state of mind, who resolves to 
 free himself from the burden of life,— a burden often so 
 pleasant to bear, — for we cannot otherwise reason fairly upon 
 the subject." 
 
 " Human nature," I continued, " has its limits. It is 
 able to endure a certain degree of joy, sorrow, and pain, but 
 becomes annihilated as soon as this measure is exceeded. 
 The question, therefore, i^ not whether a man is strong or 
 
THE SORKOWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 285 
 
 weak, but whether he is able to endure the measure of his 
 suiferings ? The suffering may be moral or physical ; and in 
 my opinion it is just as absurd to call a man a coward who 
 destroys himself as to call a man a coward who dies of a 
 malignant fever." 
 
 " Paradox, all paradox !" exclaimed Albert. " Not so 
 paradoxical as you imagine," I replied. " You allow that 
 we designate a disease as mortal, when nature is so severely 
 attacked, and her strength so far exhausted, that she cannot 
 possibly recover her former condition, under any change that 
 may take place. 
 
 " Now, my good friend, apply this to the mind ; observe a 
 man in his natural isolated condition, consider how ideas 
 work, and how impressions fasten upon him, till at length a 
 violent passion seizes him, destroying all his powers of calm 
 reflection, and provoking his utter ruin. 
 
 " It is in vain that a man of sound mind and cool temper 
 understands the condition of such a wretched being, in vain 
 he counsels him ! He can no more communicate his own 
 wisdom to him than a healthy man can instil his strength into 
 the invalid, by whose bed-side he is seated." 
 
 Albert thought this too general. I reminded him of a girl 
 who had drowned herself . a short time previously, and I 
 related her history. 
 
 She was a good creature, who had grown up in the narrow 
 sphere of household industry and weekly-appointed labour ; 
 one who knew no pleasure beyond indulging in a walk oh 
 Sundays, arrayed in her best attire, accompanied by her 
 friends, or perhaps joining in the dance now and then at 
 some festival, and chatting away her spare hours with a 
 neighbour, discussing the scandal or the quarrels of the vil- 
 lage — trifles suflicient to occupy her heart. At length the 
 warmth of her nature is influenced by certain new and 
 unknown wishes. Inflamed by the flatteries of men, her 
 former pleasures become by degrees insipid, till at length she 
 meets with a youth to whom she is attracted by an inde- 
 scribable feeling : upon him she now rests all her hopes ; she 
 forgets the- world around her ; she sees, hears, desires no- 
 thing but him, and him only. He alone occupies all her 
 thoughts. Uncorrupted by the idle indulgence of an ener- 
 
286 GOETHE 
 
 vating vanity, her affection moving steadily towards its object, 
 she hopes to become his, and to realise in an everlasting 
 union with him, all that happiness which she sought, all that 
 bliss for which she longed. His repeated promises confirm 
 her hopes ; embraces and endearments, which increase the 
 ardour of her desires, overmaster her soul. She floats in a 
 dim delusive anticipation of her happiness, and her feelings 
 become excited to their utmost tension. She stretches out 
 
 her arms finally to embrace the object of all her wishes 
 
 and her lover forsakes her. Stunned and bewildered, she 
 stands upon a precipice. All is darkness around her. No 
 prospect, no hope, no consolation — forsaken by him in whom 
 her existence was centred! She sees nothing of the wide 
 world before her, thinks nothing of the many individuals 
 who might supply the void in her heart ; she feels herself 
 deserted, forsaken by the world ; and blinded and impelled by 
 the agony which wrings her soul, she plunges into the deep, 
 to end her sufferings in the broad embrace of death. See 
 here, Albert, the history of thousands, and tell me, is not 
 this a case of physical infirmity? Nature has no way to 
 escape from the labyrinth, her powers are exhausted, she can 
 contend no longer, and the poor soul must die. 
 
 Shame upon him who can look on calmly and exclaim, 
 " The foolish girl ! she should have waited ; she should have 
 allowed time to wear off the impression ; her despair would 
 have been softened, and she would have found another lover 
 to comfort her." One might as well say, " The fool, to die 
 of a fever! — why did he not wait till his strength was 
 restored, till his blood became calm ? — all would then have 
 gone well, and he would have been alive now." 
 
 Albert, who could not see the justice of the comparison, 
 offered some further objections, and amongst others, urged 
 that I had taken the case of a mere ignorant girl. But how 
 any man of sense, of more enlarged views and experience, 
 could be excused, he was unable to comprehend. " My 
 friend," I exclaimed, "man is but man, and whatever be the 
 extent of his reasoning powers, they are of little avail when 
 passion rages within, and he feels himself confined by the 
 
 narrow limits of nature. It were better, then But we 
 
 will talk of this some other time," I said, and caught up my 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 287 
 
 hat. Alas ! my heart was full ; and we parted without con- 
 viction on either side. How rarely in, this world do meu 
 understand each other! 
 
 August 15th. 
 There can be no doubt that in this world nothing is so in- 
 dispensable as love. I obserTC that Charlotte could not lose 
 me without a pang, and the very children have but one wish ; 
 that is, that I should visit them again to-morrow. I went this 
 afternoon to tune Charlotte's piano. But I could not do it, 
 for the little ones insisted on my telling them a story ; and 
 Charlotte herself urged me to satisfy them. I waited upon 
 them at tea, and they are now as fully contented with me as 
 with Charlotte, and I told them my very best tale of the 
 princess who was waited upon by dwarfs. I improve myself 
 by this exercise, and am quite surprised at the impression my 
 stories create. If I sometimes invent an incident which I 
 forget upon the next narration, they remind me directly that 
 the story was different before ; so that I now endeavour to 
 relate with exactness the same anecdote in the same mono- 
 tonous tone, which never changes. I find by this how much' 
 an author injures his works by altering them, even though 
 they be improved in a poetical point of view. The first 
 impression is readily received. We are so constituted, that 
 we believe the most incredible things, and once they are 
 engraved upon the memory, woe to him who would endeavour 
 to efface them. 
 
 August 18M. 
 Must it ever be thus — that the source of our happiness must 
 also be the fountain of our misery? The full and ardent 
 sentiment which animated my heart with the love of natiu-e, 
 overwhelming me with a torrent of delight, and which brought 
 all paradise before me, has now become an insupportable 
 torment — a demon which perpetually pursues and harrasse« 
 me. When in bye-gone days I gazed from these rocks upor^ 
 yonder mountains across the river, and upon the green flowery 
 valley before me, and saw all nature budding and bursting 
 around — the hills clothed from foot to peak with tall, thick 
 forest trees — the valleys in all their varied windings, shaded 
 ^ith the loveliest woods, and the soft river gliding along 
 
288 GOETHE. 
 
 amongst the lisping reeds, mirroring the beautiful clouds 
 which the soft evening breeze wafted across the sky, — when I 
 heard the groves about me melodious with the music of birds, 
 and saw the million swarms of insects dancing in the last 
 golden beams of the sun, whose setting rays awoke the 
 humming bettles from their grassy beds, whilst the subdued 
 tumult around directed my attention to the ground, and I 
 there observed the arid rock compelled to yield nutriment to 
 the dry moss, whilst the heath flourished upon the barren 
 sands below me, — all this displayed to me the inner warmth 
 which animates all nature, and filled and glowed within my 
 heart. I felt myself exalted by this overflowing fullness to the 
 perception of the Godhead, and the glorious forms of an 
 infinite universe became visible to my soul! Stupendous 
 mountains encompassed me, abysses yawned at my feet, and 
 cataracts fell headlong down before me ; impetuous rivers 
 rolled through the plain, and rocks and mountains resounded 
 from afar. In the depths of the earth I saw innumerable 
 powers in motion, and multiplying to infinity, whilst upon its 
 surface, and beneath the heavens, there teemed ten thousand 
 varieties of living creatures. Everything around is alive with 
 an infinite number of forms, while mankind fly for security to 
 their petty houses, from the shelter of which they rule in 
 their imaginations over the wide-extended universe. Poor 
 fool ! in whose petty estimation all things are little. From 
 the inaccessible mountains, across the desert which no mortal 
 foot has trod, far as the confines of the unknown ocean, 
 breathes the spirit of the eternal Creator, and every atom to 
 which he has given existence finds favour in his sight. Ah, 
 how often at that time has the flight of a bird, soaring above 
 my head, inspired me with the desire of being transported to 
 the shores of the immeasurable waters, there to quafi", the 
 pleasures of life from the foaming goblet of the Infinite ; and, 
 to partake, if but for a moment, even with the coiififled powders 
 of my soul, the beatitude of that Creator, who accomplishes 
 all things in himself, and through himself. 
 
 My dear friend, the bare recollection of those hours still 
 consoles me. Even this efibrt to recal those ineffable sen- 
 sations, and give them utterance, exalts my soul above itself, 
 and makes me doubly feel the intensity of n?y present 
 anguish , 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WEETHEE. 289 
 
 It is as if a curtain had been drawn from before my eyes ; 1 
 ftud, instead of prospects of eternal life, the abyss of a g^eygg- )o*^ 
 o pen grave yawned befor e me. Can we say of anything that 
 It exists when all passes away— when time, with the speed of 
 a storm, carries all things onward — and our transitory exist- 
 ence, hurried along by the torrent, is either swallowed up by 
 the waves or dashed against the rocks. There is not a moment 
 but preys upon you, and upon all around you — not a moment 
 in which you do not yourself become a destroyer. The most 
 innocent walk deprives of life thousands of poor insects ; one 
 step destroys the fabric of the industrious ant, and converts a 
 little world into chaos. No; it is not the great and rare 
 calamities of the world, the floods which sweep away whole 
 villages, the earthquakes which swallow up our towns, that 
 affect me. My heart is wasted by the thought of that des- 
 t^rnpti,v<^ pnwpr w}^i^][i Iihs poTippnlpfl \v^ pvory pnrt of univejsal 
 nature. Nature ha gJjQrmejT nothing that does not consume 
 kscEQhd every object near it ; so that, surrounded by earth 
 and air, and all the active powers, I wander on my way with 
 aching heart, and the universe is to me a fearful monster, for 
 ever devouring its own offspring. 
 
 August list. 
 In vain do I stretch out my arms towards her when I 
 awaken in the morning from my weary slumbers. In vain 
 do I seek for her at night in my bed, when some innocent 
 dream has happily deceived me, and placed her near me in 
 the fields, when I have seized her hand and covered it with 
 countless kisses. And when I feel for her in the half con- 
 fusion of sleep, with the happy sense that she is near me, 
 tears flow from my oppressed heart, and bereft of all comfort, 
 I weep over my future woes. 
 
 August 22nd. 
 What a misfortune, Wilhelm ! My active spirits have 
 degenerated into contented indolence. I cannot be idle, and 
 yet I am unable to set to work. I cannot think : I have 
 no longer any feeling for the beauties of nature, and books 
 are distasteful to me. Once we give ourselves up, we are 
 
 u 
 
290 GOETHE. 
 
 totally lost. Many a time and oft I wish I were a common 
 labourer ; that, awakening in the morning, I might have but 
 one prospect, one pursuit, one hope, for the day which has 
 dawned. I often envy Albert when I see him buried in a heap 
 of papers and parchments, and I fancy I should be happy were 
 I in his place. Often impressed with this feeling, I have been 
 on the point of writing to you and to the minister, for the 
 appointment at the embassy, wdiich you think I might obtain. 
 I believe I might procure it. The minister has long shown a 
 regard for me, and has frequently urged me to seek employ- 
 ment. It is the business of an hour only. Now and then the 
 fable of the horse recurs to me. Weary of liberty, he suffered 
 himself to be saddled and bridled, and was ridden to death for 
 his pains. I know not what to determine upon. For is not 
 this anxiety for change the consequence of that restless spirit 
 which w^ould pursue me equally in every situation of life .'^ 
 
 August 2Stk. 
 If my ills would admit of any cure, they w^ould certainly be 
 cured here. This is my birthday, and early in the morning I 
 received a packet from Albert. Upon opening it, I found one 
 of the pink ribands which Charlotte wore in her dress the 
 first time I saw her, and which 1 had several times asked her 
 to give me. With it were two volumes in duodecimo of 
 Wetstein's Homer, a book I had often wished for, to save 
 me the inconvenience of carrying the large Ernestine edition 
 with me upon my walks. You see how they anticipate my 
 wishes, how well they understand all those little attentions of 
 friendship, so superior to the costly presents of the great, 
 which are humiliating, I kissed the riband a thousand times, 
 and in every breath inhaled the remembrance of those happy 
 and irrevocable days, which filled me with the keenest joy. 
 Such, Wilhelm, is our fate. I do not murmur at it: the 
 flowers of life are but visionary ! How many pass away, and 
 leave no trace behind — how few yield any fruit — and the fruit 
 itself, how rarely does it ripen ! And yet there are flowers 
 enough ! — and, is it not strange, my friend, that we should 
 sufier the little that does really ripen, to rot, decay, and perish 
 unenjoyed ? Farewell ! It is a glorious summer. I often 
 climb into i}y^ trees in Chwrlotte's orchard and shake down 
 
THE SORROAVS OF yOTJNG WERTHEB. 291 
 
 the pears that hang on the highest branches. She standi 
 below, and catches them as they fall. 
 
 August 30^^. 
 Unhappy being that I am ! Why do I thus deceive myself? 
 What is to come of all this wild, aimless, endless passion? 
 I cannot pray except to her. My imagination sees nothing 
 but her, all surroimding objects are of no account, except as 
 they relate to her. In this dreamy state I enjoy many happy 
 hours, till at length I feel compelled to tear myself away from 
 her. Ah I Wilhelm, to what does not my heart often compel 
 me ! When I have spent several hours in her company, till 
 I feel completely absorbed by her figure, her grace, the 
 divine expression of her thoughts, my mind becomes gradu- 
 ally excited to the highest excess, my sight grows dim, my 
 hearing confused, my breathing oppressed as if by the hand 
 of a murderer, and my beating heart seeks to obtain relief for 
 my aching senses. I am sometimes unconscious whether I 
 really exist. If in such moments I find no sympathy, and ( 
 Charlotte does not allow me to enjoy the melancholy con- ' 
 solation of bathing her hand with my tears, I feel compelled 
 to tear myself from her, when I either wander through the 
 country, climb some precipitous cliff, or force a path through 
 the trackless thicket, where I am lacerated and torn by thorns 
 and briars, and thence I find relief. Sometimes I lie stretched 
 on the ground, overcome with fatigue and dying with thirst ; 
 fiometimes late in the night, when the moon shines above me, 
 I recline against an aged tree, in some sequestered forest, to 
 rest my weary limbs ; when, exhausted and worn, I sleep till 
 break of day. O Wilhelm ! the hermit's cell, his sackcloth, 
 and girdle of thorns would be luxury and indulgence com- 
 pared with what I sufibr. Adieu ! I see no end to this 
 xwAfinhfi^^^g^ ^^gept the grave? 
 
 September 3rd. 
 I must'away. Thank you^ Wilhelm, for determining my 
 wavering purpose. For a whole fortnight I have thought 
 of leaving her. I must away. She is returned to townt 
 
 V 2 
 
292 GOETHE. 
 
 ftnd is at the house of a friend. And then, Albert ye«, 
 
 I must go. 
 
 September \Oth. 
 
 Oh J what a night, Wilhelm ! I can henceforth bear any- 
 thing. I shall never see her again. Oh, why cannot I fall 
 on your neck, and with floods of tears and raptures, give 
 utterance to all the passions which distract my heart ! Here 
 I sit gasping for breath, and struggling to compose myself. 
 I wait for day, and at sunrise the horses are to be at the 
 door. 
 
 And she is sleeping calmly, little suspecting that she has 
 seen me for the last time. I am free. I have had the 
 courage, in an interview of two hours' duration, not to betray 
 my intention. And oh! Wilhelm, what a conversation it 
 was ! 
 
 Albert had promised to come to Charlotte in the garden, 
 immediately after supper. I was upon the terrace under the 
 tall chestnut-trees, and watched the setting sun, — I saw him 
 sink for the last time beneath this delightful valley and silent 
 stream. I had often visited the same spot with Charlotte, and 
 witnessed that glorious sight, and now — I was walking up and 
 down the very avenue which was so dear to me. A secret 
 sympathy had frequently drawn me thither, before I knew 
 Charlotte, and we were delighted when, in our early acquaint- 
 ance, we discovered that we each loved the same spot, which 
 is indeed as romantic as any that ever captivated the fancy 
 of an artist. 
 
 From beneath the chestnut-trees there is an extensive 
 view. But I remember that I have mentioned all this in a 
 former letter, and have described the tall mass of beech-tree.* 
 at the end, and how the avenue grows darker and darker aa 
 it winds its way among them, till it ends in a gloomy recess 
 which has all the charm of a mysterious solitude. I still 
 remember the strange i'eeling of melancholy which came over 
 me, the first time I entered that dark retreat, at bright mid- 
 day. I felt some secret foreboding that it would, one day, be 
 to me the scene of some happiness or misery. 
 
 I had spent half an hour struggling between the contending 
 thoughts of going and returning, when I heard them coming 
 
XUE SOREOAVS OF YOUNG WEIiXIIEK. 293 
 
 up the terrace. I ran to meet them ; I trembled as I took* 
 her hand and kissed it. As we reached the top of the ter- 
 race, the moon rose from behind the wooded hill. Wc con- 
 s'ersed on many subjects, and without perceiving it, we 
 approached the gloomy recess. Charlotte entered and sat 
 down. Albert seated himself beside her ; I did the same, but 
 my agitation did not suffer me to remain long seated. I got 
 up and stood before her, then walked backwards and forwards, 
 and sat down again. I was restless and miserable. Char- 
 lotte drew our attention to the beautiful effect of the moon- 
 light, which threw a silver hue over the terrace, in front of 
 us beyond the beech-trees. It was a glorious sight, and 
 was rendered more striking by the darkness which surrounded 
 the spot where we were. We remained for some time silent, 
 when Charlotte observed : *' Whenever I walk by moonlight, 
 it brings to my remembrance all my beloved and departed 
 friends, and I am filled with thoughts of death and futurity. 
 We shall live again, Werther !" she continued, with a firm 
 but feeling voice ; " but shall we know one another again — 
 what do you think, what do you say ?" 
 
 " Charlotte !" I said, as I took her hand in mine, and my 
 eyes filled with tears, " we shall see each other again — here 
 and hereafter we shall meet again." I could say no more 
 Why, Wilhelm, should she put this question to me, just at the 
 moment when the fear of om* cruel separation filled my heart ? 
 
 *' And oh ! do tliose departed ones know how we are 
 employed here, do they know when we are well and happy, 
 do they know when we recal their memories whh the 
 fondest love } In the silent hour of evening the shade of my 
 mother hovers round me ; when seated in the midst of my 
 childi-en, I see them assembled near me as they used to 
 assemble near her! and then I raise my anxious eyes to 
 heaven, and wish she could look down upon us and witness 
 how I fulfil the promise I made to her in her last moments, to 
 be a mother to her children. With what emotion do I then 
 exclaim, ' Pardon, dearest of mothers, pardon me, if I do not 
 adequately supply your place. Alas ! I do my utmost ; they 
 are clothed and fed, and still better, they are loved and edu- 
 cated. Could you but see, sweet saint ! the peace and har- 
 mony that dwells amongst us, you would glorify God with, 
 the warmest feelings of gratitude, to whom, in your last hour. 
 
294 GOETHE. 
 
 you addressed such fervent prayers for our happiness.' " Thui 
 did she express herself, but O! Wilhelm, who can do justice 
 to her language, how can cold and passionless words convey 
 the heavenly expressions of the spirit ? Albert interinipted 
 her gently. " This affects you too deeply, my dear Charlotte: 
 I know your soul dwells on such recollections with intense 
 
 delight, but I implore" " O, Albert," she continued, " I 
 
 am sure you do not forget the evenings when we three used 
 to sit at the little round table, when papa was absent, and 
 the little ones had retired. You often had a good book with 
 you, but seldom read it ; the conversation of that noble being 
 was preferable to everything — that beautiful, bright, gentle, 
 and yet ever-toiling woman. God alone knows how I have 
 supplicated with tears on my nightly couch that I might be 
 like her." 
 
 I threw myself at her feet, and seizing it, bedewed it with 
 a thousand tears. "Charlotte!" I exclaimed, " God's bles- 
 sing and your mother's spirit are upon you." " O ! that you 
 had known her," she said, with a warm pressure of the 
 hand; " she was worthy of being known to you." I thought 
 I should have fainted ; never had I received praise so flat- 
 tering. She continued : "and yet she was doomed to die in 
 the flower of her youth, when her youngest child was 
 scarcely six months old. Her illness was but short, but she 
 was calm and resigned— and it was only for her children, 
 especially the youngest, that she felt unhappy. When her 
 end drew nigh, she bade me bring them to her. I obeyed, 
 the younger ones knew nothing of their approaching loss, 
 while the elder ones were quite overcome with grief. They 
 stood around the bed, and she raised her feeble hands to 
 heaven, and prayed over them, then kissing them in turn, she 
 dismissed them, and said to me, " Be you a mother to them." 
 I gave her my hand. '' You are promising much, my child," 
 she said, '' a mother's fondness, and a mother's care ! I have 
 often witnessed, by your tears of gratitude, that you know 
 what is a mother's tenderness ; show it to your brothers and 
 sisters, and be dutiful and faithful to your father as a wife : 
 you will be his comfort." She inquired for him. He had 
 retired to conceal his intolerable anguish — he was heart- 
 broken. 
 
 "Albert! you were in the room. She heard some one 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG AVERTHER. 295 
 
 moving, she inquired who it was, and desired you to ap- 
 proach. She surveyed us both with a look of composure 
 and satisfaction expressive of her conviction that we should 
 be happy — happy with one another." Albert fell upon her 
 neck, aud kissed her, and exclaimed, " We are so, and we 
 shall be so." Even the composure of Albert was moved, 
 and I was excited beyond expression. 
 
 "And such a being," she continued, "was to leave u^ 
 Werther ! Great God, must we thus part with everything 
 we hold dear in this world ? Nobody felt this more acutely 
 than the children ; they cried and lamented for a long time 
 afterwards, complaining that black men had carried away 
 their dear mamma." 
 
 Charlotte stood up. It aroused me, but I continued sitting, 
 and held her hand. " Let us go," she said ; " it grows 
 late.'* She attemj^ted to withdraw her hand ; I held it still. 
 "We shall see each other again," I exclaimed, " we shall 
 recognise each other under every possible change- I am 
 going," I continued, " going willingly, but should I say for 
 ever, perhaps I may not keep my word, Adieu, Charlotte ! 
 adieu, Albert; we shall meet again." "Yes, to-morrow, I 
 think," she answered, with a smile. To-morrow! how I felt 
 the word ! Ah ! she little thought, when she drew her hand 
 away from mine. They walked down the avenue. I stood 
 gazing after them in the moonlight. I threw myself upon 
 the ground, and wept ; I then sprang up, and ran out upon 
 the terrace, and saw, under the shade of the linden-trees, her 
 white dress disappearing near the garden gate. I stretched 
 out my arms, and she vanished. 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 October 20th 
 We arrived here yesterday. The ambassador is indis- 
 posed, and will not go out for some days. If he were less 
 peevish and morose, all would be well, I see but too plainly 
 that heaven has destined me to severe trials ; but, courage ! 
 a light heart may bear anything. A light heart ! I smile to 
 finv^ such a word proceeding from my pen. A little more 
 
296 GOETHE. 
 
 lightheartedness would render me the happiest being undej 
 the sun. But must I despair of my talents and faculties, 
 whilst .others of far inferior abilities parade before me 
 with the utmost self-satisfaction? Gracious Providence! 
 to whom I owe all my powers, why didst thou not withhold 
 some of those blessings I possess, and substitute in their 
 place a feeling of self-confidence and contentment ? 
 
 But patience ! all will yet be well ; for I assure you, my 
 dear friend, you were right ; since I have been obliged to 
 associate continually with other people, and observe Avhat 
 they do, and how they employ themselves, I have become far 
 'better satisfied with myself. For we are so constituted by 
 /nature, that we are ever prone to compare ourselves with 
 [others, and our happiness or misery depends very much on 
 ' the objects and persons around us. On this account, nothing 
 is more dangerous than solitude; there our imagination, 
 always disposed to rise, taking a new flight on the wings of 
 fancy, pictures to us a chain of beings, of whom we seem the 
 most inferior. All things appear greater than they really 
 are, and all seem superior to us. This operation of the mind 
 is quite natural ; we so continually feel our own imperfec- 
 tions, and fancy we perceive in others the qualities we do 
 not possess, attributing to them also all that we enjoy our- 
 selves, that by this process we form the idea of a perfect, 
 happy man — a man, however, who only exists in our own 
 imagination. 
 
 But when, in spite of weakness and disappointments, we 
 set to work in earnest, and persevere steadily, we often find 
 that, though obliged continually to tack, we make more way 
 than others who have the assistance of wind and tide ; and, 
 in truth, there can be no greater satisfaction than to keep 
 pace with others, or outstrip them in the race. 
 
 Novemher 2&th. 
 
 I begin to find my situation here more tolerable. I find 
 
 a great advantage in being much occupied, and the number 
 
 of persons I meet, and their difierent pursuits, create a varied 
 
 entertainment for me. I have formed the acquaintance of 
 
 the Count C , and I esteem him more and more every 
 
 day. He is a man of strong understanding and great dis- 
 
THE SORROWS OP YOUNG WERTHER. 297 
 
 cernment ; but though he sees further than other people, he 
 is not on that account cold in his manner, but is capable of 
 inspiring and returning the warmest affection. He appeared 
 interested in me, on one occasion, when I had to transact 
 some business with him. He perceived, at the first word, 
 that we understood each other, and that he could converse 
 with me in a different tone from what he used with others. 
 I cannot sufficiently esteem his frank and open kindness to 
 me. It is the greatest and most genuine of pleasures to 
 observe a great mind in sympathy with our ow]i. 
 
 Decemher 2ith. 
 
 As I anticipated, the ambassador occasions me infinite 
 annoyance. He is the most punctilious blockhead under 
 heaven. He does everything step by step, with the trifling 
 minuteness of an old woman, and he is a man whom it is 
 impossible to please, because he is never pleased with himself. 
 I like to do business regularly and cheerfully, and when it is 
 finished, to leave it. But he constantly returns my papers 
 tome, saying, "They will do," but recommending me to 
 look over them again, as " one may always improve, by using 
 a better word, or a more appropriate particle." I then lose all 
 patience, and wish myself at the devil. Not a conjunction, 
 not an adverb must be omitted ; he has a deadly antipathy to 
 all those transpositions of which I am so fond, and if the 
 music of our periods is not tuned to the established official 
 key, he cannot comprehend our meaning. It is deplorable 
 to be connected with such a fellow. 
 
 My acquaintance wdth the Count C is the only com- 
 pensation for such an evil. He told me frankly, the other 
 day, that he was much displeased with the difficulties and 
 delays of the ambassador ; that people like him are obstacles 
 both to themselves and to others ; but," added he, *' one must 
 submit, like a traveller who has to ascend a mountain ; if the 
 mountain was not there, the road would be both shorter and 
 pleasanter, but there it is, and he must get over it." 
 
 The old man perceives the Count's partiality for me ; this 
 annoys him, and he seizes every opportunity to depreciate 
 the Count in my hearing. I naturally defend him, and that 
 only renders matters worse. Yesterday he made a blow at 
 
298 
 
 GOETHE. 
 
 me, in allusion to him. "The Count," he said, " is a maa 
 of the world, and a good man of business ; his style is good,, 
 and he writes with facility ; but like other geniuses, he has no 
 solid learning." He looked at me with an expression that 
 seemed to ask if I felt the blow ? But it did not produce the 
 desired effect : I despise a man w^ho can think and act in 
 such a manner. However, I made a stand, and answered^ 
 with no little warmth. The Count, I said, was a man 
 entitled to respect alike for his character and his acquire- 
 ments. I had never met a person whose mind was stored 
 with more useful and extensive knoAvledge — who had, in 
 fact, mastered such an infinite variety of subjects, and who 
 yet retained all his activity for the details of ordinary busi- 
 ness. This was altogether beyond his comprehension, and I 
 took my leave, lest my anger shovild be too highly excited by 
 some new absurdity on his part. 
 
 And you are to blame for all this, you who persuaded me 
 to bend my neck to this yoke, by preaching a life of activity ■ 
 to me. If the man who plants vegetables, and carries his 
 corn to town on market days, is not more usefully employee 
 than I am, then let me work ten years longer at the galleys 
 to which I am now chained. 
 
 Oh ! the brilliant wretchedness, the weariness that one is 
 doomed to witness among the silly people whom we meetin 
 society here ! The ambition of rank ; how they watch, how 
 they toil to gain precedence. What poor and contemptible 
 passions are displayed in their utter nakedness ! We have 
 a Avoman here, for example, who never ceases to entertain 
 the company with accounts of her family and her estates. 
 Any stranger would consider her a silly being, whose head 
 was turned by her pretensions to rank and property ; but she 
 is in reality even more ridiculous — the daughter of a mere 
 magistrate's clerk from this neighbourhood. I cannot un- 
 derstand how human beings can so debase themselves. 
 
 Every day I observe more and more the lolly of judging 
 of others by ourselves ; and I have so much trouble with 
 myself, and my own heart is in such constant agitation, that 
 I am well content to let others pursue their own course, if 
 they only allow me the same privilege. 
 
 AVhat provokes me most, is the unhappy extent to which 
 distinctions of rank are carried. I know perfectly well ho^ 
 
THE SOHROWS OF YOUNG TTERTHER. 299* 
 
 necessary are inequalities of condition, and I am sensible of 
 the advantages I myself derive therefrom — but I would not 
 have these institutions prove a barrier to the small chance of 
 happiness which I may enjoy on this earth. 
 
 I have lately become acquainted with a Miss B ^, a 
 
 very agreeable girl, who has retained her natural manners in 
 the midst of artificial life. Our first conversation pleased us 
 both" equally, and at taking leave, I requested permission to 
 visit her. She consented in so obliging a manner, that I 
 waited with impatience for the arrival of the happy moment. 
 She is not a native of this place, but resides here with her 
 aunt. The countenance of the old lady is not prepossessing. 
 I paid her much attention, addressing the greater part of my 
 conversation to her, and in less than half an hour I disco- 
 vered what her niece subsequently acknowledged to me, that 
 her aged aunt, having but a small fortune, and a still smaller 
 share of understanding, enjoys no satisfaction, except in the 
 pedigree of her ancestors, no protection save in her noble/ 
 birth, and no enjoyment, but in looking from her castle over 
 the heads of the humble citizens. She was, no doubt, hand- 
 some in her youth, and in her early years probably trifled 
 away her time in rendering many a poor youth the sport of 
 her caprice ; in her riper years she has submitted to the yoke 
 of a veteran officer, who, in return for her person and her 
 small independence, has spent with her what we may desig- 
 nate her age of brass. He is dead, and she is now a widow 
 and deserted. She spends her iron age alone, and would not 
 be approached, except for the loveliness of her niece. 
 
 January 8th, 1772. 
 
 What beings are men, whose whole thoughts are occupied 
 with form and ceremony, who for years together devote their 
 mental and physical exertions to the task of advancing them- 
 selves but one step, and endeavouring to occupy a higher 
 place at the table. Not that such persons would otherwise 
 want employment ; on the contrary, they give themselves 
 much trouble by neglecting important business for such petty 
 trifles. Last week a question of precedence arose, at a 
 sledging party, and all our amusement was spoilt. 
 
 The silly creatures cannot S9e that it is not place which 
 
-300 GOETHE. 
 
 constitutes real greatness, since the man who occupies the first 
 place but seldom plays the principal part. How many kings 
 ^re governed by their ministers — how many ministers by 
 their secretaries? Who, in such cases, is really the chief? 
 He, as it seems to me, who can see through the others, and 
 possesses strength or skill enough to make their power or 
 passions subservient to the execution of his own designs. 
 
 January 20th. 
 
 I must write to you from this place, my dear Charlotte, 
 from a small room in a country inn, where I have taken 
 shelter from a severe storm. During my whole residence in 
 
 that wretched place D , where I lived amongst strangers, 
 
 — strangers, indeed, to this heart — I never at any time felt 
 the smallest inclination to correspond with you ; but in this 
 cottage, in this retirement, in this solitude, with the snow 
 and hail beating against my lattice-pane, you are my first 
 thought. The instant I entered, your figure rose up before 
 me, and the remembrance ! O my Charlotte, the sacred, 
 tender remembrance ! Gracious Heaven ! restore to me the 
 Jiappy moment of our first acquaintance. 
 
 Could you but see me, my dear Charlotte, in the whirl of 
 dissipation ; how my senses are dried up, but my heart is at 
 no time full. I enjoy no single moment of happiness ; all is 
 vain — nothing touches me. I stand, as it were, before the 
 raree-show, I see the little puppets move, and I ask whether 
 it is not an optical illusion. I am amused with these puppets, 
 or rather, I am myself one of them, but when I sometimes 
 grasp my neighbour's hand, I feel that it is not natiu^al, 
 and I withdraw mine with a shudder. In the evening I say 
 I will enjoy the next morning's sunrise, and yet I remain in 
 t)ed ; in the day I promise to ramble by moonlight, and I 
 nevertheless,' remain at home. I know not why I rise, nci 
 why I go to sleep. 
 
 The leaven which animated my existence is gone, the 
 €harm which cheered me in the gloom of night, and aroused 
 me from my morning slumbers, is for ever fled. 
 
 I have found but one being here to interest me, a Miss 
 
 B . She resembles you, my dear Charlotte, if any one 
 
 can possibly resemble you. "Ah I" you will say, " he has 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 30t 
 
 iCarnt to pay fine compliments." And this is partly true. I 
 have been very agreeable lately, as it was not in my power 
 to be otherwise. I have, moreover, a deal of wit, and the 
 ladies say that no one understands flattery better — or false- 
 hoods, you will add, since the one accomplishment invariably 
 accompanies the other. But I must tell you of Miss B, 
 She has abundance of soul, which flashes from her deep blue 
 eyes. Her rank is a torment to her, and satisfies no one 
 desire of her heart. She would gladly retire from this whirl 
 of fashion, and we often picture to ourselves a life of undis- 
 turbed happiness in distant scenes of rural retirement ; and 
 then we speak of you, my dear Charlotte, for she knows 
 you, and renders homage to your merits, but her homage is 
 not exacted, but voluntary — she loves you, and delights to 
 hear you made the subject of conversation. 
 
 Oh, that I were sitting at your feet in your favourite little 
 room, with the dear children playing around us. If they 
 became troublesome to you, I would tell them some appalling 
 oblin story, and they would crowd round me with silent 
 ttcntion. The sun is setting in glory; his last rays are 
 shining on the snow, which covers the face of the country ; 
 the storm is over, and I must return to my dungeon. Adieu ! 
 — Is Albert with you, and what is he to you ? God forgive 
 the question. 
 
 February Sth. 
 For a week past we have had the most wretched weather, 
 but this to me is a blessing, for during my residence here, 
 not a single fine day has beamed from the heavens, but has 
 been lost to me by the intrusion of somebody. Durmg the 
 severity of rain, sleet, frost, and storm, I congratulate my- 
 self that it cannot be worse in doors than abroad, nor worse 
 abroad than it is within doors, and so I become reconciled. 
 When the sun rises bright in the morning, and promises a 
 glorious day, I never omit to exclaim, " There now, they 
 have another blessing from Heaven, which they will be sure 
 to destroy ; they spoil everything — ^health, fame, happiness, 
 amusement-;— and they do this generally through folly, igno- 
 rance, or imbecility, and always, according to their own ac- 
 count, with the best intentions. I could often beseech them, 
 
302 GOETHE. 
 
 on my bended knees, to be less resolved upon their o\vn 
 destruction. 
 
 February \1th, 
 1 fear that my ambassador and I shall not continue much 
 longer together. He is really growing past endurance. He 
 transacts his business in so ridiculous a manner, that I am 
 often compelled to contradict him, and do things my own 
 way, and then, of course, he thinks them yery ill done. He 
 complained of me lately on this account at Court, and the 
 Minister gave me a reprimand, — a gentle one it is true, but 
 still a reprimand. In consequence of this, I was about to 
 tender my resignation, when I received a letter, to which I 
 submitted with great respect, on account of the high, noble, 
 and generous spirit which dictated it. He endeavoured to 
 soothe my excessive sensibility, paid a tribute to my extreme 
 ideas of duty, of good example, and of perseverance in 
 business, as the fruit of my youthful ardour, — an impulse 
 which he did not seek to destroy but only to moderate, that 
 it might have proper play and be productive of good. So 
 now I am at rest for another week, and no longer at variance 
 with myself. Content and peace of mind are valuable things. 
 I could wish, my dear friend, that these precious jewels were 
 less transitory. 
 
 February 20th, 
 God bless you, my dear friends, and may He grant you 
 that happiness which He denies to me ! 
 
 I than you, Albert, for having deceived me. I waited for 
 the news that your wedding-dai^'.was fixed, and I intended 
 on that* day, with solemnity, to take down Charlotte's profile 
 from the wall, and to bury it with some other papers I pos- 
 sess. You are now united, and her picture still remains here. 
 Well, let it remain ! Why should it not ? I know that I 
 am still one of your society, that I still occupy a place un- 
 injured in Charlotte's heart, that I hold the second place 
 therein, and I intend to keep it. O ! I should become mad 
 if she could forget. — Albert ! that thought is hell. Farewell, 
 Albert — farewell, angel of Heaven — farewell, Charlotte I 
 
THE SORROWS OP YOUNG WERTHER. 30" 
 
 March Xhth, 
 I have just had a sad adventure, which will drive me from 
 heuce. I lose all patience! — Death !--3ljLis.-»i^-lo -tie ->^e-, 
 medied, and you are alone to'T)Iame7 ^vho urged and impelled 
 me-^ fin a post for which I was by no means suited. I 
 have now reason to be satisfied, and so have you ! But that 
 you may not again attribute this fatality to my impetuous 
 temper, I send you, my dear sir, a plain and simple narra- 
 tion of the afiair, as a mere chronicler of facts would 
 describe it. 
 
 The Count of O likes me, and distinguishes me : it is 
 
 well known, and I have mentioned this to you a hundred 
 times. Yesterday I dined with him ; it is the day on which 
 the nobility are accustomed to assemble at his house in the 
 evening. I never once thought of the assembly, nor that we 
 subalterns did not belong to such society. Well ! I dined 
 with the Count, and after dinner we adjourned to the large 
 hall ; we walked up and down together, and 1 conversed with 
 him and with Colonel B. who joined us, and in this manner 
 the hour for the assembly approached. God knows I was 
 thinking of nothing, when who should enter but the honour- 
 able Lady S., accompanied by her noble husband and their 
 silly, scheming daughter, with her small waist and flat neck— 
 and with disdainful looks and a haughty air, they passed me 
 by. As I heartily detest the whole race, I determined upon 
 going away, and only waited till the Count had disengaged 
 himself from their impertinent prattle to take leave, when 
 the agreeable Miss B. came in. As I never meet her with- 
 out experiencing a heartfelt pleasure, I stayed and talked to 
 her, leaning over the ba^\ of her chair, and did not per- 
 ceive till after some time tnat she seemed a little confused, 
 and ceased to answer me with her usual ease of manner. I 
 was struck with it. "Heavens !" I said to myself, " can she 
 too be like the rest?" I felt annoyed, and was about to 
 withdraw; but I remained, notwithstanding, forming ex- 
 cuses for her conduct, fancying she did not mean it, and still 
 hoping to receive some friendly recognition. The rest of the 
 company now arrived. There was the Baron F— in an 
 entire suit' that dated from the coronation of Francis I., the 
 
 Chancellor N with his deaf wife, the shabbily dressed 
 
 I , whose old-fashioned coat bore evidence of moder:i 
 
30i GOETHK. 
 
 repairs — ^thls crowned the whole. I conversed with some o! 
 my acquaintance, but they answered me laconically. I was 
 
 engaged in observing Miss B , and did not notice that 
 
 the women were whispering at the end of the room, that the 
 
 murmur extended by degrees to the men, that Madame S 
 
 addressed the Count with much warmth, (this was all related 
 to me subsequently by j\Iiss B.,) till at length the Count 
 came up to me and took me to the window. — " You know our 
 ridiculous customs," he said ; " I perceive the company is rather 
 displeased at your being here ; I would not on any account'* 
 
 " I beg your excellency's pardon," I exclaimed; " I 
 
 ought to have thought of this before, but I know j'ou will for- 
 give this little inattention. I was going," I added, " some 
 time ago, but my evil genius detained me," and I smiled and 
 bowed to take my leave. He shook me by the hand in a manner 
 which expressed everything. I hastened at once from the illus- 
 trious assembly, sprang into a carriage and drove to M . I 
 
 contemplated the setting sun from the top of the hill, and read 
 that beautiful passage in Homer, where Ulysses is entertained 
 by the hospitable herdsmen. This was indeed delightful. 
 
 I returned home to supper in the evening. But few per- 
 sons were assembled in the room; they had turned up a 
 corner of the table-cloth, and were playing at dice. The 
 
 good-natured A came in; he laid down his hat when he 
 
 saw me, approached me and said, in a low tone, — " You 
 have met with a disagreeable adventure.'' " I !" I exclaimed. 
 "The Count obliged you to withdraw from the assembly!" 
 *' Deuce take the assembly," said I, " I was very glad to be 
 gone." *' I am delighted," he added, " that you take it so 
 lightly ; I am only sorry that it is already so much spoken 
 of." Th© circumstance then began to pain me. I fancied 
 that every one who sat down, and even looked at me, was 
 thinking of this incident, and my heart became embittered. 
 
 And now I could plunge a dagger into my bosom, when 
 I hear myself everywhere pitied, and observe the triumph 
 of my enemies, who say that this is always the case wdth 
 vain persons, whose heads are turned with conceit, who affect 
 to despise forms and such petty, idle nonsense. 
 
 Say what you will of fortitude, but show me the man who 
 can patiently endure the laughter of fools, when they have 
 obtaLned an advantage over him. 'Tis only when their non- 
 
THE 80BK0WS OF YOUNG WEKTHEK. 305 
 
 sense is without foundation that one can suffer it without 
 complaint. 
 
 March ie>th. 
 
 Everything conspires against me. I met Miss B 
 
 walking to-day. I could not help joining her ; and when we 
 were at a little distance from her companions, I expressed my 
 sense of her altered manner towards me. '* Werther !" 
 she said, in a tone of emotion, you who know my heart, how 
 could you so ill interpret my distress ? What did I not suffer 
 for you froni the moment you entered the room ! I foresaw 
 it all — a hundred times was I on the point of mentioning it to 
 
 you. I knew that the S s and T s, with their 
 
 husbands, would quit the room rather than remain in your 
 company ; I knew that the Count would not break with 
 them : and now so much is said about it." " How !" I ex- 
 claimed, and endeavoured to conceal my emotion, for all that 
 Adelin had mentioned to me yesterday recurred to me pain- 
 fully at that moment. " Oh, how much it has already cost 
 me !" said this amiable girl, while her eyes filled with tears. 
 I could scarcely contain myself, and was ready to throw 
 myself at her feet. "Explain yourself!" I cried. Tears 
 flowed down her cheeks. I became quite frantic. She wiped 
 them away, without attempting to conceal them. *'You 
 know my aunt," she continued — " she was present, and in 
 what light does she consider the affair ! Last night and this 
 morning, Werther, I was compelled to listen to a lecture 
 upon my acquaintance with you. I have been obliged to hear 
 you condemned and depreciated, and I could not — I dared 
 not — say much in your defence." 
 
 Every word she uttered was a dagger to my heart. She 
 did not feel what a mercy it would have been to conceal 
 everything from me. She told me, in addition, all the im- 
 pertinence that would be further circulated, and how the 
 malicious would triumph ; how they would rejoice over the 
 punishment of my pride, over my humiliation for that want of 
 esteem for others with which I had often been reproached. 
 To hear all this, Wilhelm, uttered by her in a voice of the 
 most sincer;e sympathy, awakened all my passions, and I am 
 still in a state of extreme excitement. I wish I could find a 
 man to jeer me about this event. I would sacrifice him to my 
 
S05 GOETHE. 
 
 resentment : the sight of his blood might possibly be a relief 
 to my fury. A hundred times have I seized a dagger to give 
 ease to this oppressed heart. Naturalists tell of a noble race 
 of horses that instinctively open a vein with their teeth, when 
 heated and exhausted by a long course, in order to breathe 
 more freely. I am often tempted to open a vein to procure 
 for myself everlasting liberty. 
 
 March Mth. 
 I I have tendered my resignation to the Court. I hope it 
 will be accepted, and you will forgive me for not having pre- 
 viously consulted you. It is necessary I should leave this 
 place. I know all you will urge to induce me to stay, and 
 
 therefore . I beg you will soften this news to my mother. 
 
 I am unable to do anything for myself; how, then, should I be 
 competent to assist others? It will afflict her that I should 
 have interrupted that career which would have made me first 
 a privy councillor, and then minister, and that I should look 
 behind me in place of advancing. Argue as you will, com- 
 bine all the reasons which should have induced me to 
 remain — I am going ; that is sufficient. But that you may 
 not be ignorant of my destination, I may mention that the 
 Prince of is here. He is much pleased with my com- 
 pany ; and having heard of my intention to resign, he has 
 invited me to his country house to pass the spring months 
 with him. I shall be left completely my own master ; and as 
 we agree on all subjects but one, I shall try my fortune, and 
 accompany him. 
 
 April \Wi. 
 Thanks for both your letters. I delayed my reply, and 
 withheld this letter, till I should obtain an answer from the 
 Court. I feared my mother might apply to the minister to 
 defeat my purpose. But my request is granted — my re- 
 signation is accepted. I shall not recount with what reluctance 
 it was accorded, nor relate what the minister has written ; 
 you would only renew your lamentations. The Crown Prince 
 has sent me a present of five-and-twenty ducats ; and indeed 
 such goodness has affected me to tears. For this reasou I 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 307 
 
 shall not require from my mother the money for which I 
 lately applied. 
 
 May 5th, 
 I leave this place to-morrow ; and as my native place is 
 only six miles from the high road, I intend to visit it once 
 more, and recall the happy dreams of my childhood. I shall 
 enter at the same pjate through which I came with my mother, 
 when, after my father's death, she left that delightful retreat 
 to immure herself in your melancholy town. Adieu, my dear 
 friend ; you shall hear of my future career. 
 
 May 9th. 
 
 I have paid my visit to my native place with all the devotion, 
 of a pilgrim, and have experienced many unexpected emotions. 
 Near the great elm-tree, which is a quarter of a league from 
 the village, I got out of the carriage, and sent it on before, 
 that alone, and on foot, I might enjoy vividly and heartily all 
 the pleasure of my recollections. I stood there under that 
 same elm which was formerly the term and object of my 
 walks. How things have since changed ! Then, in happy 
 ignorance, I sighed for a world I did not know, where I hoped 
 to find every pleasure and enjoyment which my heart could 
 desire ; and now, on my return from that wide world, O my 
 friend, how many disappointed hopes and unsuccessful plans 
 have I brought back ! 
 
 I contemplated the mountains which lay stretched out 
 before me, and I thought how often they had been the object 
 of my dearest desires. Here used I to sit for hours together 
 with my eyes bent upon them, ardently longing to wander in 
 the shade of those woods — to lose myself in those valleys, 
 which form so delightful an object in the distance ! With 
 what reluctance did I leave this charming spot when my hour 
 of recreation was over, and my leave of absence expired ! I 
 drew near to the village — all the well-known old summer- 
 houses and gardens were recognised again ; I disliked the new 
 ones, and all other alterations which had taken place. I 
 entered thfc village, and all my former feelings returned. I 
 cannot, my dear friend, enter into details, charming as were 
 my sensations; they would be dull in the narration. I had 
 
 X 2 
 
303 GOETHE. 
 
 intended to lodge in the market-place, near our old house. 
 As soon as I entered, I perceived that the school-room, where 
 our childhood had been taught by that good old woman, 
 was converted into a shop. I called to mind the sorrow, the 
 heaviness, the tears and oppression of heart which I ex- 
 perienced in that confinement. Every step produced some par- 
 ticular impression. A pilgrim in the Holy Land does not meet 
 so many spots pregnant with tender recollections, and his soul 
 is hardly moved with greater devotion. One incident will serve 
 for illustration. I followed the course of a stream to a farm, 
 formerly a delightful walk of mine, and I paused at the spot 
 w^here as boys we used to amuse ourselves with making ducks 
 and drakes upon the water. I recollected so well how I used 
 formerly to watch the course of that same stream, following it 
 with enquiring eagerness, forming romantic ideas of the 
 countries it was to pass through ; but my imagination was 
 soon exhausted, while the water continued flowing farther 
 and farther on, till my fancy became bewildered by the con- 
 templation of an invisible distance. Exactly such, my dear 
 friend, so happy and so confined, were the thoughts of our 
 good ancestors. Their feelings and their poetry were fresh 
 as childhood. And when Ulysses talks of the immeasurable 
 sea and of the boundless earth, his epithets are true, natural, 
 deeply felt, and mysterious. Of what importance is it that I 
 have learnt with every schoolboy that the world is round ? 
 Man needs but little earth for enjoyment, and still less for his 
 final repose. 
 
 I am at present with the Prince at his hunting-lodge. He 
 is a man with whom one can live happily. He is honest and 
 unaffected. There are, however, some strange characters 
 about him, whom I cannot at all understand. They do not 
 seem vicious, and yet they do not carry the appearance of 
 thoroughly honest men. Sometimes I am disposed to believe 
 them honest, and yet I cannot persuade myself to confide in 
 them. It grieves me to hear the Prince occasionally talk of 
 things which he has only read or heard of, and always with 
 the same view in which they have been represented by 
 others. 
 
 He values my understanding and talents more highly than 
 he does my heart, and 1 am alone proud of the latter. It is 
 the sole source of everything, of om* strength, of our happi- 
 
THE SOREOWS OF YOUNG WEBTIIER. 309 
 
 ncss, and our misery. All the knowledge I possess, every 
 one else can acquire, but my heart is exclusively my own. 
 
 May 25th. 
 I have had a plan in my head, of which I did not intend 
 to speak to you until it was accomplished ; now that it has 
 failed I may as well mention it. I wished to enter the army, 
 and had long been desirous of taking the step. This, indeed, 
 was the chief reason for my coming here with the Prince, as 
 
 he is a General in the service. I communicated my 
 
 design to him during one of our walks together. He disap- 
 proved of it, and it would have been actual madness not to 
 have listened to his reasons. 
 
 Jime 11 ih. 
 Say what you will, I can remain here no longer. Why 
 should I remain ? I am weary of it. The Prince is as 
 gracious to me as any one could be, and yet I am not at my 
 ease. There is, indeed, nothing in common between us. He 
 is a man of understanding, but quite of the ordinary kind. 
 His conversation affords me no more amusement than I 
 should derive from the perusal of a well-written book. I 
 shall remain here a week longer, and then start again on my 
 travels. ISIy drawings are the best things I have done since 
 I came here. The Prince has a taste for the arts, and would 
 improve if his mind were not fettered by cold rules and mere 
 technical ideas. I often lose patience when, with a glowing 
 imagination I am giving expression to art and nature, he 
 interferes with learned suggestions, and uses at random the 
 technical phraseology of artists. 
 
 Juhj leth. 
 Once more I am a wanderer, a pilgrim, through the world 
 But what else are you ? 
 
 Juhj 18th, 
 Whither am I going? I will tell you in confidence. I am 
 obliged to continue a fortnight longer here, and then I think 
 it would be better for me to visit the mines in . But 
 
310 GOETHE. 
 
 I am only deluding myself thus. The fact is, I wish to be 
 near Charlotte again, — that is all. I smile at the suggestions 
 of my heart, and obey its dictates. 
 
 July 29th. 
 
 No ! no ! it is yet well — all is well ! I, her husband ! 
 
 O God ! who gave me being, if thou hadst de&lined this 
 
 happiness for me, my whole life would have been one con- 
 tinual thanksgiving! But I will not murmur forgive 
 
 these tears ; forgive these fruitless wishes. She — my wife ! 
 Oh, the very thought of folding that dearest of Heaven's 
 
 creatures in my arms! Dear Wilhelm ! my whole frame 
 
 feels convulsed when I see Albert put his arms round her 
 slender waist. 
 
 And shall I avow it ? Why should I not, Wilhelm ? She 
 would have been happier with me than with him ! Albert is 
 not the man to satisfy the wishes of such a heart. He wants 
 
 a certain sensibility ; he wants in short, their hearts do 
 
 not beat in unison ! How often, my dear friend, in reading 
 a passage from some interesting book, when my heart and 
 Charlotte's seemed to meet, and in a hundred other instances, 
 when our sentiments were unfolded by the story of some 
 fictitious character, have I felt that we were made for each 
 other ! But, dear Wilhelm ! he loves her with his whole 
 soul, and what does not such a love deserve .'^ 
 
 I have been interrupted by an insufferable visit. I have 
 dried my tears and composed my thoughts. Adieu, my best 
 friend ! 
 
 August 4th. 
 I am not alone unfortunate ! All men are disappointed in 
 their hopes and deceived in their expectations. I have paid 
 a visit to my good old woman under the lime-trees. The 
 eldest boy ran out to meet me ; his exclamation of joy 
 brought out his mother, but she had a very melancholy look. 
 Her first word was, " Alas ! dear sir, my little John is dead." 
 He was the youngest of her children. I was silent. " And 
 my husband has returned from Switzerland without any 
 money, and if some kind people had not assisted him, he must 
 have begged his way home. He was taken ill with fever on 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHEB. 311 
 
 his journey." I could answer nothing, but made the little 
 one a present. She invited me to take some fruit ; I com- 
 plied, and left the place with a sorrowful heart. 
 
 August 2\st. 
 
 My sensations are constantly changing. Sometimes a 
 happy prospect opens before me ; but, alas ! it is only for a 
 moment, and then when I am lost in reverie, I cannot help 
 saying to myself, " If Albert were to die ? — Yes, she would 
 
 become — and I should be ," and so I pursue a chimera, 
 
 till it leads me to the edge of a precipice at which I shudder. 
 
 When I pass through the same gate and walk along the 
 same road which first conducted me to Charlotte, my heart 
 sinks within me at the change that has since! taken place. 
 All, all, is altered ! No sentiment, no pulsc-tion of my heart 
 is the same. My sensations are such as would occur to some 
 departed Prince whose spirit should return to visit the 
 superb palace which he had built in happy times, adorned 
 with costly magnificence, and left to a beloved son, but 
 whose glory he should find departed and its halls deserted 
 and in ruins. 
 
 September ord. 
 I sometimes cannot understand how she can love another, 
 how she dares love another, when I love nothing in this 
 world so completely, so devotedly, as her, when I know only 
 her, and have no other possession than her in the world. 
 
 Septemher 4.th. 
 It is even so! As_jiature puts on her. autumn tints, it 
 becojnes autumn with me and aroiinT^me. My leaves are sere 
 aiid yellow, and the neighbouring trees are divested of their 
 foliage. Do you remember my writing to j'ou about a peasant 
 boy, shortly after my arrival here ? I have just made in- 
 quiries about him in Walheim. They say he has been dis- 
 missed from his service, and is now avoided by every one. 
 I met him yesterday on the road, going to a neighbouring 
 village. 1 spoke to him, and he told me his story. It inter- 
 ested me exceedingly, as you will easily understand when I 
 
S12 GOETHE. 
 
 repeat it to you. But why should I trouble you ? Why 
 should I not reserve all my sorrow for myself ? Why should 
 I continue to give you occasion to pity and blame me ? But 
 no matter ; this also is part of my destiny. 
 
 At first the peasant lad answered my inquiries with a 
 sort of subdued melancholy, which seemed to me the mark 
 of a timid disposition ; but as we grew to understand each 
 other, he spoke with less reserve, and openly confessed his 
 faults and lamented his misfortune. I wish, my dear friend, 
 I could give proper expression to his language. He told me 
 with a sort of pleasurable recollection, that after my depar- 
 ture his passion for his mistress increased daily, until at last 
 he neither knew what he did nor what he said, nor what was 
 to become of him. He could neither eat, nor drink, nor 
 sleep ; he felt a sense of suffocation : he disobeyed all orders, 
 and forgot all commands involuntarily; he seemed as if 
 pursued by an evil spirit; till one day, knowing that his 
 mistress had gone to an upper chamber, he followed her, or 
 rather felt attracted after her. As she proved deaf to his 
 entreaties, he had recourse to violen<)e. He knows not what 
 happened, but he called God to witness that his intentions to 
 her were honourable, and that he desired nothing more sin- 
 cerely than that they should marry and pass their lives toge- 
 ther. When he had come to this point, he began to hesitate, 
 as if there was something which he had not courage to utter, 
 till at length he acknowledged with some confusion certain 
 little confidences which she had encouraged and freedoms 
 which she had allowed. He broke off two or three times in 
 his narration, and assured me most earnestly that he had no 
 wish to make her bad, as he termed it, for he loved her still 
 as sincerely as ever ; that the tale had never before escaped 
 his lips, and was only now told, to convince me that he was 
 not utterly lost and abandoned. And here, my dear friend, 
 I must commence the old song, which you know I utter 
 eternally. If I could only represent the man as he stood 
 and stands now before me, — could I only give his true 
 expressions, you would feel compelled to sympathise in his 
 fate. But enough ; you, who know my misfortune and my 
 disposition, can easily comprehend the attraction which draws 
 me towards every unfortunate being, but particularly to- 
 wards him whose story I have recounted. 
 
THE SOBBOWS OF YOUJ^G WERTHER. 313 
 
 Upon perusing this letter a second time, I find I have 
 omitted the conclusion of my tale, but it is easily supplied. 
 She became reserved towards him, at the instigation of her 
 brother, who had long hated him, and desired his expulsion 
 from the house, fearing that his sister's second marriage 
 might deprive his children of the handsome fortune which 
 they expected from her, as she is childless. He was dis- 
 missed at length, and the whole afitiir occasioned so much 
 scandal, that the mistress dared not take him back, even if 
 she had wished it. She has since hired another servant, 
 with whom, they say, the brother is equally displeased, and 
 whom she is likely to marry; but my informant assures 
 me that he himself is determined not to survive such a 
 catastrophe. 
 
 This story is neither exaggerated nor embellished ; indeed, 
 I have weakened and impaired it in the narration, by the 
 necessity of using the more refined expressions of society. 
 
 This love, then, this constancy, this passion is no poetical ] 
 fiction. It is actual, and dwells in its greatest purity amongst 
 that class of mankind whom we term rude, uneducated. We 
 are the educated, not the perverted! But read this story 
 with attention, I implore you. I am tranquil to-day, for I 
 have been employed upon this narration; you see by my 
 writing that I am not so agitated as usual. Read and re-read 
 this tale, Wilhelm ! it is the history of your friend. My 
 fortune has been and will be similar ; and I am neither half 
 so brave nor half so determined as the poor wretch with 
 whom I hesitate to compare myself. 
 
 September 5th. 
 Charlotte had written a letter to her husband in the 
 country, where he was detained by business. It commenced 
 "My dearest love, return as soon as possible; I await you 
 with a thousand raptures." A friend, who arrived, brought 
 word that, for certain reasons, he could not return imme- 
 diately. Charlotte's letter was not forwarded, and the same 
 evening it fell into my hands. I read it and smiled. She 
 asked the reason. " What a heavenly treasure is imagina- 
 tion !" I exclaimed ; *' I fancied for a moment that this was 
 
■314 GOETHK. 
 
 written to me !" She paused and seemed displeased. I was 
 silent. 
 
 September ^th. 
 It cost me much to part with the blue coat which I wore 
 the first time I danced with Charlotte. But I could not 
 possibly wear it any longer. But I have ordered a new one, 
 precisely similar, even to the collar and sleeves, as well as a 
 new waistcoat and pantaloons. 
 
 But it does not produce the same effect upon me. I know 
 aiot how it is ; but I hope in time I shall like it better. 
 
 Septemher 12tk. 
 
 She has been absent for some days. She went to meet 
 Albert. To-day I visited her ; she rose to receive me, and I 
 kissed her hand most tenderly. 
 
 A canary at the moment flew from a mirror and settled 
 upon her shoulder. " Here is a new friend," she observed, 
 while she made him perch upon her hand ; " he is a present 
 for the children. What a dear he is ! Look at him ! When 
 I feed him, he flutters with his wings, and pecks so nicely. 
 He kisses me, too — only look !" 
 
 She held the bird to her mouth, and he pressed her sweet 
 lips with so much fervour, that he seemed to feel the excess of 
 Taliss which he enjoyed. 
 
 "He shall kiss you, too," she added, and then she held the 
 bird towards me. His little beak moved from her mouth to 
 mine, and the delightful sensation seemed like the forerunner 
 of the sweetest bliss. 
 
 *' A kiss," I observed, " does not seem to satisfy him ; he 
 wishes for food, and seems disappointed by these unsatisfac- 
 tory endearments." 
 
 '*But he eats out of my mouth," she continued, and ex- 
 tended her lips to him containing seed, and she smiled with 
 all the charm of a being who has allowed an innocent parti- 
 cipation of her love. 
 
 I turned my head away. She should not act thus. She 
 ought not to excite my imagination with such displays of 
 lieavenly innocence and happiness, nor awaken my heart 
 from its slumbers, in which it dreams of the worthlessness 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 315 
 
 of life ! And why not ? Because she knows how much I 
 love her. 
 
 September 15th. 
 It makes me wretched, Wilhelm, to think that there 
 should be men incapable of appreciating the i'ew things 
 which possess a real value in life. You remember the 
 
 walnut-trees at S , under which I used to sit with 
 
 Charlotte during my visits to the worthy old Vicar. Those 
 glorious trees, the very sight of which has so often filled my 
 heart with joy, how they adorned and refreshed the parson- 
 age yard, with their wide extended branches ! and how 
 pleasing was our remembrance of the good old pastor, by 
 whose hands they were planted so many years ago ! The 
 schoolmaster has frequently mentioned his name. He had it 
 from his grandfather. He must have been a most excellent 
 man, and under the shade of those old trees his memory was 
 ever venerated by me. The schoolmaster informed us yes- 
 terday, with tears in his eyes, that those trees had been felled. 
 Yes, cut to the ground ! I could, in my wrath, have slain 
 the monster who struck the first stroke. And I must endure 
 this ! — I who, if I had had two such trees in my own court, 
 and one had died from old age, should have wept with real 
 affliction. But there is some comfort left — such a thing is 
 sentiment — the whole village murmurs at the misfortune, and 
 I hope the Vicar's wife will soon find, by the cessation of the 
 villagers' presents, what a wound she has inflicted upon the 
 feelings of the neighbourhood. It was she who did it, — the 
 wife of the present incumbent (our good old man is dead) — a 
 tall, sickly creature, who is so far right to disregard the 
 world, as the world totally disregards her. The silly being 
 affects to be learned, pretends to examine the canonical 
 books, lends her aid towards the new-fashioned reformation 
 of Christendom, moral and critical, and shrugs up her shoul- 
 ders at the mention of Lavater's enthusiasm. Her health is 
 destroyed, which prevents her from having any enjoyment 
 here below. Such a creature alone could have cut down my 
 walnut-trees ! I can never pardon it. Hear her reasons. 
 The falling 'leaves made the court wet and dirty, the branches 
 obstructed the light, boys threw stones at the nuts when they 
 were ripe, and the noise affected her nei-ves and disturbed 
 
316 GOETHE. 
 
 her profound meditations, when she was weighing the diffi- 
 culties of Kennicot, Semler, and Michaelis. Finding that all 
 the parish, particularly the old people, were displeased, I 
 asked "why they allowed it?" "Ah, sir!" they replied, 
 " when the steward orders, what can we poor peasants do ?" 
 But one thing has happened well. The steward and the 
 Vicar (who for once thought to reap some advantage from the 
 caprices of his wife) intended to divide the trees between 
 them. The revenue-office being informed of it, revived an 
 old claim to the ground where the trees had stood, and sold 
 them to the best bidder. There they still lie on the ground. 
 If I were the sovereign, I should know how to deal wdth 
 them all — ^Vicar, steward, and revenue-office. Sovereign did 
 I say ? I should in that case care little about the trees that 
 grew in the country. 
 
 October 10th. 
 Only to gaze upon her dark eyes is to me a source of hap- 
 piness ! And what grieves me is, that Albert does not seem 
 so happy as he — hoped to be — as I should have been, — if 
 
 1 am no friend to these pauses, but here I cannot 
 
 express myself otherwise; and probably I am explicit 
 enough. 
 
 October I2th. 
 Ossian has superseded Homer in my heart. To what a 
 world does the illustrious bard carry me ! To wander over 
 pathless wilds, surrounded by impetuous whirlwinds, where, 
 by the feeble light of the moon, we see the spirits of our 
 ancestors ; to hear from the mountain-tops, mid the roar of 
 torrents, their plaintive sounds issuing from deep caverns, 
 and the sorrowful lamentations of a maiden who sighs and 
 expires on the mossy tomb of the warrior by whom she was 
 adored. I meet this bard with silver hair ; he wanders in 
 the valley, he seeks the footsteps of his fathers, and, alas ! 
 he finds only their tombs. Then contemplating the pale 
 moon, as she sinks beneath the waves of the rolling sea, the 
 memory of bygone days strikes the mind of the hero,— 
 days, when approaching danger invigorated the brave, and 
 the moon shone upon his bark laden with spoils, and return- 
 ing in triumph. When I read in his countenance deep 
 
THE SORRO"WS OF YOUNO WERTHER. 317 
 
 Borrow, when I see his dying glory sink, exhausted, into the 
 grave, as he inhales new and heart- thrilling delight from his 
 approaching union with his beloved, and he casts a look on 
 the cold earth and the tall grass which is so soon to cover 
 him, and then exclaims, " The traveller will come, — he will 
 come who has seen my beauty, and he will ask, where is the 
 bard, — where is the illustrious son of Finj^ral ? He will walk 
 over my tomb, and will seek me in vain !" Then, O my 
 friend, I could instantly, like a true and noble knight, draw 
 my sword, and deliver my prince from the long and painful 
 languor of a living death, and dismiss my own soul to follow 
 the demigod whom my hand had set free. 
 
 October \^th. 
 Alas ! the void — the fearful void, which I feel in my 
 bosom ! Sometimes I think, if I could only once — but once, 
 press her to my heart, this dreadful void would be filled. 
 
 October 26M. 
 Yes, I feel certain, Wilhelm, and every day I become 
 more certain, that tbg-.ey;ii?t£J}(ie jctf japy ^^''^ '^ Z ^vliatever is of 
 jgery little consequence. A friend of Charlotte's called to see 
 her just now; 1 withdrew into a neighbouring apartment, 
 and took up a book ; but finding I could not read, I sat down 
 to write. I heard their conversation ; they spoke upon ordi- 
 nary topics, and retailed the news of the town. One was 
 going to be married, another was ill, very ill — she had a dry 
 cough ; her face was growing thinner daily, and she had 
 occasional fits. " N is very unwell, too," said Char- 
 lotte. " His limbs begin to swell already," answered the 
 other, and my lively imagination carried me at once to the 
 beds of the infirm. There I see them struggling against 
 death, with all the agonies of pain and horror ; and these 
 women, Wilhelm, talk of all this with as much indifference 
 as one would mention the death of a stranger. And when I 
 look around the apartment where I now am, — when I see 
 Charlotte's apparel lying before me, and Albert's writings, 
 and all those articles of furniture which are so familiar to 
 me, even to the very inkstand which I am using, — ^wheu I 
 
81S GOETHE, 
 
 think what I am to this family — everything. My friends 
 esteem me ; I often contribute to their happiness, and my 
 heart seems as if it could not beat without them ; and yet— 
 if I were to die, if I were to be summoned from the midst of 
 this circle, would they feel, — or how long would they feel, 
 the void which my loss would make in their existence ? 
 How long ! Yes, such is the frailty of man, that even there, 
 where he has the greatest consciousness of his own being, 
 where he makes the strongest and most forcible impression, 
 even in the memory, in the heart of his beloved, there also he 
 must perish — vanish — and that quickly. 
 
 October 11th. 
 I could tear open my bosom with vexation to think how 
 little we are capable of influencing the feelings of each other. 
 No one can communicate to me those sensations of love, joy, 
 rapture, and delight which I do notnaturally possess ; and 
 though my heart may glow with the most lively affection, I 
 cannot make the happiness of one in whom the same warmth 
 is not inherent. 
 
 October 21th, Evening. 
 I possess so much, but my love for her absorbs it all. I 
 possess so much, but without her I have nothing. 
 
 October ZQith, 
 One hundred times have I been on the point of embracing 
 her. Heavens ! what a" torment it is to see so much loveli- 
 ness passing and repassing before us, and yet not dare to 
 touch it ! And to touch is the most natural of human in- 
 sticts. Do not children touch everything they see? And II 
 
 November 3rd. 
 Witness Heaven how often I lie down in my bed, Mdth a 
 wish, and even a hope, that I may never awaken again ! and 
 in the morning, when I open my eyes, I behold the sun once 
 more, and am wretched. If I were whimsical, I might blame 
 the weather, or an acquaintance, or some personal disap" 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERIIIEB. 319 
 
 pointmGnt, for my discontented mind, and then this insup- 
 portable load of trouble would not rest entirely upon myself. 
 But, alas ! I feel it too sadly. I am alone the cause of my 
 owTi woe, — am I not ? Truly, my own bosom contains the 
 source of all my sorrow, as it previously contained the source 
 of all my pleasure. Am I not the same being who once 
 enjoyed an excess of happiness — who, at every step, saw 
 Paradise open before him, and whose heart was ever ex- 
 panded towards the whole world ? And this heart is now 
 dead ; no sentiment can revive it : my eyes are dry, and my 
 senses, no more refreshed by the influence of soft tears, wither 
 and consume my brain. I suffer much, for I have lost the 
 only charm of life ; that active sacred power which created 
 worlds around me,— it is no more. When I look from my 
 window at the distant hills, and behold the morning sun 
 breaking through the mists, and illuminating the country 
 around, which is still wrapt in silence, whilst the soft stream 
 winds gently through the willows which have shed their 
 leaves ; whcu glorious Nature displays all her beauties before 
 me, and her wondrous prospects are ineffectual to extract 
 one tear of joy from my withered heart ; I feel that in such 
 a moment I stand like a reprobate before Heaven, hardened, 
 insensible, and unmoved. Oftentimes do I then bend my 
 knee to the earth, and implore God for the blessing of tears, 
 as the desponding labourer, in some scorching climate, prays 
 for the dews of heaven to moisten his parched corn. 
 
 But I feel that God does not grant sunshine or rain to our 
 importunate entreaties. And O those bygone days, whose 
 memory now torments me, why were they so fortunate? 
 Because I then waited with patience for the blessings of the 
 Eternal, and received his gifts with the grateful feelings of a 
 thankful heart. 
 
 November Sth, 
 Charlotte has reproved me for my excesses with so much 
 tenderness and goodness. I have lately drunk more wine 
 than usual. " Don't do it !" she said ; " think of Charlotte !" 
 *' Think of you !'* I answered ; " can such advice be neces- 
 sary — do I 'not ever think of you ? And yet mine are not 
 thoughts ; you live within my soul. This very morning I 
 was sitting in the spot where, a few days ago, you descended 
 
820 aoETHE. 
 
 from the carriage, and " She immediately changed the 
 
 subject, to prevent me from pursuing it further. My dear 
 friend, my energies are all prostrated ; she can do with me 
 what she pleases. 
 
 November 15ih. 
 I thank you, Wilhelm, for your cordial sympathy, for your 
 excellent advice, and I implore you to be quiet. Leave 
 me to my sufferings. In spite of my wretchedness, I have 
 still strength enough for endurance. I revere religion, — ^you 
 know I do. I feel that it can impart strength to the feeble, 
 and comfort to the afflicted; but does it affect all men 
 equally ? Consider this vast universe ; you will see thousands 
 for whom it has never existed, thousands for whom it will 
 never exist, whether it be preached to them or not; and 
 must it then necessarily exist for me ? Does not the Son of 
 God himself say, that they are his whom the Father has 
 given to him ? Have I been given to him ? What if the 
 Father will retain me for himself, as my heart sometimes 
 suggests ? I pray you do not misinterpret this. Do not ex- 
 tract derision from my harmless words. I pour out my whole 
 soul before you. Silence were otherwise preferable to me: 
 but I need not shrink from a subject of which few know 
 more than I do myself \X],iai^ is, the destiny of man,, but to 
 fill up the measure of his sufferings, and to drink his allotted 
 cup of bitterness ? And if that same cup proved bitter to 
 the God of Heaven, under a human form, why should I 
 afiect a foolish pride and call it sweet ? Why should I be 
 ashamed of shrinking at that fearful moment, when my whole 
 being will tremble between existence and annihilation ; when 
 a remembrance of the past, like a flash of lightning, 
 will illuminate the dark gulph of futurity, when everything 
 shall dissolve around me, and the whole world vanish away ? 
 Is not this the voice of a creature oppressed beyond all 
 resource, self- deficient, about to plunge into inevitable 
 destruction, and groaning deeply at its inadequate strength— 
 *'MyGod! my God! why hast thou forsaken me?" And 
 should I feel ashamed to utter the same expression ? Should 
 I not shudder at a prospect which had its fears, even for him 
 who spread out the heavens like a garment ? 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 321 
 
 November 21s/. 
 
 She does not feel, she does not know, that she is preparing 
 a poison which will destroy us both ; ai^ I drink deeply of 
 the draught which is to prove my destruction. What mean 
 those looks of kindness with which she often — often — no, not 
 often, but sometimes regards me, — that complacency with 
 which she hears the involuntary sentiments which frequently 
 escape me, and the tender pity for my sufferings which 
 appears in her countenance ? 
 
 Yesterday, when I took leave, she seized me by the hand 
 and said, '* Adieu, dear Werther!" Dear Werther! — It 
 was the first time she ever called me dear; the sound sunk 
 deep into my heart. I have repeated it a hundred times, 
 and yesterday night, on going to bed, and talking to myself 
 of various things, I suddenly said, " Good night, dear 
 Werther ! " I recollected myself and laughed. 
 
 November 227id. 
 I cannot pray for strength to renounce her, for she seems 
 to belong to me. I cannot pray that she may be given to 
 me, for she is the property of another. In this way I affect 
 mirth over my troubles, and if I had time, I could compose 
 a whole litany of antitheses. 
 
 November 24/A. 
 She is sensible of my sufferings. This morning her look 
 pierced my very soul. I found her alone, and she was silent ; 
 she steadfastly surveyed me. I no longer saw in her face 
 the charms of beauty or the fire of genius — these had 
 disappeared. But I was affected by an expression much 
 more touching — a look of the deepest sympathy and of the 
 .softest pity. Why was I afraid to throw myself at her feet ? 
 Why did I not dare to take her in my arms, and answer her 
 by a thousand kisses? She had recourse to her piano for 
 relief, and in a low and sweet voice accompanied the music 
 with delicious sounds. Her lips never appeared so lovely ; 
 they seemed but just to open that they might imbibe the 
 cweet tones which issued from the instrument, and return the 
 heavenly vibration from her lovely mouth. Oh! who can 
 express my sensations? I was quite overcome, and bending 
 
 Y 
 
822 GOETHE. 
 
 down, pronounced this vow : " Beautiful lips, which the 
 angels guard, never will I seek to profane your purity with 
 
 a kiss." And yet giy friend, O, I wish but my heart is 
 
 darkened by doubt and indecision — could I but taste felicity 
 and then die to expiate the sin. What sin ? 
 
 Novemler 26th. 
 Oftentimes I say to myself, " Thou alone art wretched; all 
 other mortals are happy — none are distressed like thee ! Then 
 I read a passage in an ancient poet, and I seem to under- 
 stand my own heart. I have so much to endure ! Have 
 men before me ever been so wretched ? 
 
 Novemher SOth. 
 
 I shall never be myself again! Wherever I go, some 
 fatality occurs to distract me. Even to day— alas, for our 
 destiny ! alas, for human nature ! 
 
 About dinner-time I went to walk by the river side, for I 
 had no appetite. Everything around seemed gloomy ; a cold 
 and damp easterly wind blew from the mountains, and black 
 heavy clouds spread over the plain. I observed a man at a 
 distance in a tattered coat ; he was wandering among the 
 rocks, and seemed to be looking for plants. When I ap- 
 proached, he turned round at the noise, and I saw that he 
 had an interesting countenance, in which a settled melan- 
 choly, strongly marked by benevolence, formed the principal 
 feature. His long black hair was divided, and flowed over 
 his shoulders. As his garb betokened a person of the lower 
 order, I thought he would not take it ill if I inquired about 
 his business, and I therefore asked what he was seeking 
 for. He replied, with a deep sigh, that he was looking 
 for flowers and could find none. " But it is not the sea- 
 son," I observed, with a smile. " Oh, there are so many 
 flowers," he answered, as he came nearer to me. " In my 
 garden, there are roses and honeysuckles of two sorts: one 
 sort was given to me by my father ; they grow as plentifully 
 as weeds ; I have been looking for them these two days and 
 cannot find them. There are flowers above there, yellow, 
 blue, and red, and that centaury has a very pretty blossom ; 
 but I can find none of them." I observed his peculiarity, 
 and therefore asked him, with an air of indifierenee, what 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WEETHEB. 323 
 
 he intended to do with his flowers. A strange smile over- 
 spread his countenance. Holding his finger to his mouth, he 
 expressed a hope that I would not betray him, and he then 
 informed me that he had promised to gather a nosegay for 
 his mistress. *' That is right," said I. " O," he replied, 
 *' she possesses many other things as well ; she is very rich." 
 " And yet," I continued, " she likes your nosegays." " O, 
 she has jewels and crowns !" he exclaimed. I asked who she 
 was. " If the States-General would but pay me," he added, 
 '* I should be quite another man. Alas ! there was a time 
 
 when I was so happy, but that is past, and I am now ." 
 
 He raised his swimming eyes to Heaven. " And you were 
 happy once?" I observed. "Ah, would I were so still!" was 
 his reply. " I was then as gay and contented as a man can 
 be." An old woman, who was coming towards us, now 
 called out, " Henry, Henry ! where are you ? We have been 
 looking for you everywhere : come to dinner." " Is he your 
 son?" I inquired, as I went towards her. "Yes," she said, 
 " he is my poor, unfortunate son. The Lord has sent me a 
 heavy affliction." I asked whether he had been long in this 
 state. She answered, " He has been as calm as he is at 
 present for about six months. I thank Heaven that he is so 
 far recovered ; he was for one whole year quite raving, and 
 chained down in a madhouse. Now he injures no one, but 
 talks of nothing else than kings and queens. He used to be 
 a very good, quiet youth, and helped to maintain me ; he 
 wrote a very fine hand; but all at once he became melancholy, 
 was seized with a violent fever, grew distracted, and is now 
 as you see. If I were only to tell you, sir " I inter- 
 rupted her by asking what period it was in which he boasted 
 of having been so happy. " Poor boy !" she exclaimed, with 
 a smile of compassion, "he means the time when he was 
 completely deranged — a time he never ceases to regret — 
 when he was in the madhouse, and unconscious of every- 
 thing." I was thunderstruck : I placed a piece of money in 
 her hand, and hastened away. 
 
 *' You were happy!" I exclaimed, as I returned quickly to 
 the town— «■" as gay and contented as a man can be !" God 
 of Heaven! and is this the destiny of man? Is he only 
 happy before he has acquired his reason, or after he has lost 
 it ! IJnfortunate being ! and yet I envy youi* fate — I envy the 
 
 Y 2 
 
824 GOEIHE. 
 
 delusion to which you are a victim. You go forth with joy 
 to gather flowers for your princess — in winter — and grieve 
 when you can find none, and cannot understand why they do 
 not grow. But I wander forth without joy, without hope, 
 without design, and I return as I came. You fancy what a 
 man you would be if the States-General paid you. Happy 
 mortal, who can ascribe your wretchedness to an earthly 
 cause ! You do not know, you do not feel, that in your own 
 distracted heart, and disordered brain, dwells the source of 
 that unhappiness, which all the potentates on earth cannot 
 relieve. 
 
 Let that man die unconsoled who can deride the invalid 
 for undertaking a journey to distant healthful springs, where 
 he often finds only a heavier disease and a more painful death, 
 or who can exult over the despairing mind of a sinner, who 
 to obtain peace of conscience and an alleviation of misery, 
 makes a pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre ! Each laborious 
 step which galls his wounded feet in rough and untrodden 
 paths pours a drop of balm into his troubled soul, and the 
 journey of many a weary day brings a nightly relief to his 
 anguished heart. Will you dare call this enthusiasm, ye 
 crowd of pompous declaimers ? Enthusiasm ! O God ! thou 
 seest my tears. Thou hast allotted us our portion of misery ~ 
 must we also have brethren to persecute us, to deprive us of 
 our consolation, of our trust in thee, and in thy love and 
 mercy = For our trust in the virtue of the healing root, or in 
 the strength of the vine, what is it else than a belief in thee, 
 from whom all that surrounds us derives its healing and re- 
 storing powers. Father, whom I know not — who wert once 
 wont to fill my soul, but who now hidest thy face from me — 
 call me back to thee ; be silent no longer ; thy silence shall 
 not delay a soul which thirsts after thee. What man, what 
 father, could be angry with a son for returning to him sud- 
 denly, for falling on his neck, and exclaiming, " I am here 
 again, my father ! forgive me if I have anticipated my jour- 
 ney, and returned before the appointed time ! The world is 
 everywhere the same — a scene of labour and of pain, of plea- 
 sure and reward ; but what does it all avail ? T am happy 
 only where thou art ; and in thy presence am I content to 
 suffer or enjoy. And wouldst thou, heavenly Father, banish 
 Buch a child from thy presence ? 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WEBTHER. 325 
 
 December \st. 
 Wilhelm, the man about whom I wrote to you — that man 
 so enviable in his misfortunes — was secretary to Charlotte's 
 father, and an unhappy passion for her which he cherished, 
 concealed, and at length discovered, caused him to be dis- 
 missed from his situation. This made him mad. Think, 
 whilst you peruse this plain narration, what an impression the 
 circumstance has made upon me. But it was related to me 
 by Albert, with as much calmness, as you will probably 
 peruse it. 
 
 December Ath. 
 I implore your attention. It is all over with me. I can 
 support this state no longer ! To-day I was sitting by 
 Charlotte. She was playing upon her piano a succession 
 of delightful melodies, with such intense expression ! Her 
 little sister was dressing her doll upon my lap. The tears 
 came into my eyes. I leaned down, and looked intently at her 
 wedding ring — my tears fell — immediately she began to play 
 that favourite, that divine air, which has so often enchanted 
 me. I felt comfort from a recollection of the past, of those 
 bygone days when that air was familiar to me, and then I 
 recalled all the sorrows and the disappointments which I had 
 since endured. I paced with hasty strides through the room ; 
 my heart became convulsed with painful emotions. At length 
 I went up to her, and with eagerness exclaimed, " For Heaven's 
 sake, play that air no longer." She stopped, and looked 
 steadfastly at me. She then said, with a smile, which sunk 
 deep into my heart, " Werther, you are ill ; your dearest food 
 is distasteful to you. But go, I entreat you, and endeavour 
 to compose yourself." I tore myself away. God, thou seest 
 my torments, and wilt end them ! 
 
 December 6th, 
 How her image haunts me ! Waking or asleep, she fills 
 my entire soul ! Soon as I close my eyes — ^here — in my brain, 
 where all the nerves of vision are concentrated, her dark eyes 
 are imprinted. Here — I do not know how to describe it — but 
 if I shut my eyes, hers are immediately before me ; dark as 
 an abyss, they open upon me, and absorb my senses. 
 
326 GOETHE. 
 
 And what is man — that boasted demigod? Do not his 
 powers fail when he most requires their use ? And whether 
 he soar in joy or sink in sorrow, is not his career in both in- 
 evitably arrested? and w^hilst he fondly dreams that he is 
 grasping at infinity, does he not feel compelled to return to a 
 consciousness of his cold, monotonous existence ? 
 
 THE EDITOR TO THE READER. 
 
 It is a matter of extreme regret that we want original 
 evidence of the last remarkable days of our friend, and we are, 
 therefore, obliged to interrupt the progress of his correspond- 
 ence, and to supply the deficiency by a connected narration. 
 
 I have felt it my duty to collect accurate information from 
 the mouths of persons well acquainted with his history. The 
 story is simple ; and all the accounts agree, except in some 
 unimportant particulars. It is true that, v/ith respect to the 
 characters of the persons spoken of, opinions and judgments 
 vary. 
 
 We have only then to relate conscienciously the facts 
 which our diligent labour has enabled us to collect, to give 
 the letters of the deceased, and to pay particular attention to 
 the slightest fragment from his pen, more especially as it is so 
 difficult to discover the real and correct motives of men who 
 are not of the common order. 
 
 Sorrow and discontent had taken deep root in Werther's 
 soul, and gradually imparted their character to his whole 
 being. The harmony of his mind became completely dis- 
 turbed ; a perpetual excitement and njental irritation, which 
 weakened his natural powers, produced the saddest efiects 
 upon him, and rendered him at length the victim of an ex- 
 haustion against which he struggled, with still more painful 
 efibrts than he had displayed, even in contending with his 
 other misfortunes. His mental anxiety weakened his various 
 good qualities, and he was soon converted into a gloomy 
 companion — always unhappy and unjust in his ideas, the more 
 wretched he became. This was at least the opinion of Albert's 
 £r»*inds. They assert, moreover, that the character of Albert 
 
THE SOBKOAVS OF YOUNG WEBTHEE. 327 
 
 liimself had undergone no change in the mean time ; he was 
 still the same being whom Werther had loved, honoured, and 
 respected from the commencement. His love for Charlotte was 
 unbounded ; he was proud of her, and desired that she should 
 be recognised by every one as the noblest of created beings. 
 Was he, however, to blame for wishing to avert from her every 
 appearance of suspicion, or for his unwillingness to share his 
 rich prize Avith another, even for a moment, and in the most 
 innocent manner ? It is asserted that Albert frequently retired 
 from his wife's apartment during Werther's visits ; but this 
 did not arise from hatred or aversion to his friend, but only 
 from a feeling that his presence was oppressive to Werther. 
 
 Charlotte's father, who was confined to the house by indis- 
 position, was accustomed to send his carriage for her, that she 
 might take excursions in the neighbourhood. One day the 
 weather had been unusually severe, and the whole country 
 was covered with snow. 
 
 Werther went for Charlotte the following morning, in order 
 that, if Albert were absent, he might conduct her home. 
 
 The beautiful weather produced but little impression upon 
 his troubled spii-it. A heavy weight lay upon his soul, deep 
 melancholy had taken possession of him, and his mind knew 
 no change save from one painful thought to another. 
 
 As he now never enjoyed internal peace, the condition 
 of his fellow-creatures was to him a perpetual source of trou- 
 ble and distress. He believed he had interrupted the hap- 
 piness of Albert and his wife, and whilst he censured him- 
 self strongly for this, he began to entertain a secret dislike to 
 Albert. 
 
 His thoughts were directed occasionally to this point. 
 "Yes," he would repeat to himself, with ill-concealed dis- 
 satisfaction — " yes, this is, after all the extent of that confid- 
 ing, dear, tender, and sympathetic love, that calm and eternal 
 fidelity! What do I behold but satiety and indifference? 
 Does not every frivolous engagement attract him, more than 
 his charming and lovely wife ? Does he know how to prize 
 his happiness ? Can he value her as she deserves ? He pos- 
 sesses her, it is true — I know that, as I know much more — 
 and I have become accustomed to the thought, that he will 
 di'ive me mad, or, perhaps, murder me. Is his friendship 
 towards me unimpaired ? Does he not view my attachment 
 
328 GOETHE. 
 
 to Charlotte as an infringement upon his rights, and consider 
 my attention to her as a silent rebuke to himself ? I know, 
 and indeed feel, that he dislikes me — that he wishes for my 
 absence— that my presence is hateful to him." 
 
 He often paused on his way to visit Charlotte, stood 
 doubtingly still, and seemed desirous of returning, but he 
 nevertheless proceeded ; and, engaged in such thoughts and 
 soliloquies as we have described, he finally reached the 
 hunting-lodge with a sort of involuntary consent. 
 
 Upon one occasion he entered the house, and inquiring for 
 Charlotte, he observed that the inmates were in unusual' 
 confusion. The eldest boy informed him that a dreadful 
 misfortune had occurred at Walheim — that a peasant had 
 been murdered ! But this made little impression upon him. 
 Entering the apartment, he found Charlotte engaged reason- 
 ing with her father, who, in spite of his infirmity, insisted on 
 going to the scene of the crime, in order to irstinute an 
 inquiry. The criminal was unknown, — the victim had been 
 found dead at his own door, that morning. Suspicions were 
 excited; the murdered man had been in the service of a 
 widow, and the person who had previously filled the situation 
 had been dismissed from her employment. 
 
 As soon as Werther heard this, he exclaimed with great 
 excitement, " Is it possible ! I must go to the spot — I can- 
 not delay a moment!" He hastened to Walheim; every 
 incident returned vividly to his remembrance — and he enter- 
 tained not the slightest doubt that that man was the murderer 
 to whom he had so often spoken, and for whom he entertained 
 so much regard. His way took him past the well-known 
 lime-trees, to the house where the body had been carried, 
 and his feelings were greatly excited at the sight of the fondly 
 recollected spot. That threshhold where the neighbours* 
 children had so often played together, was stained with blood; 
 love and attachment, the noblest feelings of human nature, 
 had been converted into violence and murder. The huge 
 trees around were bare and leafless ; the beautiful hedgerows 
 which surrounded the old churchyard- wall were withered, 
 and the grave-stones, half covered with snow, were visible 
 through the openings. 
 
 As he approache^^ the little inn, near to which the whole 
 village was assemb., J, there suddenly arose a wild cry. 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHEB. 32^ 
 
 A troop of armed peasants was seen approaching, and a 
 general shout arose that the criminal had been apprehended. 
 Wcrther looked, and was not long in doubt. The prisoner 
 was no other than the servant, who had been formerly so 
 attached to the widow, and whom he had met prowling about, 
 with that suppressed anger and ill-concealed despair which 
 w^e have before described. 
 
 " What have you done, unfortunate man?" inquired Wer- 
 ther, as he advanced towards the prisoner. The latter turned 
 his eyes upon him in silence, and then replied with perfect 
 composure, " No one will now marry her, and she wdll marry 
 no one." The prisoner was secured in the inn, and Werther 
 left the place. 
 
 The mind of Werther was fearfully excited by this shock- 
 ing occurrence. He ceased, however, to be oppressed by 
 his usual feeling of melancholy, moroseness, and indifference 
 to everything that passed around him. He entertained a 
 strong degree of pity for the prisoner, and was seized with an 
 indescribable anxiety to save him from his impending fate. 
 He considered him so unfortunate, he deemed his crime so 
 excusable, and thought his own condition so nearly similar, 
 that he felt convinced he could make every one else view 
 the matter in the light in which he saw it himself. He now 
 became anxious to undertake his defence, and commenced 
 composing an eloquent speech for the occasion, and on his 
 way to the hunting-lodge, he could not refrain from speaking 
 aloud the statement which he resolved to make to the Judge. 
 
 Upon his arrival, he found Albert had been before him, 
 and he was a little perplexed by this meeting ; but he soon 
 recovered himself, and expressed his opinion with much 
 warmth to the Judge. The latter shook his head doubtingly ; 
 and although Werther urged his case with the utmost zeal, 
 feeling, and determination in defence of his client, yet, 
 as we may easily suppose, the Judge was not much influenced 
 by his appeal On the contrary, he interrupted him in his 
 address, reasoned with him seriously, and even administered 
 a rebuke to him for becoming the advocate of a murderer : 
 He demonstrated that, according to this precedent, every law 
 might be violated, and the public security utterly destroyed. 
 He added, moreover, that in such a case he could himself do 
 nothing, without incurring the greatest responsibility ; that 
 
S30' 
 
 GOETHE. 
 
 everything must follow in the usual course, and pursue the 
 ordinary channel. 
 
 Werther, however, did not abandon his enterprise, and 
 even besought the Judge to connive at the flight of the 
 prisoner. But this proposal was peremptorily rejected. 
 Albert, who had taken some part in the discussion, coincided 
 in opinion with the Judge. At this Werther became enraged, 
 and took his leave in great anger, after the Judge had more 
 than once assured him that the prisoner could not be saved ! 
 
 The excess of his grief at this assurance may be inferred 
 from a note we have found amongst his papers, and which 
 was doubtless written upon this very occasion. 
 
 "Unhappy being! you cannot be saved! I see clearly 
 that we cannot be saved !" 
 
 Werther was highly incensed at the observations which 
 Albert had made to the Judge in this matter of the prisoner. 
 He thought he could detect therein a little bitterness towards 
 himself personally ; and although, upon reflection, it could 
 not escape his sound judgment that their view of the matter 
 was correct, he felt the greatest possible reluctance to make 
 such an admission. 
 
 A memorandum of Werther's upon this point, expressive 
 of his general feelings towards Albert, has been found 
 amongst his papers. 
 
 "What is the use of my continually repeating that he is a 
 good and estimable man ? He is an inward torment to me— 
 and I am incapable of being just towards him." 
 
 One fine evening in winter, when the weather seemed 
 inclined to thaw, Charlotte and Albert were returning home 
 together. The former looked from time to time about her, as 
 if she missed Werther's company. Albert began to speak of 
 him, and censured him for his prejudices. He alluded to his 
 unfortunate attachment, and wished it were possible to dis- 
 continue his acquaintance. *' I desire it on our own account," 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 331 
 
 fie added, " and I request you will compel him to alter his 
 deportment towards you, and to visit you less frequently. 
 The world is censorious, and I know that here and there we 
 are spoken of. " Charlotte made no reply, and Albert 
 seemed to feel her silence. At least, from that time, he never 
 again spoke of Werther, and when she introduced the subject, 
 he allowed the conversation to die away, or else he directed 
 the discourse into another channel. 
 
 The vain attempt which Werther had made to save the 
 unhappy murderer was the last feeble glimmering of a flame 
 about to be extinguished. He sank almost immediately after- 
 wards into a state of gloom and inactivity, until he was at 
 length brought to perfect distraction by learning that he was 
 to be summoned as a witness against the prisoner, who 
 asserted his complete innocence. 
 
 His mind now became oppressed by the recollection of 
 every misfortune of his past life. The mortification he had 
 suffered at the Ambassador's, and his subsequent troubles, 
 were revived in his memory. He became utterly inactive. 
 Destitute of energy, he was cut off from every pursuit and 
 occupation which compose the business of common life, and 
 he became a victim to his own susceptibility, and to his rest- 
 less passion for the most amiable and beloved of women, whose 
 peace he destroyed. In this unvarying monotony of existence 
 his days were consumed, and his powers became exhausted 
 without aim or design, until they brought him to a sorrowful 
 end. 
 
 A few letters which he left behind, and which we here 
 subjoin, afford the best proofs of his anxiety of mind and of 
 the depth of his passion, as well as of his doubts and struggles 
 and of his weariness of life. 
 
 December 12th. 
 Dear Wilhelm ! I am reduced to the condition of those 
 unfortunate wretclies who believe they are pursued by an 
 evil spirit. Sometimes I am oppressed — not by apprehension 
 or fear — ^but by an inexpressible internal sensation, which 
 weighs upori my heart and impedes my breath! Then I 
 wander forth at night, even in this tempestuous season, and 
 feel pleasure in sui-veying the dreadful scenes around me. 
 
332 GOETHE. 
 
 Yesterday evening I went forth. A rapid thaw had sud- 
 denly set in ; I had been informed that the river had risen, 
 that the brooks had all overflowed their banks, and that the 
 whole vale of Walheim was tinder w^ater ! Upon the stroke 
 of twelve I hastened forth. I beheld a fearful sight. The 
 foaming torrents rolled from the mountains in the moonlight, 
 — fields and meadows, trees and hedges, were confounded 
 together, and the entire valley was converted into a deep 
 lake, which was agitated by the roaring wind ! And when 
 the moon shone forth and tinged the black clouds with silver, 
 and the impetuous torrent at my feet foamed and resounded 
 with awful and grand impetuosity, I was overcome by a 
 mingled sensation of apprehension and delight. With ex- 
 tended arms I looked down into the yawning abyss and cried 
 "Plunge!" For a moment my senses forsook me, in the 
 intense delight of endin^^my sorrows and my sufferings by a 
 jgMngeTrito that guTpH ! ^'d/Tlien I felt as if I were rooted 
 to the earth, and incapable of seeking an end to my woes ! 
 But my hour is not yet come ; I feel it is not. O Wilhelm, 
 how willingly could I abandon my existence to ride the 
 whirlwind or to embrace the torrent! and then might not 
 rapture perchance be the portion of this liberated soul ? 
 
 I turned my sorrowful eyes towards a favourite spot, where 
 I was accustomed to sit with Charlotte beneath a willow, 
 after a fatiguing walk. Alas ! it was covered with water, 
 and with difficulty I found even the meadow. And the fields 
 around the hunting-lodge, thought I ! — has our dear bower 
 been destroyed by this unpitying storm? And a beam of 
 past happiness streamed upon me, as the mind of a captive 
 is illumined by dream^s of flocks and herds and bygone joys 
 of home ! But I am free from blame. I have courage to 
 
 die ! Perhaps I have but I still sit here, like a wretched 
 
 pauper who collects faggots and begs her bread from door to 
 door, that she may prolong for a few days a miserable exist- 
 snce, which she is willing to resign. 
 
 December 15th. 
 What is the matter with me, dear Wilhelm ? I am afraid 
 of myself ! Is not my love for her of the purest, most holy, 
 and most brotherly nature ? Has my soul ever been sullied 
 
THE SOEBOWS OF YOUNG WEIiTHER, 333 
 
 by a single sensual desire — ^but I will make no protestations. 
 And now, ye nightly visions, how truly have those mortals 
 understood you, who ascribe your various contradictory effects 
 to some invincible power! This night — I tremble at the 
 avowal — I held her in my arms, locked in a close embrace; I 
 pressed her to my bosom, and covered with countless kisses, 
 those dear lips, which murmured in reply soft protestations of 
 love. My sight became confused by the delicious intoxication 
 of her eyes. Heavens ! is it sinful to revel again in such 
 happiness, to recall once more those rapturous moments with 
 intense delight? Charlotte! Charlotte! I am lost! My 
 senses are bewildered, my recollection is confused, mine eyes 
 are bathed in tears — I am ill, and yet I am well — I wish for 
 . nothing — I have no desii-es — it were better I were gone ! 
 
 Under the circumstances narrated above, a determination 
 to quit this world had now taken fixed possession of Wer- 
 ther's soul. Since Charlotte's return, this thought had been 
 the final object of all his hopes and wishes ; but he had 
 resolved that such a step should not be taken with precipita- 
 tion, but with cj^lmness and tranquillity, and with the most 
 perfect deliberation. 
 
 His doubts and internal struggles may be understood from 
 the following fragment, which was found without any date, 
 amongst his papers, and appears to have formed the beginning 
 of a letter to Wilhelm. 
 
 *' Her presence, her fate, her sympathy for me, have power 
 still to extract tears from my withered brain. 
 
 " One lifts up the curtain, and passes to the other side, — 
 that is all ! And why all these doubts and delays ? Because 
 we know not what is behind — ^because there is no returning— 
 and because our mind infers that all is darkness and con- 
 fusion, where we have nothing but imcertainty." 
 
 His appearance at length became quite altered by the effect 
 of his melancholy thoughts, and his resolution was now finally 
 and irrevocably taken, of which the following ambiguoue 
 letter, which he addressed to his friend, may appear to afford 
 some proof. 
 
334 GOETHE. 
 
 Decemler 20th. 
 ' I am grateful to your love, "Wilhelm, for having repeated 
 your advice so seasonably. Yes, you are right ; it is undoubt- 
 edly better that I should depart! But I do not entirely 
 approve your scheme of returning at once to your neighbour- 
 hood ; at least, I should like to make a little excursion on 
 the way, particularly as we may now expect a continued frost, 
 and consequently good roads. I am much pleased with your 
 intention of coming to fetch me, only delay your journey for 
 a fortnight, and wait for another letter from me. One should 
 gather nothing before it is ripe, and a fortnight sooner or 
 later makes a great diiference. Entreat my mother to pray 
 for her son, and tell her I beg her pardon for all the unhap- 
 piness I have occasioned her. It has ever been my fate to 
 give pain to those whose happiness I should have promoted. 
 Adieu, my dearest friend ! May every blessing of Heaven 
 attend you ! Farewell. 
 
 We find it difficult to express the emotions with which 
 Charlotte's soul was agitated during the whole of this time, 
 whether in relation to her husband or to her unfortunate 
 friend, although we are enabled, by our knowledge of her 
 character, to understand their nature. 
 
 It is certain that she had formed a determination, by every 
 means in her power, to keep Werther at a distance ; and if 
 she hesitated in her decision, it was from a sincere feeling of 
 friendly pity, knowing how much it would cost him — indeed, 
 that he would find it almost impossible to comply with her 
 wishes. But various causes now urged her to be firm. Her 
 husband preserved a strict silence about the whole matter, 
 and she never made it a subject of conversation, feeling bound 
 to prove to him by her conduct that her sentiments agreed 
 with his. 
 
 The same day, which was the Sunday before Christmas, 
 aftei Werther had written the last-mentioned letter to his 
 triend, he came in the evening to Charlotte's house, and 
 found her alone. She was busy preparing some little gifts 
 (*oi her brothers and sisters, which were to be distributed to 
 Shem on Christmas Day. He began talking of the delight of 
 the children, and of that age when the sudden appearance of 
 
THE SOREOWS OF YOUNG "WEIITHER. 305 
 
 the Christmas-tree, decorated with fruit and sweetmeats, 
 and lighted up with wax candles, causes such transports of 
 joy. "You shall have a gift, too, if you behave well," said 
 Charlotte, hiding her embarrassment under a sweet smile. 
 " And what do you call behaving well ? What should I do 
 — what can I do ; my dear Charlotte," said he. '' Thursday 
 night," she answered, •' is Christmas Eve ; the children are 
 all to be here, and my father, too : there is a present for 
 each ; — do you come likewise, but do not come before that 
 time." Werther started. " I desire you will not — it must 
 be so," she continued. " I ask it of you as a favour — for my 
 own peace and tranquillity. We cannot go on in this manner 
 any longer." He turned away his face, walked hastily up 
 and down the room, muttering indistinctly, " We cannot go 
 on in this manner any longer !" Charlotte, seeing the violent 
 agitation into which these words had thrown him, endea- 
 voured to divert his thoughts by different questions, but in 
 vain. "No, Charlotte!" he exclaimed: "I will never see 
 you any more." "And why so?" she answered; "we may 
 — we must see each other again, only let it be with more 
 discretion. O, why were you born with that excessive, that 
 ungovernable passion for everything that is dear to you ? " 
 Then, taking his hand, she said, " I entreat of you to be 
 more calm ; your talents, your understanding, your genius, 
 will furnish you with a thousand resources. Be a man, and 
 conquer an unhappy attachment towards a creature who can 
 do nothing but pity you." He bit his lips, and looked at 
 her with a gloomy countenance. She continued to hold his 
 hand. "Grant me but a moment's patience, Werther," she 
 said ; " do you not see that you are deceiving yourself, — that 
 you are seeking your own destruction ? Why must you love 
 me — me only, who belong to another? I fear, I much fear, 
 that it is only the impossibility of possessing me which 
 makes your desire for me so strong." He drew back his 
 hand, whilst he surveyed her with a wild and angry look. 
 " 'Tis well," he exclaimed, " 'tis very well ; did not Albert 
 furnish you with this reflection ? — it is profound, a very pro- 
 found remark." " A reflection that any one might easily 
 make," she answered ; " and is there not a woman in the 
 whole world, who is at liberty, and has the po'ser to make 
 you happy? Conquer yourself; look for such a being, and 
 
336 GOETHE. 
 
 believe me when I say that you will certainly find her. I have 
 long felt for you, and for us all ; j^rm ^ViT ^^^f'll^^i„J2^2I.^s2f 
 too Ipiig. mtllirLtiig^iimite. J^ Conquer 
 
 yourself ; make an effort, a sliort journey will be of service 
 to you. Seek and find an object worthy of your love ; then 
 return hither, and let us enjoy together all the happiness of 
 the most perfect friendship." 
 
 " This speech," replied Werther, with a cold smile — *' this 
 speech should be printed, for the benefit of all teachers. My 
 dear Charlotte, allow me but a short time longer, and all will 
 be well." "But, however, Werther," she added, "do not 
 come again before Christmas." He was about to make some 
 miswer, when Albert came in. They saluted each other 
 coldly, and with mutual embarrassment paced up and down 
 the room. Werther made some common remarks; Albert 
 did the same ; and their conversation soon dropped. Albert 
 asked his wife about some household matters, and finding 
 that his commissions were not executed, he used some ex- 
 pressions which, to Werther's ear, savoured of extreme 
 harshness. He wished to go, but had not power to move ; 
 and in this situation he remained till eight o'clock, his un- 
 easiness and discontent continually increasing. At length the 
 <;loth was laid for supper, and he took up his hat and stick. 
 Albert invited him to remain, but Werther, fancying that he 
 was merely paying a formal compliment, thanked him coldly, 
 and left the house. 
 
 Werther returned home, took the candle from his servant, 
 and retired to his room alone. He talked for some time 
 with great earnestness to himself, wept aloud, walked in a 
 state of great excitement through his chamber, till at 
 length, without undressing, he threw himself on the bed, 
 where he was found by his servant at eleven o'clock, when 
 the latter ventured to enter the room and take off his boots. 
 Werther did not prevent him, but forbade him to come in 
 the morning till he should ring. 
 
 On Monday morning, the 21st of December, he wrote the 
 following letter to Charlotte, which was found, sealed, on 
 his bureau after his death, and was given to her. I shall 
 insert it in fragments, as it appears, from several circum- 
 stances, to have been written in that manner. 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 337 
 
 •* It is all over, Charlotte, I am resolved to die ! I make 
 this declaration deliberately and coolly, without any romantic 
 passion, on this morning of the day when I am to see you for 
 the last time. At the moment you read these lines, best of 
 women ! the cold grave will hold the Inanimate remains of 
 that restless and unhappy being who, In the last moments of 
 his existence, knew no pleasure so great as that of conversing 
 with you. I have passed a dreadful night, or rather let me 
 say, a propitious one, for it has given me resolution — It has 
 fixed my purpose. I am resolved to die. When I tore myself 
 from you yesterday, my senses were In tumult and disorder ; 
 my heart was oppressed, hope and pleasure had fled from me 
 for ever, and a petrifying cold had seized my wretched 
 being. I could scarcely reach my room. I threw myself on 
 my knees, and Heaven, for the last time, granted me the 
 consolation of shedding tears. A thousand ideas, a thousand 
 schemes arose within my soul ; till at length one last, fixed, 
 final thought took possession of my heart. It was to die. I 
 lay down to rest, and In the morning — In the quiet hour of 
 awakening, the same determination was upon me. To die ! 
 It Is not despair— It Is conviction that I have filled up the 
 measure of my sufierlngs— that I have reached my appointed 
 term, and that I must sacrifice myself for thee. Yes,| 
 Charlotte, why should I not avow it? One of us three! 
 must die — it shall be Werther. O beloved Charlotte ! this ] 
 heart, excited by rage and fury, has often conceived the 
 horrid Idea of murdering your husband — you — myself. The 
 lot at length Is cast ! And In the bright, quiet evenings of 
 summer, when you sometimes wander towards the mountains, 
 let your thoughts then turn to me ; recollect how often you 
 have watched me coming to meet you from the valley — then 
 bend your eyes upon the churchyard, which contains my 
 grave, and by the light of the setting sun, mark how the 
 evening breeze waves the tall grass which grows above my 
 tomb. I was calm when I began this letter, but the recol- 
 lection of these scenes makes me weep like a child»" 
 
 About ten in the morning, Werther called his servant, and 
 whilst he was dressing, told him that In a few days he Intended 
 to set out upon a journey, and bade him therefore lay his 
 
 z 
 
338 GOETHE. 
 
 clothes in order, and prepare them for packing up, call in 
 all his accounts, fetch home the books he had lent, and give 
 two months' pay to the poor dependents who were accustomed 
 to receive from him a weekly allowance. 
 
 He breakfasted in his room, and then mounted his horse, 
 and went to visit the steward, w^ho however was not at home. 
 He walked pensively in the garden, and seemed anxious to 
 renew all the ideas that were most painful to him. 
 
 The children did not suffer him to remain long alone. 
 They followed him, skipping and dancing before him, and told 
 him that after to-morrow — and to-morrow — and one day more, 
 they were to receive their Christmas gift from Charlotte ; and 
 they then recounted the all wonders of which they had formed 
 ideas in their little imaginations. " To-morrow — and to- 
 morrow," said he — " and one day more !" — and he kissed them 
 tenderly. He was going — but the younger boy stopped him, 
 to whisper something in his ear. He told him that his elder 
 brothers had written splendid New- Year's wishes — so large ! — 
 one for papa, and another for Albert and Charlotte, and one 
 for Werther, and they were to be presented early in the 
 morning on New- Year s Day. This quite overcame him ; he 
 made each of the children a present, mounted his horse, left 
 his compliments for papa and mamma, and, with tears in his 
 eyes, rode away from the place. 
 
 He returned home about five o'clock, ordered his servant to 
 keep up his fire, desired him to pack his books and linen at 
 the bottom of the trunk, and to place his coats at the top. 
 He then appears to have made the following addition to his 
 letter to Charlotte. 
 
 *' You do not expect me^ You think I will obey you, and 
 not visit you again till Christmas Eve. O Charlotte, to-day or 
 never ! On Christmas Eve you will hold this paper in your 
 hand ; you will tremble, and moisten it with your tears. I 
 will — I must ! Oh, how happy I feel to be determined !" 
 
 In the meantime Charlotte was in a pitiable state of mind. 
 After her last conversation with Werther, she found how 
 painful it would be to herself to decline his visits, and knew 
 how severely he would suffer from their separation. 
 
 She had mentioned casually, in conversation with Albert 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 339 
 
 that Werther would not return before Christmas Eve ; and 
 soon afterwards, Albert rode over to a person in the neighbour- 
 hood, with whom he had some business to transact, which 
 Avould detain him from home all night. 
 
 Charlotte M-as sitting alone. None of her family were 
 near, and she abandoned herself to the reflections which 
 silently took possession of her mind. She was eternally 
 united to a husband whose love and fidelity she had proved, 
 to whom she was heartily devoted, and who seemed to be a 
 special gift from Heaven to insure her happiness. On the 
 other hand, Werther had become dear to her; from the very 
 first hour of their acquaintance, there was a cordial unanimity 
 of sentiment between them, and their long association and 
 repeated interviews had made an indelible impression upon 
 her heart. She had been accustomed to communicate to him 
 eveiy thought and feeling which interested her, and his 
 absence threatened to open a void in her existence which it 
 might be impossible to fill. How heartily she wished that she 
 might convert him into a brother — that she could induce him to 
 marry one of her own friends — or that she could re-establish 
 his intimacy with Albert. 
 
 She passed all her intimate friends in review before her 
 mind, but found something objectionable in each, and could 
 decide upon none to whom she would consent to give him. 
 
 Amid all these considerations she felt deeply but indistinctly 
 that her own real but unexpressed wish was to retain him for 
 herself; and her pure and amiable heart felt from this thought 
 a sense of oppression which seemed to forbid a prospect of 
 happiness. She was wretched — a dark cloud obscured her 
 mental vision. 
 
 It was now half-past six o'clock, and she heard Werther's 
 step upon the stairs ; she immediately recognised his voice, 
 inquiring if she was at home. Her heart beat audibly — we 
 could almost say for the first time — at his arrival. It was too 
 late to deny herself, and, as he entered, she exclaimed, with a 
 sort of ill-concealed confusion, .*' You have not kept your 
 word." ** I did not promise anything," he answered. " But 
 you should have complied at least for my sake," she con- 
 tinued. '" I implore it of you, for both our sakes." 
 
 She scarcely knew what she said or what she did, and 
 sent for some one of her female friends, that she might 
 
 z 2 
 
340 GOETHE. 
 
 not be left alone with Werther. He placed some books down, 
 which he had brought with him, then made inquiries about 
 some others, until she began to hope that her friends might 
 shortly arrive, entertaining at the same time a desire that 
 they might remain away. 
 
 At one moment she felt anxious that the servant should 
 remain in the adjoining room, then she wished differently. 
 Werther meanwhile walked impatiently backwards and for- 
 wards. She went to the piano, and determined not to retire. 
 She then collected her thoughts and sat down quietly at 
 Werther's side, who had taken his usual place upon the sofa. 
 
 " Have you brought nothing to read ?" she inquired. He 
 had nothing. "There in my drawer," she continued; "you 
 will find your own translation of some of the songs of Ossian. I 
 have not yet read them, as I have still hoped to hear you recite 
 them; but for some time past I have not been able to accomplish 
 such a wish." He smiled, and went to fetch the manuscript, 
 and with a shudder he took it up. He sat down, and with 
 eyes swimming in tears, he began to read. 
 
 " Star of descending night ! fair is thy light in the west ! 
 thou liftest thy unshorn head from thy cloud ; thy steps are 
 stately on thy hill. What dost thou behold in the plain ? 
 The stormy winds are laid. The murmur of the torrent comes 
 from afar. Roaring waves climb the distant rock. The flies 
 of evening are on their feeble wings ; the hum of their 
 course is on the field. What dost thou behold, fair light "^ 
 But thou dost smile and depart. The waves come with joy 
 around thee : they bathe thy lovely hair. Farewell, thou 
 silent beam ! Let the light of Ossian's soul arise. 
 
 " And it does arise in its strength. I behold my departing 
 friends. Their gathering is on Lora, as in the days of other 
 years. Fingal comes like a watery column of mist: his 
 heroes are around : and see the bards of song, grey-haired 
 XJulIin ! stately Rhyno ! Alpin with the tuneful voice ! the 
 soft complaint of Minona ! How are ye changed, my friends, 
 since the days of Selma's feast ! when we contended like gales 
 of spring as they fly along the hill, and bend by turns the 
 feebly- whistling grass. 
 
 " Minona came forth in her beauty with downcast look 
 and tearful eye. Her hair flew slowly on the blast that 
 rushed unfrequent from the hill. The souls of the heroes 
 
THE SOEEOWS OF YOUNG WEETHEE. 341 
 
 were sad when she raised the tuneful voice. Oft had she 
 seen the grave of Salgar, the dark dwelling of white-bosomed 
 Colma. Colraa left alone on the hill with all her voice of 
 song ! Salgar promised to come : but the night descended 
 around. Hear the voice of Colma, when she sat alone on 
 the hill ! 
 
 " Colma, It is night ; I am alone, forlorn on the hill of 
 storms. The wind is heard on the mountain. The torrent 
 pours down from the rock. No hut receives me from the 
 rain : forlorn on the hill of winds ! 
 
 " Rise moon ! from behind thy clouds. Stars of the night, 
 arise! Lead me, some light, to the place where my love 
 rests from the chase alone ! His bow near him unstrung, his 
 dogs panting around him ! But here I must sit alone by the 
 rock of the mossy stream. The stream and the wind roar 
 aloud. I hear not the voice of my love ! Why delays my 
 Salgar ; why the chief of the hill his promise ? Here is the 
 rock and here the tree ! here is the roaring stream ! Thou 
 didst promise with night to be here. Ah ! whither is my 
 Salgar gone ? With thee I would fly from my father, with 
 thee from my brother of pride. Our race have long been 
 foes : we are not foes, O Salgar ! 
 
 "Cease a little while, O wind! stream, be thou silent 
 awhile ! let my voice be heard around ! let my wanderer 
 hear me ! Salgar ! it is Colma who calls. Here is the tree 
 and the rock. Salgar, my love, I am here ! Why delayest 
 thou thy coming ? Lo ! the calm moon comes forth. The 
 flood is bright in the vale. The rocks are grey on the steep. 
 I see him not on the brow. His dogs come not before him 
 with tidings of his near approach. Here I must sit alone ! 
 
 "Who lie on the beach beside me ? Are they my love and 
 my brother ? Speak to me, O my friends. To Colma they 
 give no reply. Speak to me : I am alone ! My soul is tor- 
 mented with fears. Ah, they are dead ! Their swords are 
 red from the fight. O my brother ! my brother ! why hast 
 thou slain my Salgar ? Why, O Salgar ! hast thou slain my 
 brother ? Dear were ye both to me ! what shall I say in your 
 praise ? Thou wert fair on the hill. Among thousands he 
 was ten-ible in fight ! Speak to me ! hear my voice ! hear 
 me, sons of my love ! They are silent ! silent for ever ! 
 Cold, cold, are their breasts of clay Oh, from the rock on 
 
342 GOETHE. 
 
 the hill, from the top of the windy steep, speak, ye ghosts of 
 the dead ! Speak, I will not be afraid ! Whither are ye gone 
 to rest ? In what cave of the hill shall I find the departed ? 
 No feeble voice is on the gale : no answer half drowned in the 
 storm ! 
 
 " I sit in my grief: I wait for morning in my tears ! Rear 
 the tomb, ye friends of the dead. Close it not till Colma 
 come. My life flies away like a dream. Why should I stay 
 behind ? Here shall I rest with my friend, by the streams of 
 the sounding rock. When night comes on the hill — when 
 the loud winds arise, my ghost shall stand in the blast, and 
 mourn the death of friends. The hunter shall hear from his 
 booth ; he shall hear, but love my voice ! For sweet shall my 
 voice be for my friends : pleasant were her friends to Colma. 
 
 " Such was thy song, Minona, softly-blushing daughter of 
 Torman. Our tears descended for Colma, and our souls were 
 sad ! Ullin came with his harp ; he gave the song of Alpin. 
 The voice of Alpin was pleasant, the soul of Rhyno was a 
 beam of fire ! But they had rested- in the narrow house; 
 their voice had ceased in Salma ! Ullin had returned one 
 day from the chase before the heroes fell. He heard their 
 strife on the hill : their song was soft, but sad ! They 
 mourned the fall of Morar, first of mortal men ! His soul 
 was like the soul of Fingal : his sword like the sword of 
 Oscar. But he fell, and his father mourned': his sister's 
 eyes were full of tears. Minona's eyes were full of tears, the 
 sister of car-borne Morar. She retired from the song of 
 Ullin, like the moon in the west, when she foresees the 
 shower and hides her fair head in a cloud. I touched the 
 harp with Ullin : the song of mourning rose ! 
 
 *' Rhyno. The winds and the rain are past, calm is the noon 
 of day. The clouds are divided in heaven. Over the green 
 hills flies the inconstant sun. Red through the stony vale 
 comes down the stream of the hill. Sweet are thy murmurs, 
 O stream! but more sweet is the voice I hear. It is the 
 voice of Alpin, the son of song, mourning for the dead ! Bent 
 is his head of age : red his tearful eye. Alpin, thou son of 
 song, why alone on the silent hill ? why complainest thou, as 
 a blast in the wood — as a wave on the lonely shore .'' 
 
 ** Alpin. My tears, O Rhyno ! are for the dead — my voice 
 for those that have passed away. Tall thou art on the hill ; 
 
THE SOKKOWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 343 
 
 fair among the sons of the vale. But thou shalt fall like 
 Morar : the mourner shall sit on thy tomb. The hills shall 
 know thee no more : thy bow shall lie in thy hall unstrung ! 
 
 *' Thou wert swift, Morar ! as a roe on the desert : terrible 
 as a meteor of fire. Thy wrath was as the storm. Thy 
 sword in battle as lightning in the field. Thy voice was a 
 stream after rain, like thunder on distant hills. Many fell 
 by thy arm : they were consumed in the flames of thy wrath. 
 But when thou didst return from war, how peaceful was thy 
 brow. Thy face was like the sun after rain : like the moon 
 in the silence of night : calm as the breast of the lake when 
 the loud wind is laid. 
 
 *' Narrow is thy dwelling now ! dark the place of thine 
 abode ! With three steps I compass thy grave, O thou who 
 wast so great before ! Four stones, with their heads of moss, 
 are the only memorial of thee. A tree with scarce a leaf, 
 long grass which whistles in the wind, mark, to the hunter's 
 eye, the grave of the mighty Morar. Morar ! thou art low 
 indeed. Thou hast no mother to mourn thee, no maid with 
 her tears of love. Dead is she that brought thee forth., 
 Fallen is the daughter of Morglan. 
 
 " Who on his staff is this ? Who is this whose head is 
 white with age, whose eyes are red with tears, who quakes >at 
 every step ? It is thy father, O Morar ! the father of no son 
 but thee. He heard of thy fame in war, he heard of foes 
 dispersed. He heard of Morar's renown, why did he not 
 hear of his wound ? Weep, thou father of Morar ! Weep, 
 but thy son hcareth thee not. Deep is the sleep of the dead, 
 — low their pillow of dust. No more shall he hear thy voice 
 — no more awake at thy call. When shall it be morn in the 
 grave, to bid the slumberer awake ? Farewell, thou bravest 
 of men ! thou conqueror in the field ! but the field shall see 
 thee no more, nor the dark wood be lightened with the splen- 
 dour of thy steel. Thou hast left no son. The song shall 
 preserve thy name. Future times shall hear of thee — they 
 shall hear of the fallen Morar ! 
 
 *'The grief of all arose, but most the bursting sigh of 
 Armin. He remembers the death of his son, who fell in the 
 days of his youth. Carmor was near the hero, the chief of 
 the echoing Galmol. Why bursts the sigh of Armin? he 
 said. Is there a cause to mom-n ? The song comes with its 
 
544 GOETHE. 
 
 music to melt and please the soul. It is like soft mist that, 
 rising from a lake, pours on the silent vale ; the green flowers 
 are filled with dew, but the sun returns in his strength, and 
 the mist is gone. Why art thou sad, Armin, chief of sea- 
 surrounded Gorma ? 
 
 " Sad I am ! nor small is my cause of woe ! Carmor, 
 thou hast lost no son ; thou hast lost no daughter of beauty. 
 Colgar the valiant lives, and Annira, fairest maid. The 
 boughs of thy house ascend, O Connar ! but Armin is the 
 last of his race. Dark is thy bed, O Daura I deep thy sleep 
 in the tomb ! When shalt thou wake with thy songs ? — with 
 all thy voice of music ? 
 
 " Arise, winds of Autumn, arise : blow along the heath. 
 Streams of the mountains, roar ; roar, tempests in the groves 
 of my oaks ! Walk through broken clouds, Moon ! show 
 thy pale face at intervals ; bring to my mind the night, when 
 all my children' fell, when Arindal the mighty fell — when 
 Daura the lovely failed. Daura, my daughter, thou wert 
 fair, fair as the moon on Fura, white as the driven snow, 
 sweet as the breathing gale. Arindal, thy bow was strong, 
 thy spear was swift in the field, thy look w^as like mist on 
 the wave, thy shield a red cloud in a storm! Armar, 
 renowned in war, came and sought Daura's love. He was 
 not long refused ; fair was the hope of their friends. 
 
 " Erath, son of Odgal, repined : his brother had been slain 
 by Armar. He came disguised like a son of the Sea : fair 
 was his cliff on the wave, white his locks of age, calm his 
 serious brow. Fairest of women, he said, lovely daughter of 
 Armin ! a rock not distant in the sea bears a tree on its 
 side : red shines the fruit afar. There Armar waits for 
 Daura. I come to carry his love ! she went — she called on 
 Armar. Nought answered, but the son of the rock. Armar, 
 my love, my love ! why tormentest thou me with fear ? 
 Hear, son of Amar, hear ! it is Daura who calleth thee. 
 Erath, the traitor, fled laughing to the land. She lifted up 
 her voice — she called for her brother and her father. 
 Arindal ! Armin ! none to relieve you, Dam-a. 
 
 " Her voice came over the sea. Arindal, my son, descended 
 from the hill, rough in the spoils of the chase. His arrows 
 rattled by his side ; his bow was in his hand, five dark-grey 
 dogs attended his steps. He saw fierce Erath on the shore ; 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WEBTHEK. 345 
 
 he seized and bound him to an oak. Thick wind the thongs 
 of the hide around his limbs ; he loads the wind with his 
 groans. Arindal ascends the deep in his boat to bring 
 Daura to land. Armar came in his wrath, and let fly the 
 grey-feathered shaft. It sung, it sunk in thy heart, O 
 Arindal, my son ! for Erath the traitor thou diest. The oar 
 is stopped at once : he panted on the rock, and expired. 
 What is thy grief, O Daura, when round thy feet is poured 
 thy brother's blood. The boat is broken in twain. Armar 
 plunges into the sea to rescue his Daura, or die. Sudden a 
 blast from the hill came over the waves ; he sank, and he rose 
 no more. 
 
 " Alone, on the sea-beat rock, my daughter was heard to 
 complain ; frequent and loud were her cries. What could 
 her father do ? All night I stood on the shore : I saw her 
 by the faint beam of the moon. All night I heard her cries. 
 Loud was the wind ; the rain beat hard on the hill. Before 
 morning appeared, her voice was weak ; it died away like the 
 evening breeze among the grass of the rocks. Spent with 
 grief, she expired, and left thee, Armin, alone. Gone is my 
 strength in war, fallen my pride among women. When the 
 storms aloft arise, when the north lifts the wave on high, I 
 sit by the sounding shore, and look on the fatal rock. 
 
 " Often by the sitting moon I see the ghosts of my children ; 
 half viewless they walk in mournful conference together." 
 
 A torrent of tears which streamed from Charlotte's eyes, 
 and gave relief to her bursting heart, stopped Werther's 
 recitation. He threw down the book, seized her hand, and 
 wept bitterly. Charlotte leaned upon her hand, and buried 
 her face in her handkerchief; the agitation of both was ex- 
 cessive, They felt that their own fate was pictured in the 
 misfortunes of Ossian's heroes — they felt this together, and 
 their tears redoubled. Werther supported his forehead on 
 Charlotte's arm ; she trembled, she wished to be gone, but 
 sorrow and sympathy lay like a leaden weight upon her soul. 
 She recovered herself shortly, and begged Werther, with 
 broken sobs, to leave her — implored him with the utmost 
 earnestness to comply with her request. He trembled ; his 
 heart was ready to burst : then taking up the book again, 
 he recommenced reading, in a voice broken by sobs, 
 
 "Why dost thou waken me, O spring? Thy voice wooa 
 
343 GOETHE. 
 
 me, ex claiming, I refresh thee with heavenly dews ; but 
 the time of my decay is approaching, the storm is nigh 
 that shall wither my leaves. To-morrow the traveller 
 shall come, — ^he shall come, who beheld me in beauty ; his eye 
 shall seek me in the field around, but he shall not find me." 
 
 The whole force of these words fell upon the unfortunate 
 Werther. Full of despair he threw himself at Charlotte's 
 feet; seized her hands, and pressed them to his eyes and to 
 his forehead. An apprehension of his fatal project now 
 struck her for the first time. Her senses were bewildered; 
 she held his hands, pressed them to her bosom ; and lean- 
 ing towards him, with emotions of the tenderest pity, her 
 warm cheek touched his. They lost sight of everything. 
 The world disappeared from their eyes. He clasped her in 
 his arms, strained her to his bosom, and covered her trembling 
 lips with passionate kisses. "Werther! she cried with a 
 faint voice, turning herself away — "Werther!" and with a 
 feeble hand she pushed him from her. At length, wdth the 
 firm voice of virtue, she exclaimed, "Werther!" He resisted 
 not, but tearing himself from her arms, fell on his knees 
 before her. Charlotte rose and with disordered grief, in 
 mingled tones of love and resentment, she exclaimed, " It is 
 the last time, Werther ! — you shall never see me more !" 
 then casting one last tender look upon her unfortunate lover, 
 she rushed into the adjoining room, and locked the door. 
 Werther held out his arms, but did not dare to detain her. 
 He continued on the ground, with his head resting on the sofa 
 for half an hour, till he heard a noise which brought him to 
 his senses. The servant entered. He then walked up and 
 down the room, and when he was again left alone, he went 
 to Charlotte's door, and in a low voice said, " Charlotte^ 
 Charlotte ! but one word more — one last adieu !" She re- 
 turned no answer. He stopped^ and listened, and entreated— 
 but all was silent. At length he tore himself from the place^ 
 crying, "Adieu, Charlotte! adieu, for ever!" 
 
 Werther ran to the gate of the town. The guards, who 
 knew him, let him pass in silence. The night was dark 
 and stormy — it rained and snowed. He reached his own 
 door about eleven. His servant perceived, as he entered the 
 house, that he was without a hat, but did not venture to say 
 anything ; and as he undressed his master, he found that hi& 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 347 
 
 clothes were wet. His hat was found afterwards upon the 
 point of a rock which overhangs the valley ; and it is incon- 
 ceivable how he could have climbed to the summit on such a 
 dark, tempestuous night without losing his life. 
 
 He retired to bed, and slept to a late hour. The next 
 morning his servant, upon being called to bring his coffee, 
 found him writing. He was adding what we here annex to 
 Charlotte's letter. 
 
 *'ror the last, last time, I open these eyes. Alas! they 
 will behold the sun no more. It is covered by a thick, 
 impenetrable cloud. Yes, Nature ! put on mourning ; your 
 c hild , your friend, your Tover, draws near his end ! This 
 thought, Charlotte I is without parallel, and yet it seems like 
 a mysterious dream, when I repeat — this is my last day I 
 The last ! Charlotte, no word can adequately express this 
 
 thought! The last! To-day I stand erect, in all my 
 
 strength — to-morrow, cold and stark, I shall lie extended upon 
 the ground. To die ! What is death ? We do but dream in 
 our discourse upon it. I have seen many human beings die, 
 but so straitened is our feeble nature, we have no clear con- 
 ception of the beginning or the end of our existence. At this 
 moment I am my own — or rather I am thine — thine — my 
 adored! — and the next, we are parted — severed — perhaps for 
 ever ! No, Charlotte, no — how can I — how can you be anni- 
 hilated ? We exist. What is annihilation ? A mere word, 
 an unmeaning sound, that fixes no impression on the mind. 
 Dead, Charlotte ! laid in the cold earth, in the dark and 
 narrow grave ! — I had a friend once, who was everything to me 
 in early youth — she died. I followed her hearse, I stood by 
 her grave when the coffin was lowered — and when I heard the 
 creaking of the cords as they were loosened and drawn up — 
 when the first shovelful of earth was thrown in, and the coffin 
 returned a hollow sound, which grew fainter and fainter till 
 all was completely covered over, I threw myself on the 
 ground — my heart was smitten, grieved, shattered, rent — but 
 I neither knew what had happened, nor what was to happen 
 to me. Death ! — the grave ! — I understand not the words. — 
 Forgive, O forgive me! Yesterday — ah! that day should 
 have been the last of my life. Thou angel ! — for the first- 
 first time in my existence, I felt rapture glow within my 
 inmost soul. She loves, she loves me ! Still burns upon my 
 
348 GOETHE. 
 
 lips the sacred fire they received from thine. New torrents 
 of delight overwhelm my soul. Forgive me, O forgive ! 
 
 *' I knew that I was dear to you ; I saw it in your first 
 entrancing look, knew it by the first pressure of your hand ; 
 but when I was absent from you, when I saw Albert at your 
 fiide, my doubts and fears returned. 
 
 *' Do you remember the flowers you sent me, when at that 
 crowded assembly you could neither speak nor extend your 
 hand to me. Half the night I was on my knees before those 
 flowers, and I regarded them as the pledges of your love ; 
 but those impressions grew fainter, and were at length 
 efiaced. 
 
 " Everything passes away, but a w^hole eternity could not 
 extinguish the living flame which was yesterday kindled by 
 your lips, and which now burns within me. She loves me ! 
 these arms have encircled her waist; these lips have trem- 
 bled upon hers. She is mine ! Yes, Charlotte, you are mine 
 for ever ! 
 
 I ' ' And what do they mean by saying Albert is your husband ? 
 He may be so for this world ; and in this world it is a sin to 
 [love you — to wish to tear you from his embrace. Yes, it is a 
 crime, and I sufier the punishment — but I have enjoyed the 
 full delight of my sin. I have inhaled a balm that has re- 
 vived my soul. From this hour you are mine ; yes, Char- 
 lotte, you are mine ! I go before you. I go to my Father, 
 and to your Father. I will pour out my sorrows before Him, 
 and He will give me comfort till you arrive. Then will I fly 
 to meet you. I will claim you, and remain in your eternal 
 embrace, in the presence of the Almighty. 
 
 " I do not dream ; I do not rave. Drawing nearer to the 
 grave, my perceptions become clearer. We shall exist ; we 
 shall see each other again ; we shall behold your mother ; I 
 shall behold her, and expose to her my inmost heart. Your 
 mother — your image !" 
 
 About eleven o'clock, Werther asked his servant if Albert 
 had returned. He answered, " Yes :" for he had seen him 
 pass on horseback ; upon which Werther sent him the fol- 
 lowing note, unsealed. 
 
 "Be so good as to lend me your pistols for a journey. 
 Adieu," 
 
 Charlotte had slept little during the past night. All her 
 
THE SOEEOWS OF YOUNG -VfERTHEE, 349 
 
 apprehensions were realised in a way that she could neither 
 foresee nor avoid. Her blood boiled in her veins, and a 
 thousand painful sensations rent her pure heart. Was it the 
 ardour of Werther's passionate embraces that she felt within 
 her bosom ? Was it anger at his daring ? Was it the sad 
 comparison of her present condition with former days of 
 innocence, tranquillity, and self-confidence ? How could she 
 approach her husband, and confess a scene which she had 
 no reason to conceal, and which she yet felt nevertheless 
 unwilling to avow? They had preserved so long a silence 
 towards each other — and should she be the first to break it by 
 so unexpected a discovery ? She feared that the mere state- 
 ment of Werther's visit would trouble him, and his distress 
 would be heightened by her perfect candour. She wished 
 that he could see her in her true light, and judge her without 
 prejudice, — but was she anxious that he should read her 
 inmost soul ? On the other hand, could she deceive a being, 
 to whom all her thoughts had ever been exposed as clearly 
 as crystal, and from whom no sentiment had ever been con- 
 cealed ? These reflections made her anxious and thoughtful. 
 Her mind still dwelt on Werther, who was now lost to her, 
 but whom she could not bring herself to resign, and for 
 whom she knew nothing was left but despair, if she should be 
 lost to him for ever. 
 
 A recollection of that mysterious estrangement which had 
 lately subsisted between herself and Albert, and which she 
 could never thoroughly understand, was now beyond measure 
 painful to her. Even the prudent and the good have, before 
 now, hesitated to explain their mutual differences, and have 
 dwelt in silence upon their imaginary grievances, until cir- 
 cumstances have become so entangled, that in that critical 
 juncture, when a calm explanation would have saved all parties, 
 an understanding was impossible. And thus if domestic con- 
 fidence had been earlier established between them, if love and 
 kind forbearance had mutually animated and expanded their 
 hearts, it might not, perhaps, even yet have been too late to 
 save our friend. 
 
 But we must not forget one remarkable circumstance. We 
 may observe from the character of Werther's correspondence, 
 that he had never affected to conceal his anxious desire to 
 quit this world. He had often discussed the subject with 
 
350 GOETHE. 
 
 Albert, and between the latter and Charlotte it had not un- 
 frequently formed a topic of conversation. Albert was so 
 opposed to the very idea of such an action, that, with a degree 
 of irritation unusual in him, he had more than once given 
 Werther to understand that he doubted the seriousness of 
 his threats, and not only turned them into ridicule, but caused 
 Charlotte to share his feelings of incredulity. Her heart was 
 thus tranquillized when she felt disposed to view the melan- 
 choly subject in a serious point of view, though she never 
 communicated to her husband the apprehensions she some- 
 times experienced. 
 
 Albert, upon his return home, was received by Charlotte 
 with ill-concealed embarrassment. He was himself out of 
 humour, his business was unfinished, and he had just dis- 
 covered that the neighbouring official, with whom he had to 
 deal, was an obstinate and narrow-minded personage. Many- 
 things had occurred to irritate him. 
 
 He inquired whether anything had happened during his 
 absence, and Charlotte hastily answered, that Werther had 
 been there on the evening previously. He then inquired for 
 his letters, and received for answer, that several packages had 
 been left in his study. He thereupon retired, and Charlotte 
 remained alone. 
 
 The presence of the being whom she loved and honoured, 
 produced a new impression upon her heart. The recollection 
 of his generosity, his kindness, and his afiection, had calmed 
 her agitation ; a secret impulse prompted her to follow him ; 
 she took her work and went to his study, as was often her 
 custom. He was busily employed in opening and reading 
 his letters. It seemed as if the contents of some were dis- 
 agreeable. She asked some questions; he gave short answers, 
 and sat down to write. 
 
 Several hoiurs passed over in this manner, and Charlotte's 
 feelings became more and more melancholy. She felt the 
 extreme difficulty of explaining to her husband, under any 
 circumstances, the weight that lay upon her heart, and her 
 depression became every moment greater, in proportion as 
 she endeavoured to hide her grief and to conceal her tears. 
 
 The arrival of Werther' s servant occasioned her the greatest 
 embarrassment. He gave Albert a note, which the latter 
 coldly handed to his wife, saying, at the same time, " Give 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 351 
 
 him the pistols. I wish him a pleasant journey," he added, 
 tm-ning to the servant. These words fell upon Charlotte like 
 a thunderstroke ; she rose from her seat, half fainting, and 
 unconscious of what she did. She walked mechanically towards 
 the wall, with a trembling hand took down the pistols, slowly 
 wiped ofi the dust from them, and would have delayed longer, 
 had not Albert hastened her movements by an impatient look. 
 She then delivered the fatal weapons to the servant, without 
 being able to utter a word. As soon as he had departed, she 
 folded up her work, and retired at once to her room, her heart 
 overcome with the most fearful forebodings. She anticipated 
 some dreadful calamity. She was at one moment on the 
 point of going to her husband, throwing herself at his feet, and 
 acquainting him with all that had happened on the previous 
 evening — that she might acknowledge her fault, and explain 
 her apprehensions ; then she saw that such a step would be 
 useless, as she would certainly be unable to induce Albert to 
 visit Werther. Dinner was served, and a kind friend, whom 
 she had persuaded to remain, assisted to sustain the con- 
 versation, which was carried on by a sort of compulsion, till 
 the events of the morning were forgotten. 
 
 When the servant brought the pistols to Werther, the 
 latter received them with transports of delight, upon hearing 
 that Charlotte had given them to him with her own hand. 
 He ate some bread, drank some wine, sent his servant to 
 dinner, and then sat down to write as follows : — 
 
 " They have been in your hands — you wiped the dust from 
 them. I kiss them a thousand times — ^you have touched 
 them. Yes, Heaven favours my design — and you, Charlotte, 
 provide me with the fatal instruments. It was my desire to 
 receive my death from your hands, and my wish is gratified. 
 I have made inquiries of my servant. You trembled when 
 you gave him the pistols, but you bade me no adieu. Wretched, 
 wretched that I am — not one farewell ! How could you shut 
 your heart against me in that hour which makes you mine 
 for ever ? O Charlotte, ages cannot efface the impression — 1 
 feel you cannot hate the man who so passionately loves you I" 
 
 After dinner he called his servant, desired him to finish the 
 packing up, destroyed many papers, and then went out to 
 
852 GOETHE. 
 
 pay some trifling debts. He soon returned home, then went 
 out again notwithstanding the rain, walked for some time in 
 the Count's garden, and afterwards proceeded farther into the 
 country. Towards evening he came back once more, and 
 resumed his writing. 
 
 " Wilhelm, I have for the last time beheld the mountains, the 
 forests, and the sky. Farewell ! And you, my dearest mother, 
 forgive me ! Console her, Wilhelm. God bless you ! I have 
 settled all my afiairs ! Farewell ! We shall meet again, and 
 be happier than ever." 
 
 " I have requited you, badly, Albert ; but you will forgive 
 me. I have disturbed the peace of your home. I have sowed 
 distrust between you. Farewell ! I will end all this wretched- 
 ness. And, oh, that my death may render you happy ! Albert, 
 Albert ! make that angel happy, and the blessing of Heaven 
 be upon you !" 
 
 He spent the rest of the evening in arranging his papers ; 
 he tore and burned a great many ; others he sealed up, and 
 directed to Wilhelm. They contained some detached thoughts 
 and maxims, some of which I have perused. At ten o'clock 
 he ordered his fire to be made up and a bottle of wine to be 
 brought to him. He then dismissed his servant, whose room, 
 as well as the apartments of the rest of the family, was 
 situated in another part of the house. The servant lay down 
 without undressing, that he might be the sooner ready for his 
 journey in the morning, his master having informed him that 
 the post horses would be at the door before six o'clock. 
 
 " Past eleven o'clock ! All is silent around me, and my soul 
 is calm. I thank thee, O God, that thou bestowest strength 
 and courage upon me in these last moments. I approach the 
 window, my dearest of friends, and through the clouds, which 
 are at this moment driven rapidly along by the impetuous 
 winds, I behold the stars which illumine the eternal heavens ! 
 No, you will not fall, celestial bodies ! the hand of the Almighty 
 supports both you and me ! I have looked for the last time 
 upon the constellation of the Greater Bear ; it is my favourite 
 star ; for when I bade you farewell at night, Charlotte, and 
 turned my steps from your door, it always shone upon me. 
 With what rapture have I at times beheld it ! How often 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WEKTIIEIt. 353 
 
 have I implored it with uplifted hands to witness my felicity? 
 and even still — But what object is there, Charlotte, which 
 fails to summon up your image before me? Do you not sur- 
 round me on all sides? and have I not, like a child, treasured 
 up every trifle which you have consecrated by your touch ? 
 
 " Your profile, which was so dear to me, I return to you, and 
 T pray you to preserve it. Thousands of kisses have I im- 
 printed upon it, and a thousand times has it gladdened my 
 heart on departing from, and returning to my home. 
 
 " I have implored your father to protect my remains. At the 
 corner of the churchyard, looking towards the fields, there are 
 two lime-trees — there I wish to lie. Your father can, and 
 doubtless will, do thus much for his friend. Implore it of 
 him. But perhaps pious Christians will not choose that their 
 bodies should be buried near the corpse of a poor unhappy 
 wretch like me. Then let me laid in some remote valley, or 
 near the highway, where the priest and Levite may bless 
 themselves as they pass by my tomb, whilst the Samaritan 
 will shed a tear for my fate. 
 
 '* See, Charlotte, I do not shudder to take the cold and fatal 
 cup, from which I shall drink the draught of death. Your 
 hand presents it to me, and I do not tremble. All, all is 
 now concluded ; the wishes and the hopes of my existence 
 are fulfilled. With cold, unflinching hand I knock at the 
 brazen portals of Death. 
 
 " Oh, that I had enjoyed the bliss of dying for you ! how 
 gladly would I have sacrificed myself for you, Charlotte ! 
 And could I but restore peace and joy to your bosom, with 
 what resolution, with what joy would I not meet my fate! But 
 it is the lot of only a chosen few to shed their blood for 
 their friends, and by their death to augment, a thousand 
 times, the happiness of those by whom they are beloved. 
 
 " I wish, Cliarlotte, to be buried in the dress I wear at 
 present; it has been rendered sacred by your touch. I have 
 begged this favour of youi- father. My spirit soars above my 
 sepulchre. I do not wish my pockets to be searched. The 
 knot of pink ribbon which you wore on your bosom the first 
 time I saw you, surrounded by the children ! — O kiss them 
 a tliousand times for me, and tell them the fate of their 
 unhappy friend. I think I see them playing around me. 
 The dear childien ! How warmly have I been attached to 
 
 2 ▲ 
 
354 GOETHE. 
 
 you, Charlotte ! Since the first hour I saw you, how impos- 
 sible have I found it to leave you. This ribbon must be 
 buried with me ; it was a present from you on my birthday. 
 How confused it all appears ! Little did I then think that I 
 should journey this road. But, peace ! I pray you, peace ! 
 
 " They are loaded — the clock strikes twelve. I say amen. 
 Charlotte, Charlotte! farewell, farewell!" 
 
 A neighbour saw the flash, and heard the report of the 
 pistol, but as evervthing remained quiet, he thought no more 
 of it. 
 
 In the morning, at six o'clock, the servant went into 
 Werther's room with a candle. He found his master 
 stretched upon the floor, weltering in his blood, and the 
 jDistols at his side. He called, he took him in his arms, but 
 received no answer. Life was not yet quite extinct. The 
 servant ran for a surgeon, and then went to fetch Albert. 
 Charlotte heard the ringing of the bell ; a cold shudder seized 
 her. She wakened her husband, and they both rose. The 
 servant, bathed in tears, faltered forth the dreadful news. 
 Charlotte fell senseless at Albert's feet. 
 
 When the surgeon came to the unfortunate Werther, he 
 was still lying on the floor, and his pulse beat, but liis 
 limbs were cold. The bullet, entering the forehead, over the 
 right eye, had penetrated the skull. A vein was opened in 
 his right arm ; the blood came, and he still continued to 
 breathe. 
 
 From the blood which flowed from the chair, it could be 
 inferred that he had committed the rash act sitting at his 
 bureau, and that he afterwards fell upon the floor. He was 
 found, lying on his back, near the window. He was in full- 
 dress costume. 
 
 The house, the neighbourhood, and the whole town, was 
 immediately in commotion. Albert arrived. They had laid 
 Werther on the bed ; his head was bound up, and the pale- 
 ness of death was upon his face. His limbs were motionless ; 
 but he still breathed, at one time strongly, then weaker — 
 his death was momently expected. 
 
 He had drunk only one glass of the wine. * Emilia 
 Galotti' lay open upon his bureau. 
 
THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER. 355 
 
 I shall say nothing of Albert's distress, or of Charlotte's 
 grief. 
 
 The old steward hastened to the house immediately upoa 
 hearing the news ; he embraced his dying friend amid a 
 flood of tears. His eldest boys soon followed him on foot. 
 In speechless sorrow they threw themselves on their knees 
 by the bedside, and kissed his hands and face. The eldest, 
 «vho was his favourite, hung over him till he expired, and 
 even then he was removed by force. At twelve o'clock 
 Werther breathed his last. The presence of the steward, 
 and the precautions had adopted, prevented a disturbance ; 
 and that night, at the hour of eleven, he caused the body to 
 be interred in the place which Werther had selected for 
 himself. 
 
 The steward and his sons followed the corpse to the 
 grave. Albert was unable to accompany them. Charlotte's 
 life was despaired of. The body was carried by labourers. 
 1*^0 priest attended. 
 
S6', 
 
 THE KECEEATIONS OF 
 THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 
 
 At that unhappy period, so fruitful in disasters to Ger- 
 many, to Europe, and indeed to the whole world, when the 
 French army overran the Continent, a family of distinction 
 was compelled to forsake their property on the first invasion, 
 and to fly beyond the Rhine. They sought to escape those 
 calamities to which persons of noble birth were inevitably 
 exposed, in whom it was considered criminal to be descended 
 from an honourable line of ancestors, and to inherit those 
 privileges and possessions which the virtues or the valom* of 
 their forefathers had bequeathed to them. 
 
 The Baroness of C , a widow lady, of middle age, dis- 
 tinguished for every domestic virtue which could promote the 
 comfort or independence of her family, evinced, upon the oc- 
 casion of this unforeseen calamity, the most noble spirit of 
 activity and resolute determination. Brought up amid a wide 
 circle of acquaintance, and already experienced, to some ex- 
 tent, in the reverses of life, she was considered perfect in her 
 private and domestic character ; and she was remarkable for 
 the real delight which she ever felt in the active employ- 
 ment of her faculties. Indeed, the great purpose of her life 
 seemed to consist in rendering services to others, and it is 
 easy to suppose that her numerous friends never failed to 
 provide her with employment. She was summoned, at the 
 time we speak of, to take the lead of a little band of emi- 
 grants. Even for this duty she was prepared ; and the same 
 solicitous though cheerful temper, which had invariably dis- 
 tinguished her at home, did not forsake her in this hour of 
 general terror and distress. But cheerfulness was not an 
 entire stranger to our band of fugitives ; many an unexpected 
 incident and strange event afibrded occasion for the indul- 
 gence of mirth and laughter, of which their easily-excited 
 minds readily took advantage. The very flight itself was a 
 
358 GOETHE. 
 
 circumstance well calculated to call out the peculiar character 
 of each individual in a remarkable manner. The mind of one, 
 for instance, was distracted by vain fear and terror ; another 
 fell a prey to idle apprehensions ; and the extravagances and 
 deficiencies, the weakness, irresolution, or impetuosity which 
 was on all sides displayed, produced so jnany instances of 
 vexation and bad temper, that the real trouble of the whole 
 party afforded more mirth than an actual tour of pleasure 
 could possibly have occasioned. 
 
 As we may sometimes preserve our composure even during 
 the performance of a farce, without smiling at the most posi- 
 tive drolleries, though we find it impossible to restrain our 
 laughter when anything absurd occurs in the representation 
 of a tragedy, so in this real world, the generality of accidents 
 of a serious nature are accompanied by circumstances either 
 ridiculous at the moment, or infallibly productive of subse- 
 quent mirth. 
 
 We must observe that the Baroness's eldest daughter, 
 Louisa, a cheerful, lively, and, in her hour of prosperity, an 
 imperious young lady, had to endure an unusual degree of 
 suffering. She is said to have been quite overwhelmed with 
 terror at the first alarm, and in her distraction and absence 
 of mind, to have packed together the most useless things with 
 the greatest seriousness, and actually to have made an offer 
 of marriage to one of the oid servants of the establishment. 
 
 She defended herself for this step with much obstinacy, 
 and would not allow her intended to be made a subject 
 of ridicule. In her opinion she suffered enough from her 
 daily fear of the allied army, and from the apprehension that 
 her wished-for marriage might be delayed, or even frustrated 
 by a general engagement. 
 
 Her elder brother, Frederick, who was a youth of decisive 
 character, executed his mother's orders with precision and 
 exactitude, accompanied the procession on horseback, and 
 discharged, at times, the various duties of courier, conductor, 
 and guide. The tutor of the Baroness's younger son, who 
 was a well-educated young man, accompanied her in her car- 
 riage ; whilst uncle Charles, and an elderly clergyman, who 
 had long been an indispensable friend of the family, followed 
 in another vehicle, which was also occupied by two female 
 relations, one young, the other somewhat advanced in years. 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 859 
 
 The servants followed, in an open carriage, and the proces- 
 sion was closed by a heavily packed waggon, which occa- 
 sionally loitered behind. 
 
 The whole party, as it is easy to suppose, had abandoned 
 their dwellings with great reluctance, but uncle Charles had 
 forsaken his residence on this side of the Rhine even more 
 unwillingly than the others ; not that he hnd left his mistress 
 behind, as one might, perhaps, have conjectured from his 
 youth, his figure, and the warmth of his nature : he had 
 rather been seduced by the brilliant phantom, which, under 
 the denomination of freedom, had secured so many adherents, 
 first in secret, then in public, and which, notwithstanding that 
 she was a harsh mistress to some, was all the more devotedly 
 honoured by the others. 
 
 Just as lovers are generally blinded by their passion, did it 
 happen in the case of uncle Charles. They pant for the pos- 
 session of a single happiness, and fancy that for this they can 
 endure the privation of every other blessing. Position, for- 
 tune, and all advantages, vanish into nothing, compared with 
 the one benefit which is to supply their place. Parents, re- 
 latives, and friends are now looked upon as strangers. One 
 desire ^lls and absorbs their whole being, to which every- 
 thing else is to give way. 
 
 Uncle Charles abandoned himself to the intensity of his 
 passion, and did not conceal it in his conversation. He 
 thought he might express his conviction the more freely, 
 because he Avas of noble birth, and although the second son, 
 yet the presumptive heir to a noble fortune. Even this for- 
 tune, which was to be his future inheritance, was at present 
 in the enemy's hands, by whom it had been shamefully 
 wasted. But in spite of all this, Charles could not hate a 
 nation which promised such advantages to the world at large, 
 and whose principles he approved, according to his own ad- 
 mission, and the evidence of some of his associates. He 
 constantly disturbed the peace of the little community (seldom 
 as they enjoyed such a blessing), by an indiscriminate praise 
 of everything, good or bad, which happened amongst the 
 French, and by his noisy delight at their success. By this 
 means he irritated his companions, who felt their own griev- 
 ances doubly aggravated by the malicious triumphs of their 
 friend and relation. 
 
360 GOETHE. 
 
 Frederick had been already engaged m frequent disputes 
 with him, and latterly they had ceased to hold communi- 
 cation with each other. But the Baroness, by her prudent 
 management, had secured his moderation, at least for a time. 
 Louisa gave him the greatest trouble, for she often used the 
 most unfair methods to cast a slur upon his character and 
 judgment. The tutor silently pronounced him right— «the 
 clergyman silently pronounced him wrong ; and the female 
 attendants, who were charmed with his figure and his libe- 
 rality, heard him Mdth delight, because, whilst they listened 
 to his lectures, they could honourably fix upon him those 
 loving eyes, which, until that time, had ever been modestly 
 bent upon the ground. 
 
 Their daily necessities, the obstacles of the journey, and 
 their disagreeable quarters, generally led the whole company 
 to a consideration of their immediate interests; and the 
 great number of French and German fugitives whom they 
 constantly met, and whose conduct and fortunes were various, 
 often made them consider how much occasion existed at such 
 times for the practice of every virtue, but particularly of 
 liberality and forbearance. 
 
 The Baroness, upon one occasion, observed aloud, that 
 nothing could show more clearly the deficiencies of men in 
 these virtues, than the opportunity afforded for their exercise, 
 by occasions of general confusion and distress. Our whole 
 constitution, she maintained, resembled a ship chartered in a 
 season of tempest, to convey a countless crowd of men, old 
 and young, healthy and infirm, across a stormy sea ; but only 
 in the hour of shi23wreck could the capabilities of the crew 
 be displayed, an emergency when even the good swimmer 
 often perished. 
 
 Fugitives, for the most part, carry their faults and ridicu- 
 lous peculiarities along with them, and we wonder at this 
 circumstance. But as the English traveller never leaves his 
 tea-kettle behind in any quarter of the globe, so are the 
 generality of mankind invariably accompanied by their stock of 
 proud pretensions, vanity, intolerance, impatience, obstinacy, 
 prejudices, and envy. Thus, the thoughtless enjoyed this 
 flight as they would have enjoyed a party of pleasure, and 
 the discontented required, even now in their moments of 
 abject poverty, that their every want should be supplied. 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 361 
 
 How rare Is the display of tlmt pure virtue, which incites us 
 to live and to sacrifice ourselves for others. 
 
 In the mean time, whilst numerous acquaintances were 
 formed, which gave occasion to reflections of this nature, the 
 season of winter was brought to a close. Fortune once more 
 smiled on the German arms, the French were again driven 
 across the Rhine, Frankfort was relieved, and Mainz was 
 invested. 
 
 Trusting to the further advance of our victorious troops, 
 and anxious to take possession of a part of their recovered 
 property, the family we speak of set out for an estate which 
 lay in one of the most beautiful parts of the country, on the 
 right bank of the Rhine. We can ill describe the rapture 
 with which they once more beheld the silver stream flowing 
 beneath their windows, the joy with which they took pos- 
 session of every part of their house, and hailed the sight of 
 their well-known furniture, their old family pictures, and of 
 every trifle which they had long given up as totally lost ; and 
 they indulged the fondest anticipations of finding everything 
 flourishing as heretofore on their side of the Rhine. 
 
 The arrival of the Baroness was scarcely announced in the 
 village, when all her former acquaintances, friends, and 
 dependants hastened to welcome her, to recount the various 
 vicissitudes of the last few months, and in more than one 
 instance, to implore her advice and assistance. 
 
 In the midst of these interviews, she was most agreeably 
 surprised by a visit from the Privy Councillor S. and his 
 family, a man who from his earliest youth had followed busi- 
 ness as a pursuit of pleasure, and who had both merited and 
 acquired the confidence of his Sovereign. His principles were 
 firm, and he indulged his own peculiar notions upon many 
 subjects. He was precise both in his conversation and con- 
 duct, and required others to be the same. A dignified deport- 
 ment was, in his opinion, the highest virtue a man could 
 possess. 
 
 His Sovereign, his country, and himself, had suffered much 
 from the irruption of the French. He had experienced the 
 despotic character of that nation, which was perpetually 
 boasting of justice, and had felt the tyranny of men who 
 always had the cry of freedom on their lips. He had observed, 
 however, the general consistency of character which prevailed. 
 
;3C2 GOETHE. 
 
 and had marked how many persons witnessed with feelings ot 
 angry disappointment, the substitution of mere words for 
 practice, and of empty appearance for reality. The conse- 
 quences to be expected from an unfortunate campaign did not 
 escape his acute penetration, any more than the results of the 
 general maxims and opinions we have quoted ; though it must 
 be admitted, his views upon all subjects were neither cheerful 
 nor dispassionate. 
 
 His wife, who had been an early friend of the Baroness, 
 after the experience of so much adversity, found a perfect 
 paradise in the arms of her former companion. They had 
 grown up together, had been educated together, and had 
 always shared each other's confidence. The early inclina- 
 tions of their youth, their more important matrimonial 
 interests, their joys and cares and domestic anxieties, had 
 always been communicated, either personally or by corres- 
 pondence, as they had for years maintained an uninterrupted 
 intimacy with each other ; but this was at length broken by 
 the general troubles of the eventful times. Their present 
 intercourse was, for this reason, the more affectionate, and 
 their interviews the more frequent ; and the Baroness observed 
 with pleasure, that the intimacy of Louisa with the daughters 
 of her friend was daily increasing. 
 
 Unfortunately, however, the complete enjoyment of the 
 delightful neighbourhood around was often disturbed by the 
 roar of cannon which was heard in the distance, sometimes 
 loudly and sometimes indistinctly, according to the point of 
 the wind. Moreover, it was impossible to avoid conversations 
 upon political subjects, which were introduced by the per- 
 petual rumours of the day, and which generally disturbed the 
 temporary tranquillity of society, as the various ideas and 
 opinions of all parties were usually propounded without 
 reserve. 
 
 And as intemperate men seldom refrain from wine or 
 injurious food on account of their experience of the evil 
 consequences which such enjoyments occasion, so, in this 
 instance, the several members of the society we speak of, 
 in place of imposing restraint upon their conversation, aban- 
 doned themselves to the irresistible impulse of vexing each 
 other, and thus eventually opened a channel of most dis- 
 agreeable reflections. 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 363 
 
 We can readily suppose that the Privy Councillor adopted 
 the opinions of those who advocated the old regime, and that 
 Charles took the opposite side, in expectation that the ap- 
 proaching changes would heal and reanimate the old shattered 
 constitution of the country. 
 
 The conversation was carried on at first with some degree 
 of moderation, particularly as the Baroness sought, by her 
 well-timed and graceful interruptions, to maintain the balance 
 equal between both parties ; but when the important crisis of 
 the conversation arrived, and the investment of Mainz was 
 about to change to an actual siege, and the fears of all 
 increased for that beautiful city and its abandoned inhabi- 
 tants, both sides asserted their opinions with unrestrained 
 violence. 
 
 The members of the clubs who had remained in the town 
 were particularly discussed, and each expressed his hope of 
 their liberation or punishment, according as he approved or 
 condemned their conduct. 
 
 Amongst the latter class was the Privy Councillor, whose 
 observations were especially displeasing to Charles, as he 
 assailed the sound judgment of those people, and charged 
 them with a thorough ignorance of the world and of them- 
 selves. 
 
 " What blind dolts they must be," he exclaimed, one after- 
 noon when the discussion became warm, " to think that a 
 great nation, employed in an effort to suppress its own internal 
 commotions, and which in sober moments has no other object 
 than its own prosperity, can look down upon them with any 
 sort of sympathy. Used as temporary tools, they will be 
 thrown away at last or utterly neglected. How grossly they 
 err in thinking that they will ever be admitted into the ranks 
 of the French nation. 
 
 " Nothing is more ridiculous to the strong and powerful, 
 than to see weakness and inefficiency setting up its preten- 
 sions to equality, wrapped in the obscurity of its own fimcies 
 and in the ignorance of itself, its powers and its qualities. 
 And can you suppose that the great nation, with that good 
 fortune with "which it has been hitherto favoured, will be less 
 haughty and overbearing than any other royal conqueror ? 
 
 " Many a person who now struts about in his municipal 
 robes and gaudy attire, will heartily curse the masquerade 
 
364 GOETHE. 
 
 when, after havin^^ assisted to oppress his own countrjnnen, 
 by a new and disadvantageous change of things, he finds 
 himself at last, in his new character, despised by those in 
 whom he wholly confided. Indeed, it is my firm opinion, 
 that upon the surrender of the town, which must soon take 
 place, those people will be abandoned or given up to us. I 
 hope they will then receive their reward in that punishment 
 they so richly deserve, according to my opinion, which is as 
 unprejudiced as possible." 
 
 " Unprejudiced ! " exclaimed Charles with vehemence ; " I 
 beg I may never hear that word again. How can we sa 
 unequivocally condemn these men ? Have they not actually 
 devoted their whole lives to the old pursuit of serving the 
 more favoured classes of mankind ? Have they not occupied 
 the few habitable rooms of the old mansion, and toiled 
 diligently therein ; or rather have they not felt the inconvenience 
 of the deserted part of your State Palace, by the obligation 
 of living there in a state of misery and oppression ? Uncor- 
 rupted by frivolous pursuits, they do not consider their own 
 occupation to be alone noble, — but in silence they deplore 
 the prejudice, the irregularity, the indolence and ignorance 
 upon which your statesmen build their foolish claims to 
 reverence, and in silence they pray for a more equal division 
 of labour and enjoyment. And who can deny that their ranks 
 contain at least some such men of intelligence and virtue, 
 who, if they cannot now realize universal good, can fortu- 
 nately aid in modifying evil and in preparing for a happy 
 future? and if there be such noble beings amongst them, 
 should we not deplore the approach of that evil hour, which 
 must destroy, perhaps for ever, their fondest anticipations ?'* 
 
 The Privy Councillor, upon this, sneered with some degree 
 of bitterness at certain youths who were in the habit of 
 idealizing upon practical subjects, whilst Charles was equally 
 severe upon men whose thoughts were merely formed upon 
 antiquated precedents, and who never adopted any but com- 
 pulsory reforms. 
 
 By reciprocal contradictions of this nature, the dispute 
 becam.e gradually more violent, and every topic was intro- 
 duced which has for so many years tended to dismember 
 society. In vain did the Baroness endeavour to establish a 
 truce, if not to make peace between the contending parties^ 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGHANIS. 365 
 
 and the wife of the Privj'^ Councillor, who from her esti- 
 mable qualities had acquired some influence over Charles's 
 disposition, interposed also to no effect, more particularly 
 as her husband continued to launch his poisoned shafts 
 against youth and inexperience, and enlarged upon the especial 
 aptitude of children to play with fire, a dangerous element 
 which they were wholly unable to control. 
 
 Charles, forgetting prudence in his anger, now declared 
 openly that he wished every success to the French arms, and 
 called upon all his countrymen to aid in putting an end to their 
 general slavery, expressing his conviction that their so-called 
 enemies would protect every noble German who should join 
 them, would regard them and treat them as their own coun- 
 trymen, and crown them with honours, fortune, and rewards, 
 in place of sacrificing or leaving them in misery. 
 
 But the Councillor maintained it was ridiculous to suppose 
 that the French would bestow a thought upon them, whether 
 they capitulated or not ; that they would probably fall into 
 the hands of the allies, by whom he hoped they would all be 
 hanged. 
 
 Charles was provoked by this speech, and expressed his 
 wish that the guillotine might find a rich harvest in Germany, 
 and that no guilty head might escape. He added some 
 cutting observations which were aimed at the Councillor per- 
 sonally, and w^ere in every sense offensive. 
 
 " I shall take leave of a society," interrupted the latter, 
 "in which everything is now slighted which once seemed 
 worthy of respect. I lament that I should be for the second 
 time expelled, and now by a fellow-countryman ; but I am 
 well aware that less pity may be expected from this new foe 
 than from the French themselves ; and I find here a confirma- 
 tion of the old proverb, that it is better to fall into the hands 
 of the Turks than of renegades." 
 
 So saying, he rose and left the apartment. He was 
 followed by his wife, and a general silence ensued. The 
 Baroness expressed her displeasure in a few words of strong 
 import. Charles walked up and down the room. The 
 Councillor's ^vife returned in tears, and stated that her hus- 
 band had given directions for leaving, and had actually 
 ordered the carriage. The Baroness went to pacify him, 
 whilst the young ladies wept and kissed each other, di»- 
 
366 GOETHE. 
 
 tressed beyond measure that they were compelled so suddenly 
 and so unexpectedly to separate. The Baroness returned 
 without succeeding in her wishes. Gradually all those troubles 
 approached which it is ever the lot of strangers to encounter. 
 The sad moments of separation and departure were bitter 
 beyond expression. Hope vanished with the appearance of 
 the post-horses, and the general sorrow was redoubled. 
 
 The carriage drove off. The Baroness followed it with her 
 eyes full of tears. She left the window and sat down to her 
 embroidery frame. The silence, and even despair, was 
 universal. Charles showed his sorrow by sitting in a corner 
 and intently turning over the leaves of a book, directing at 
 intervals a melancholy look towards his aunt. At length he 
 rose and took his hat, as if about to depart, but turned round 
 on reaching the door, and approaching his aunt, he exclaimed 
 with a countenance truly noble : "I have offended you, my 
 dear aunt, I have distressed you ; but pardon my thoughtless- 
 ness, I acknowledge my fault, and am deeply sensible of its 
 sad consequences." 
 
 " I forgive you," replied the Baroness ; " I entertain no ill- 
 feeling towards you — you are a good and noble being, but 
 you can never repair the injury you have done. Your error 
 has deprived me of a friend to whom, after a long separation, 
 I had been restored by the accident of our joint misfortunes, 
 and in whose society I have forgotten much of the misery 
 which has pursued and threatens us. She herself, driven 
 from her home under most painful circumstances, and long a 
 fugitive^ after a short repose in the society of old and beloved 
 friends, in this delightful spot and comfortable dwelling, is 
 again compelled to wander forth ; and 'we lose the company of 
 her husband, who, in spite of some peculiarities, is a man of 
 noble integrity, possessing an inexhaustible knowledge of 
 society and of the world, of facts and experiences which he is 
 ever ready to communicate with the most cheerful and delight- 
 ful willingness. Of all these enjoyments we have been 
 deprived by your fault, and how can you restore what we 
 have lost?" 
 
 Charles. — Spare me, my dear Aunt. I feel deeply the 
 weight of my fault ; cease to explain to me its evident con- 
 sequences. 
 
 Baroness. — Rather contemplate them as closely a*s possible. 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 367 
 
 Talk not of sparing you ; only inquire how your mind may 
 be corrected. It is not the first time you have erred, nor 
 will it be the last. Ye inexplicable men ! cannot a common, 
 suffering, which brings you together under one roof, and 
 confines you in one narrow dwelling, induce you to practice 
 forbearance towards each other ? Do you need any additional 
 calamities than those which are perpetually bursting upon 
 you ? Consider your condition, and act sensibly and justly 
 towards those who, in truth, would deprive you of nothing. 
 Restrain your tempers from working and fermenting blindly, 
 like some storm or other natural phenomenon which disturbs 
 the world. 
 
 Charles made no reply. The tutor advanced from the 
 window, where he had been standing, towards the Baroness, 
 and said his pupil would improve ; that this event would act 
 as a warning, that he should test his progress daily, that he 
 would remember the distress the Baroness had endured, and 
 would afford convincing evidence of the self-restraint he 
 could practice. 
 
 Baro7iess. — How easily men deceive themselves, especially 
 in this particular. Authority is so delightful a word, and it 
 sounds so noble to promise to control ourselves. Men speak 
 of it with pleasure, and would persuade us that they can 
 seriously practice the virtue. I wish I had ever known a 
 man capable of subduing himself in the smallest particular. 
 In indifferent matters they affect resolution, as if the loss 
 occasioned actual suffering ; whilst their real desires are con- 
 sidered as supremely essential, unavoidable, and indispensable. 
 I have never known a man capable of enduring the smallest 
 privation. 
 
 Tutor. — You are seldom unjust, and I have never seen you 
 so overpowered by anger and disappointment as at present. 
 
 Baroness. — Well, I need not be ashamed of my anger. 
 When I think of my friend, who is now pursuing her journey 
 in discomfort, weeping, probably, at the recollection of oiur 
 inhospitality, my heart burns with indignation. 
 
 Tutor. — In your greatest trouble, I have never seen you so 
 agitated and exasperated as now. 
 
 Baroness. — A small evil, which follows closely upon a 
 greater, can fill the cup ; though, in truth, it is no small 
 evil to lose a friend. 
 
368" GOETHB. 
 
 Tutor. — Be comforted, and rely upon our improvement, 
 and that we will do all in our power to content you. 
 
 Baroness. — No ; I shall rely upon none of you. But, for 
 the future, I will demand obedience from all. I will com- 
 mand in my own house. 
 
 " Command, certainly," exclaimed Charles, " and you shall 
 not have to complain of our disobedience." 
 
 " My severity will scarcely be very harsh," rejoined the 
 Baroness with a smile, as she recovered herself; " I am not 
 fond of commanding, particularly democrats ; but I will give 
 you some advice, and make one request." 
 
 Tutor. — Both shall be strictly observed. 
 
 Baroness. — It would be ridiculous, if I thought to impait 
 the interest which you all take in the great events of the 
 world, of which we ourselves are indeed the victims. I 
 cannot change the opinions which exist and are established 
 in the mind of each of you, according to his peculiar dis- 
 position ; and it would be no less harsh than foolish, to re- 
 quire you to suppress them. But I can demand this at least 
 from the circle in which I live, that those of similar sentiments 
 shall associate peaceably together, and converse in harmony. 
 In your private apartments, during your walks, and wherever 
 else you meet, you may communicate together at will, support 
 your respective opinions, and enjoy the gratification of an 
 ardent conviction. But my dear friends, let us not forget 
 how much we were accustomed to sacrifice of our own in- 
 dividual opinions, for the sake of general harmony, long 
 before these new topics became the fashion ; and as long as 
 the world lasts, we must all, for the general benefit, practice 
 some outward self-control. It is not, therefore, for the sake 
 of virtue, but in the name of common politeness, that I im- 
 plore you now to concede to me a favour, which I think 
 I may safely say you have always allowed to the veriest 
 stranger. 
 
 It seems to me strange (continued the Baroness), that we 
 should liave so far forgotten ourselves. What has become of 
 our politeness ? It used to be the custom in society to avoid 
 topics disagreeable to others. Protestants, in the company of 
 Catholics, never asserted that church ceremonies were ridicu- 
 lous ; and the most bigotted Catholic never maintained be- 
 fore a Protestant, that the old religion afibrded the only chance 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. SS9 
 
 of salvfttion. In the presence of a mother who hau lost her 
 <?on, no one displayed the deep delight he took in his children, 
 and an inappropriate word occasioned general embarrassment. 
 It seemed the duty of each to repair the accidental evil ; but 
 now the very reverse of all this seems to be the rule. We 
 appear to seek the opportunity of introducing subjects calcu- 
 lated to give pain. Oh ! my dear friends, let us try and 
 restore the old system. We have much to endure already ; 
 and who knows how soon the column of smoke by day, or 
 the pillar of flame by night, may announce the destruction 
 of our dwellings, and of our most valued possessions. Let us, 
 at least, forbear to announce this intelligence with triumph ; 
 let us cease, by our own bitter observations, to impress our souls 
 with calamities, which it is painful enough to endure in silence. 
 
 When your father died, was it your habit to renew my 
 grief upon every opportunity, by a reference to the sad sub- 
 ject ? Did you not rather avoid all improper allusion to his 
 memory, and seek by your love, your silent sympathy, and 
 your incessant attentions, to soften my sorrow, and relieve 
 my pain ? Should we not now practice the same kind for- 
 bearance, which often brings more consolation than the 
 offices of active friendship, more particularly at this time, 
 when ours is not the grief of an individual in the midst of a 
 happy multitude, where sorrow disappears amid the general 
 content, but the grief of thousands, where but few indeed 
 are capable of experiencing an accidental or artificial con- 
 solation. 
 
 Charles. — My dear aunt, you have sufficiently humiliated 
 us : may we take your hand in token of reconciliation } 
 
 Baroness. — Here it is, on condition that you will obey its 
 guidance. We proclaim a general amnesty, which we can- 
 not conclude with sufficient speed. 
 
 The young ladies, who had all been dissolved in tears since 
 the event we have related, now made their appearance, but 
 could not be persuaded to be reconciled to Charles. 
 
 " You are welcome, children," said the Baroness, addressing 
 them. " We have just had a serious conversation, which I trust 
 will establish peace and harmony amongst us ; perhaps it wiS 
 never more important that we should be friends, and enjoy 
 even one brief portion of the day. Let us make this resolution, 
 to banish from our conversation all reference to the mere 
 
 2b 
 
i>70 GOETHE. 
 
 events of the time. How long have we been deprived of all 
 instruction and entertaining intercourse ! How long it seems, 
 dear Charles, since you have amused us with accounts of 
 distant lands, with whose productions, inhabitants, manners, 
 and customs, you are so well acquainted. And you (continued 
 the Baroness, addressing the tutor), you have not lately in- 
 Utructed us in history, ancient or modern, in the comparison of 
 centuries, or of remarkable men. And you, young ladies ! 
 where are the pretty poems which you used to bring forth 
 from their hiding-places for the delight of your friends ? what 
 has become of all your free philosophic observations ? Have 
 you no more ambition to surprise us with some wonderful 
 mineral specimen, some unknown plant, or remarkable insect, 
 brought home from your walks, and affording occasion for 
 pleasing speculations on the mysterious connection of all the 
 productions of Nature? Let us restore all those charming 
 amusements, by an agreement, a resolution, a rule, to be use- 
 ful, instructive, and, above all things, companionable towards 
 each other ; for all these advantages we can enjoy even in 
 the most extreme adversity. Your promise, children." 
 
 They promised eagerly. " And now, I dismiss you," added 
 the Baroness ; " the evening is fine, amuse yourselves as you 
 please, and at supper-time let us enjoy a friendly communion 
 together, after so long an interruption." 
 
 The company separated. Louisa alone remained with her 
 mother. She could not so easily forget the misfortune of 
 losing her companion, and she allowed Charles, whom she had 
 invited to accompany her upon a walk, to set out alone. For 
 «ome time the Baroness and her daughter remained together, 
 when the clergyman entered, after a long absence, entirely 
 ignorant of what had, in the meantime, happened. Laying 
 by his hat and stick, he took a seat, and was about to narrate 
 something, when Louisa, pretending to continue a conversa- 
 tion with her mother, interrupted his intention with the fol- 
 lowing observations : — 
 
 " Some of our company will, I think, find the arrangement 
 we have come to rather disagreeable. When we lived in the 
 country, it is true, we were sometimes at a loss for conver- 
 sation, for it did not happen so often, as in town, that a girl 
 could be slandered, or a young man traduced ; but still we 
 had an alternative in describing the follies of tv/o great na- 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 371 
 
 tions, in finding the Germans as absurd as the French, and 
 in representing first one, and then the other, as Jacobins and 
 Radicals. But if these topics are forbidden, some of our 
 eociety will be rendered stupid." 
 
 " Is your observation directed to me, young lady?" asked 
 the old clergyman with a smile. " You know how ready I am 
 to be sacrificed for the benefit of the company. For though 
 upon all occasions you do credit to your instructors, and every 
 one finds your society both amiable and delightful, yet there is a 
 certain little malicious spirit within you, which, notwithstand- 
 ing all your efforts, you cannot entirely subdue, which 
 prompts you to take your revenge at my expense. Tell me, 
 gracious lady," he continued, turning towards the Baroness, 
 ** what has occurred during my absence, and what topics have 
 been forbidden to our society ?" 
 
 The Baroness informed him of all that had taken place. He 
 listened attentively, and then observed that " this regulation 
 would probably enable many persons to entertain the company 
 better than others." 
 
 " We shall be able to endure it," said Louisa. 
 
 " Such an arrangement," he added, " will not be grievous 
 to those who have been accustomed to rely upon their own 
 resources ; on the contrary, they will find it pleasant, since 
 they can amuse the company with pursuits which they have 
 followed in private. And do not be offended, young lady, if I 
 attribute to society the very existence of all newsmongers, 
 spies, and slanderers. For my part I never see persons so 
 lively and so animated either at a learned meeting or at a 
 public lecture convened for general instruction, as in a society 
 where some piece of scandal is introduced which reflects on 
 the character of a neighbour. Ask yourself or ask others, 
 what invests a piece of news with its greatest charm ? Not 
 Its importance, nor its influence, but its mere novelty. 
 Nothing old is cared for ; novelty by itself excites our sur- 
 prise, awakens the imagination, gently agitates the feelings 
 and requires no exertion of the reasoning powers. Every 
 man can take the most lively interest in a piece of news with 
 the least trou'ble to himself ; indeed since a succession of n«w 
 events carries us rapidly from one circumstance to another, 
 nothing is more welcome to the generality of mankind than 
 this inducement to constant dissipation, and this opportunity 
 
 2132 
 
373 GOETHE. 
 
 of venting their spleen and malice in an agreeable and varied 
 manner." 
 
 "Well!" exclaimed Louisa, "you shew some skill at 
 explanation ; just now you censured individuals, at present 
 you condemn mankind in general." 
 
 " I do not require," he answered, " that you should render 
 me justice ; but this I must say, we who depend upon society 
 must act according to its rules, and it would be safer to pro- 
 voke its resentment than its ennui, by requiring it to think 
 or reflect. We must avoid everything that would tend to 
 this result, and pursue by om-selves in private whatever 
 would prove unpalateable to the public." 
 
 " By yourselves in private," said Louisa, " many a bottle of 
 wine will, I suppose, be drunk, and many a nap taken in the 
 daytime." 
 
 " I have never," continued the old clergyman, " set much 
 value upon my own actions, for I know how little I have done 
 for others ; but, however, I am in possession of something 
 which may, perhaps, afford agreeable relaxation to this society, 
 circumstanced as it is at present." 
 
 " To what do you allude ?" inquired the Baroness. 
 
 " Rely upon it," interrupted Louisa, " he has made some 
 marvellous collection of scandals." 
 
 " You are mistaken," replied the clergyman. 
 
 " We shall see," answered Louisa. 
 
 " Suffer him to continue, my dear," said the Baroness, 
 " and do not accustom yourself to act in a hard and unfriendly 
 manner towards others even in jest, as they may take it ill. 
 We have no need to increase our evil habits by practising 
 them for entertainment. Tell me, my dear friend, of what 
 does your collection consist ? Will it conduce to our amuse- 
 ment ? Have you been long employed about it ? AVhy have 
 you never mentioned it before ?" 
 
 " I will give you an account of the whole matter," rejoined 
 the old clergyman. " I have lived long in the world, and have 
 paid much attention to public occurrences. I have neither 
 talent nor inclination for chronicling great actions, and worldly 
 affairs in general are troublesome to me ; but amongst the 
 many private histories, true and false, which sometimes 
 happen in public, or are related in private, there are some 
 which possess a greater attraction than the charm of mere 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGEANT8. 
 
 373 
 
 novelty, some which are calculated to improve us by their 
 moral application, some which display at a glance the secret 
 springs of human nature, and others again whose very absur- 
 dities are amusing. Amongst the multitude of occurrences 
 which attract our attention and our malice in ordinary life, 
 and which are as common as the individuals to whom they 
 relate, I have noted down a few on account of their 
 peculiar character, because they engaged and excited my 
 attention and feelings, and the very recollection of them 
 has never failed to produce a momentary sensation of pur, 
 and tranquil pleasure.'* 
 
 " I am curious to hear," said the Baroness, " the nature o' 
 your anecdotes, and to learn their peculiar character." 
 
 " You may easily suppose," replied the clergyman, *' tha'' 
 they are not about disputes or family matters. Such things 
 have little interest except for those who are engaged in them." 
 
 Louisa. — And what are yours about ? 
 
 Clergyman. — Why, for the most part, they treat of those 
 emotions by which friends become attached or disunited, 
 happy or miserable, and by which they are more frequently 
 entangled than improved. 
 
 Louisa. — Indeed ! I suppose you will produce a collection 
 of merry adventures for our instruction and improvement. 
 Excuse me for making this observation, dear mamma ; it 
 seems so evident, and it is, of course, allowable to speak the 
 truth. 
 
 Clergyman. — I suspect that you will not find anything in 
 the whole collection which may be styled merry. 
 
 Louisa. — And what would you consider of that descrip- 
 tion? 
 
 Clergyman. — Scandalous dialogues or situations are my 
 abhorrence. I object equally that common adventures, which 
 are unworthy of engaging our attention, should be told with 
 exaggerated importance ; they excite our expectations unduly, 
 in place of giving real pleasure to the mind. They make a 
 mystery of that which should be wholly unveiled, or from 
 which we should altogether turn our eyes. 
 
 Louisa. — I do not understand you. You will, however, 
 relate your stories with some degree of elegance. I hope our 
 ears will not be offended by any coarse adventures. You 
 
374 GOETHE. 
 
 must consider us in the light of a ladies* seminary, and look 
 for our thanks as your recompense. 
 
 Clergyman. — Nothing of the sort. But in truth, you will 
 hear nothing new, particularly as I have, for some time back, 
 observed that you never miss the perusal of certain criti- 
 cisms in some of the learned reviews. 
 
 Louisa. — You are really too bad. 
 
 Clergyman. — You are engaged to be married, and I there- 
 fore pardon you. But I am obliged to show that I also 
 possess arrows which I know how to use. 
 
 Baroness. — I see your object plainly, but you must let her 
 see it likewise. 
 
 Clergymaii. — Then I must repeat what I said at the begin- 
 ning of this conversation. But it seems you had not the 
 politeness to pay attention. 
 
 Louisa. — What is the use of attention, or of much argu- 
 ment ? Look at the matter in any light, they will be scan- 
 dalous stories, in some shape or other, and nothing else. 
 
 Clergijman. — Must I repeat, young lady, that a well-regu- 
 lated mind only perceives scandal, when it reads of wicked- 
 ness, arrogance, a desire to injure, and an unwillingness to 
 oblige ; and from such spectacles he should avert his eyes. 
 He finds pleasure in the narration of trifling faults and 
 failings, and contemplates with satisfaction those points of 
 the story where good men contend with themselves, with 
 their desires and their intentions, where silly and conceited 
 mortals are rebuked, corrected, or deceived, and where 
 hopes, wishes, and designs are disturbed, interrupted, and 
 frustrated, or unexpectedly fulfilled, accomplished, and con- 
 firmed. But on those scenes where accident combines with 
 human weakness and inefficiency, he dwells with the greatest 
 delight, and none of the heroes whose history he authenti- 
 cates, has either blame to apprehend, or praise to expect 
 from him. 
 
 Baroness. — Your introduction excites our wish to hear a 
 specimen. We have spent the greater part of our lifetime 
 in one circle, and have never experienced anything worthy to 
 find a place in such a collection. 
 
 Clergyman. — Much undoubtedly depends upon the o?3* 
 server, and upon the peculiar view he takes of occurrences. 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGEANTS. 375 
 
 But, however, I will not deny that I have made large extracts 
 from old books and traditions. Perhaps you will have no 
 objection to see some of your old friends with new faces. And 
 this gives me a privilege of which I must not be deprived 
 — that none of my tales shall be doubted. 
 
 Louisa. — But we are not to be prevented from recognising 
 our friends and acquaintances, or, if we please, from ex- 
 pounding the enigma. 
 
 Clergyman. — Certainly not. But you will allow me, under 
 gucK circumstances, to produce an old folio, to prove that 
 the identical occurrence happened, and was made matter of 
 record, some centuries ago. And I must be permitted <to 
 smile, when some narration is pronounced to be an old ftible, 
 though it may have taken place amongst ourselves, without 
 our being able to recognise the characters. 
 
 Louisa. — -We shall never begin. Had we not better declare 
 a truce for this evening, and do you commence a story at 
 once, by way of specimen ? 
 
 Clergynian, — Permit me, in this instance, to be guilty of 
 disobedience. The entertainment is intended for the whole 
 assembled company. We must not deprive them of it, and 
 I must premise beforehand, that whatever I have to say, pos- 
 sesses no value in itself. But when my audience, after some 
 serious occupation, wishes for a brief repose, and already sated 
 with good things, desires the addition of a light dessert, then 
 I shall be ready, and only hope that what I shall provide 
 may not prove unpalatable. 
 
 Baroness. — In that case, we had better postpone the amuse- 
 ment till to-morrow. 
 
 Louisa. — I am beyond measure curious to know what it 
 will be. 
 
 Clergyman. — You must not be so, young lady ; for high 
 expectations are seldom satisfied. 
 
 That same evening, after dinner, the Baroness retired early 
 to her apartment, whilst the rest of the company remained 
 together, and discussed the many reports which were current, 
 and the various incidents which had happened. As is gene- 
 rally the case in such circumstances, few of them knew what 
 to doubt, or what to believe. 
 
 The old Clergyman had his remedy for such an emergency. 
 ** I propose," said he, " as the most convenient plan, that we 
 
375 aoETHH. 
 
 all believe implicitly whatever we find pleasant, and that we 
 reject, without ceremony, whatever we find unpleasant, and 
 that we allow everything to be true which can prove itself." 
 
 It was then remarked by some one, that men generally 
 acted in this way ; and after some desultory conversation, 
 they commented upon that strange propensity of our nature 
 to believe in the marvellous. They talked of romances and 
 visions; and when the old Clergyman had promised at a 
 future time to relate some interesting anecdotes upon these 
 subjects, Louisa exclaimed, " It will be extremely good of 
 you, and you will merit our gratitude, by telling us a story of 
 that description now, for we are all in the proper humour for 
 it ; we shall pay attention and be thankful. Without need- 
 ing further entreaties, the old Clergyman commenced at once, 
 as follows : — 
 
 — ^During my residence in Naples, an event happened which 
 attracted universal attention, and with regard to which public 
 opinion varied exceedingly. Some persons maintained that 
 the circumstance had actually occurred; whilst others as- 
 serted, that though true in general, it was founded upon a 
 gross deceit. The latter class of persons were at further 
 variance amongst themselves, — they could not agree who 
 ■was the deceiver. Others held it to be far from clear that 
 spiritual natures were incapable of influencing the elements 
 and human bodies, and maintained that we were not justified 
 in pronouncing every marvellous occurrence to be a fraud or 
 a delusion. But now to the facts themselves. 
 
 At the time I speak of, a singer named Antonelli was the 
 favourite of the Neapolitan public. In the bloom of youth, 
 beauty, and talents, she was deficient in none of those 
 enchantments by which women can allure and captivate, and 
 render a certain class of their favourites happy. She 
 was not insensible to the charms of love and flattery, but 
 naturally temperate and sensible, she knew how to enjoy 
 the delights of both, without losing that self-respect which 
 was so essential to her happiness. The young, the distin- 
 guished, and the rich, flocked to her in crowds, but she ad- 
 mitted few to her friendship ; and if she pursued her own 
 inclination in the choice of her admirers, she evinced, upon 
 all occasions, so firm and resolute a character, that she at- 
 tached every person to her. I had an opportunity of ob- 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 377 
 
 senang her upon one occasion, in consequence of my close 
 intimacy with one of her especial favourites. 
 
 Some years had elapsed ; her friends were numerous, and 
 amongst the number were many foolish, simple, and fickle 
 personages. It was her opinion, that a lover who, in a cer- 
 tain sense, is everything to Avoman, generally proves de- 
 ficient in those very emergencies when she most needs his 
 assistance ; as, for example, in the difficulties of life, in 
 domestic necessities, and upon the occurrence of sudden dis- 
 astei*s. In such times, she maintained, that his own self-love 
 often proved absolutely prejudicial to his mistress, and his 
 advice became positively dangerous. 
 
 Her former attachments were insufficient to satisfy her soul 
 The void required to be filled. She wished for a friend, 
 and scarcely had she felt this want, than she found a youth 
 amongst those who sought her favours, upon whom she be- 
 stowed her confidence, of which in every respect he seemed 
 worthy. 
 
 He was a native of Genoa, who had taken up his residence 
 in Naples, to transact the mercantile business of a firm 
 to which he belonged. His natural talents had been 
 improved by a most excellent education. His knowledge was 
 extensive, his mind and body were sound and active, and his 
 general conduct might serve as a model, and in his attention 
 to others he ever seemed forgetful of himself. He was 
 imbued with the commercial spirit for which his native town 
 was distinguished. All his speculations were upon a large 
 scale. His condition, however, was none of the happiest. The 
 firm had entered into some unfortunate transactions, and 
 became entangled in ruinous law-suits. Time only increased 
 the difficulties, and the anxiety which he endured gave him 
 an air of melancholy, which was not unbecoming, and made 
 Antonelli still more desirous of his acquaintance, from the 
 idea that he stood in need of a friend. 
 
 Until now he had only seen Antonelli in public, but at his first 
 request, she granted him the entree to her house, even inviting 
 him to visit her, a favour which he did not fail to accept. 
 
 She lost no time in communicating to him her confidence and 
 her wishes. He was no less surprised than delighted at her 
 proposals. She implored him earnestly to be her friend, but 
 to make no pretensions to the privileges of a lover. She 
 
378 GOETHE, 
 
 made him acquainted with some embarrassments in which 
 she had become involved, and his great experience enabled 
 him to offer advice and assistance for her speedy release. 
 In return for this confidence, he unfolded to her his owa 
 situation, and whilst she endeavoured to cheer and con- 
 sole him, many new plans occurred to him, which he had not 
 thought of before, and she thus appeared to be his adviser, 
 and a reciprocal friendship, founded on the highest regard 
 and respect, was established between them. 
 
 Unfortunately we do not always consider the practicability 
 of the obligations we incur. He had promised to be her 
 friend, and to make no pretensions to the privileges of a 
 lover. But he could not deny that her visitors, in that cha- 
 racter, were not only unwelcome to, but were detested by 
 him ; and he felt it extremely painful when she thought 
 to amuse him with the description of their various cha- 
 racters. 
 
 It soon happened, fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, 
 that her heart was again free. This was a source of extreme 
 delight to our young friend, who lost no time in entreating 
 that the vacant place might be allotted to him. With some 
 reluctance she listened to his proposals. " I fear," she said, 
 "that in making this concession, I shall lose my friend." Her 
 anticipation was correct, for scarcely had he for a short time 
 filled this double character, than he found her temper change. 
 As her friend he had been content with her respect — 
 as a lover he demanded her afiection, and as an intelligent and 
 accomplished man, he sought for constant entertainment. 
 But this was more than Antonelli expected. She was unwil- 
 ling to make an entire sacrifice of herself, and had no wish to 
 surrender her absolute liberty to any one. She soon adopted 
 ingenious expedients for curtailing the length of his visits, 
 for avoiding his presence, and for making him sensible that 
 she would not consent to forego her independence for any 
 consideration. 
 
 This discovery was to him a source of the greatest misery, 
 and unfortunately the calamity did not come alone. His 
 domest-C affairs became more and more involved, and he 
 found reason for reproaching himself with having always con- 
 sidered his income as inexhaustible, and with having neglected 
 his business in order to engage in foreign travel, and to mako 
 
THE QERMAN EMIGRANTS. 6t\f 
 
 a greater figure in the world than he was entitled to do, either 
 from the advantages of his birth or income. The law-suits 
 from which he expected so much, were tardy and expensive. 
 They took him frequently to Palermo, and upon the occasion 
 of his last journey thither, Antonelli adopted means to change 
 the nature of her establishment, for the purpose of becoming 
 gradually disengaged from him. On his return, he found her 
 in another residence, at some distance from his ; and he saw 
 that the Marquis of S., who at that time exercised great 
 influence in the world of fashion, had unreserved admission 
 to her house. He was greatly affected by this discovery, 
 which brought on a serious illness. Upon hearing this sad 
 intelligence, Antonelli hastened to him, attended him, and 
 as she was fully aware that his purse was but scantily sup- 
 plied, she left a large sum of money, which supplied his 
 necessities for a considerable time. 
 
 In consequence of his efforts to restrain her freedom, he had 
 fallen considerably in her estimation. As her attachment 
 diminished, her suspicions increased, and she at length began 
 to think that a person who had managed his own affairs so 
 badly, was not entitled to a high character for good sense. 
 But he was unaware of the great change which had taken 
 place in her feelings towards him ; and he attributed her 
 arixiety for his recovery, and the constancy of her attentions 
 which induced her to spend whole days at his bedside, rather 
 to her love for him than to compassion for his sufferings ; and 
 he hoped upon his recovery, to find himself once more rein- 
 stated in her favour. 
 
 But he was grievously mistaken. With his restoration to 
 health and strength, all semblance of affection disappeared, 
 and he now seemed as odious in her eyes as he had formerly 
 proved agreeable. In addition to this, his temper had uncon- 
 sciously become soured and unbearable. He attributed to 
 others all the blame of his own misfortunes, and justified 
 himself fully from their evil consequences. He considered 
 himself an injured and persecuted invalid, and looked for a 
 complete recompense for all his troubles, in the devoted affec- 
 tion of his mistress. 
 
 With these exalted expectations he visited Antonelli im- 
 mediately upon his recovery. He would be satisfied with 
 nothing short of her entire affection, the dismissal of all her 
 
380 GOETHE. 
 
 other friends and acquaintance, her complete retirement from 
 the stage, and the devotion of herself to him alone. She de- 
 monstrated the impossibility of complying with these requests, 
 at first in a playful, and afterwards in a more serious tone. 
 At length she communicated to him the sad intelligence that 
 their connection must end. He left her and never returned. 
 
 He lived for several years afterwards in a retired manner, in 
 the house of a pious old lady, who had a small independence. 
 At this period he gained his first law-suit, and soon after- 
 wards he was successful in another; but this change of 
 fortune came too late, his health was undermined, and the 
 joy of his existence had vanished. A slight accident brought 
 on a relapse, and the physician announced to him his ap- 
 proaching death. He heard his fate without a murmur, 
 and merely expressed a wish to see his beautiful friend once 
 more. He sent his servant to her — the same messenger who, 
 in happier days, had been the bearer of many a delightful 
 answer to him. He entreated an interview; she refused. 
 He sent a second time, and implored her to consent ; she was 
 still inexorable. At length, at midnight, he sent a third 
 time. She was embarrassed, and communicated her situation 
 to me, as I had been invited, along with the Marquis and 
 some other friends, to spend the evening at her house. I 
 advised her, indeed begged her, to show some last attentions 
 to her friend. She appeared undecided at first, but after a 
 short reflection, she made up her mind, and dismissed the 
 servant with a refusal. He did not return. 
 
 After supper we were all engaged in social conversation, 
 and general animation and hilarity reigned around. Suddenly, 
 a little after midnight, a piercing shriek of bitter, painful la- 
 mentation was heard. We rose from the table, looked at each 
 other, and wondered what this strange event could possibly 
 mean. The sound seemed to come from the middle of the 
 room in which we were assembled, and to re-echo again from 
 the wall. The Marquis rushed to the window, whilst we 
 endeavoured to support Antonelli, who had fainted. By de- 
 grees she came to herself. She had scarcely opened her eyes 
 than the jealous and passionate Marquis loaded her with the 
 bitterest reproaches. " If you choose to have these myste- 
 rious understandings with your friends," said he, "at least 
 let them be of a less fearful nature." She replied, with her 
 
THE GEBMAN EMIGRANTS. 381 
 
 wonted presence of mind, " that as she had always enjoyed 
 the right of seeing her friends whenever she pleased, she 
 would scarcely select such appalling sounds as they had just 
 heard, to indicate approaching happiness. 
 
 And in truth the cry had something in it unspeakably ap- 
 palling. The long-continued scream of anguish dwelt upon 
 our ears, and made our very limbs tremble. Antonelli was 
 pale, motionless, and in a continual faint. We sat with her 
 for half the night ; but we heard nothing further. On the 
 following night, the same company, who had met together 
 not quite so cheerful as usual, though with a reasonable supply 
 of courage, about the same hour of midnight, heard the same 
 identical loud and appalling shriek. 
 
 We had, in the meantime, wearied our imaginations in 
 framing conjectures as to the cause of the cry, and thinking 
 from whence it could proceed. But why should I weary you ? 
 Whenever Antonelli supped at home, at the self-same hour 
 the same shriek was heard, sometimes louder, and sometimes 
 fainter. It was spoken of all over Naples. The mystery ex- 
 cited universal attention. The police were called out. Spies 
 were placed in every direction, to detect the cause of the 
 mystery. To persons in the street, the shriek appeared to 
 come from the open air, whilst in the house it seemed to pro- 
 ceed from the very room in which Antonelli was sitting. 
 When she supped abroad nothing whatsoever occurred ; but 
 as often as she supped at home, the horrid shriek was inva- 
 riably heard. 
 
 But her absence from home did not upon all occasions pro- 
 tect her from this fearful visitation. Her many personal 
 recommendations secured her a welcome reception in the 
 most distinguished families. A pleasant companion, she was 
 everywhere well received, and it had lately become her cus- 
 tom, in order to escape the fearful visitation we have described, 
 to spend her evenings from home. 
 
 One evening a gentleman of great respectability, from his 
 age and position, accompanied her to her house in his carriage. 
 When in the act of taking leave of him at the door, a loud 
 shriek was heard, which seemed to come from between them ; 
 and the gentlemen, who, like many others, had often heard of 
 this mysterious occurrence, was lifted into his carriage more 
 like a corpse than a living person. 
 
382 . GOETHE. 
 
 Upon another occasion, a young singer, to wliom she 
 was partial, drove through the town with her at evening, to 
 visit a friend. He likewise had frequently heard of the won- 
 derful phenomenon we have related, and, with the spirits of a 
 light-hearted youth, had expressed his doubts of its reality. 
 They spoke of the circumstance. " I wish extremely," said 
 he, " that I could hear the voice of your invisible companion; 
 call him, perhaps he will come ; we are two, and need not fear 
 him." From thoughtlessness, or indifference to danger, I 
 know not which, she called the spirit, and instantly the piercing 
 fihriek issued, as it were, from the middle of the carriage : 
 three times it was heard, and then died away gradually. 
 Arrived at the house of their friend, both parties were found 
 insensible in the carriage ; with difficulty they recovered 
 their senses sufficiently to relate what had happened. 
 
 It vras some time before Antonelli completely recovered. 
 Her health became impaired by the constantly recurring fright 
 she sustained; but when, at length, her fearful visitor ap- 
 peared to intend that she should enjoy some repose, she began 
 to hope for a complete cessation from this annoyance ; but this 
 expectation was premature. 
 
 At the end of the Carnival, accompanied by a young female 
 acquaintance and a servant, she set out upon an excursion of 
 pleasure. It was her intention to visit a friend in the coun- 
 try. Night came on before she reached her destination : an 
 accident occurred to the carriage, and she was necessitated to 
 take refuge in a small country inn, and to put up with the 
 indifferent accommodation it afforded. 
 
 Her companion had already gone to bed, and the servant, 
 having arranged the night-light, was about to retire, when her 
 mistress observed jestingly-—" I think we are at the end of 
 the world, it is a dreadful night, should he only find us out?" 
 That veiy instant the shriek was heard more piercing and 
 louder than ever. Her companion was terrified beyond ex- 
 pression, sprang from her bed, rushed down stairs, and alarmed 
 the whole house. No one that night closed an eye. It was, 
 however, the last time the shriek was heard. But the unwel- 
 come visitor soon found another more frightful mode of indi- 
 cating his presence. 
 
 He was quiet for a short time, when one evening, at the 
 accustomed hour, as Antonelli sat with her companions at 
 
THE GEEMAN EMIGRANTS. SSli 
 
 tabic, a shot from a gun, or from a heavily loaded pistol, was 
 fired in at the window. Every one heard the report, every 
 one saw the flash, but upon the closest inspection the window 
 was found not to have sustained the slightest injury. But 
 the circumstance seemed to every one of the most alarming 
 importance, and all thought that an attempt had been made 
 upon Antonelli's life. The police were called, and the neigh- 
 bouring house was searched ; but as nothing suspicious was 
 found, guards were placed in it, next day, from top to bottom. 
 Her own dwelling w^as carefully examined, and spies were 
 even dispersed about the streets. 
 
 But all this precaution was useless. For three months in 
 succession, at the very same hour, the shot was fired through 
 the same window; without the slightest injury to the glass ; 
 and what was especially remarkable, this always took place 
 exactly one hour before midnight, although in Naples time 
 is counted after the Italian fashion, and the term midnight is 
 never used. 
 
 But custom at length reconciled all parties to this occur- 
 rence, as it had done to the previous one, and the ghost began 
 to lose credit by reason of his very harmless tricks. The shot 
 ceased to alarm the company, or even to interrupt their con- 
 versation. 
 
 One evening, at the end of a very sultry day, Antonelli 
 opened the window, without thinking of the hour, and went 
 out with the Marquis upon the balcony. They had scarcely 
 been in the air a couple of minutes when the shot ex- 
 ploded between them, and drove them back into the house^ 
 where for some time they lay apparently lifeless on the floor. 
 When they recovered, each felt the pain of a violent blow 
 upon the cheek, one on the right side, the other on the left ; 
 but as no further injury was apparent, the singularity of the 
 circumstance merely occasioned a few jocular observations. 
 
 From this time the shot was not repeated in the house, 
 and Antonelli thought she was at last completely deli- 
 vered from her invisible tormentor ; w^hen one evening, upon 
 making a little excursion with a friend, she was terrified 
 beyond measure by a most unexpected incident. Her way 
 lay through the Chiaja, where her Genoese friend had formerly 
 lived. It was bright moonlight. A lady who sat near her 
 asked, '* Is not that the house in which Signer died V 
 
384 GOETHE. 
 
 " As well as 1 can recollect, it is one of those two," answered 
 Antonelli ; — the words were scarcely uttered when Ihe shot 
 was fired from one of the two houses alluded to, and it pene- 
 trated the carriage. The driver thought he was wounded, 
 and drove forward with all possible speed. Arrived at their 
 destination, the two ladies were lifted lifeless from the carriage. 
 
 But this was the last alarm of that kind. The imseen foe 
 now changed his plan, and one evening, shortly afterwards, a 
 loud clapping of hands was heard before the window. As a 
 popular singer and favourite actress, she was more familiar 
 with sounds of this description. They did not inspire terror, 
 and might have proceeded, perhaps, from one of her nume- 
 rous admirers. She paid no attention to them. Her friends, 
 however, were more watchful, and distributed their guards as 
 before. They continued to hear the noise, but saw nobody, 
 and began to indulge a hope that the unaccountable mystery 
 would soon completely end. 
 
 After a short time it became changed in character, and 
 assumed the form of agreeable sounds. They were not 
 strictly speaking melodious, but were, however, of a soft 
 and pleasing character. To an accurate observer they 
 seemed to proceed from the corner of the street, to float about 
 in the empty space before Antonelli's window, and there to 
 die away in the most soft and delightful manner. It seemed 
 as if some heavenly spirit wished, by means of a sweet pre- 
 lude, to draw attention to a lovely melody which he designed 
 to play. But these sounds also ceased at length, and were 
 heard no more after the wonder had lasted for about a year 
 and a half. 
 
 The Clergyman here paused for a few moments in his narra- 
 tive, and the entire company began to express their opinions, 
 and their doubts about the truth of the tale. 
 
 The narrator answered that the story ought to he true, if it 
 was intended to be interesting, as a manufactured tale could 
 possess but little merit. Some one here observed that he 
 thought it singular no one had inquired about Antonelli's 
 deceased friend, or the circumstances of his death, as perhaps 
 some light might by this means have been thrown upon the 
 whole affair. 
 
 " But this was done," replied the Clergyman ; "I was myself 
 curious enough, immediately after the first mysterious occur- 
 
THE GERMAK EMIGRANTS. 385 
 
 tcnce, to go to the house under the pretext of visiting the 
 lady who had attended him in his last moments with a 
 mother's care. This lady informed me that the deceased was 
 passionately attached to Antonelli, that during the last hours 
 of his existence he had spoken of nothing but her ; that at 
 one time he addressed her as an adorable angel, and at another 
 as little better than a demon. 
 
 When his sickness became desperate, his whole thoughts 
 were fixed on seeing her once more before his death, perhaps 
 in the hope of obtaining from her an expression of affection, 
 of pity, of attachment, or of love. Her unwillingness to see 
 him afflicted him exceedingly, and her last decisive refusal 
 hastened his decease. In despair he cried out, " No ! it 
 shall not avail her. She avoids me, but after my death, she 
 •shall have no rest from me." In a paroxysm of this kind he 
 expired, and only too late do we learn, that the dead can 
 keep their word on the other side of the grave. 
 
 The company began once more to express their opinions 
 about the story. At length Fritz observed : " I have a sus- 
 picion, but I shall not tell it till I have thought over all the 
 circumstances again, and put my combinations to the proof." 
 
 Being somewhat strongly pressed, he endeavoured to avoid 
 giving an answer, by requesting that he might be allowed to 
 relate an anecdote, which, though it might not equal the 
 preceding one in interest, was of the same character, inasmuch 
 as it could not be explained with any certainty. 
 
 " A gallant nobleman," he commenced, " who inhabited aii' 
 ancient castle, and was father of a large family, had taken 
 into his protection an orphan girl, who, when she attained the 
 age of fourteen years, was employed in attending the mis- 
 tress of the house, in duties immediately about her person. 
 She gave complete satisfaction, and her whole ambition 
 seemed to consist in a wish to evince her gratitude to her 
 benefactor, by attention and fidelity. She possessed variou? 
 charms both of mind and person, and was not without suitors 
 for her hand. But none of these proposals seemed likely 
 to conduce to her happiness, and the girl herself did not evince 
 the least inclination to change her condition. 
 
 " On a sudden it happened that as she went through the 
 house, intent upon her various duties, she heard sounds of 
 knocking, which came £rom about her and beneath her. At 
 
 2 c 
 
886 GOEXHK. 
 
 first this seemed accidental, but as the knocking never ceased, 
 and beat almost in unison with her footsteps, she became 
 alarmed, and scarcely left the room of her mistress, where 
 alone she found she could enjoy security. 
 
 ** These sounds were heard by every one who aecompaniec 
 her, or who stood near her. At first the subject was treate 
 as a jest, but at length it was regarded in a more serious 
 light. The master of the house, who was of a cheerful dis- 
 position, now took the matter in hand. The knocking was 
 never heard when the maiden remained motionless, and when 
 she walked, was perceived not so evidently when she put her 
 foot to the ground, as when she raised it to advance another 
 step. But the sounds were often irregular, and they were 
 observed to be more than usually loud when the maiden 
 went transversely across a certain large apartment in the 
 castle. 
 
 " The old nobleman, one day having workmen in the house, 
 caused the flooring to be suddenly raised behind the maiden, 
 when the knocking sounds were at the loudest. Nothing, 
 however, was found but a couple of rats, who, disturbed by 
 the search, gave occasion to a chase, and to considerable 
 uproar in the house. 
 
 " Provoked by this circumstance and by the disappoint* 
 ment, the nobleman determined upon adopting strong mea- 
 sures. He took down his large whip from the wall, and 
 swore that he would flog the maiden to death if he heard the 
 knocking any more. From this time forth she could go 
 through the house without the slightest molestation, and the 
 knocking was never heard again." 
 
 " Whereby," observed Louisa, sagaciously, *' we may con- 
 clude that the young maiden was her own ghost, and practised 
 this joke, and played the fool with the family, to indulge some 
 whim of her own." 
 
 " Not at all," answered Fritz ; " for those who ascribed 
 the mysterious occurrence to a ghost, believed that the 
 maiden's guardian angel wished her to leave the house, but 
 was anxious also to protect her from injury. Others took 
 another view, and maintained that one of the girl's lovers had 
 the cleverness to occasion these sounds, in order to drive her 
 out of the house into his arms. But be this as it may, the 
 poor child became (j[uite ill in consequence, and was reduced 
 
THE GEBMAJS l^MIGKAMB. 837 
 
 to a melancholy spectre, though she had formerly been the 
 most cheerful and lively and merry person in the whole 
 establishment. But such a change in personal appearance 
 can be explained in more ways than one." 
 
 " It is a pity," observed Fritz, " that these occurrences are 
 not always more particularly examined, and that in judging 
 of events which so much interest us, we are obliged to 
 hesitate between different appearances, because the circum- 
 stances under which they happen have not been all 
 observed." 
 
 " True," replied the old Clergyman, " but it is so extremely 
 difficult to make this examination at the very moment when 
 anything of the kind happens, and to take every precaution 
 that nothing shall escape, in which deceit or fraud may be 
 concealed. Can we, for example, detect a conjuror so easily, 
 though we are perfectly conscious that he is deluding us ?" 
 
 He had scarcely finished this observation, than a loud 
 report was suddenly heard in one corner of the apartn>ent. 
 Every one leaped up, whilst Charles said, jokingly, " Surely 
 the noise does not proceed from some dying lover." 
 
 He would willingly have recalled the expression, for 
 Louisa became suddenly pale, and stammered forth that 
 she felt apprehension about the safety of her intended. 
 
 Fritz, to divert her attention, took up the light, and went 
 towards a reading-desk, which stood in a corner of the apart- 
 ment. The semicircular top was split through — this, then, was 
 the cause of the report which they had heard ; but it immedi- 
 ately occurred to them, that the reading-desk was of the best 
 workmanship, and had occupied the very same spot for years, 
 and they were all, therefore, astonished that it should be so 
 suddenly split asunder. It had even been praised more than 
 once, as a very model piece of furniture ; and how, there- 
 fore, could this accident have occurred, without even the 
 slightest change having taken place in the temperature ? 
 
 " Quick !" said Charles, " let us settle this point at once, 
 by examining the barometer." The quicksilver maintained 
 the same point it had held for some days. And even the 
 thermometer had not fallen more than could be reconciled 
 with the difference of the temperature between day and 
 night. "It is a pity that we have not a hygrometer at 
 
 2c2 
 
888 GOETHE. 
 
 hand," he exclaimed, " the very instrument tliat would have 
 been most serviceable. 
 
 *' It seems," said the old Clergyman, " that the most 
 valuable instrument always fails when we are engaged in 
 supernatural inquiries." They were interrupted in their re- 
 flections by the entry of a servant, who announced that a 
 great fire was visible in the heavens, though no one could 
 say whether it was raging in the town, or in the neighbour- 
 hood. 
 
 The circumstances we have just related made the whole 
 party more susceptible of terror, and they were therefore 
 much agitated by the news. Fritz hastened up to the 
 belvidere of the house, where a map of the adjacent country 
 was suspended, by means of which he was enabled, even at 
 night, to point out with tolerable accuracy, the various posi- 
 tions of the surrounding places. The rest of the party 
 remained together, not without some sensations of fear and 
 anxiety. 
 
 Fritz announced, upon his return, that he had no good 
 news to tell. " The fire does not seem to be in the town, 
 but upon the property of our aunt. I am well acquainted," 
 said he, " with the locality, and believe I am not mis- 
 taken." Each one lamented the destruction of the fine 
 building, and calculated the loss. " A strange thought has 
 just occurred to me," said Fritz, " which may quiet our 
 minds as to the mystery of the reading-desk. Consider how 
 long it is since we heard the report." They counted the 
 minutes, and thought it had occurred about half-past twelve. 
 *' Now you will probably laugh," continued Fritz, " when I 
 tell you my conjecture. You know that our mother, a good 
 many years ago, made our aunt a present of a reading-desk, in 
 every respect similar to this one. They were both finished 
 with the greatest care, by the same workman, at the same 
 time, and cut out of one piece of wood. Both have lasted 
 well until now ; and I will lay a wager, that at this very 
 instant, the second reading-desk is actually burning at the 
 house of my aunt, and its twin-brother here is afflicted at 
 the disaster. To-morrow I will set out and investiojate this 
 singular fact, as thoroughly as I am able." 
 
 Whether Frederick really entertained the above opinion, 
 or whether his wish to tranquillize his sister suggested the 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANIS. 385 
 
 idea, we are unable to decide; they, however, seized the 
 opportunity to speak of many undeniable sympathies, and 
 ended by discovering that a sympathy actually existed between 
 pieces of timber formed from one tree, and pronounced it 
 probable that the same sympathy subsisted between pieces 
 of work completed by the same hand. They agreed that 
 these things resembled natural phenomena, fully as much as 
 other things which were often adduced, and which, although 
 quite evident, are incapable of explanation. " And in my 
 opinion," added Charles, " every phenomenon, as well as every 
 fact, is peculiarly interesting for its own sake. AVhoever 
 explains it, or connects it with other circumstances, only 
 makes a jest of it, or deludes us : this is done, for example, 
 by the natural philosopher and the historian. But an uncon- 
 nected fact or event is interesting, not because it is expli- 
 cable or probable, but because it is true. When at midnight 
 the flames consumed your aunt's reading-desk, the extraor- 
 dinary splitting of ours, at the very same time, was a palpable 
 fact, however explicable or connected with other things it 
 may be.'* 
 
 Though night was by this time far advanced, none of the 
 company felt any inclination to retire ; and Charles, in his 
 turn, asked permission to tell a story, which, though equally 
 interesting, might seem perhaps more natural and explicable 
 than the previous ones. " Marshal Eassompierre," he said, 
 *' relates it in his Memoirs, and I may be permitted to tell it 
 in his name. 
 
 " I had remarked for five or six months, that whenever X- 
 crossed the little bridge (for at that time the Pont Ncuf had 
 not been built), a very handsome shopkeeper, over the door 
 of whose establishment was painted the sign of " The Two 
 Angels," always saluted me with a low and respectful bow, 
 and followed me with her eyes as far as she could see me. 
 This conduct on her part surprised me extremely, but I always 
 directed my looks to her, and saluted her in return. I rode 
 on one occasion from Fontainbleau to Paris, and when I had 
 arrived at the little bridge, she appeared at the door of her 
 shop, and said, ' Your servant, sir ! ' I returned the salute, 
 and as I looked back from time to time, I observed that she 
 was as usual leaning forward, to keep me in view as long as 
 possible. 
 
390 GOETHE 
 
 " My servant was following with a postilion, as I wished to 
 send some letters back to some ladies in Fontainbleau the 
 same day. I ordered the servant to alight, to go to the 
 pretty shopkeeper, and to tell her from me, that I had no- 
 ticed her wish to speak to me, and that if she desired my 
 acquaintance, I would visit her whenever she wished. She 
 answered that I could have sent her no more delightful news, 
 that she would meet me whenever I should appoint, on con- 
 dition that she might be allowed to pass a night under the 
 same roof with me. I accepted the proposal, and asked the 
 sei:vant to find a place where I might appoint an assignation. 
 He said he would lead me to a friend's house, but advised 
 me, as fever was then very prevalent, to provide myself with 
 my own house-linen. When evening came, I went to the 
 appointed house, where I found a very beautiful young 
 woman awaiting my arrival. She was attired in a charming 
 head-dress, and wore the finest linens. Her tiny feet were 
 adorned with slippers, worked in gold and silk, and her 
 person was covered with a loose mantle of the softest satin 
 texture. Suffice it to say, that I never saw a more charming 
 person. In the morning I asked when I could see her again, 
 as it was then Thursday night, and it was not my intention 
 to leave the town before the following Sunday. 
 
 " She replied, that she was more anxious for a fresh appoint- 
 ment than I could possibly be ; but that it would be imj)rac- 
 ticable, unless I could postpone my departure, as I could 
 only see her on Sunday night. To this I made some diffi- 
 culty, which caused her to complain that I was tired of her, 
 and therefore wished to set out on Sunday ; ' but,' she 
 added, * you will soon think of me again, and will be glad 
 to forfeit a day, to pass a night with me.' 
 
 " I was easily persuaded. I promised to stay during Sunday, 
 and to meet her in the evening, at the same place. She 
 answered me as follows : ' I am quite aware, that on your 
 account, I have allowed myself to meet you under circum- 
 stances calculated to ruin my character ; but I have done 
 this in obedience to an irresistible desire to enjoy your society. 
 But so great an indiscretion cannot be repeated. I shall 
 excite the jealousy of my husband, though one might risk 
 even that for the satisfaction of an irresistible passion. For 
 yoiir sake I have come to this house, which has been Lon- 
 
' THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 391 
 
 oured by your presence. But if you desire to see me 
 iigain, you must meet me at the residence of my Aunt.' 
 
 " She described the house with great particularity, and then 
 added, ' I shall expect you at ten o'clock. From that time 
 till midnight the door shall be open. You will find a small 
 entrance, through which you must advance, as my Aunt's 
 door is at the farther end. You will then see a flight of 
 stairs opposite to you. They lead to the first floor, and there 
 I shall be expecting you with open arms.* 
 
 " I made all my arrangements. I sent aw^ay my things, dis- 
 missed my servants, and waited impatiently the arrival of 
 Sunday night, when I was to see my charming companion 
 once more. At ten o'clock I was at the appointed place. I 
 found the door which she had described, close shut, and 
 observed lights in the house, which seemed every now and 
 then to blaze up into a flame. I knocked impatiently in 
 order to announce my arrival, and I was immediately saluted 
 by the hoarse voice of a man inquiring what I wanted ? I 
 retired disappointed, and paced restlessly up and down the 
 street. At length I returned to the house, and found the 
 door then wide open. I hurried through the passage and 
 ascended the stairs. Judge of my astonishment at finding 
 the room occupied by two men, who were employed in burn- 
 ing a mattress and some bed-clothes, while I saw before me 
 two naked corpses stretched upon the floor. I hastened away 
 instantly, and in rushing down stairs, knocked against two 
 men carrying a coffin, who asked me angrily what I wanted. 
 I drew my sword to protect myself, and finally reached my 
 home in a state of the greatest excitement. I swallowed 
 half a dozen glasses of wine, as a preservative against the 
 fever, and on the following day continued my journey. 
 
 " All the inquiries I afterwards instituted to discover who 
 this woman was, were in vain. I even visited the shop 
 where the * Two Angels' were painted, but the new-comers 
 could not inform who their predecessors had been. The 
 chief character in this adventure was doubtless a person 
 from the lower orders, but I can assure you, that but for the 
 disagreeable finale, it would have proved one of the most 
 delightful incidents that has ever happened to mo, and that I 
 never think of my charming heroine without feelings of the 
 warmest afiectiou." 
 
392 GOETHE. 
 
 Charles observed, upon the conclusion of the anecdote, that 
 the mystery which enveloped the story was not easily 
 explained. The woman might either have died of the fever, 
 or have kept away from the house on account of the iniection. 
 
 *' But if she was alive," answered Charles, " she would 
 have met her lover in the street, as no fear could, under the 
 circumstances, have kept her from him. I fear," he added, 
 *^that her corpse was stretched on the floor." 
 
 " Oh ! no more of this," said Louisa : " this story is too 
 frightful. What a night we shall pass, if we retire with our 
 imaginations full of these pictures !" 
 
 *' I recollect an anecdote," interrupted Charles, " of rather 
 a more cheerful description, which the same Bassompierre 
 relates of some of his ancestors. 
 
 " A very beautiful woman, who loved one of her relations 
 passionately, visited him every Monday at his country house, 
 where they spent much time together, his wife believing in 
 the meanwhile that her husband was engaged on a hunting- 
 party. Two years uninterruptedly had passed in this way, 
 when the wife's suspicions being roused, she stole one morn- 
 ing to the country house, and found her husband asleep with 
 his companion. Being unwilling or afraid to disturb them, 
 she untied her veil, threw it over the feet of the sleeping 
 couple, and retired. When the lady awoke and observed 
 the veil, she uttered a piercing cry, and with loud lamenta- 
 tions complained that she would now never be able to see 
 her lover again. She then took leave of him, having first 
 given him three presents, a small fruit-basket, a ring, and a 
 goblet, being a present for each of his three daughters, and 
 desired him to take great care of them. They were accepted 
 with thanks, and the children of these three daughters believe 
 that they are indebted to their respective gifts for whatever 
 good fortune has attended them." 
 
 "This somewhat resembles the story of the beautiful 
 Melusina, and such like fairy tales," observed Louisa. 
 
 " But there is just such a tradition in our family," said 
 Frederick, " and we have possession of a similar talisman." 
 
 " AVhat do you mean?" asked Charles. 
 
 *' That is a secret," replied the former. " It can be told to 
 no one but the eldest son, and that during the lifetime of his 
 father, and he is then to hold the charm." 
 
THE OEBMAN EMIGBANTS. 393^ 
 
 ** Are you the present possessor ?" inquired Louisa. 
 ** I have told too much already," answered Frederick, as he 
 lighted his candle, previous to retiring. 
 
 The family had assembled to breakfast according to their 
 usual custom, and the Baroness afterwards took her seat at 
 her embroidery-frame. After a short silence, the Clergyman 
 observed, with a slight smile, "It is seldom indeed that 
 singers, poets, or story-tellers, who enter into an agreement 
 to amuse a company, do it at the right time ; they often 
 require pressing, when they should begin voluntarily; whilst, 
 on the other hand, they are frequently eager and urgent to 
 commence at a time when the entertainment could be dis- 
 pensed with. I hope, however, to prove an exception to this 
 custom, and 1 shall be glad to know whether it will prove 
 agreeable to you that I should relate a story." 
 
 " Particularly so," answered the Baroness, "and I feel sure 
 that I express the general opinion. But if it is your inten- 
 tion to relate an anecdote as a specimen, I will tell you for 
 what sort of story I have no inclination." 
 
 " I take no pleasure in stories which, like the Arabian Nights, 
 connect one tale with another, and so confound the interest 
 of both, where the narrator finds himself compelled to excite 
 our attention by interruptions, and instead of satisfying us by 
 detailing a course of consecutive adventures, seeks to attract 
 us by rare and often unworthy artifices. I cannot but cen- 
 sure the attempt to convert stories which should possess the 
 unity of a poem, into unmeaning puzzles, which only have 
 Xhe efiect of destroying our taste. I leave you to choose 
 your own subjects, but I hope you will pay a little attention, 
 to the style, since it must be remembered that we are mem- 
 bers of good society. Commence with some narrative in 
 which but few persons ape concerned or few events described, 
 in which the plot is good and natural, though possessing as 
 much action and contrivance as is necessary, which shall not 
 prove dull, nor be confined to one spot, but in which, how- 
 ever, the action shall not progress too rapidly. Let your 
 characters be pleasing, and if not perfect, at least good, — 
 not extravagant, but interesting and amiable. Let your 
 

 S94 GOETHE, 
 
 story be amusing in the narration, in order that when con- 
 cluded, we may remember it with pleasure." 
 
 *' If I were not well acquainted with you, gracious lady,*' 
 said the Clergyman, " I should be of opinion that it was your 
 wish, by thus explaining how much you require of me, tc 
 bring my wares into disrepute, before I have exposed them 
 for sale. I see how difficult it will be to reach your standard 
 of excellence. Even now," he continued, after a short 
 pause, " you compel me to postpone the tale which I had 
 intended to relate, till another time, and I fear I shall commit 
 a mistake in extemporizing an anecdote for which I have 
 always felt a great partiality : — 
 
 ~n a sea-coast town in Italy, once lived a merchant, who 
 from his youth had been distinguished for activity and in- 
 dustry. ■ He was, in addition, a first-rate sailor, and had 
 amassed considerable wealth by trading to Alexandria, where 
 he was accustomed to purchase or exchange merchandize, 
 which he afterwards either brought home or forwarded to 
 the northern parts of Europe. His fortune increased from 
 year to year. Business was his greatest pleasure, and he 
 found no time for the indulgence of extravagant dissi- 
 pation. 
 
 His life was employed in active pursuits of this nature tiU 
 he was fifty years old, and he had been, during all this time, 
 a total stanger to those social pleasures with which luxurious 
 citizens are accustomed to diversify their lives. Even the 
 charms of the fair sex had never excited his attention, not- 
 withstanding the attractions of his countrywomen. His 
 knowledge of them was confined to their love for ornaments 
 and jewellery, a taste of which he never failed to take proper 
 advantage. 
 
 He was surprised, therefore, at the change which took 
 place in his disposition, when, after a long voyage, his richly 
 laden ship entered the port of his native town, upon the 
 occurrence of a great festival, in which the children of the 
 place took a prominent part. The youths and maidens had 
 attended the church in their gayest attire, and had joined in 
 the sacred processions. They afterwards mingled through 
 the town in separate companies, or dispersed through the 
 country in search of amusements, or they assembled in the 
 large square, engaging in various active pursuits, and exhibit- 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS, 395 
 
 ing feats of skill and dexterity, for which small prizes were 
 bestowed. 
 
 The merchant became delighted with all he saw. But 
 after he had for some time observed the happiness of the 
 children, and the delight of their parents, and witnessed S8 
 many persons in the full enjoyment of present bliss, and the 
 indulgence of the fondest hopes, he could not help reflecting 
 upon the wretchedness of his own condition. The thought 
 of his own solitary home began for the first time to be dis- 
 tressing to him, and he thus gave vent to his melancholy 
 thoughts. 
 
 *' Unhappy being that I am ! Why are my eyes opened 
 so late ? Why, in my old age, do I first become acquainted 
 with those blessings which can alone ensure the happiness 
 cf mankind? What toil have I endured! What labours 
 have I borne! And what have they done for me? 'Tis 
 true, my cellars are filled with merchandize, my chests with 
 valuable metals, and my caskets with jewellery and precious 
 stones ; but these treasures can neither console nor satisfy 
 my heart. The more I have, the more I want, — one coin 
 requires another, and one diamond wishes for its fellow. I 
 am not the master of my riches. They command me in im- 
 perious tone. * Go and get more,' they exclaim. Gold delights 
 in gold, and jewels in their fellows. They have ruled me all 
 my life ; and now I find, too late, that they possess no real 
 v^ue. Now when age approaches, I begin for the first time 
 to reflect, and to complain, that I enjoy none of the treasures 
 which I possess, and that no one will enjoy them after me. 
 Have I ever used them to adorn the person of a beloved 
 wife ? — to provide a marriage -portion for a daughter ? Have 
 I ever, by their means, enabled a son to win and to dower 
 the maiden of his heart ? Never ! None of these treasures 
 have ever enriched me or mine ; and what I have collected 
 with so much toil, some stranger, after my death, will 
 thoughtlessly dissipate. 
 
 " Oh ! with what different feelings will those happy parents 
 whom I see around me, assemble their children this evening, 
 praise their address, and encourage them to virtue ! What 
 joy have I beheld beaming from their eyes, and what hopes 
 from the happiness of their beloved offspring ! And must I 
 ever be a stranger to hope ? Am I grown grey ? Is it not 
 
396 GOETHE. 
 
 enough to see my error, before the final evening of my days 
 arrives ? No, in my ripe years, it is not foolish to dream of 
 love. I will enrich a fair maiden with my wealth, and make 
 her happy. And should my house ever become blest with 
 children, those late fruits will render me happy, instead of 
 proving a plague and a torment, as they often do, to those 
 who too early receive such gifts from Heaven." 
 
 Thus communing with himself, he silently formed his de- 
 termination. He then called two of his intimate companions, 
 and opened his mind to them. They were ever ready to aid 
 him in all emergencies, and were not wanting upon the 
 present occasion. They hastened, therefore, into the town, to 
 make inquiries after the fairest and most beautiful maidens ; 
 for they knew their master was a man, who, whatever goods 
 he might wish to acquire, would never be satisfied with any 
 but the best. He was himself active, went about, inquired, 
 saw, and listened, and soon found what he sought, in the 
 person of a young maiden about sixteen years of age, accom- 
 plished and well-educated. Her person and disposition 
 pleased him, and gave him every hope of happiness. In fact, 
 at this time no maiden in the whole town was more admired 
 for her beauty. 
 
 A.fter a short delay, during which the most perfect inde- 
 pendence of his intended bride, not only during his own life, 
 but after his decease, was secured, the nuptial ceremony was 
 performed with great pomp and triumph, and from that day, 
 the merchant felt himself, for the first time in his life, in 
 actual possession and enjoyment of his riches. His rarest 
 and most costly silks were devoted to the adornment of his 
 bride, and his diamonds gleamed more brilliantly upon the 
 neck and amid the tresses of his love, than they had ever 
 shone in his caskets ; and his rings acquired an inexpressible 
 value from the beauty of the hand by which they were 
 adorned. And thus he felt that he was not only as wealthy, 
 but even wealthier than before ; and all he possessed ac- 
 quired a new value from being shared with her whom he 
 loved. The happy couple spent a year together in the most 
 perfect contentment, and he seemed to experience a real joy 
 in having exchanged his active and wandering course of life 
 for the calm content of domestic bliss. But he could not so 
 easily divest himself of his nature; and he found that a 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGEANT8. 397 
 
 habit acquired in early youth, though it may for a time be 
 interrupted, can never be completely laid aside. 
 
 After some time the sight of some of his old companions, 
 when they had safely brought their ships into harbour, after 
 a long and perilous voyage, excited anew his old inclinations, 
 and he began now, even in the company of his bride, to 
 experience sensations of restlessness and discontent. These 
 feelings increased daily, and were gradually converted into so 
 intense a longing for his old course of life, that at last he became 
 positively miserable, and a serious illness was the result, 
 
 " What will now become of me ?" he asked himself. " I learn 
 too late, the folly, in old age, of entering upon a new system 
 of life. How can we separate ourselves from our thoughts 
 and our habits ? What have I done ? Once I possessed the 
 perfect freedom which a bird enjoys in open air, and now I 
 am imprisoned in a dwelling with all my wealth and jewels, 
 and my beauteous wife. I thought thus to win contentment, 
 and enjoy my riches ; but I feel that I lose everything so 
 long as I cannot increase my stores. Unjustly are men con- 
 sidered fools who add to their wealth by ceaseless activity, — 
 for activity itself is happiness, and riches themselves are 
 Talueless in comparison with the delight of the toil by which 
 they are acquired. I am wretched from idleness, sick from 
 inactivity, and if I do not determine upon some other course, 
 I may soon bid farewell to life. 
 
 " iknow, however, how much I risk ill separating from a 
 young and lovely wife. I know how unjust it is to win the 
 affections of a charming maiden, and, after a brief possession, 
 to abandon her to the wearisome society of her own desires 
 and emotions. I know, even now, how many vain and frivo- 
 lous youths display their conceited persons before my windows. 
 I know that in church, and in the public promenades, they 
 seek to attract the notice, and engage the attention, of my 
 wife. What may not take place, then, if I absent myself? 
 Can I hope for the intervention of some miracle to save her 
 from her almost inevitable fate ? It were vain to expect that 
 at her age, and with her warm affections, she can withstand 
 the seductions of love. If I depart, I know that upon my 
 return I shall have lost the attachment of my wife, and that 
 she will have forfeited her fidelity, and tarnished the houour 
 of my house." 
 
398 GOETHE. 
 
 Such reflections as these, and the doubts to which he 
 became a prey, embittered his condition tenfold. His 
 wife, no less than his relations and friends, sympathized 
 deeply with him, without being able to comprehend the cause 
 of his illness. At length he sought relief from his own 
 thoughts, and thus communed with himself: — "Fool! to 
 trouble yourself so much about the protection of a wife, whom, 
 if your illness continues, you must leave behind you for the 
 enjoyment of another. Is it not better to preserve your life, 
 even though in the effort you risk the loss of the greatest 
 treasure which awoman can possess. How many find their very 
 presence ineffectual to preserve this treasure, and patiently 
 endure a privation which they cannot prevent ! Why cannot 
 you summon up courage to be independent of so precarious a 
 blessing, since upon this resolution your very existence de- 
 pends?" 
 
 He felt invigorated by these thoughts, and forthwith sum- 
 moned together his former crew. He instructed them without 
 delay to charter a vessel, to load it, and to hold themselves 
 ready to set sail with the first favourable wind. He then 
 unburthened himself in the following terms to his wife : — 
 
 *'Be not astonished at any commotion you may shortly 
 observe in our house, but conclude from thence that I am 
 making preparations for a journey. Be not overcome with 
 grief when I inform you that I am once more bent upon a 
 sea voyage. My love is still unchanged towards you, and so 
 it will doubtless remain during my life. I am sensible of the 
 bliss I have enjoyed in your society, and should feel it still 
 more powerfully, but for the silent censures of idleness and 
 inactivity with which my conscience reproves me. My old 
 disposition returns, and my former habits are still alive. Let 
 me once more visit the markets of Alexandria, to which I shall 
 repair with the greater joy, because I can there procure for 
 you the richest merchandize and most valuable treasures. 
 I leave you in possession of all my fortune and of all my 
 goods; make use of them without restraint, and enjoy yourself 
 in the company of your relatives and friends. The period of 
 our separation will roll swiftly by, and we shall see each 
 other once more with inexpressible delight." 
 
 Dissolved in tears, his loving wife assured him, with the 
 most tender endearments, that during his absence she should 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGBA.NTS. 399 
 
 never be able to enjoy one happy moment; and entreated 
 him, since she wished neither to control nor to detain him, 
 that she might, at least, share his afiectionate thoughts during 
 the sad time of their separation. 
 
 He then gave some general directions on business and 
 household matters, and added, after a short pause : *' I have 
 something to say, which lies like a burden upon my heart, 
 and you must permit me to utter it ; I only implore you 
 earnestly not to misinterpret my meaning, but in my anxiety 
 for you to discern my love." 
 
 " I can guess your thoughts," interrupted his wife ; "you 
 are suspicious of me, I know ; and after the fashion of men, 
 you always rail against the universal weakness of our sex. 
 I am, it is true, young and of a cheerful disposition, and you 
 fear that, in your absence, I shall be found inconstant and 
 unfaithful. I do not find fault with your suspicions : it is 
 the habit of your sex ; but if I know my own heart, I may 
 assure you that I am not so susceptible of impressions as to 
 be induced, lightly, to stray from the paths of love and duty, 
 through which I have hitherto journeyed. Fear not ; you 
 shall find your wife as true and faithful on your return, as 
 you have ever found her hitherto, when you have come to her 
 arms at evening after a short absence." 
 
 " I believe the truth of the sentiments you utter," added 
 the husband, "and I beseech you to be constant to them. 
 But let us conceive the possibility of the worst. Why should 
 we shrink from it ? You know yourself how the beauty of 
 your person attracts the admiration of all our young fellow- 
 citizens. During my absence, they will be more attentive to 
 you than ever. They will redouble their efforts to attract 
 and to please you. The image of your husband will not prove 
 as efiective as his presence, in banishing them from my doois 
 and from your heart. I know you are a noble being ; but the 
 blandishments of love are powerful, and oftentimes overcome 
 the firmest resolutions. Interrupt me not. Your very thoughtf 
 of me during my absence may inflame your passions. 1 
 may, for some time, continue to be the object of your dearest 
 wishes ; but who can foretell what opportunities may occur, 
 and allow a stranger to enjoy those privileges which were 
 destined for me. Be not impatient, I beseech you, but hear 
 me (Kit 
 
400 GOETHE. 
 
 " Should that time arrive, the possibility of which you deny^ 
 and which I am by no means anxious to hasten, in which you 
 feel that you need society, and can no longer defer the re- 
 quirements of love, then make me one promise. Permit no 
 thoughtless youth to supplant me, whatever may be the 
 attractions of his person, for such lovers are more danger- 
 ous to the honour than to the virtue of a woman. Incited 
 rather by vanity than by love, they seek the general favours of 
 the sex, and are ever ready to transfer their transitory 
 affections. If you wish for the society of a friend, look out 
 for one who is worthy of the name, whose modesty and dis- 
 cretion understands the art of exalting the joys of love by 
 the virtue of secrecy." 
 
 His beautiful wife could suppress her agony no longer, and 
 the tears which she had till now restrained, flowed in copious 
 torrents from her eyes. " Whatever may be your opinion of 
 me," she cried, after a passionate embrace, " nothing can be 
 at this hour farther from my thoughts than the crime which 
 you seem to consider as inevitable. If such an idea shall ever 
 suggest itself to my imagination, may the earth in that instant 
 open and swallow me up, and all hope of that joy for 
 ever vanish, which promises a blessed immortality ! Banish 
 this mistrust from your bosom, and let me enjoy the full 
 and delightful hope of seeing you again return to these 
 arms." 
 
 Leaving no effort untried to comfort and console his wife, 
 he set sail the next day. His voyage was prosperous, and he 
 soon arrived in Alexandria. 
 
 In the meantime our heroine lived in the tranquil enjoy- 
 ment of a large fortune, in possession of every luxury, 
 though, with the exception of her relatives and imme- 
 diate friends, no person was admitted to her society. 
 The business of her absent husband was discharged by trust- 
 worthy servants, and she inhabited a large mansion, in whose 
 splendid salons she was able to enjoy the daily pleasure of 
 recalling the remembrance of his love. 
 
 But notwithstanding her quiet and retired mode of life, the 
 young gallants of the town did not long remain inactive. 
 They frequented the street, passed incessantly before her 
 windows, and in the evening sought by means of music anci 
 serenades to attract her attention. The pretty prisone, 
 
THE GERMAN EMIG HANTS. 401 
 
 at first found these attentions troublesome and annoying, but 
 gradually she became reconciled to the vexation, and when 
 the long evenings arrived, she began to consider the serenades 
 in the light of an agreeable entertainment, and could scarcely 
 suppress an occasional sigh, which, strictly speaking, belonged 
 to her absent husband. 
 
 But her unknown admirers, in place of gradually weary- 
 ing in their attentions, as she had once expected, became 
 more assiduous in their devotion to her. She began, at 
 last, to recognize the oft-repeated instruments and voices, 
 to grow familiar with the melodies, and to feel an anxiety 
 to know the names of her most constant serenaders. She 
 might innocently indulge so harmless a curiosity. She now 
 peeped occasionally through her curtains and half-closed 
 shutters, to notice the pedestrians, and to observe more par- 
 ticularly the youths whose eyes were constantly directed 
 towards her windows. They were invariably handsome, and 
 fashionably dressed ; but their manner and whole deportment 
 were unmistakably marked by frivolity and vanity. They 
 sought rather to make themselves remarkable by directing 
 their attention to the house of so beautiful a woman, than to 
 display towards her a feeling of peculiar respect. 
 
 *' Really," the lady would sometimes say to herself in a 
 tone of raillery, " really my husband showed a deal of pene- 
 tration. The condition under which he allowed me to enjoy 
 the privilege of a lover, excludes all those who care in the 
 least for me, or to whom I am likely to take a fancy. He 
 seems to have well understood that prudence, modesty, and 
 silence are qualities which belong to demure old age, when men 
 can value the understanding, but are incapable of awakening 
 the fancy, or exciting the desires. I am pretty sure, at least, 
 that amongst the youths who lay perpetual siege to my man- 
 sion, there is not one entitled to my confidence ; and thosa 
 who might lay some claim to that virtue, fall lamentably short 
 in other attractions." 
 
 Supported by these reflections, she allowed herself to take 
 more and more pleasure daily in the music and in the atten- 
 tions of her young admirers ; till, at length, anperceived by 
 herself, a restless desire gradually sjjrung up in her bosom, 
 with which she was too late compelled to struggle. Solitude 
 and idleness, combined with comfort and luxury, gave birth 
 
 2o 
 
402 GOETHE. 
 
 to an unruly passion, long before the thoughtless victim had 
 any suspicion of her clanger. 
 
 Amongst the numerous endowments of her husband, she 
 now saw ample reason to admire his profound knowledge of 
 the world' and of mankind, and his thorough acquaintance 
 with woman's heart. She now perceived the possibility of 
 that occurrence which she had formerly so strenuously 
 denied, and acknowledged his wisdom in preaching the 
 necessity of prudence and caution. But what could these 
 virtues avail, where pitiless chance seemed to be in con- 
 spiracy with her own unaccountable passions ? How could 
 she select one from a crowd of strangers, and was she per- 
 mitted, in case of disappointment, to make a second choice ? 
 
 Innumerable thoughts of this nature increased the per- 
 plexity of our solitary heroine. In vain she sought for 
 recreation, and tried to forget herself. Her mind was perpe- 
 tually excited by agreeable objects, and her imagination thus 
 became impressed with the most delightful pictures of fancied 
 happiness. 
 
 In this state of mind, she was informed one day by a rela- 
 tion, amongst other pieces of news, that a young lawyer who 
 had just finished his studies at Bologna, had lately arrived in 
 his native town. His talents were the topic of general 
 admiration and encomium. His universal knowledge was 
 accompanied by a modesty and reserve very uncommon in 
 youth, and his personal attractions were of a high order. In 
 his office of Procurator he had already won, not only the 
 confidence of the public, but the respect of the judges. He 
 had daily business to transact at the court-house, so great was 
 the increase of his professional practice. 
 
 Our heroine could not hear the talents of this youth so 
 generally extolled, without feeling a wish to become acquainted 
 with him, accompanied by a secret hope that he might prove 
 a person upon whom, in conformity with the permission" ol 
 her husband, she might bestow her heart. She soon learnt 
 that he passed her dwelling daily, on his way to the court 
 house, and she carefully watched for the hour when the 
 lawyers were accustomed to assemble for the discharge of 
 business. With beating heart she at length observed hin? 
 pass, and if his handsome figure and j'outhful attractions, on 
 the ono hand, excited her admiration, his apparent reserve 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGKANTS. 403 
 
 find modesty, on the other, gave her much reason for doubt 
 and anxiety. For several days she watched him silently, till 
 at length, she was no longer able to resist her desire to gain 
 his attention. She dressed herself with care, went out upon 
 the balcony, and marked his approach with feelings of sus- 
 pense. But she grew troubled and, indeed, felt ashamed when 
 she saw him pass, in contemplative mood, with thoughtful 
 steps and downcast eyes pursuing his quiet way, without 
 deigning to bestow the slightest notice upon her. Vainly did 
 she endeavour thus to win his attention for several successive 
 days. In the same undeviating course he continued to pass 
 by, without raising his eyes or looking to the right or to 
 the left. But the more she observed him, the more did ho 
 appear to be the very person she desired. Her wish to know 
 him now grew stronger and, at length, became irresistible. 
 How ! she thought within herself — when my noble, sensible 
 husband actually foresaw the extremity to which his absence 
 would reduce me, when his keen perception knew that I 
 could not live without a friend, — must I droop and pine 
 away at the very time when fortune provides me with one 
 whom not only my own heart, but even the choice of my 
 husband would approve, in whose society I may enjoy the 
 delights of love in inviolable secrecy ? Fool should I be, to 
 miss such an opportimity, fool, to resist the powerful im- 
 pulses of love. 
 
 With such reflections did she endeavour to decide upon 
 some fixed course, and she did not long remain a prey to 
 imcertainty. It happened with her, as it usually does with 
 every one who is conquered by a passion, that she looked with- 
 out apprehension upon all such trifling objections as shame, 
 fear, timidity, and duty, and came at length to the bold reso- 
 lution of sending her servant maid to the young lawyer at 
 any risk, and inviting him to visit her. 
 
 She found him in the company of several friends, and 
 delivered her message punctually in the terms in which she 
 had been instructed. The Procurator was not at all surprised 
 at the invitation. He had known the merchant previously, 
 was aware of his absence at present, and presumed that the 
 lady required the aid of his professional services about some 
 important matter of business. He promised the servant, 
 therefore, that he would wait upon her mistress without delay. 
 
 2d2 
 
404 GOETHE. 
 
 The latter heard with unspeakable joy, that she would soon 
 be allowed an opportunity of seeing and speaking to her 
 beloved. She prepared carefully for his reception, and had 
 her saloons arranged with the utmost elegance. Orange-leaves 
 and flowers were strewn around in profusion, and the most 
 costly furniture was displayed for the occasion. And thus 
 the brief intervening time hastened by, which would other- 
 wise have been unbearable. 
 
 Who can describe the emotion with which she witnessed 
 his arrival, or her agitation upon inviting him to take a 
 seat at her side ? She hesitated how to address him now 
 that he had arrived, and found a difficulty in remembering 
 what she had to say. He sat still and silent. At length, 
 she took courage and addressed him, not without some visible 
 perplexity. 
 
 *' I understand. Sir, that you are but lately returned to 
 your native city, and I learn that you are universally admired 
 as a talented and incomparable man. I am ready to bestow 
 my utmost confidence upon you, in a matter of extraordinary 
 importance, but which, upon reflection, would seem adapted 
 rather for the ear of the Confessor than that of the Lawyer. 
 I have been for some years married to a husband who is both 
 rich and honourable, and who, as long as we have lived 
 together, has never failed to tenderly love me, and of whom 
 I should not have a single word of complaint to utter, if an 
 irresistible desire for travelling and for trade had not torn 
 him, for some time, from my arms. 
 
 " As a sensible and just man, he no doubt felt conscious of 
 the injury which his absence must necessarily inflict upon me. 
 He knew that a young wife must be preserved in a different 
 manner from jewellery and pearls. He knew that she re- 
 sembled a garden, full of the choicest fruits, which would 
 be lost not only to him, but to every one else, if the door 
 were kept locked for years. For this reason, he addressed 
 me in serious but friendly tones before his departure, and 
 assured me, that he knew I should not be able to live Avithout 
 the society of a friend, and therefore not only permitted, but 
 made me promise, that I would, in a free and unrestrained 
 manner, follow the inclination which I should soon find 
 springing up within my heart." 
 
 She paused for a moment, — but an eloquent look, which 
 
THE GEKMAN EMIGRANTS. 405 
 
 the young La\xyer directed towards her, encouraged her to 
 proceed. 
 
 " One only condition was imposed upon me by my indulgent 
 husband. He recommended me to use the most extreme 
 caution, and impressed upon me strongly the necessity of 
 choosing a steady, prudent, silent, and confidential friend. JBut, 
 you will excuse my continuing — excuse the embarrassment 
 with which I must confess how I have been attracted by 
 your numerous accomplishments, and conceive, if possible, 
 from the confidence I have reposed in you, the nature of my 
 hopes and wishes." 
 
 The worthy young Lawyer was silent for a short time, and 
 then replied, in a thoughtful tone. " I am deeply indebted 
 for the high mark of confidence with which you both honour 
 and delight me. I wish to convince you that I am not un- 
 worthy of your favour. But let me first answer you in a 
 professional capacity, and I must confess my admiration for 
 your husband, who so clearly saw the nature of the injustice 
 he committed against you ; for there can be no doubt of this 
 — that a husband who leaves his young wife, in order to visit 
 distant countries, must be viewed in the light of a man who 
 relinquishes a valuable treasure, to which, by his own con- 
 duct, he abandons all manner of claim. And as the first 
 fkider may then lawfully take possession — so I hold it to be 
 natural and just, that a young woman, under the circum- 
 stances you describe, should bestow her aff'ections and herself, 
 without scruple, upon any friend who may prove worthy of 
 her confidence. 
 
 " But particularly when the husband, as in this case, con- 
 scious of the injustice he himself commits, expressly allows 
 his forsaken wife a privilege, of which he could not deprive 
 her, it must be clear that he can suffer no wrong from an 
 action to which he has given his own consent. 
 
 " Wherefore if you," continued the young lawyer, with a 
 different look and the most express emphasis, and the most 
 affectionate pressure of the hand, " if you select me for your 
 servant, you- enrich me with a happiness, of which, till now* 
 I could have formed no conception. And be assured," he 
 added, while at the same time he warmly kissed her hand, 
 " that you could not have found a more true, loving, pru- 
 dent, and devoted servant." 
 
406 GOETHE. 
 
 This declaration tranquillized the agitated feelings of our 
 tender heroine. She at once expressed her love without 
 reserve. She pressed his hand, drew him nearer to her, and 
 reclined her head upon his shoulder. They had remained but 
 a short time in this position, when he sought to disengage 
 himself gently, and not without emotion expressed himself 
 thus : — " Did ever happy mortal find himself in such em- 
 barrassment? I am compelled to leave you, and to do 
 violence to myself in the very moment when I might sur- 
 render myself to the most divine enchantment. I cannot now 
 partake the bliss which is prepared for me, and I earnestly 
 pray that a temporary postponement may not altogethei 
 frustrate my fondest hopes. 
 
 She inquired hastily the cause of this strange speech : 
 
 " When I was in Bologna," he replied, " and had just 
 completed my studies, preparing to enter upon the practice 
 of my profession, I was seized with a dangerous illness, from 
 which it appeared, that even if I should escape with my life, 
 my bodily and mental faculties must sustain irreparable in- 
 lury. Reduced to despair, and tortured by the pangs of 
 disease, I made a solemn vow to the Virgin, that should I 
 recover, I would persist for one whole year in practising the 
 strictest fast and abstinence from enjoyment of every de- 
 scription. For ten months I have already adhered to my 
 vow, and considering the wonderful favour I have enjoyed, 
 the time has not passed wearily, and I have not found it 
 difficult to abstain from many accustomed pleasures. But 
 the two months Mdiich still remain, will now seem an eternity, 
 since, till their expiration, I am forbidden to partake a hap- 
 piness whose delights are inconceivable. And though you 
 may think the time long, do not, I beseech you, withdravv the 
 favour which you have so bountifully bestowed upon me." 
 
 Not much consoled by this announcement, she felt a little 
 more encouraged when her friend added, after a few minutes* 
 reflection, " I scarcely dare to make a proposal, and suggest a 
 plan, which may, perhaps, release me a little earlier from my 
 vow. If I could only find some one as firm and resolute as 
 myself in keeping a promise, and who would divide with me 
 the time that still remains, I should then be the sooner free, 
 and nothing could impede our enjoyment. Are you willing, 
 my sweet friend, to assist in hastening our happiness by 
 
TliK GERMAN EMIGUANTS. 407 
 
 removing one-half of the obstacle which opposes us ? I can 
 only share my vow with one upon whom I can depend with 
 full confidence. And it is severe, — nothing but bread and 
 water twice a-day, and at night a few hours' repose on a hard 
 bed, and notwithstanding my incessant professional occupa- 
 tion, I must devote many hours to prayer. If I am obliged 
 to attend a party, I am not thereby released from my duty, 
 and I must avoid the enjoyment of every dainty. If you 
 can resolve to pass one month in the observance of these 
 rules, you will find yourself the sooner in possession of your 
 friend's society, which you will relish the more from the 
 consciousness of having deserved it by your praiseworthy 
 resolution." 
 
 The beautiful lady was not insensible of the difficulty she 
 had to encounter ; but, the very presence of her beloved so 
 increased her attachment, that no trial appeared to her toa 
 difficult which should ensure the possession of so valuable a 
 prize. She assured him, therefore, in the most affijctionate 
 manner, of her readiness to share the responsibility of his 
 vow, and addressed him thus: "My sweet friend 1 the 
 miracle through which you have recovered your health, is to 
 me an event of so much value and importance, that it is not 
 only my duty, but my joy, to partake the vow by which 
 you are still bound. I am delighted to offer so strong a 
 proof of my sincerity. I will imitate your example in the 
 strictest manner, and, until you discharge me from my 
 obligation, no consideration shall induce me to stray from my 
 path of duty." 
 
 The young lawyer once more repeated the conditions under 
 which he was willing to transfer to her the obligation of one 
 half of his vow, and then took his leave, with the assurance 
 that he would soon visit her again, to inquire after her con- 
 stancy and resolution. And she was then obliged to witness 
 his departure, without receiving so much as one kiss or pres- 
 sure of the hand, and scarcely with a look of ordinary recog- 
 nition. She found some degree of happy relief in the strange 
 employment which the performance of her new duties imposed 
 upon her, for she had much to do in the preparation for 
 her unaccustomed com-se of life. In the first place, all her 
 beautiful exotics and flowers were removed, which had been 
 procured to grace the reception of her beloved. Then a hard 
 
408 GOETHE. 
 
 mattress was substituted for her downy bed, to which she 
 retired at evening, after having scarcely satisfied her hunger 
 with a frugal meal of bread and water. The following 
 morning found her busily employed in plain work, and in 
 making wearing apparel for a certain number of poor inmates 
 of the to^vn hospital. During this new occupation, she en- 
 tertained her fancy by dwelling upon the image of her dear 
 friend, and indulging the hope of future happiness ; and 
 these thoughts reconciled her to the greatest privations, and 
 to the humblest fare. 
 
 At the end of the first week, the roses began to fade from 
 her beautiful cheeks, her person to fall away, and her strength 
 to become weak and languid ; but a visit from her friend im- 
 parted new animation and fortitude. He encouraged her to 
 persist in her resolution, by the example of his own perse-- 
 verance, and by shewing her the approaching certainty of 
 uninterrupted happiness. His visit was brief, but he promised 
 to return again speedily. 
 
 With cheerful resignation, she continued her new and 
 strict course of life, but her strength soon declined so much 
 that the most severe illness could scarcely have reduced 
 her to such extreme weakness. Her friend, whose visit was 
 repeated at the end of the week, sympathized with her con- 
 dition, but comforted her by an assurance that one half the 
 period of her trial was already over. But the severe fasting, 
 continual praying, and incessant work, became every day 
 more unbearable, and her excessive abstemiousness threatened 
 to ruin the health of one who had ever been accustomed to a 
 life of the greatest luxury. At length she found a difficulty 
 in walking, and she was compelled, notwithstanding the 
 sultriness of the season, to wrap herself up in the warmest 
 clothing, to preserve even an ordinary degree of heat, till 
 finally she was obliged to take to her bed. 
 
 Reduced to this extremity, it would be difficult to describe 
 the course of her reflections, as she thought over the whole 
 of this extraordinary occurrence, and it is impossible to 
 imagine her distress when ten tedious days wearily passed 
 without the appearance of the friend, for whose sake she had 
 consented to make this unheard-of sacrifice. But those hours 
 of trouble sufficed to recal her to reason, and she formed her 
 resolution. Her friend visited her after the lapse of somo 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGBANTS. , 409 
 
 few days more, and seating himself at her bed-side, upon the 
 very sofa which he had occupied when she made her first 
 declaration of love to him, he encouraged and implored her in 
 the most tender and affectionate tones, to persist for a short 
 time longer ; but she interrupted him with a sweet smile, and 
 assured him that she needed no persuasion to continue, for a 
 few days, the performance of a vow which she knew full well 
 had been appointed for her advantage. *' I am, as yet, too 
 feeble," she said, " to express my thanks to you as I could 
 wish. You have saved me from myself. You have restored 
 me to myself, and I confess, that from this moment I am 
 indebted to you for my existence. My husband was, indeed, 
 gifted with prudence and good sense, and well knew the 
 nature of woman's heart ! And he was, moreover, just enough 
 not to condemn a passion which he saw might spring up 
 within my bosom, through his own fault, and he was 
 generous enough to make allowance for the weakness of my 
 nature ! But you, Sir, are truly virtuous and good. You 
 have taught me that we possess within us an antidote equiva- 
 lent to the force of our passions ; that we are capable of 
 renouncing luxuries to which we have been accustomed, and 
 of suppressing our strongest inclinations. You have taught 
 me this lesson by means of hope, and of delusion. Neither 
 are any longer necessary ; you have made me acquainted with 
 the existence of that ever-living conscience, which, in peace- 
 ful silence, dwells within our souls, and never ceases with 
 gentle admonitions to remind us of its presence, till its sway 
 becomes irresistibly acknowledged. And now farewell. May 
 your influence over others be as effective as it has been over 
 me. Do not confine your labours to the task of unravelling 
 legal perplexities, but show mankind, by your own gentle 
 guidance and example, that within every bosom the germ of 
 hidden virtue lies concealed. Esteem and fame will be your 
 reward, and, far better than any statesman or hero, you will 
 earn the glorious title of father of your country." 
 
 " We must all extol the character of your young lawyer,' 
 said the Baroness, at the conclusion of the Clergyman's tale ; 
 " polished, wise, interesting, and instructive, I wish every pre- 
 ceptor were like him, who undertakes to restrain or recal youth 
 from the path of error. I think such a tale is peculiarly entitled 
 to be styled a moral anecdote. Eelate some more of the same 
 
410 GOETHE. 
 
 nature, and your audience will have ample reason to be 
 thankful." 
 
 Clergyman. — I am delighted that my tale has earned your 
 approbation, but I am sorry you wish to hear more of such 
 moral anecdotes ; for, to say the truth, this is the first and 
 last of the kind. 
 
 Louisa. — It certainly does not do you much credit, to say 
 that your best collection only furnishes a single specimen. 
 
 Clergyman. — You have not understood me. It is not the 
 only moral tale I can relate, but they all bear so close a 
 resemblance, that each would seem only to repeat the 
 original. 
 
 Louisa. — Really, you should give up your paradoxical 
 style, which so much obscures your conversation, and express 
 yourself more clearly. 
 
 Clergyman, — With pleasure, then. No anecdote deserves 
 to be called moral, which does not prove that man pos- 
 sesses within himself that power to subdue his inclinations, 
 which may be called out by the persuasion of another. My 
 story teaches this doctrine, and no moral tale can teach 
 otherwise. 
 
 Louisa. — ^I'hen, in order to act morally, I must act con- 
 trary to my inclinations ? 
 
 Clergyman. — Undoubtedly. 
 
 Louisa. — Even when they are good ? 
 
 Clergyman. — No inclinations are abstractedly good — but 
 only so, as far as they effect good. 
 
 Louisa. — Suppose I have an inclination for benevolence ? 
 
 Clergyman. — Then you should subdue your inclination for 
 benevolence, if you find that your domestic happiness suffer 
 from its exercise. 
 
 Louisa. — Suppose I felt an irresistible impulse to gra- 
 titude? 
 
 Clergyman. — It is wisely ordained that gratitude can 
 never be an impulse. But if it were, it would be better to 
 prove ungrateful, than to commit a crime to oblige your 
 benefactor. 
 
 Louisa. — ^Then there may be a thousand moral stories ? 
 
 Clergyman. — ^Yes, in your sense. But none of them would 
 read a lesson different from the one our lawyer taught, and 
 in this sense there can be but one story of the kind : you 
 
THE GEllMAN EMlGliAZSlS. 411 
 
 are right, however, if you mean that the incidents can be 
 various. 
 
 Louisa. — If you had expressed your meaning more pre- 
 cisely at first, we had not disagreed. 
 
 Clergyman. — And we should have had no conversation. 
 Errors and misunderstandings are the springs of action, of 
 life, and of amusement. 
 
 Louisa. — I cannot agree with you. Suppose a brave man 
 saves another at the risk of his own life, is that not a moral 
 action ? 
 
 Clergyman. — Not according to my mode of thinking. But 
 suppose a cowardly man were to overcome his fears and do 
 the same, that would be a moral action. 
 
 Baroness. — I wish, my dear friend, you would give us some 
 examples, and convince Louisa of the truth of your theory. 
 Certainly, a mind disposed to good must delight us, when we 
 become acquainted with it. Nothing in the world can be 
 more pleasing than a mind under the guidance of reason and 
 conscience. If you know a tale upon such a subject, we 
 should like to hear it. I am fond of stories which illustrate a 
 doctrine. They give a better explanation of one's meaning, 
 than dry words can possibly do. 
 
 Clergyman. — I certainly can relate some anecdotes of that 
 kind ; for I have paid some attention to those qualities of the 
 human mind. 
 
 Louisa. — I would just make one observation. I must con- 
 fess I do not like stories which oblige us to travel, in imagin- 
 ation, to foreign lands. Why must every adventure taka 
 place in Italy, in Sicily, or in the East ? Are Naples, Palermo, 
 and Smyrna, the only places where any thing interesting cau 
 happen ? One may transpose the scene of our fairy tales to 
 Ormus and Samarcand for the purpose of perplexing the 
 imagination ; but if you would instruct the understanding or 
 the heart, do it by means of domestic stories, — family por- 
 traits — in which we shall recognize our own likeness, and our 
 hearts will more readily sympathize with sorrow. 
 
 Clergyman. — You shall be gratified. But there is some- 
 thing peculiar, too, about family stories. They bear a strong 
 resemblance to each other, and besides, we daily see every 
 incident and situation of which they are capable, fully worked 
 out upon the stage. However, I am vyilling to make the 
 
412 GOETHE. 
 
 attempt, and shall relate a story, with some of the incidents 
 of which you are already familiar ; and it will only prove 
 interesting so far as it is an exact representation of the 
 picture in your own minds. 
 
 We may often observe in families, that the children 
 inherit not only the personal appearance, but even the 
 mental qualities of their parents, and it sometimes happens 
 that one child combines the dispositions of both father and 
 mother in a peculiar and remarkable manner. 
 
 A youth, whom I may name Ferdinand, was a strong 
 instance of this fact. In his appearance he resembled both 
 parents, and one could distinguish in his mind the separate 
 disposition of each. He possessed the gay, thoughtless manner 
 of his father, in his strong inclination to enjoy the present 
 moment, and, in most cases, to prefer himself to others ; but 
 he also*- inherited the tranquil and reflective mind of his 
 mother, no less than her love for honesty and justice, and a 
 willingness, like her, perpetually to sacrifice himself for the 
 advantage of others. To explain his contradictory conduct 
 upon many occasions, his companions were often reduced to 
 the necessity of believing that he had two souls. I must 
 pass by many adventures which happened in his youth, and 
 shall content myself with relating one anecdote, which not 
 only explains his character fully, but forms a remarkable 
 epoch in his life. 
 
 His youth was passed in every species of enjoyment. His 
 parents were affluent, and brought up their children ex- 
 travagantly. If the father indulged in unreasonable expendi- 
 ture, either in company, at the gaming-table, or in other 
 dissipations, it was the habit of the mother to restrain her 
 own, and the household expenses, so as to supply the de- 
 ficiency, though she never allowed an appearance of want to 
 be observed. Her husband was fortunate in his business ; he 
 was successful in several hazardous speculations which he 
 had undertaken, and, as he was fond of society, he had the 
 happiness to form many pleasant and advantageous con- 
 nections. 
 
 The children of a family usually copy those members of the 
 household who seem to live most happily, and enjoy them- 
 selves. They see in the example of a father who follows such 
 a course, a model worthy of imitation, and, as they are seldom 
 
THE GEEMAN EMIGBANTS. 413 
 
 slow in obeying their inclinations, their wishes and desires 
 often increase very much in disproportion to their means of 
 enjoyment. Obstacles to their gratification soon arise ; each 
 new addition to the family forms a new claim upon the 
 capabilities of the parents, who frequently surrender their 
 own pleasures for the sake of their children, and, by common 
 consent, a more simple and less expensive mode of living 
 is adopted. 
 
 Ferdinand grew up with a consciousness of the disagreeable 
 truth, that he was often deprived of many luxuries which his 
 more fortunate companions enjoyed. It distressed him to 
 appear inferior to any of them in the richness of his apparel, 
 or the liberality of his expenditure. He wished to resemble 
 his father, whose example was daily before him, and who ap- 
 peared to him a two-fold model, first, as a parent, in whose 
 favour a son is usually prejudiced ; and secondly, as a man, 
 who led a pleasant and luxurious life, and was, therefore, 
 apparently loved and esteemed by a numerous acquaintance. 
 It is easy to suppose that all this occasioned great vexation 
 to his mother; but in this way Ferdinand grew up, with 
 his wants daily increasing, until at length, when he had 
 attained his eighteenth year, his requirements and his wishes 
 were sadly out of proportion to his condition. 
 
 He had hitherto avoided contracting debts, a vice for which 
 his mother had impressed him with the greatest abhorrence, 
 and, in order to win his confidence, she had, in numerous 
 instances, exerted herself to gratify his desires and relieve 
 him from occasional embarrassments. But it happened, un- 
 fortunately, that she was now compelled to practise the most 
 rigid economy in her household expenditure, and this at a 
 time when his wants, from many causes, had increased. He 
 had commenced to enter more generally into society, sought 
 to win the affections of a very attractive girl, and to rival, 
 and even surpass his companions in the elegance of his 
 attire. His mother, being unable any longer to satisfy his 
 demands, appealed to his duty and filial affection to induce 
 him to restrain his expenses. He admitted the justice of her 
 expostulations, but being unable to follow her advice, was 
 soon reduced to a state of the greatest mental embarrassment. 
 
 Without forfeiting the object of his dearest wishes, he 
 found it impossible to change his mode of life. From earliest 
 
414 GOETHE. 
 
 youth he had been addicted to his present pursuits, and he 
 could alter no iota of his habits or practices without running 
 the risk of losing an old friend, a desirable companion, 
 or what was worse, abandoning the society of his dearest 
 love. 
 
 His attachment became stronger, as the love which was 
 bestowed upon him, not only flattered his vanity, but compli- 
 mented his understanding. 
 
 It was something to be preferred before a host of suitors, 
 by a handsome and agreeable girl, who was acknowledged to 
 be the richest heiress in the city. He boasted of the pre- 
 ference with which he was regarded, and she also seemed 
 proud of the delightful bondage in which she was held. It 
 now became indispensable that he should be in constant 
 attendance upon her, that he should devote his time and 
 money to her service, and that he should afibrd perpetual 
 proofs of the value he set upon her affection. All these 
 inevitable results of his attachment occasioned Ferdinand to 
 indulge in more expense than he would otherwise have in- 
 curred. His lady love (who was named Ottilia) had been 
 entrusted to the care of an aunt by her parents, and no 
 exertions had been spared to introduce her to society under 
 the most favourable circumstances. Ferdinand exhausted 
 every resource to furnish her with the enjoj^ments of 
 society, into all of which she entered with the greatest 
 delight, and of which she herself proved one of the greatest 
 attractions. 
 
 No situation could possibly be more wretched, than that 
 to which Ferdinand was now reduced. His mother, whom 
 he sincerely loved and respected, had pointed out to him 
 the necessity of embarking in very different duties from 
 those which he had hitherto practised ; she could no longer 
 assist him in a pecuniary way. He felt a horror at the 
 debts which were daily becoming more burdensome to him ; 
 and he saw before him the difficult task of reconciling his 
 impoverished condition with his anxiety to appear rich and 
 to practise generosity. No mind could be a prey to greater 
 unhappiness. 
 
 His mind was now forcibly impressed with thoughts 
 which had formerly only indistinctly suggested themselves to 
 his imagination. Certain unpleasant reflections became to 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 415 
 
 him the source of great unhappiness. He had once looked 
 upon his father as a model, he now began to regard him as a 
 rival. What the son wished to enjoy, the parent actually- 
 possessed, and the latter felt none of the anxieties or grievances 
 wherewith the former was tortured. Ferdinand, however, 
 was in full possession of every comfort of life, but he envied 
 iis father the luxuries which he enjoyed, and with which he 
 thought his parent might very well dispense. But the latter 
 was of a different opinion. He was one of those beings 
 whose desires are "wholly insatiable, and who, for their own 
 gratification, subject their family and dependents to the 
 greatest privations. His son received from him a certain 
 pecuniary allowance, but a regular account of his expenditure 
 was strictly exacted. 
 
 The eye of the emdous is sharpened by restrictions ; and 
 dependants are never more censorious than when the com- 
 mands of superiors are at variance with their practice. Thus 
 Ferdinand came strictly to watch the conduct of his father, 
 particularly upon points which concerned his expenditure. 
 He listened attentively when it was rumoured that his parent 
 had lost heavily at the gambling-table and expressed great 
 dissatisfaction at any unwonted extravagance which he might 
 indulge. " Is it not astonishing?" he would say to himself, 
 *' that whilst parents revel in every luxury that can spring 
 from the possession of a property which they accidentally 
 enjoy, they can debar their children of those reasonable plea- 
 sures which their season of youth most urgently requires ! 
 And by what right do they act thus? How have they 
 acquired this privilege ? Does it not arise from mere chance, 
 and can that be a right which is the result of accident ? If 
 ray grandfather were still alive, who loved me as his own 
 son, I should be better provided for. He would not see 
 me in want of common necessaries, those things I mean 
 which we have had from our birth. He would no more let 
 me want, than he would approve the extravagance of my 
 parent. Had he lived longer, had he known how worthy 
 his grandchild would prove to inherit a fortune, he would 
 have provided in his will for my earlier independence, 
 have heard that his death was imexpected, that he had in- 
 tended to make a will, and I am probably indebted to mere 
 chance for the postponement of a fortune, which, if my father 
 
416 GOETHC 
 
 continue his present course, will, probably, be lost to r « 
 for ever." 
 
 With such discontented thoughts did Ferdinand oft^n 
 perplex himself in those hours of solitude and unhap- 
 piness, in which he was prevented, by the want of money, 
 from joining his companions upon some agreeable party of 
 pleasure. Then it was that he discussed those dangerous 
 questions of right and property, and considered how far 
 individuals are bound by laws to which they have given no 
 consent, or whether they may lawfully burst through the 
 restraints of society. But all these were mere pecuniary 
 sophistries, for every article of value which he formerly pos- 
 sessed had gradually disappeared, and his daily wants had 
 now far outgrown his allowance. 
 
 He soon became silent and reserved, and at such times, 
 even his respect for his mother disappeared, as she could 
 afford him no assistance, and he began to entertain a hatred 
 for his father, who, according to his sentiments, was per- 
 petually in his way. 
 
 Just at this period he made a discovery, which increased 
 his discontent. He learnt that his father was not only 
 an irregular, but an improvident manager of his house- 
 hold. He observed that his parent often took money hastily 
 from his desk, without entering it in his account-book, 
 and that he was afterwards perplexed with private calcula- 
 tions, and annoyed at his inability to balance his accounts. 
 More than once did Ferdinand make this remark, and his 
 father's carelessness was the more galling to him, as it often 
 occurred at times when he himself was suffering severely 
 from the want of money. 
 
 Whilst he was in this state of mind, an unlucky accident 
 happened, which afforded an opportunity for the commission 
 of a crime, to which he had long felt himself impelled by a 
 secret and ungovernable impulse. 
 
 His father had desired him to examine and arrange a 
 collection of old letters. One Sunday, when he was alone, 
 he set to work in a room which contained his father's writing 
 desk, and in which his money was usually kept. The box of 
 letters was heavy, and in the act of lifting it from the ground, 
 he pushed unintentionally against the desk, when the latter 
 suddenly flew open. The rolls of money lay temptingly did- 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTC. 417 
 
 •■'layed before him. Without allowing time for a moment's 
 
 flection, he took a roll of gold from that part of the desk 
 where he thought his father kept a supply of money for his owR 
 occasional wants. He shut the desk again, and repeated the 
 experiment of opening it. He once more succeeded, and saw 
 that he could now command the treasure as completely as if he 
 had possessed the key. 
 
 He soon plunged once more into all those dissipations 
 which he had lately been obliged to renounce. He became 
 more constant than ever in his attentions to Ottilia, and more 
 passionate in the pursuit of pleasure. His former graceful 
 animation was even converted into a species of excitement, 
 which, though it was far from unbecoming, was deficient in 
 that kind attention to others which is so agreeable. 
 
 Opportunity is to passion what a spark is to gunpowder, 
 and those desires which we gratify contrary to the dictates of 
 conscience always rule with the most ungovernable power. 
 Ferdinand's own convictions loudly condemned his con- 
 duct, but he endeavoured to justify himself by specious argu- 
 ments, and though his manner became in appearance more free 
 and unrestrained than before, he was in reality a captive to the 
 influence of his evil inclinations. 
 
 Just at this time the wearing of extravagant trifles came 
 into fashion. Ottilia was fond of personal ornaments, and 
 Ferdinand endeavoured to discover a mode of gratifying her 
 taste without apprising her where her supply of presents 
 came from. Her suspicions fell upon an old uncle, and Fer- 
 dinand's gratification was indescribable at observing the 
 satisfaction of his mistress and the course of her mistaken 
 suspicions. But unfortunately for his peace of mind, he was 
 now obliged to have frequent recourse to his father's desk, in 
 order to gratify Ottilia's fancy and his own inclinations, and 
 he pursued this course now the more boldly, as he had lately 
 observed that his father grew more and more careless about 
 entering in his account-book the sums which he himself 
 required. 
 
 The time now arrived for Ottilia's return to her parents, 
 llie young couple were overpowered with grief at the pros- 
 pect of their separation, and one circumstance added to their 
 orrow. Ottilia had accidentally learnt that the presents wo 
 liave spoken of had come from Ferdinand; she questioned 
 
 2b 
 
418 GOETHE. 
 
 him upon the subject, and he confessed the truth with feel- 
 ings of evident sorrow. She insisted upon returning them, 
 and this request occasioned him the bitterest anguish. He 
 declared his determination not to live without her, prayed 
 that she would preserve her attachment to him, and implored 
 that she would not refuse her hand as soon as he should have 
 provided an establishment. She loved him, was moved at 
 his entreaties, promised what he wished, and seakd her vow 
 with the warmest embraces and a thousand passionate kisses. 
 
 After her departure, Ferdinand was reduced to sad soli- 
 tude. The company in which he had found delight pleased 
 him no more, as she was absent. From the mere force of 
 habit he mingled with his former associates, and had recourse 
 to his father's desk to supply those expenses which in reality 
 he felt but slight inclination to indulge. He was now fre- 
 quently alone, and his natural good disposition began to 
 obtain the mastery over him. In moments of calm reflection 
 he felt astonished how he could have listened to that deceit- 
 ful sophistry about justice and right, and his claim to the 
 goods of others, and he wondered at his approval of those 
 evil arguments by which he had been led to justify his dis- 
 honest conduct. But in the meantime, before these correct 
 ideas of truth and uprightness produced a practical effect 
 upon his conduct, he yielded more than once to the tempta- 
 tion of supplying his wants, in extreme cases, from his 
 father's treasury. This plan, however, was now adopted 
 with more reluctance, and he seemed to be imder the irre- 
 sistible impulse of an evil spirit. 
 
 At length he took courage and formed the resolution of 
 rendering a repetition of the practice impossible, by inform- 
 ing his father of the facility with which his desk could be 
 opened. He took his measures cautiously, and once, in the 
 presence of his father, he carried the box of letters we have 
 mentioned into the room, pretended to stumble accidentally 
 against the desk, and astonished his father by causing it to 
 spring open. They examined the lock without delay, and 
 found that it had become almost useless from age. It was at 
 once repaired, and Ferdinand soon enjoyed a return of his 
 peace of mind, w^hen he saw his father's rolls of money once 
 more in safe custody. 
 
 But he was not content with this, lie formed the resolu- 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 419 
 
 tion of restoring the money which he had abstracted. He 
 commenced the most economical course of life for this pur- 
 pose, with a view of saving from his allowance all that could 
 be possibly spared from the merest necessities. It is true that 
 this was but little, but it appeared large as it was the com- 
 mencement of a system of restitution, and there will always 
 be a wonderful difference between the last guinea borrowed 
 and the first guinea saved. He had pursued this upright 
 course for but a short time, when his father determined to 
 settle him in business. His intention was to form a connec- 
 tion with a manufactory at some distance from his residence. 
 The design was to establish a company in a part of the coun- 
 try where labour and provisions were cheap, to appoint an 
 agent, and extend the business as widely as possible by means 
 of money and credit. It was determined that Ferdinand 
 should inquire into the practicability of the scheme, and for- 
 ward a circumstantial report of his proceedings. His father 
 furnished him with money for his journey, but placed a mode- 
 rate limit upon his expenditure. The supply was, however, 
 sufficient for his wants, and Ferdinand had no reason to com- 
 plain of a deficiency. 
 
 Ferdinand used the utmost economy upon his journey, and 
 found upon the closest calculation that he could live upon 
 one-third of his allowance, by practising strict restraint. He 
 was now anxious to find means of gradually saving a certain 
 sum, and it soon presented itself ; for opportunity comes in- 
 differently to the good and to the bad, and favours all parties 
 alike. In the neighbourhood which he designed to visit, he 
 found eveiy article of life cheaper than he had expected. No 
 new habits of expense had as yet been introduced. A mode- 
 rate capital alone had been invested in business, and the manu- 
 facturers were satisfied with small profits. Ferdinand soon 
 saw that with a large capital, and the advantages of a new 
 system, by purchasing the raw material by wholesale, and 
 erecting machinery under the guidance of experienced work- 
 men, large and solid advantages might be secured. 
 
 The prospect of a life of activity gave him the greatest 
 delight. The image of his beloved Ottilia was ever before 
 him, and the charming and picturesque character of the 
 country made him wish anxiously that his father might be 
 induced to establish him in this spot, commit the conduct of 
 
 2£2 
 
420 GOETHE. 
 
 the new manufactory to him, and thus afford him the meang 
 of attaining independence. His attention to business was 
 secured by the demands of his own personal interests. He 
 ^now found an opportunity, for the first time in his life, for 
 the exercise of his understanding and judgment, and for 
 exerting his other mental powers. Not only the beautifu/ 
 neighbourhood, but his business and occupation, were full of 
 attractions for him, they acted as balm and cordial to his 
 wounded heart, whenever he recalled the painful remembrance 
 of his father's house, in which, influenced by a species of 
 insanity, he had acted in a manner which now seemed to himi 
 in the highest degree criminal. 
 
 His constant companion was a friend of his family, a 
 person of strong mind, but delicate health, who had first con- 
 ceived the project of founding this establishment. He in- 
 structed Ferdinand in all his own views and projects, and 
 seemed to take great pleasure in the thorough harmony of 
 mind which existed between them. This latter personage 
 led a simple and retired life, partly from choice, and partly 
 because his health required it. He had no family of his own. 
 His household establishment was conducted by a niece, who; 
 he intended, should inherit his fortune, and it was his wish- 
 to see her united to a person of active and enterprising dis- 
 position, who, by means of capital and persevering industry, 
 might carry on the business which his infirm health and want 
 of means disqualified him from conducting. His first inter- 
 view with Ferdinand suggested that he had found the man 
 he wanted, and he was the more strongly confirmed in this 
 opinion, upon observing his fondness for business, and his 
 attachment to the place. His niece became aware of his 
 intentions, and seemed to approve of them. She was a young 
 and interesting girl, of sweet and engaging disposition. Her 
 care of her uncle's establishment had imparted to her mind 
 the valuable qualities of activity and decision, whilst her 
 attention to his health had softened down these traits by a 
 proper union of gentleness and affection. It would have 
 been difficult to find a person better calculated to make a 
 lover happy. 
 
 But Ferdinand's mind was engrossed with the thoughts of 
 Ottilia's love ; he saw no attractions in the charms of this 
 country beauty, or at least, his admiration was circumscribed 
 
THE GEBMAN EMIGRANTS. 421 
 
 by the wish that if ever Ottilia settled down as his wife in 
 this part of the country, she might have the assistance of 
 such a person as assistant and housekeeper. But he was free 
 and unrestrained in his intercourse with the young lady, he 
 alued her more as he came to know her better, and his 
 Dnduct became more respectful and attentive, and both she 
 •jid her uncle soon put their own interpretations upon his 
 behaviour. 
 
 Ferdinand had in the meantime made all the requisite 
 inquiries about his father's business. The uncle's suggestions 
 had enabled him to form certain projects which, with his 
 usual thoughtlessness, he made the subject of conversation. 
 He had more than once uttered certain gallant speeches to 
 the niece, until her uncle and herself fancied that he actually 
 indulged intentions which gave them both unfeigned satis- 
 faction. To Ferdinand's great joy, he had learned that 
 he could not only derive great advantage from his father's 
 plan, but that another favourable project would enable 
 him to make restitution of the money he had abstracted, and 
 the recollection of which pressed like a heavy burden upon 
 his conscience. He communicated his intentions to his 
 friend, who tendered not only his cordial congratulations, 
 but every possible assistance to carry out his views. He even 
 proposed to furnish his young friend with the necessary mer- 
 chandize upon credit, a part of which offer was thankfully 
 accepted, some portion of the goods being paid for with money 
 Ferdinand had saved from his travelling expenses, and a 
 short period of credit being taken for the remainder. 
 
 It would be difficult to describe the joy with which Fer- 
 dinand prepared for his return home. There can be no 
 greater delight than is experienced by a man who, by his 
 own unaided resources, frees himself from the consequences 
 of error. Heaven looks down with satisfaction upon such a 
 spectacle, and we cannot deny the force of the seeming 
 paradox, which assures us that there is more joy before God 
 over one returning sinner, than over ninety-nine just. 
 
 But, unfortunately, neither the good resolutions nor the 
 repentance and improvement of Ferdinand could remove the 
 evil consequences of his crime, which were destined once more 
 to disturb and agitate his mind with the most painful refleo- 
 
422 GOETHE. 
 
 tions. The storm had gathered during his absence, and it 
 was destined to burst over his head upon his return home. 
 
 We have already had reason to observe, that Ferdinand's 
 father was most irregular in his habits ; but his business 
 was under the superintendence of a clever manager. He 
 had not himself missed the money which had been abstracted 
 by his son, with the exception of one roll of foreign money, 
 which he had won from a stranger at play. This he had 
 missed, and the circumstance seemed to him unaccountable. 
 He was afterwards somewhat surprised to perceive that 
 several rolls of ducats could not be found, money which he 
 had some time before lent to a friend, but which he knew had 
 been repaid. He was aware of the previous insecurity of 
 his desk, and felt convinced, therefore, that he had been 
 robbed. This feeling rendered him extremely unhappy. 
 His suspicions fell upon every one. In auger and exaspera- 
 tion, he related the circumstance to his wife. The entire 
 household was thereupon strictly examined, and neither 
 servants nor children were allowed to escape. The good 
 wife exerted herself to tranquillize her husband ; she repre- 
 sented the discredit which a mere report of this circumstance 
 would bring upon the family ; that no one would sympathize 
 in their misfortune, further than to humiliate them with their 
 compassion ; that neither he nor she could expect to escape 
 the tongue of scandal ; that strange observations would be 
 made, if the thief should remain undiscovered ; and she sug- 
 gested, that perhaps if they continued silent, they might re- 
 cover their lost money without reducing the wretched criminal 
 to a state of misery for life. In this manner she prevailed 
 upon her husband to remain quiet, and to investigate the 
 affair in silence. 
 
 But the discovery was unfortunately soon made. Ottilia's 
 aunt had of course been informed of the engagement of the 
 young couple. She had heard of the presents which her 
 niece had received. The attachment was not approved by 
 her, and she had only maintained silence in consequence of 
 her niece's absence. She would have consented to her mar- 
 riage with Ferdinand, but she did not like uncertainty on 
 such a subject ; and as she knew that he was shortly to 
 return, and her niece was expected daily, she determined to 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 423 
 
 inform the parents of tlie state of things, to inquire their 
 opinion, to ask whether Ferdinand was to have a settlement, 
 and if they would consent to the marriage. 
 
 The mother was not a little astonished at this information, 
 and she was shocked at hearing of the presents which Fer- 
 dinand had made to Ottilia. But she concealed her surprise, 
 and requesting the aunt to allow her some time to confer with 
 her husband upon the matter, she expressed her own con- 
 currence in the intended marriage, and her expectation that 
 her son would be advantageously provided for. 
 
 The aunt took her leave, but Ferdinand's mother did not deem 
 it advisable to communicate the circumstance to her husband. 
 She now had to undertake the sad duty of discovering whether 
 Ferdinand had purchased Ottilia's presents with the stolen 
 money. She went straight to the shopkeeper who dealt in 
 such goods, made some general inquiries, and said at last, 
 "that he ought not to overcharge her, particularly as her 
 son, who had bought some similar articles, had procured 
 them from him at a more reasonable charge." This the 
 tradesman denied, producing the account, and further 
 observing that he had even added something for the exchange, 
 as Ferdinand had paid for the goods partly in foreign money. 
 He specified the exact nature of the coin, and to her inex- 
 pressible grief, it was the veiy same which had been stolen 
 from her husband. She left the shop with sorrowful heart. 
 Ferdinands crime was but too evident. The sum w^hich her 
 husband had lost was large, and she saw in all its force the 
 extent of the crime and its evil results. But she had pru- 
 dence enough to conceal her discovery. She waited for the 
 return of her son, with feelings of mingled fear and anxiety. 
 She wished for an explanation, and yet dreaded the conse- 
 quences of a farther inquiry. 
 
 At length he arrived in the highest spirits. He expected 
 the greatest praise from the manner in which he transacted 
 his business, and was the bearer of a sum of money sufficient 
 to make compensation for what he had criminally abstracted. 
 His father heard his statement with pleasure, but did not 
 manifest so 'much delight as the son expected. His late losses 
 had irritated his temper, and he was the more distressed from 
 having some large payments to make at the moment. 
 Ferdinand felt hurt at his father's depression of mind, 
 
424 GOETHE. 
 
 and his own peace was further disturbed by the sight of 
 everything around him ; the very room in which he was, the 
 furniture, and the sight of the fatal desk, those silent wit- 
 nesses of his crime, spoke loudly to his guilty conscience. 
 His satisfaction was at an end. He shrunk within himself 
 and felt like a culprit. 
 
 After a few days' delay he was about to distract his atten- 
 tion from these thoughts by examining the merchandize which 
 he had ordered, when his mother finding him alone, addressed 
 him upon the subject, in a tone of affectionate earnestness, 
 which did not allow the smallest opportunity for prevarica- 
 tion. He was overcome with grief. He threw himself at 
 her feet, imploring her forgiveness, acknowledging his crime, 
 and protesting that nothing but his affection for Ottilia had 
 misled him ; he assured her, in conclusion, that it was the 
 only offence of the kind of which he had ever been guilty. 
 He related the circumstances of his bitter repentance, of his 
 having acquainted his father with the insecurity of his desk, 
 and finally informed her how, by personal privations and a 
 fortunate speculation, he was in a condition to make restitution. 
 
 His mother heard him calmly, but insisted on knowing 
 how he had disposed of so much money, as the presents 
 would account but for a small part of the sum abstracted. 
 She produced to his dismay an account of what his father 
 had missed, but he denied having taken even so much silver ; 
 the missing gold he solemnly protested he had never touched. 
 His mother became exasperated at this denial. She rebuked 
 him for his attempt to deceive her, and that at a moment 
 when he laid claim to the virtue of repentance, asserting that 
 if he could be guilty in one respect, she must doubt his inno- 
 cence in another. She suggested that he might perhaps have 
 accomplices amongst his dissipated companions ; that perhaps 
 the business he had carried on was transacted with the stolen 
 money, and that probably he would have confessed nothing, 
 if his crime had not been accidentally .discovered. She 
 threatened him with the anger of his father, with judicial 
 punishment, with her highest displeasure, but nothing affected 
 him more than his learning that his projected marriage with 
 Ottilia had been already spoken of. She left him in the 
 most wretched condition. His real crime had been dis- 
 covered, and he was suspected of even greater guilt. How 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 425 
 
 could he ever persuade his parents that he had not stolen the 
 gold ? He dreaded the public exposure which was likely to 
 result from his father's irritable temper, and he now had 
 time to compare his present wretched condition with the 
 happiness which he might have attained. All his prospects 
 of an active life and of a marriage with Ottilia were at an 
 end. lie saw his utter wretchedness, abandoned, a fugitive 
 in foreign lands, exposed to every species of misfortune. 
 
 But these reflections were not the worst evil he had to 
 encounter, though they bewildered his mind, wounded his 
 pride, and crushed his affections. His most severe pangs 
 arose from the thought, that his honest resolution, his noble 
 intention to repair the past, was suspected, repudiated, and 
 denied. And even if these thoughts gave birth to a feeling 
 resembling despair, he could not deny that he tad deserved 
 his fate, and to this conviction must be added his knowledge 
 of the fatal truth, that one crime is sufficient to destroy the 
 character for ever. Such meditations as these, and the appre- 
 hension that his firmest resolutions of amendment might be 
 looked upon as insincere, made life itself a burden. 
 
 In this moment of abandonment he appealed to Heaven for 
 assistance. He sank upon his knees, and moistening the 
 ground with his tears of contrition, implored help from his 
 Divine Maker. His prayer was worthy of being heard. 
 Man, throwing off his load of crimes, has a claim upon 
 Heaven. He who has exhausted every effort of his own, 
 may, as a last resource, appeal to God. He was for some 
 time engaged in earnest prayer, when the door opened and 
 some one entered his apartment. It was his mother, who 
 approached him with a cheerful look, saw his agitation, and 
 addressed him with consoling words. " How happy I am," 
 she said, " to find that I may credit your assertions, and 
 regard your sorrow as sincere. The missing sum of gold 
 has been found ; your father, when he received it from his 
 friend, handed it to his secretary, who forgot the circumstance, 
 amid the numerous transactions of the day. And with respect 
 to the silver, you are also right, as the amount taken is less 
 than I had supposed. Unable to conceal my joy, I promised 
 your father to replace the missing sum, if he would consent 
 to forbear making any further inquiry into the matter." 
 
 Ferdinand" s joy was indescribable. He completed at once 
 
426 GOETHE. 
 
 his business arrangements, gave his mother the promised 
 money, and in addition replaced the amount which his father 
 had lost through his own irregularity. He became gradually 
 more cheerful and happy, but the whole circumstance pro- 
 duced a serious impression upon his mind. He became con- 
 vinced that every man has power to accomplish good, and 
 that our Divine Maker will infallibly extend to him His assist- 
 ance in the hour of trial — a truth which he himself had learned 
 from late experience. He now unfolded to his father his plan 
 of establishing himself in the neighbourhood from which he 
 had lately returned. He fully explained the nature of the 
 intended business. His father consented to his proposals, 
 and his mother at a proper time related to her husband the 
 attachment of Ferdinand to Ottilia. He was delighted at the 
 prospect of having so charming a daughter-in-law, and felt 
 additional pleasure at the idea of being able to establish his 
 son without the necessity of incurring much expense. 
 
 " This story pleases me," said Louisa, when the old Clergy- 
 man had finished his narration, '* and though the incidents 
 are taken from low life, yet the tone is sufficiently elevated to 
 prove agreeable. And it seems to me, that if we examine 
 ourselves, or observe others, we shall find, that men are seldom 
 influenced by their own reflections either to pursue or to 
 abandon a certain course, but are generally impelled by ex- 
 traneous circumstances." 
 
 " I wish for my part," said Charles, "that we were not 
 obliged to deny ourselves anything, and that we had no 
 knowledge of those blessings which we are not allowed to 
 possess. But unfortunately we walk in an orchard, where 
 though all the trees are loaded with fruit, we are compelled 
 to leave them untouched, to satisfy ourselves with the enjoy- 
 ment of the shade, and forego the greatest indulgence." 
 
 *' Now," continued Louisa to the Clergyman, "let us hear 
 the end of the story." 
 
 Clergyman. — It is finished. 
 
 Louisa. — The denouement may be finished, but we should 
 like to hear the very end. 
 
 Clergyman. — ^Your distinction is just, and since you seem 
 interested in the fate of my friend, I will tell you briefly what 
 happened to him. 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 427 
 
 Relieved from the oppressive weight of so dreadful a crime, 
 and enjoying some degree of satisfaction at his own conduct, 
 his thoughts were now directed to his future happiness, and 
 he expected M'ith anxiety the return of Ottilia, that he might 
 explain his position and perform his promise to her. She 
 came, accompanied by her parents. He hastened to meet 
 her, and found her more beautiful than ever. He waited 
 with impatience for an opportunity of speaking to her alone, 
 and of unfolding all his future projects. The moment 
 arrived, and with a heart full of tenderness and love, he spoke 
 of his hopes, of his exj>ectations of happiness, and of his wish 
 to share it with her. But what was his surprise and asto- 
 nishment to find that she heard his announcement with 
 indifference and even with contempt, and that she indulged 
 in disagreeable jokes about the hermitage prepared for 
 their reception, and the interest they would excite by enacting 
 the characters of shepherd and shepherdess in a pastoral 
 abode. 
 
 Her conduct occasioned bitter reflections. He was hurt 
 and grieved at her indifference. She had been unjust to 
 him, and he now began to observe faults in her conduct, 
 which had previously escaped his attention. In addition, it 
 required no very keen perception to remark that a cousin, who 
 had accompanied her, had made an impression upon her and 
 won a large portion of her affections. 
 
 But Ferdinand soon perceived the necessity of struggling 
 with this new source of sorrow, and as victory had attended 
 liis exertions in one instance, he hoped to be successful upon 
 a second occasion. He saw Ottilia frequently and determined 
 to observe her closely. His conduct towards her was atten- 
 tive and affectionate, and her deportment was of a similar 
 nature, but her attractions had become diminished for him ; 
 he soon found that her professions were not cordial or sincere, 
 and that she could be affectionate and cold, attractive and 
 repulsive, charming and disagreeable, according to the mere 
 whim of the moment. He gradually became indifferent to 
 her, and h6 resolved at length to break the last link of their 
 connection. 
 
 But this was more difficult than he had anticipated. He 
 found her one day alone, and took courage to remind her of 
 her engagement to him, and of those happy moments in which. 
 
428 GOETHE. 
 
 ander the influence of the most delightful feelings, they had 
 discoursed with joyful anticipations of their future happiness. 
 She was in a tender mood, and he began to hope that he 
 might perhaps have been deceived in the estimate he had 
 lately formed of her. He thereupon began to describe his 
 worldly prospects and the probable success of his intended 
 establishment. She expressed her satisfaction, accompanied, 
 however, with regret that their union must on this account 
 be postponed still longer. She gave him to understand that 
 she had not the least wish to leave the pleasures of a city life, 
 but expressed her hopes that he might be able, after some 
 years' active industry in the country, to return home and 
 become a citizen of consequence. She gave him, moreover, 
 to understand that she expected he would play a more respect- 
 able and honest part in life than his father. 
 
 Ferdinand saw plainly that he could expect no happiness 
 from such a connection, and yet he felt the difficulty of 
 wholly disengaging himself. In this state of mind he would 
 probably have parted from her in uncertainty about the 
 future, had he not been finally influenced by the conduct of 
 Ottilia's cousin, towards whom he thought she displayed too 
 much tenderness. Ferdinand, thereupon, wrote a letter 
 assuring her that it was still in her power to make him 
 happy, but that it could not be advisable to encourage inde- 
 finite hopes, or to enter into engagements for an uncertain 
 future. 
 
 He trusted that this letter would produce a favourable 
 answer ; but he received a reply which his heart deplored, 
 but his judgment approved. She released him from his 
 promise, without rejecting his love, and adverted to her own 
 feelings in the same ambiguous manner. She was still bound 
 by the sense of her letter, but free by its literal meaning. 
 But why should I delay communicating the inevitable result? 
 Ferdinand hastened back to the peaceful abode he had left, 
 and formed his determination at once. He became attentive 
 and diligent in business, and was encouraged in this course 
 by the afiections of the kind being, of whom we have already 
 spoken, and the exertions of her uncle to employ every 
 means in his power to render them happy. I knew him 
 afterwards, when he was surrounded by a numerous and 
 prosperous family. He related his own story to me himself; 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGEANT8. 429 
 
 and as it often happens with individuals whose early life has 
 been marked by some uncommon accident, his own adven- 
 tures had become so indelibly impressed upon his mind, that 
 they exerted a deep influence on his conduct. Even as a 
 man and as a father, he constantly denied himself the enjoy- 
 ment of many gratifications, in order not to forget the prac- 
 tice of self-restraint ; and the whole course of his children's 
 education was founded upon this principle, that they must 
 accustom themselves to a frequent denial of their most ardent 
 inclinations. 
 
 I once had an opportunity of witnessing an instance of the 
 system he adopted. One of his children was about to eat 
 something at table, of which he was particularly fond. His 
 father forbade it, apparently without reason. To my aston- 
 ishment, the child obeyed with the utmost cheerfulness, and 
 dinner proceeded as if nothing had occurred. And in this 
 manner, even the eldest members of the family often allowed 
 a tempting dish of fruit or some other dainty to pass them 
 untasted. But, notwithstanding this, a general freedom 
 reigned in his house, and there was at times a sufficient 
 display both of good and bad conduct. But Ferdinand was 
 for the most part indifferent to what occurred, and allowed 
 an almost unrestrained licence. At times, however, when a 
 certain week came about, orders were given for precise 
 punctuality, the clocks were regulated to the second, every 
 member of the family received his orders for the day, business 
 and pleasure had their turn, and no one dared to be a single 
 second in arrear. I could detain you for hours in describing 
 his conversation and remarks on this extraordinary system of 
 education. He was accustomed to jest with me upon my 
 vows as a catholic priest, and maintained that every man 
 should make a vow to practise self-restraint, as well as to 
 require obedience from others ; but he observed that the ex- 
 ercise of these vows, in place of being perpetually demanded, 
 was only suitable for certain occasions. 
 
 The Baroness observed, that she thought Ferdinand was 
 perfectly right, and she compared the authority of a parent 
 to the executive power in a kingdom, where, if the influence 
 of the latter is weak, the legislative authority can be of little 
 avail. 
 
 Louisa, at this moment, rushed hastily to the window, 
 
430 GOETHE. 
 
 having heard Ferdinand ride past. She ran to meet him, 
 and accompanied him into the salon. He seemed cheerful, 
 notwithstanding he had just come from a scene of trouble 
 and distress. In place of entering into a detailed description 
 of the fire which had seized the house of his aunt, he assured 
 the company that he had established beyond doubt the fact 
 that the desk there had been burnt at the very same time 
 when theirs had been split asunder in so strange a manner. 
 
 He stated, that when the fire approached the room where 
 the desk was, one of the servants saved a clock which stood 
 upon it ; that in carrying it out, some accident had hap- 
 pened to the works, and it had stopped at the hour of half- 
 past eleven, and thus the coincidence of time was placed 
 beyond all question. The Baroness smiled, and the Tutor 
 observed, that although two things might agree in some par- 
 ticulars, we were not, therefore, justified in inferring their 
 mutual dependence. But Louisa took pleasure in believing 
 the connection of these two circumstances, particularly a£ 
 she had received intelligence that her intended was quite 
 well ; and as to the rest of the company, they gave full scope 
 to the flights of their imagination. 
 
 Charles inquired of the Clergyman whether he knew a 
 fairytale. '*The imagination," he observed, "is a divine 
 gift, but I do not like to see it employed about the actualities 
 of life. The airy forms to which it gives birth are delightful 
 to contemplate, if we view them as beings of a peculiar 
 order, but connected with truth, they become prodigies, and 
 are disapproved by our reason and judgment. The imagina- 
 tion," he continued, " should not deal in facts, nor be employed 
 to establish facts. Its proper province is art, and there its 
 influence should operate like sweet music, which awakens 
 our emotions, and makes us forget the cause by which these 
 emotions are awakened." 
 
 " Continue," said the old Clergyman, " and explain still 
 further your view of the proper attributes of imaginative 
 works. Another property is essential to their enjoyment — - 
 that the exercise of imagination should be voluntary. It can 
 effect nothing by compulsion ; it must wait for the moment 
 of inspiration. Without design, and without any settled 
 course, it soars aloft upon its own pinions, and as it is borne 
 forward, leaves a trace of its wonderful and devious cciirse. 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 431 
 
 But you must allow me to take my accustomed walk, that I 
 may awaken in my soul the sweet fancies which, in former 
 years, were accustomed to enchant me. I promise to relate 
 a fairy tale this evening that will amuse you all. 
 
 They at once consented, particularly as they all hoped in 
 the mean time to hear the news of which Frederick was the 
 bearer. 
 
 A FAIRY TALE. 
 
 Wearied with the labours of the day, an old Ferryman 
 lay asleep in his hut, on the bank of a wide river, which the 
 late heavy rains had swollen to an unprecedented height. In 
 the middle of the night he was awakened by a loud cry, — he 
 listened — it was the call of some travellers who wished to be 
 ferried over. 
 
 Upon opening the door, he was surprised to see two 
 "Will-o'-the-wisps dancing round his boat, which was still 
 secured to its moorings. Speaking with human voices, 
 they assured him that they were in the greatest possible 
 hurry, and wished to be carried instantly to the other side of 
 the river. Without losing a moment, the old Ferryman 
 pushed off and rowed across with his usual dexterity. During 
 the passage the strangers whispered together in an unknown 
 language, and several times burst into loud laughter, whilst 
 they amused themselves with dancing upon the sides and seats 
 of the boat, and cutting fantastic capers at the bottom. 
 
 " The boat reels," cried the old man, " and if you continue 
 so restless, it may upset. Sit down, you Will-o'-the-wisps." 
 
 They burst into loud laughter at this command, ridiculed 
 the boatman, and became more troublesome than ever. But 
 he bore their annoyance patiently, and they soon reached 
 the opposite bank of the river. 
 
 *' Here is something for your trouble," said the passengers, 
 shaking thelnselves, when a number of glittering gold pieces 
 fell into the boat. "What are you doing?" cried the old 
 man, " some misfortune will happen should a single piece of 
 gold fall into the water. The river, which has a strong anti^ 
 pathy to gold, would become fearfully agitated and swallow 
 
432 GOETHE. 
 
 both me and my boat. Who can say even what might happen 
 to yourselves ? I pray you take back your gold." 
 
 *' We can take nothing back, which we have once shaken 
 from our persons," answered one of them. 
 
 *' Then I shall be compelled/' replied the old boatman, as 
 he stooped and collected the gold in his cap, " to take it to 
 the shore and bury it." 
 
 The Will-o'-the-wisps had in the meantime leaped out of the 
 idoat, upon which the old man cried, " Pay me my fare." 
 
 "The man who refuses gold must work for nothing," 
 answered the Will-o'-the-wisps. 
 
 " My payment must consist of fruits of the earth," rejoined 
 t'de Ferryman. 
 
 " We despise them, they are not food for us," continued 
 the Will-o'-the-wisps. 
 
 " But you shall not depart," replied the Ferryman, " till 
 you have given me three cauliflowers, three artichokes, and 
 three large onions." 
 
 The Will-o'-the-wisps were in the act of running away, 
 with a laugh, when they felt themselves in some inexplicable 
 manner fixed to the earth ; they had never experienced so 
 strange a sensation. They then promised to pay the demand 
 without delay, upon which the Ferryman released them and 
 instantly pushed off with his boat. 
 
 He was already far away, when they called after him, 
 *' Old man ! listen, we have forgotten something important ;" 
 but he heard them not, and continued his course. When he 
 had reached a point lower down, on the same side of the 
 river, he came to some rocks which the water was unable to 
 reach, and proceeded to bury the dangerous gold. Observing 
 a deep cleft which opened between two rocks, he threw the 
 gold mto it, and returned to his dwelling. This cleft was 
 inhabited by a beautiful green Dragon, who was awakened 
 from her sleep by the sound of the falling money. At the 
 very first appearance of the glittering pieces, ' she devoured 
 them greedily, then searched about carefully in hopes of find- 
 ing such other coins as might have fallen accidentally amongst 
 the briers, or between the fissures of the rocks. 
 
 The Dragon immediately felt herself overpowered with the 
 most delightful sensations, and perceived with joy that she 
 became suddenly shining and transparent. She had becB 
 
THE GEEMAN EMIGKANTS. 433 
 
 long aware that this change was possible, but entertaining 
 some doubt whether the brilliance would continue, she 
 felt impelled by curiosity to leave her dwelling, and ascertain, 
 if possible, to whom she was indebted for the beautiful gold. 
 She found no one ; but she became lost in admiration of her- 
 self, ^nd of the brilliant light which illumined her path 
 through the thick underwood, and shed its rays over the sur- 
 rounding green. The leaves of the trees glittered like eme- 
 ralds, and the flowers shone with glorious hues. In vain did 
 she penetrate the solitary wilderness, but hope dawned when 
 she reached the plains, and observed at a distance a light 
 resembling her own. " Have I at last discovered my fellow ?" 
 she exclaimed, and hastened to the spot. She found no 
 obstacle from bog or morass ; for though the dry meadow and 
 the high rock were her dearest habitations, and though she 
 loved to feed upon the spicy root, and to quench her thirst 
 with the crystal dew and with fresh water from the spring, 
 yet for the sake of her beloved gold and of her glorious light, 
 she was willing to encounter every privation. 
 
 Wearied and exhausted, she reached at length the confines 
 of a wide morass, where our two Will-o'-the-wisps were 
 amusing themselves in playing fantastic antics. She made 
 towards them, and saluting them, expressed her delight at 
 being able to claim relationship with such charming per- 
 sonages. The lights played around her, skipped from side to 
 side, and laughed about in their own peculiar fashion. 
 *' Dear Aunt !" they exclaimed, " what does it signify, even 
 though you are of horizontal form ; we are related at least 
 through brilliancy. But look how well a tall slender figure 
 becomes us gentry of the vertical shape," and so saying both 
 the lights compressed their breadth together and shot up into 
 a thin and pointed line. *' Do not be offended, dear friend," 
 they continued, " but what family can boast of a privilege 
 like ours. Since the first Will-o'-the-wisp was created, none 
 of our race have ever been obliged to sit down or to take 
 repose." 
 
 But all this time the feelings of the Dragon in the presence 
 of her relations were anything but pleasant ; for, exalt her 
 head as high as she would, she was compelled to stoop to 
 earth again, when she wished to advance ; and though she was 
 proud of the brilliancy which she shed round her own dyk 
 
 2f 
 
434 GOETHE. 
 
 abode, she felt her light gradually diminish in the presence 
 of her relatives, and she began to fear that it might finally be 
 extinguished. 
 
 In her perplexity she hastily inquired whether the gentle- 
 men could inform her whence the shining gold had come, 
 which had lately fallen into the cleft of the rocks hard by, as 
 in her opinion it was a precious shower from heaven. The 
 Will-o'-the-wisps immediately shook themselves (at the same 
 time laughing loudly), and a deluge of gold pieces at once 
 fioAved around. The Dragon devoured them greedily. " We 
 hope you like them, dear Aunt," shouted the shining Will- 
 o'-the-wisps ; " we can supply you with any quantity," and 
 they shook themselves with such copious effect, that the 
 Dragon found it difficult to swallow the bright dainties with 
 sufficient speed. Her brilliancy increased as the gold disap- 
 peared, till at length she shone with inconceivable radiance, 
 while in the same proportion the Will-o'-the-wisps grew thin 
 and tapering, without, however, losing the smallest iota of 
 their cheerful humour. 
 
 *' I am under eternal obligations to you," said the Dragon, 
 pausing to breathe from her voracious meal ; " ask of me what 
 you please, I will give you anything you demand." 
 
 ''A bargain!" answered the Will-o'-the-wisp; "tell us 
 then where the beautiful Lily dwells, lead us to her palace 
 and gardens without delay ; we die of impatience to cast our- 
 selves at her feet." 
 
 " You ask a favour," replied the Dragon, with a deep sigh, 
 " which it is not in my power so quickly to bestow. The 
 beautiful Lily lives, unfortunately, on the opposite bank of 
 the river. We cannot cross over on this stormy night." 
 
 " Cruel river, which separates us from the object of our 
 desires ! But cannot we call back the old Ferryman ? '* said 
 they. 
 
 *' Your wish is vain," answered the Dragon, " for even 
 were you to meet him on this bank, he would refuse to take 
 you, as though he can convey passengers to this side of the 
 stream, he can carry no one back." 
 
 " Bad news, indeed ; but are there no other means of 
 crossing the river ?" 
 
 *' There are, but not at this moment ; I myself can take 
 you over at mid-day." 
 
Tllii GERMAN EMIGEANTS. 435 
 
 ** lliat IS an hour," replied the Will-o'-the-wisps, " when 
 we do not usually travel." 
 
 " Then you had better postpone your intention till evening, 
 when you may cross in the giant's shadow." 
 
 " How is that managed ? " they inquired. 
 
 " The giant," replied the Dragon, " who lives hard by, is 
 powerless with his body ; his hands are incapable of raising 
 even a straw, his shoulders can bear no burden, but his 
 shadow accomplishes all for him. For this reason, he is 
 most powerful at sunrise and at sunset. At the hour of 
 evening, the giant will approach the river softly, and if you 
 place yourself upon his shadow, it will carry you over. 
 Meet me at mid-day, at the corner of the wood, where the 
 trees hang over the river, when I myself will take you across, 
 and introduce you to the beautiful Lily. Should you, 
 however, shrink from the noonday heat, your only alternative 
 is to apply to the giant, when evening casts its shadows 
 around, and he will no doubt prove obliging." 
 
 With a graceful salutation the young gentlemen took 
 their leave, and the Dragon rejoiced at their departure, 
 partly that she might indulge her feelings of pleasure at her 
 own light, and partly that she might satisfy a curiosity by 
 which she had long been tormented. 
 
 In the clefts of the rocks where she dwelt, she had lately 
 made a wonderful discovery ; for although she had been 
 obliged to crawl through these chasms in darkness, she had 
 learnt to distinguish every object by feeling. The produc- 
 tions of Nature, which she was accustomed everywhere to 
 encounter, were all of an irregular kind. At one time she 
 wound her way amongst the points of enormous crystals, at 
 another she was for a moment impeded by the veins of solid 
 silver, and many were the precious stones which her light dis- 
 covered to her. But, to her great astonishment, she had en- 
 countered in a rock, which was securely closed on all sides, 
 objects which betrayed the plastic hand of man. Smooth walls, 
 which she was unable to ascend, sharp, regular angles, taper- 
 ing columns, and what was even more wonderful, human 
 figures, round which she had often entwined herself, and 
 which appeared to her to be formed of brass or of polished 
 marble. She was now anxious to behold all these objects 
 with her eyes, and to confirm, by her own observation, what 
 
 2f2 
 
436 GOETHE. 
 
 she had hitherto but suspected. She thought herself capable 
 now of illumining with her own light these wonderful sub- 
 terranean caverns, and indulged the hope of becominp" 
 thoroughly acquainted with these astonishing mysteries. 
 She delayed not, and quickly found the opening through 
 which she was accustomed to penetrate into the sanctuary. 
 
 Arrived at the place, she looked round with wonder, and 
 though her brilliancy was unable to light the entire cavern, 
 yet many of the objects were sufficiently distinct. With 
 astonishment and awe, she raised her eyes to an illumined 
 niche, in which stood the statue of a venerable King, of pure 
 gold. In size the statue was colossal, but the countenance 
 was that rather of a little than of a great man. His well- 
 turned limbs were covered with a simple robe, and his head 
 was encircled by an oaken garland. 
 
 Scarcely had the Dragon beheld this venerable form, than 
 the King found utterance, and said, " How comest thou 
 hither?'* 
 
 " Through the cleft," answered the Dragon, " in which 
 the gold abides." 
 
 " What is nobler than gold ?" asked the King. 
 
 " Light," replied the Dragon. 
 
 ** And what is more vivid than light?" continued the Monarch. 
 
 " Speech," said the Serpent. 
 
 During this conversation, the Dragon had looked stealthily 
 around, and observed another noble statue in an adjoining 
 niche. A silver King sat there enthroned, of figure tall and 
 slender ; his limbs were enveloped in an embroidered mantle , 
 his crown and sceptre were adorned with precious stones ; 
 his countenance wore the serene dignity of pride, and he 
 seemed about to speak, when a dark vein, which ran through 
 ^he marble of the wall, suddenly became brilliant, and cast a 
 soft light through the whole temple. This light discovered a 
 ^.hird King, whose mighty form was cast in brass ; he leaned 
 rapon a massive club, his head was crowned with laurels, and 
 ^is proportions resembled a rock rather than a human being. 
 
 The Dragon felt a desire to approach a fourth King, who 
 jtood before her at a distance ; but the wall suddenly opened, 
 the illumined vein flashed like lightning, and became as sud- 
 tioniy extinguished. 
 
 it man of middle stature now approached. He was clad 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 437 
 
 in the garb of a peasant ; in his hand he bore a lamp, ^Yhose 
 flame it was delightful to behold, and which lightened the 
 entire dwelling, without leaving the trace of a shadow. 
 
 " Why dost thou come, since we have already light ? " 
 asked the Golden King. 
 
 " You know that I can shed no ray on what is dark," 
 replied the old man. 
 
 " Will my kingdom end?" inquired the Silver Monarch. 
 
 '* Late or never," answered the other. 
 
 The Brazen King then asked, with voice of thunder, " When 
 shall I arise?" 
 
 " Soon," was the reply. 
 
 " With whom shall I be united ?" continued the former. 
 
 " With thine elder brother," answered the latter. 
 
 " And what will become of the youngest ?" 
 
 " He will repose." 
 
 " I am not weary," interrupted the fourth King, with a 
 deep, but faltering voice. 
 
 During this conversation the Dragon had wound her way 
 softly through the temple, surveyed everything which it con- 
 tained, and approached the niche in which the fourth King 
 stood. He leaned against a pillar, and his handsome coun- 
 tenance bore traces of melancholy. It was difficult to dis- 
 tinguish the metal of which the statue was composed. It 
 resembled a mixture of the three metals of which his brothers 
 were formed; but it seemed as if the materials had not 
 thoroughly blended, as the veins of gold and silver crossed 
 each other irregularly through the brazen mass, and destroyed 
 the effect of the whole. 
 
 The Golden King now asked, " How many secrets dost thou 
 know ?" 
 
 " Three," was the reply. 
 
 " And which is the most important ?" inquired the Silver 
 King. 
 
 " The revealed," answered the old man. 
 
 " Wilt thou explain it to us ?" asked the Brazen King. 
 
 " When I have learnt the fourth," was the response. 
 
 ** I care not," murmured he of the strange compound. 
 
 " I know the fourth," interrupted the Dragon, approaching 
 the old man, and whispering in his car. 
 
 " The time is come," exclaimed the latter, with tremendous 
 voice. The sounds echoed through the temple ; the statues 
 
438 GOETHE. 
 
 rang again ; and in the same instant the old man disappeared 
 towards the west, and the Dragon towards the east, and both 
 pierced instantly through the impediments of the rock. 
 
 Every passage through which the old man bent his course 
 became immediately filled with gold ; for the lamp which he 
 carried possessed the wonderful property of converting stones 
 into gold, wood into silver, and dead animals into jewels. 
 But in order to produce this effect, it was necessary that no 
 other light should be near. In the presence of another 
 light the lamp merely emitted a soft illumination, which, 
 however, gave joy to every living thing. 
 
 The old man returned to his hut on the brow of the hill, and 
 found his wife in the greatest sorrow. She was seated at the 
 fire, her eyes filled with tears, and she refused all consolation. 
 
 " What a misfortune," she exclaimed, *' that I allowed you 
 to leave home to-day !" 
 
 *' What has happened?" answered the old man, very quietly. 
 
 *' You were scarcely gone," replied she with sobs, " before 
 two rude travellers came to the door; unfortunately I admitted 
 them, as they seemed good, worthy people. They were 
 attired like flames, and might have passed for Will-o'-the- 
 wisps ; but they had scarcely entered the house before they 
 commenced their flatteries, and became at length so importu- 
 nate that I blush to recollect their conduct." 
 
 "Well," said the old man, smiling, "the gentlemen were 
 only amusing themselves, and, at your age, you should have 
 considered it as the display of ordinary politeness." 
 
 " My age !" rejoined the old woman. " Will you for ever 
 remind me of my age ; how old am I then ? And ordinary 
 politeness ! But I can tell you something ; look round at 
 the walls of our hut, you will now be able to see the old 
 stones which have been concealed for more than a hundred 
 years. These visitors extracted all the gold more quickly 
 than I can tell you, and they assured me that it was of capital 
 flavour. When they had completely cleared the walls they 
 grew cheerful, and, in a few minutes, their persons became tall, 
 broad, and shining. They thereupon again commenced their 
 tricks, and repeated their flatteries, calling me a queen. They 
 shook themselves, and immediately a profusion of gold pieces 
 fell on all sides. You may see some of them still glittering 
 on tlie floor ; but a calamity soon occurred. Our dog Mops 
 swallowed some of them, and see, he lies dead in the chimney. 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGKANXS. 439 
 
 comer. Poor animal ! his death afflicts me. I did not 
 observe it till they had departed, otherwise I should not have 
 promised to pay the Ferryman the debt they owed him." 
 
 " How much do they owe ?" inquired the old man. 
 
 " Three cauliflowers," answered his wife, " three artichokes, 
 and three onions. I have promised to take them to the river 
 at break of day." 
 
 " You had better oblige them," said the old man, '* and 
 they may perhaps serve us in time of need." 
 
 *' I know not if they will keep their word," said she, "but 
 they promised and vowed to serve us." 
 
 The fire had, in the meantime, died away ; but the old man 
 covered the cinders with ashes, put away the shining gold 
 pieces, and lighted his lamp afresh. In the glorious illumina- 
 tion the walls became covered with gold, and Mops was 
 transformed into the most beautiful onyx that was ever be- 
 held. The variety of colour which glittered through the 
 costly gem produced a splendid effect. 
 
 " Take your basket," said the old man, " and place the 
 onyx in it. Then collect the three cauliflowers, the three 
 artichokes, and the three onions, lay them together, and 
 carry them to the river. The Dragon will bear you across at 
 mid-day ; then visit the beautiful Lily ; her touch will give 
 life to the onyx, as her touch gives death to every living 
 thing ; and it will be to her an affectionate friend. Tell her 
 not to mourn ; that her deliverance is nigh ; that she must 
 consider a great misfortune as her greatest blessing, for the 
 time is come." 
 
 The old woman prepared her basket, and set forth at break 
 of day. The rising sun shone brightly over the river, which 
 gleamed in the far distance. I'he old woman journeyed 
 slowly on, for the weight of the basket oppressed her, but it 
 did not arise from the onyx. Nothing lifeless proved a bur- 
 den, for when the basket contained dead things it rose aloft, 
 and floated over her head. But a fresh vegetable, or the 
 smallest living creature, induced fatigue. She had toiled 
 along for some distance, when she started and suddenly stood 
 still ; for she had nearly placed her foot upon the shadow of 
 the giant, which was advancing towards her from the plain. 
 Her eye now perceived his monstrous bulk ; he had just 
 bathed in the river, and was coming out of the water. She 
 
4 40 GOETHE. 
 
 Knew not how to avoid him. He saw her, saluted her jest- 
 ingly, and thrust the hand of his shadow into her basket. 
 With dexterity he stole a cauliflower, an artichoke, and an 
 onion, and raised them to his mouth. He then proceeded on 
 his course up the stream, and left the woman alone. 
 
 She considered whether it would not be better to return, 
 and supply the missing vegetables from her own garden, and, 
 lost in these reflections, she went on her way until she 
 arrived at the bank of the river. She sat down, and awaited 
 for a long time the arrival of the Ferryman. He appeared at 
 length, having in his boat a traveller whose air was mysterious. 
 A handsome youth, of noble aspect, stepped on shore. 
 
 *' What have you brought with you?" said the old man. 
 
 " The vegatables," replied the woman, " which the Will-o'- 
 the-wisps owe you," pointing to the contents of her basket. 
 
 But when he found that there were but two of each kind, 
 he became angry and refused to take them. 
 
 The woman implored him to relent, assuring him that she 
 could not then return home, as she had found her burden 
 heavy, and she had still a long way to go. But he was obsti- 
 nate, maintaining that the decision did not depend upon him. 
 
 " I am obliged to collect my gains for nine hours," said he, 
 " and I can keep nothing for myself, till I have paid a third 
 part to the river." 
 
 At length, after much contention, he told her there was 
 still a remedy. 
 
 " If you give security to the river, and acknowledge your 
 debt, I will take the six articles, though such a course is not 
 devoid of danger." 
 
 " But if I keep my word, I incur no risk," she said earnestly. 
 
 *' Not the least," he replied. " Thrust your hand into the 
 river, and promise that within four-and-twenty hours you will 
 pay the debt." 
 
 The old woman complied, but shuddered as she observed 
 that her hand, on drawing it out of the water, had become as 
 black as a coal. She scolded angrily, exclaiming that her 
 hands had always been most beautiful, and that, notwith- 
 standing her hard work, she had ever kept them white and 
 delicate. She gazed at her hand with the greatest alarm, and 
 exclaimed, " This is still worse, it has shrunk, and is already 
 . *»uch smaller than Jic other." 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 441 
 
 " It only appears so now," said the Ferryman, " but if you 
 break your word, it will be so in reality. Your hand will in 
 that case grow smaller, and finally disappear, though you will 
 still preserve the use of it." 
 
 *' I would rather," she replied, " lose it altogether, and that 
 my misfortune should be concealed. But no matter, I will 
 keep my word, to escape this black disgrace, and avoid so 
 much anxiety." Whereupon she took her basket, which rose 
 aloft, and floated freely over her head. She hastened after 
 the youth, who was walking thoughtfully along the bank. 
 His noble figure and peculiar attire had made a deep impres- 
 sion upon her mind. 
 
 His breast was covered with a shining cuirass, whose trans- 
 parency permitted the motions of his graceful form to be seen. 
 From his shoulders hung a purple mantle, and his auburn 
 locks waved in beautiful curls round his uncovered head. 
 His noble countenance and his well-turned feet were exposed to 
 the burning rays of the sun. Thus did he journey patiently 
 over the hot sand, which, " true to one sorrow, he trod with- 
 out feeling." 
 
 The garrulous old woman sought to engage him in conver- 
 sation, but he heeded her not, or answered briefly ; until, not- 
 withstanding his beauty, she became weary, and took leave of 
 him, saying, " You are too slow for me, sir, and I cannot loso 
 my time, as I am anxious to cross the river, with the assistance 
 of the Green Dragon, and to present the beautiful Lily with 
 my husband's handsome present." So saying she left him 
 speedily, upon which the youth took heart and followed her 
 without delay. 
 
 "You are going to the beautiful Lily," he exclaimed ; "if 
 so, our way lies together. What present are you taking 
 her?" 
 
 *' Sir," answered the woman, " it is not fair that you should 
 so earnestly inquire after my secrets, when you paid so little 
 attention to my questions. But if you will relate your history 
 to me, I will tell you all about my present." 
 
 They made the bargain ; the woman told her story, including 
 the account of the dog, and allowed him to view the beautiful 
 onyx. 
 
 He lifted the beautiful precious stone from the basket, and 
 took Mops, who seemed to slumber softly, in his arms. 
 
442 GOETHB. 
 
 " Fortunate animal ! " he exclaimed, " you will be touched 
 by her soft hands, and restored to life, in place of flying from 
 her contact, like all other living things, to escape an evil 
 doom. But, alas ! what words are these ? Is it not a sadder 
 and more fearful fate to be annihilated by her presence, than 
 to die by her hand ? Behold me, thus young, what a melan- 
 choly destiny is mine ! This armour, which I have borne with 
 glory in the battle-broil, this purple which I have earned by 
 the wisdom of my government, have been converted by Fate, 
 the one into an unceasing burden, the other into an empty 
 honour. Crown, sceptre, and sword, are worthless. I 
 am now as naked and destitute as every other son of clay. 
 For such is the spell of her beautiful blue eyes, that they 
 waste the vigour of every living creature ; and those whom 
 the contact of her hand does not destroy, are reduced to the 
 condition of breathing shadows." 
 
 Thus he lamented long, but without satisfying the curiosity 
 of the old woman, who sought information respecting his 
 mental no less than his bodily sufferings. She learnt neither 
 the name of his father nor his kingdom. He stroked the rigid 
 Mops, to whom the beams of the sun and the caresses of the 
 youth had imparted warmth. He inquired earnestly about the 
 man with the lamp, about the effect of the mysterious light, 
 and seemed to expect thence a relief from his deep sorrow. 
 
 So discoursing, they observed at a distance the majestic 
 arch of the bridge, which stretched from one bank of the 
 river to the other, and shone splendidly in the beams of the 
 sun. Both were astonished at the sight, as they had never 
 before seen it so resplendent. 
 
 " How," cried the Prince, " was it not sufficiently beautiful 
 before, with its decorations of jasper and opal ? Can we now 
 dare to cross over it, constructed as it is of emerald and 
 chrysolite of varied beauty?" 
 
 Neither had any idea of the change which the Dragon 
 had undergone ; for in truth it was the Dragon, whose custom 
 it was at mid-day to arch her form across the stream, and 
 assume the appearance of a beauteous bridge, which travel- 
 lers crossed with silent reverence. 
 
 Scarcely had they reached the opposite bank, when the 
 bridge began to sway from side to side, and gradually sank 
 to the level of the water, when the Green Dragon assumed 
 
THE GEBMAN EMIGBANTSo 443* 
 
 her accustomed shape, and followed the travellers to the 
 shore. The latter thanked her for her condescension, in 
 allowing them a passage across the stream, observing at the 
 same time, that there were evidently more persons present 
 than were actually visible. They heard a light whispering, 
 which the Dragon answered with a similar sound. They 
 listened, and heard the following words : " We will first 
 make our observations unperceived, in the park of the beau- 
 tiful Lily, and look for you when the shadows of evening 
 fall, to introduce us to such perfect beauty. You will find us 
 on the bank of the great lake." 
 
 " Agreed," answered the Dragon, and her hissing voice 
 dissolved in the distance. 
 
 Our three travellers further consulted with what regard to 
 precedence they should appear before the beautiful Lily ; for 
 let her visitors be ever so numerous, they must enter and 
 depart singly, if they wished to escape bitter sufiering. 
 
 The woman, carrying in the basket the transformed dog, 
 came first to the garden and sought an interview with her 
 benefactress. She was easily found, as she was then singing 
 to her harp. The sweet tones showed themselves first in the 
 form of circles upon the bosom of the calm lake, and then, 
 like a soft breeze, they imparted motion to the grass and to 
 the tremulous leaves. She was seated in a secluded nook 
 beneath the shade of trees, and at the very first glance she 
 enchanted the eyes, the ear, and the heart of the old woman, 
 who advanced towards her with rapture, and protested that 
 since their last meeting she had become more beautiful than 
 ever. Even. fi:om a distance she saluted the charming 
 maiden in these words : " What joy to be in your presence ! 
 What a heaven surrounds you ! What a spell proceeds from 
 your lyre, which, encircled by your soft arms, and influenced 
 by the pressure of your gentle bosom and slender fingers, 
 utters such entrancing melody ! Thrice happy the blessed 
 youth who could claim so great a favour!" 
 
 So saying, she approached nearer. The beautiful Lily 
 raised her eyes, let her hands drop, and said, " Do not 
 distress me with your untimely praise; it makes me feel 
 even more unhappy. And see, here is my beautiful canary 
 dead at my feet, which used to accompany my songs so 
 sweetly ; he was accustomed to sit upon my harp, and was 
 
444 GOETHE. 
 
 carefully instructed to avoid my touch. This morning, when, 
 refreshed by sleep, I tuned a pleasant melody, the little 
 warbler sang with increased harmony, when suddenly a hawk 
 soared above us. My little bird sought refuge in my bosom, 
 and at that instant I felt the last grasp of his expiring 
 breath. It is true that the hawk, struck by my instantaneous 
 glance, fell lifeless into the stream ; but what avails this 
 penalty to me ? — my darling is dead, and his grave will but 
 add to the number of the weeping willows in my garden." 
 
 " Take courage, beautiful Lily," interrupted the old 
 woman, whilst at the same moment she wiped away a rising 
 tear, which the narration of the sorrowful maiden had 
 brought to her eye — " take courage, and learn from my 
 experience to moderate your grief. Great misfortune is often 
 the harbinger of intense joy. For the time approaches ; but 
 in truth," continued she, " ' the web of life is of a mingled 
 yarn.' See my hand, how black it has grown, and, in truth, it 
 has become much diminished in size; I must be speedy, 
 before it be reduced to nothing. Why did I promise favours 
 to the Will-o'-the-wisps, or meet the giant, or dip my 
 hand into the river ? Can you oblige me with a cauliflower, 
 an artichoke, or an onion ? " I shall take them to the river, 
 and then my hand will become so white, that it will almost 
 equal the lustre of your own." 
 
 " Cauliflowers and onions abound, but artichokes cannot 
 be procured. My garden produces neither flowers nor fruit ; 
 but every twig which I plant upon the grave of anything 
 I love, bursts into leaf at once, and grows a goodly tree. 
 Thus, beneath my eye, alas! have grown these clustering 
 trees and copses. These tall pines, these shadowing cypresses, 
 these mighty oaks, these overhanging beeches, were once 
 small twigs planted by my hand, as sad memorials in an 
 ungenial soil." 
 
 The old M'oman paid but little attention to this speech, but 
 was employed in watching her hand, which in the presence 
 of the beautiful Lily became every instant of a darker 
 hue, and grew gradually less. She was about to take her 
 basket and depart, when she felt that she had forgotten the 
 most important of her duties. She took the transformed dog 
 in her arms, and laid him upon the grass, not far from the 
 beautiful Lily. " My husband," she said, " sends you this 
 
THE GEBMAN EMIGRANTS. 445 
 
 present. You know that j'our touch can impart life to this 
 precious stone. The good and faithful animal will be a joy 
 to you, and my grief at losing him will be alleviated by the 
 thought that he is yours." 
 
 The beautiful Lily looked at the pretty creature with 
 delight, and rapture beamed from her eyes. " Many things 
 combine together to inspire hope ; but, alas ! is it not a 
 delusion of our nature, to expect that joy is near when grief 
 is at the worst?" 
 
 *' Ah ! what avail these omens all so fair .' 
 
 My sweet bird's death — my friend's hands blackly dyed. 
 And Mops transformed into a jewel rare. 
 Sent by the Lamp our faltering steps to guide. 
 
 •* Far from mankind and every joy I prfze. 
 To grief and sorrow I am still allied — 
 "When from the river will the Temple rise, 
 Or the Bridge span it o'er from side to side ? " 
 
 The old woman waited with impatience for the conclusion 
 of the song, which the beautiful Lily had accompanied with 
 her harp, entrancing the ears of every listener. She was 
 about to say fai-ewell, when the arrival of the Dragon com- 
 pelled her to remain. She had heard the last words of the 
 song, and on this account spoke words of encom-agement to 
 the beautiful Lily. *' The prophecy of the bridge is fulfilled," 
 she exclaimed; "this good woman will bear witness how 
 splendidly the arch now appears. Formerly of untransparent 
 jasper, which only reflected the light upon the sides, it is now 
 converted into precious jewels of transparent hue. No beryl 
 is so bright, and no emerald so splendid." 
 
 *' I congratulate you thereupon," said the Lily, " but 
 pardon me if I doubt whether the prediction is fulfilled. 
 Only foot-passengers can as yet cross the arch of your 
 bridge ; and it has been foretold that horses and carriages, 
 travellers of all descriptions, shall pass and repass in mingled 
 multitudes. ' Is prediction silent with respect to the mighty 
 pillars which are to ascend from the river ?" 
 
 The old woman, whose eyes were fixed immovably upon 
 her hand, interrupted this speech, and bade farewell. 
 
 •' Wait for one moment," said the beautiful Lily, " and 
 
446 GOETHE, 
 
 take my poor canary-bird with you. Implore the Lamp to 
 convert him into a topaz, and I will then reanimate him 
 with my touch, and he and your good Mops will then be my 
 greatest consolation. But make what speed you can, for 
 with sunset decay will have commenced its withering influ- 
 ence, marring the beauty of its delicate form." 
 
 The old woman enveloped the little corpse in some soft 
 young leaves, placed it in the basket, and hastened from the 
 spot. 
 
 " Notwithstanding what you say," continued the Dragon, 
 resuming the interrupted conversation, " the temple is built." 
 
 " But it does not yet stand upon the river," replied the 
 beautiful Lily. 
 
 " It rests still in the bowels of the earth," continued the 
 Dragon. " I have seen the Kings, and spoken to them." 
 
 *' And when will they awake ?" inquired the Lily. 
 
 The Dragon answered, " I heard the mighty voice resound 
 through the temple, announcing that the hour was come. 
 
 A ray of joy beamed from the countenance of the beautiful 
 Lily as she exclaimed, *' Do I hear those words for the second 
 time to-day ? When will the hour arrive in which I shall 
 hear them for the third time ? " 
 
 She rose, and immediately a beautiful maiden came from 
 the wood and relieved her of her harp. She was followed by 
 another, who took the ivory chair upon which the beautiful 
 Lily had been seated, folded it together, and carried it away, 
 together with the silver-tissued cushion. The third maiden, 
 who bore in her hand a fan inlaid with pearls, approached to 
 tender her services if they should be needed. These three 
 maidens were lovely beyond description, though they were 
 compelled to acknowledge that their charms fell far short of 
 those of their beautiful mistress. 
 
 The beautiful Lily had, in the meantime, surveyed th^ 
 marvellous Mops with a look of pleasure. She leaned over 
 him and touched him. He instantly leaped up, looked round 
 joyously, bounded with delight, hastened to his benefactress, 
 and caressed her tenderly. She took him in her arms, and 
 pressed him to her bosom. " Cold though thou art," she 
 said, *' and endued with only half a life, yet art thou welcome 
 to me. I will love thee fondly, play with thee sportively, 
 kiss thee softly, and press thee to my heart." She let him 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 447 
 
 go a little from her, called him back, chased him away again, 
 and played with him so joyously and innocently, that no one 
 could help sympathising in her delight and taking part in 
 her pleasure, as they had before shared her sorrow and 
 her woe. 
 
 But this happiness and this pleasant pastim were inter- 
 rupted by the arrival of the melancholy youth. His walk 
 and appearance were as we have before described ; but he 
 seemed overcome by the heat of the day, and the presence of 
 his beloved had rendered him perceptibly paler. He bore 
 the hawk upon his wrist, where it sat with drooping wing as 
 tranquil as a dove. 
 
 " It is not well," exclaimed the Lily, " that you should vex 
 my eyes with that odious bird, which has only this day mur- 
 dered my little favourite." 
 
 " Blame not the luckless bird," exclaimed the youth : 
 *' rather condemn yourself and fate ; and let me find an asso- 
 ciate in this companion of my grief." 
 
 Mops, in the meantime, was incessant in his caresses ; and 
 the Lily responded to his affection with the most gentle 
 tokens of love. She clapped her hands to drive him away, 
 and then sportively pursued to w4n him back. She caught 
 him in her arms as he tried to escape, and chased him from 
 her when he sought to nestle in her lap. The youth looked 
 on in silence and in sorrow ; but when at length she took 
 him in her arms, and pressed him to her snowy breast, and 
 kissed him with her heavenly lips, he lost all patience, and 
 exclaimed, in the depth of his despair, " And must I, then, 
 whom sad destiny compels to live in your presence, and yet be 
 separated from you, perhaps for ever, — must I, who for you 
 have forfeited everything, even my own being, — must I look 
 on and behold this ' defect of nature ' gain your notice, win 
 your love, and enjoy the paradise of your embrace ? Must I 
 continue to wander and measure my solitary way along the 
 banks of this stream ? No ! a spark of my former spirit stih 
 bums within my bosom. Oh ! that it would mount into a 
 glorious flame. If stones may repose within your bosom, 
 then let me be converted to a stone ; and if your touch can 
 kill, I am content to receive my death at your hands." 
 
 He became violently excited; the hawk flew from his 
 wrist ; he rushed towards the beautiful Lily ; she extended 
 
448 GOETHE. 
 
 her arms to forbid his approach, and touched him undesignedly. 
 His consciousness immediately forsook him, and with dismay 
 she felt the beautiful burden lean for support upon her breast. 
 She started back with a scream, and the fair youth sank life- 
 less from her arms to the earth. 
 
 The deed was done. The sweet Lily stood motionless, and 
 gazed intently on the breathless corpse. Her heart ceased tc 
 beat, and her eyes were bedewed with tears. In vain did 
 Mops seek to win her attention : the whole world had died 
 out with her lost friend. Her dumb despair sought no help, 
 for help w^as now in vain. 
 
 But the Dragon became immediately more active. Her 
 mind seemed occupied with thoughts of rescue ; and, in truth, 
 her mysterious movements prevented the immediate conse- 
 quence of this dire misfortune. She wound her serpentine 
 form in a wide circle round the spot where the body lay, 
 seized the end of her tail between her teeth and remained 
 motionless. 
 
 In a few moments one of the servants of the beautiful Lily 
 approached, carrying the ivory chair, and with friendly 
 entreaties compelled her mistress to be seated. Then came a 
 second, bearing a flame-coloured veil, with which she rather 
 adorned than covered the head of the Lily. A third maiden 
 offered her the harp, and scarcely had she struck the chords, 
 and awakened their delicious tones than the first maiden 
 returned, having in her hands a circular mirror of lustrous 
 brightness, placed herself opposite the Lily, intercepted her 
 looks, and reflected the most enchanting countenance which 
 nature could fashion. Her sorrow added lustre to her beauty, 
 her veil heightened her charms, the harp lent her a nev: 
 grace, and though it was impossible not to hope that her sat 
 fate might soon undergo a change, one could almost wish that 
 that lovely and enchanting vision might last for ever, 
 
 Silently gazing upon the mirror, she drew melting tones of 
 music from her harp ; but her sorrow appeared to increase, 
 and the chords responded to her melancholy mood. Once or 
 twice she opened her sweet lips to sing, but her voice refused 
 utterance ; whereupon her grief found refuge in tears. Her 
 two attendants supported her in their arms, and her harp fell 
 from her hands, but the watchful attention of her hand- 
 maid caught it and laid it aside. 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 449 
 
 " Who will fetch the man with the lamp ?" whispered the 
 33ragon in low but audible voice. The maidens looked at 
 each other, and the Lily's tears fell faster. 
 
 At this instant the old woman with the basket returned 
 breathless with agitation. " I am lost and crippled for life," 
 she exclaimed. *' Look ! my hand is nearly withered. Neither 
 the Ferryman nor the Giant would set me across the river, 
 because I am indebted to the stream. In vain did I tempt 
 them with a hundred cauliflowers and a hundred onions, they 
 insist upon the stipulated three, and not an artichoke can be 
 found in this neighbourhood." 
 
 " Forget your distress," said the Dragon, " and give your 
 assistance here ; perhaps you will be relieved at the same 
 time. Hasten, and find out the Will-o'-the-Wisps, for though 
 you cannot see them by daylight, you may perhaps hear their 
 laughter and their motions. If you make good speed the 
 Giant may yet transport you across the river, and you may 
 find the man with the lamp and send him hither." 
 
 The old woman made as much haste as possible, and the 
 Dragon as well as the Lily evinced impatience for her return 
 But sad to say, the golden rays of the setting sun were shed- 
 ding their last beams upon the highest tops of the trees, and 
 lengthening the mountain shadows over lake and meadow. 
 The motions of the Dragon showed increased impatience, and 
 the Lily was dissolved in tears. 
 
 In this moment of distress, the Dragon looked anxiously 
 around ; she feared every instant that the sun would set, and 
 that decay would penetrate within the magic circle, and exert 
 its fell influence upon the corpse of the beautiful youth. She 
 looked into the heavens and caught sight of the purple wingg 
 and breast of the hawk, which were illumined by the last 
 rays of the sun. Her restlessness betrayed her joy at the 
 good omen, and she was not deceived, for instantly afterwards 
 she saw the man with the lamp sliding across the lake as if 
 his feet had been furnished with skates. 
 
 The Dragon did not alter her position, but the Lily rising 
 from her seat, exclaimed, " What good Spirit has sent you 
 thus opportunely when you are so much longed for and 
 required?" 
 
 " The Spirit of my Lamp impels me," replied the old man, 
 " and the hawk conducts me hither. The former flickers 
 
 2q 
 
450 GOETHE. 
 
 when I am needed, and I immediately look to the heavens for 
 a sign, when some bird or meteor points the way which I 
 should go. Be tranquil, beautiful maiden, I know not if I 
 can help you, one alone can do but little, but he can avail 
 who in the proper hour unites his strength with others. We 
 must wait and hope." Then turning to the Dragon, he said, 
 " Keep your circle closed," and seating himself upon a hillock 
 at his side, he shed a light upon the corpse of the youth, 
 *' Now bring the little canary-bird," he continued, " and lay 
 it also within the circle." 
 
 The maiden took the little creature from the basket and 
 followed the directions of the old man. 
 
 The sun had set in the meantime, and as the shades of 
 evening closed around, not only the Dragon and the Lamp 
 cast their customary light, but the veil of the Lily was illu- 
 mined with a soft brilliancy, and caused he.r pale cheeks and 
 her white robe to beam like the dawn of morning, and clothed 
 her with inexpressible grace. Her appearance gave birth to 
 various emotions ; anxiety and sorrow were softened by hope 
 of approaching happiness. 
 
 To the delight of all, the old woman appeared with the 
 lively Will-o'-the-wisps, who must have led a prodigal life of 
 late, for they looked wonderfully thin ; but, nevertheless, be- 
 haved most politely to the princess and to the other young 
 ladies. With an air of confidence, and much force of expres- 
 sion, they discoursed upon ordinary topics ; and they were 
 much struck by the charm which the shining veil shed over 
 the beautiful Lily and her companions. The young ladies 
 cast down their eyes with modest looks, and their beauty was 
 heightened by the flattery which they heard. Every one was 
 happy and contented, not excepting even the old woman. 
 Notwithstanding the assurance of her husband that her hand 
 would not continue to wither whilst the Lamp shone upon it, 
 she continued to assert that if things went on thus it would 
 disappear entirely before midnight. 
 
 The old man with the lamp had listened attentively to the 
 speech of the Will-o'-the-wisps, and was charmed to observe 
 that the beautiful Lily was pleased and flattered with their 
 compliments. In very truth, midnight came before they 
 were aware. The old man looked up to the stars, and 
 thus spoke : " We are met at a fortunate hour : let each fulfil 
 
THE GEBMAN EMIGRANTS. 451 
 
 his oflBce, let each discharge his duty, and a general happiness 
 will alleviate one individual trouble, as a universal sorrow 
 lessens particular joys." 
 
 After these observations, a mysterious murmur arose ; for 
 every one present spoke for himself, and mentioned what he 
 had to do : the three maidens alone were silent. One had 
 fallen asleep near the harp, the other beside the fan, and the 
 third leaning against the ivory chair; and no one could 
 blame them, for, in truth, it was late. The Will-o'-the- 
 wisps, after paying some trivial compliments to the other 
 ladies, including even the attendants, attached themselves 
 finally to the Lily, by whose beauty they were attracted. 
 
 " Take the mirror," said the old man to the hawk, " and 
 illumine tlie fair sleepers with the first beams of the sun, and 
 rouse them from their slumbers by the light reflected from 
 heaven." 
 
 The Dragon now began to move : she broke up the circle, 
 and retreated with strange evolutions to the river. The 
 Will-o'-the-wisps followed her in solemn procession, and they 
 might have been mistaken for the most serious personages. 
 The old woman and her husband took up the basket, the soft 
 light from which had been hitherto scarcely observed ; but 
 it now became clearer and more brilliant. They laid the 
 body of the youth within it, with the canary-bird reposing 
 upon his breast, upon which the basket raised itself into the 
 air and floated over the head of the old woman, and she fol- 
 lowed the steps of the Will-o'-the-wisps. The beautiful Lily, 
 taking ]Mops in her arms, walked after the old woman, and 
 the man with the lamp closed the procession. 
 
 The whole neighbourhood was brilliantly illuminated with 
 all these various lights. They all observed with astonishment, 
 on approaching the river, that it was spanned by a majestic 
 arch, by which means the benevolent Dragon had prepared 
 them a lustrous passage across. The transparent jewels of 
 which the bridge M'as composed were objects of no less 
 astonishment, by day than was their wondrous brilliancy by 
 night. The clear arch above cut sharply against the dark 
 heaven, whilst vivid rays of light beneath shone against the 
 key-stone, revealing the firm pliability of the structure. The 
 procession moved slowly over, and the ferryman, who wit- 
 nessed the proceeding trom his hut, surveyed the brilliant 
 
 2g2 
 
452 OOETHE. 
 
 arch with awe, no less than fhe wondrous lights as they 
 journeyed across it. 
 
 As soon as they had reached the opposite bank, the bridge 
 began to contract as usual, and sink to the surface of the 
 water. The Dragon made her way to the shore, and the 
 basket descended to the ground. The Dragon now once 
 more assumed a circular shape, and the old man bowing be- 
 fore her, asked what she had determined to do. 
 
 " To sacrifice myself before I am made a sacrifice ; only 
 promise me that you will leave no stone on the land." 
 
 The old man promised, and then addressed the beautiful 
 Lily thus : " Touch the Dragon with your left hand, and 
 your lover with your right." 
 
 The beautiful Lily knelt down and laid her hands upon the 
 Dragon and the corpse. In an instant, the latter became 
 endued with life : he moved, and then sat upright. The 
 Lily wished to embrace him, but the old man held her back, 
 and assisted the youth whilst he led him beyond the limits of 
 the circle. 
 
 The youth stood erect, the little canary fluttered upon his 
 shoulder, but his mind was not yet restored. His eyes were 
 open, but he saw, at least he appeared to look on everything 
 with indifference. Scarcely was the wonder at this circum- 
 stance appeased, than the change which the Dragon had 
 undergone excited attention. Her beautiful and slender form 
 was converted into thousands and thousands of precious stones. 
 The old woman, in the effort to seize her basket, had struck 
 unintentionally against the Dragon, after which nothing. more 
 was seen of the figure of the latter. Only a heap of brilliant 
 jewels lay in the grass. The old man immediately set to work 
 to collect them into his basket, a task in which he was as- 
 sisted by his wife ; they both then carried the basket to an 
 elevated spot on the bank, when he cast the entire contents 
 into the stream, not however without the opposition of his 
 wife and of the beautiful Lily, who would willingly have 
 appropriated a portion of the treasure to themselves. The 
 jewels gleamed in the rippling waters like brilliant stars, and 
 were carried away by the stream, and none can say whether 
 they disappeared in the distance or sank to the bottom. 
 
 " Young gentlemen," then said the old man, respect- 
 fully, to the Will-o'-the-wisps, " I will now point out your 
 
THE 6ei:man emiobants. 453 
 
 path and lead the way, and you will render us the greatest 
 service by opening the doors of the temple through which we 
 must enter, and which you alone can unlock." 
 
 The Will-o'-the-wisps bowed politely, and took their post 
 in the rear. The man with the lamp advanced first into the 
 rocks, which opened of their own accord ; the youth followed 
 with apparent indifierence ; with silent uncertainty the beau- 
 tiful Lily lingered slowly behind ; the old woman, unwilling 
 to be left alone, followed after, stretching out her hand that 
 it might receive the rays of her husband's lamp ; the proces- 
 sion was closed by the Will-o'-the-wisps, and their bright 
 flames nodded and blended with each other as if they were 
 engaged in active conversation. They had not gone far before 
 they came to a large brazen gate which was fastened by a 
 golden lock. The old man thereupon sought the assistance of 
 the Will-o'-the-wisps, who did not want to be entreated, but 
 at once introduced their pointed flames into the lock, when 
 the wards yielded to their influence. The brass resounded as 
 the doors flew wide asunder, and displayed the venerable 
 statues of the kings illuminated by tlae advancing lights. 
 Each individual in turn bowed to the reverend potentates 
 with respect, and the Will-o'-the-wisps were prodigal of 
 their lambent salutations. 
 
 After a short pause the Golden King asked, '* Whence do 
 you come?" 
 
 " From the world," answered the old man. 
 
 " And whither are you going?" inquired the Silver ELing. 
 
 *' Back to the world," was the answer. 
 
 *' And what do you wish with us ? " asked the Brazen King. 
 
 *' To accompany you," responded the old man. 
 
 The fourth king was about to speak, when the golden statue 
 thus addressed the Will-o'-the-wisps who had advanced 
 towards him, " Depart from me, my gold is not for you." 
 
 They then turned towards the Silver King, and his apparel 
 assumed the golden hue of their yellow flames. " You are 
 welcome," he said, " but I cannot feed you ; satisfy yourselves 
 elsewhere, and then bring me your light." 
 
 They departed, and stealing unobserved past the Brazen 
 King, they attached themselves to the King composed of 
 various metals. 
 
454 GOETHE. 
 
 " Wlio will rule the world?" inquired the latter in inarti- 
 culate tones. 
 
 " He who stands erect," answered the old man. 
 
 " That is I," replied the King. 
 
 " Then it will be revealed," said the old man, " for the time 
 is come." 
 
 The beautiful Lily fell upon his neck and kissed him 
 tenderly. " Kind father," she said, " a thousand thanks for 
 allowing me to hear this comforting word for the third time," 
 and so saying, she felt compelled to grasp the old man's arm, 
 for the earth began to tremble beneath them ; the old woman 
 and the youth clung to each other, whilst the pliant Will- 
 o'-the-wisps felt not the slightest inconvenience. 
 
 It was evident that the whole temple was in motion, and 
 like a ship \^ hich pursues its quiet way from the harbour when 
 the anchor is raised, the depths of the earth seemed to open 
 before it, whilst it clove its way through. It encountered no 
 obstacle — no rock opposed its progress. Presently a very fine 
 rain penetrated through the cupola. The old man continued to 
 support the beautiful Lily, and whispered, " We are now under 
 the river, and shall soon attain the goal." Presently they 
 thought the motion ceased, but they were deceived, the temple 
 still moved onwards. A strange sound was now heard above 
 them ; beams and broken rafters burst in disjointed fragments 
 through the opening of the cupola. The Lily and the old woman 
 retreated in alarm ; the man with the lamp stood by the youth 
 and encouraged him to remain. The Ferryman's little hut 
 had been ploughed from the ground by the advance of the 
 temple, and, in its gradual fall, buried the youth and the old 
 man. 
 
 The women screamed in alarm, and the temple shook like a 
 vessel which strikes upon a hidden rock. Anxiously the 
 women wandered round the hut in darkness ; the doors were 
 shut, and no one answered to their knocking. They continued 
 to knock more loudly, when at last the wood began to ring 
 with sounds ; the magic power of the lamp, which was en- 
 closed within the hut, changed it into silver, and presently its 
 very form was altered, for the noble metal refusing to assume 
 the form of planks, posts, and rafters, was converted into a 
 glorious building of artistic workmanship; it seemed as if a 
 
THE GERMAN EMIGRANTS. 455 
 
 smaller temple had grown up within the large one, or at least 
 an altar worthy of its beauty. 
 
 The noble youth ascended a staircase in the interior, whilst 
 the man with the lamp shed light upon his way, and another 
 figure lent him support, clad in a short white garment, and 
 holding in his hand a silver rudder; it was easy to recognise 
 the Ferryman, the former inhabitant of the transformed hut. 
 
 The beautiful Lily ascended the outward steps, which led 
 from the temple to the altar, but was compelled to remain 
 separated from her lover. The old woman, whose hand con- 
 tinued to grow smaller, whilst the light of the lamp was ob- 
 scured, exclaimed, " Am I still doomed to be unhappy amid 
 so many miracles ; will no miracle restore my hand ?" 
 
 Her husband pointed to the open door, exclaiming, " See, 
 the day da\vns ; hasten and bathe in the river." 
 
 " What advice ! " she answered ; " shall I not become wholly 
 black, and dissolve into nothing, for I have not yet discharged 
 my debt?" 
 
 " Be silent," said the old man, " and follow me ; all debts 
 are wiped away." 
 
 The old woman obeyed, and in the same instant the light 
 of the rising sun shone upon the circle of the cupola. Then 
 the old man, advancing between the youth and the maiden, 
 exclaimed with a loud voice, " Three things have sway upon 
 the earth, — Wisdom, Appearance, and Power." 
 
 At the sound of the first word the Golden King arose ; at 
 the sound of the second, the Silver King ; and the Brazen 
 King had risen at the sound of the third, when the fourth 
 suddenly sunk awkwardly to the earth. The Will-o'-the- 
 wisps, who had been busily employed upon him till this 
 moment, now retreated; though paled by the light of the 
 morning, they seemed in good condition, and sufficiently bril- 
 liant, for they had with much dexterity extracted the gold 
 from the veins of the colossal statue with their sharp-pointed 
 tongues. The irregular spaces which were thus displayed re- 
 mained for some time exposed, and the figure preserved its 
 previous form ; but when at length the most secret veins of 
 gold had been extracted, the statue suddenly fell with a crash, 
 and formed a mass of shapeless ruins. 
 
 The man with the lamp conducted the youth, whose eye 
 
456 GOETHE. 
 
 was still fixed upon vacancy, from the altar towards the 
 Brazen King. At the foot of the mighty monarch lay a sword 
 in a brazen sheath. The youth bound it to his side. " Take 
 the weapon in your left hand, and keep the right hand free," 
 exclaimed the King. 
 
 They then advanced to the Silver Monarch, who bent his 
 sceptre towards the youth ; the latter seized it with his left 
 hand, and the King addressed him in soft accents, " Feed my 
 sheep." 
 
 When they reached the statue of the Golden King, with 
 paternal benediction the latter pressed the oaken garland on 
 the head of the youth, and said, " Acknowledge the highest." 
 
 The old man had, during this proceeding, watched the youth 
 attentively. After he had girded on the sword his breast 
 heaved, his arm was firmer, and his step more erect; and 
 after he had touched the sceptre, his sense of power appeared 
 to soften, and at the same time, by an inexpressible charm, to 
 become more mighty; but when his waving locks were 
 adorned with the oaken garland, his countenance became ani- 
 mated, his soul beamed from his eye, and the first word he 
 uttered was " Lily !" 
 
 " Dear Lily,*' he exclaimed, as he hastened to ascend the 
 silver stairs, for she had observed his progress from the altar 
 where she stood — " dear Lily, what can man desire more 
 blessed than the innocence and the sweet affection which your 
 love brings me? Oh, my friend!" he continued, turning to 
 the old man, and pointing to the three sacred statues, " se- 
 cure and glorious is the kingdom of our fathers, but you have 
 forgotten to enumerate that fourth power, which exercises an 
 earlier, more universal, and certain rule over the world — the 
 power of love." 
 
 With these words he flung his arms round the neck of the 
 beautiful maiden ; she had cast aside her veil, and her cheeks 
 were tinged with a blush of the sweetest and most inexpres- 
 sible beauty. 
 
 The old man now observed, with a smile, " Love does not 
 rule, but controls, and that is better." 
 
 During all this delight and enchantment, no one had ob- 
 served that the sun was now high in heaven, and through the 
 open gates of the temple most unexpected objects were per- 
 
THE GEKMAN EMIGRANTS. 457 
 
 ceived. An empty space, of large dimensions, was surrounded 
 by pillars, and terminated by a long and splendid bridge, 
 whose many arches stretched across the river. On each side 
 was a footpath, wide and convenient for passengers, of whom 
 many thousands were busily employed in crossing over ; the 
 wide road in the centre was crowded with flocks and herds, 
 and horsemen and carriages, and all streamed over without 
 impeding each other's progress. All were in raptures at the 
 union of convenience and beauty ; and the new King and his 
 spouse were as much charmed with the animation and activity 
 of this great concourse, as they were with their own re- 
 ciprocal love. 
 
 " Honour the Dragon," said the man with the lamp ; " to 
 her you are indebted for life, and your people for the bridge 
 whereby these neighbouring shores are animated and con- 
 nected. Those shining precious stones which still float by, 
 are the remains of her self-sacrifice, and form the foundation- 
 stones of this glorious bridge, upon which she has erected 
 herself to subsist for ever. 
 
 The approach of four beautiful maidens, who advanced to 
 the door of the temple, prevented any inquiry into this won- 
 derful mystery. Three of them were recognised as the at- 
 tendants of the beautiful Lily, by the harp, the fan, and the 
 ivory chair; but the fourth, though more beautiful than the 
 other three, was a stranger ; she, however, played with the 
 others with sisterly sportiveness, ran with them through the 
 temple, and ascended the silver stairs. 
 
 " Thou dearest of creatures ! " said the man with the lamp, 
 addressing the beautiful Lily, " you will surely believe me for 
 the future. Happy for thee, and every other creature who 
 shall bathe this morning in the waters of the river !" 
 
 The old woman, who had been transformed into a beautiful 
 young girl, and of whose former appearance no trace remained, 
 embraced the man with the lamp with tender caresses, which 
 he returned with affection. 
 
 " If I am too old for you," he said, with a smile, " you may 
 to-day select another bridegroom, for no tie can henceforth be 
 considered binding which is not this day renewed." 
 
 " But are you not aware that you also have become young ?" 
 she inquired. 
 
458 
 
 GOETHE. 
 
 " I am delighted to hear it," he replied. " If I appear to 
 you to be a gallant youth, I take your hand anew, and hope 
 for a thousand years of happiness to come." 
 
 The Queen welcomed her new friend, and advanced with 
 her and the rest of her companions to the altar, whilst the 
 King, supported by the two men, pointed to the bridge, and 
 surveyed with wonder the crowd of passengers ; but his joy 
 was soon overshadowed by observing an object which gave 
 him pain. The Giant, who had just awakened from his morn- 
 ing sleep, stumbled over the bridge, and gave rise to the 
 greatest confusion. He was, as usual, but half awake, and 
 had risen with the intention of bathing in the neighbouring 
 cove, but he stumbled instead upon firm land, and found him- 
 self feeling his way upon the broad highway of the bridge. 
 And whilst he went clumsily along in the midst of men and 
 animals, his presence, though a matter of astonishment to all, 
 was felt by none ; but when the sun shone in his eyes, and he 
 raised his hand to shade them, the shadow of his enormous fist 
 fell amongst the crowd with such careless violence, that both 
 men and animals huddled together in promiscuous confusion, 
 and either sustained personal injury, or ran the risk of being 
 driven into the water. 
 
 The King, observing this calamity, with an involuntary 
 movement placed his hand upon his sword ; but, upon reflec- 
 tion, turned his eyes upon his sceptre, and then upon the 
 the lamp and the rudder of his companions. 
 
 " I guess your thought," said the man with the lamp, " but 
 we are powerless against this monster; be tranquil, he 
 injures for the last time, and happily his shadow is tarned 
 from us." 
 
 In the meantime the Giant had approached, and over- 
 powered with astonishment at what he saw, his hands sunk 
 down, became powerless for injury, and gazing with surprise, 
 he entered the court-yard. 
 
 In imagination he was ascending toward heaven, when he 
 felt himself suddenly fast bound to the earth. He stood like 
 a colossal pillar constructed of red shining stones, and his 
 shadow indicated the hours which were marked in a circle on 
 the ground, not however in figures, but in noble and signifi- 
 cant effigies. 
 
THE GEKMAN EMIGRANTS. 459 
 
 The King was not a little delighted to see the shadow of 
 the monster rendered harmless ; and the Queen was not less 
 astonished, as she advanced from the altar with her maidens, 
 all adorned with the greatest magnificence, to observe the 
 strange wonder which almost covered the whole prospect from 
 the temple to the bridge. 
 
 In the meantime the people had crowded after the Giant, 
 and surroun<ding him as he stood still, had observed his trans- 
 formation with the utmost awe. They bent their steps then 
 towards the temple, of the existence of which they now 
 seemed to be for the first time aware, and thronged the 
 doorways. 
 
 The hawk was now observed aloft, towering over the build- 
 ing, and carrying the mirror, with which he caught the light 
 of the sun, and turned the rays upon the multifarious group 
 which stood around the altar. The King, the Queen, and 
 their attendants, illumined by the beam from heaven, ap- 
 peared beneath the dim arches of the temple ; their subjects 
 fell prostrate before them. When they had recovered, and 
 had risen again, the King and his attendants had descended 
 to the altar, in order to reach his palace by a less obstructed 
 path, and the people dispe*"sed through the temple to satisfy 
 their curiosity. They beheld with astonishment the three 
 Kings, who stood erect, and they were all anxiety to know 
 what could be concealed behind the curtain in the fourth 
 niche ; since whatever kindness might have prompted the 
 deed, a thoughtful discretion had extended a costly covering 
 over the ruins of the fallen King, which no eye cared to pene- 
 trate, and no profane hand dared to uplift. 
 
 There was no end to the astonishment and wonder of the 
 people ; and the dense throng would have been crushed in 
 the temple if their attention had not been attracted once more 
 to the court without. 
 
 To their great surprise, a shower of gold pieces fell as if from 
 the air, resounding upon the marble pavement, and caused a 
 contest and cpmmotion amongst the passers-by. Several times 
 this wonder was repeated in different places, at some distance 
 from each other. It is not difficult to infer that this feat was 
 the work of the retreating Will-o'-the-wisps, who having 
 extracted the gold from the limbs of the mutilated King, dis- 
 
460 
 
 GOETHE. 
 
 persed it abroad in this joyous manner. The covetous crowd 
 continued their contentions for some time longer, pressing 
 hither and thither, and inflicting wounds upon each other, till 
 the shower of gold pieces ceased to fall. The multitude at 
 length dispersed gradually, each one pursuing his own course ; 
 and the bridge, to this day, continues to swarm with travellers, 
 and the temple is the most frequented in the world. 
 
IHE GOOD WOMEN. 461 
 
 THE GOOD WOMEN. 
 
 Heneietta and Armidoro had been for some time engaged 
 in walking through the garden, in which the Summer Club 
 was accustomed to assemble. It had long been their practice 
 to arrive before the other members, for they entertained the 
 ■warmest attachment to each other, and their pure and 
 virtuous friendship fostered the delightful hope that they 
 would shortly be united in the bonds of unchanging affection. 
 
 Henrietta, who was of a lively disposition, no sooner per- 
 ceived her friend Amelia approach the summer-house from a 
 distance, than she ran to welcome her. The latter was 
 already seated at a table in the ante -chamber, where the 
 newspapers, journals, and other recent publications, lay 
 displayed. 
 
 It was her custom to spend occasional evenings in reading 
 in this apartment, without paying attention to the company 
 who came and went, or suffering herself to be disturbed by 
 the rattling of the dice or the loud conversation which pre- 
 vailed at the gaming-tables. She spoke little, except for the 
 purpose of rational conversation. Henrietta, on the contrary, 
 was not so sparing of her words, being of an easily satisfied 
 disposition, and ever ready with expressions of commendation. 
 They were soon joined by a third person, whom we shall call 
 Sinclair. " What news do you bring," exclaimed Henrietta, 
 addressing him as he approached. 
 
 " You will scarcely guess," replied Sinclair, as he opened 
 a portfolio. - *' And even if I inform you that I have brought 
 for your inspection the engravings intended for the Ladies' 
 Almanack of this year, you will hardly guess the subjects 
 they portray ; but when I tell you that young ladies are re- 
 presented in a series of twelve engravings " 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed Henrietta, interrupting him, "you 
 
462 GOETHB. 
 
 have no intention, I perceive, of putting our ingenuity to the 
 test. You jest, if I mistake not ; for you know how I delight 
 in riddles and charades, and in guessing my friends' enigmas. 
 Twelve young ladies, you say ; — sketches of character, I 
 suppose ; some adventures, or situations, or something else 
 that redounds to the honour of th'e sex." 
 
 Sinclair smiled in silence, whilst Amelia watched him with 
 calm composure, and then remarked, with that fine sarcastic 
 tone which so well became her, " If I read his countenance 
 truly, he has something to produce of which we shall not 
 quite approve. Men are so fond of discovering something 
 which shall have the appearance of turning us into ridicule.'* 
 
 Sinclair. — You are becoming serious, Amelia, and threaten 
 to grow satirical. I shall scarcely venture to open my little 
 packet. 
 
 Senrietta. -T-Oh. ! produce it. 
 
 Sinclair. — They are caricatures. 
 
 Henrietta. — I love them of all things. 
 
 Sinclair. — Sketches of naughty ladies. 
 
 Henrietta. — So much the better ; we do not belong to that 
 class. Their portraits would afibrd us as little pleasure as 
 their society. 
 
 Sinclair. — Shall I show them ? ' 
 
 Henrietta. — Do so at once. 
 
 So saying, she snatched the portfolio from him, took out the 
 pictures, spread six of them upon the table, glanced over 
 them hastily, and then shufiled them together as if they had 
 been a pack of cards. " Capital !" she exclaimed, " they are 
 done to the very life. This one, for instance, holding a pinch of 
 
 snufi" to her nose, is the very image of Madame S , whom 
 
 we shall meet this evening ; and this old lady with the cat i? 
 not unlike my grand-aunt ; — that figure, holding the skein of 
 thread, resembles our old milliner. We can find an original 
 for every one of these ugly figures ; and even amongst the 
 men, I have somewhere or other seen an old fellow bent 
 double, just like that picture ; and also a close resemblance to 
 the figure holding the thread. They are full of fun, these 
 engravings, and admirably executed." 
 
 Amelia, who had glanced carelessly at the pictures, and 
 instantly withdrawn her eyes, inquired how they could look. 
 for resemblances in " One deformity is like 
 
THE GOOD WOMEN. 403 
 
 another, just as the beautiful ever resembles the beautiful. 
 Our minds are irresistibly attracted by the latter, in the same 
 degree as they are repelled by the former." 
 
 Sinclair. — But our fancy and our wit find more amusement 
 in deformity than in beauty. Much can be made of the 
 former, but nothing at all of the latter. 
 
 " But beauty exalts^ whilst deformity degrades us," ob- 
 served Armidoro, who, from his post at the window, had paid 
 silent attention to all that had occurred. Without ap- 
 proaching the table, he then adjourned into the adjoining 
 cabinet. 
 
 All clubs have their peculiar epochs. The interest of the 
 various members towards each other, and their friendly har- 
 mony together, is of a fluctuating character. The Club of 
 which we speak had now attained its zenith. The members 
 were, for the most part, men of refinement, or at least of calm 
 and quiet deportment ; they mutually recognized each other's 
 value, and allowed all want of merit to find its own level. 
 Each one sought his own individual amusement, and the general 
 conversation was often of a nature to attract attention. 
 
 At this time, a gentleman named Seyton arrived, accom- 
 panied by his wife. He was a man who had seen much 
 of the world, first from his engagement in business, and 
 afterwards in political afiairs ; he was moreover an agreeable 
 companion, although, in mixed society, he was chiefly remark- 
 able for his talent as a card-player. His wife was a worthy 
 woman, kind and faithful, and enjoying the most perfect 
 confidence and esteem of her husband. She felt happy that 
 she could now give uncontrolled indulgence to her taste for 
 pleasure. At home she could not exist without a companion, 
 and she found in amusement and dissipation the only incentive 
 to home enjoyment. 
 
 We must treat our readers as strangers, or rather as visitors 
 to the Club, and in full confidence we must introduce them 
 speedily to our new Society. A poet paints his characters, by 
 describing tjieir actions; we must adopt a shorter course, 
 and by a hasty sketch introduce our readers rapidly to the 
 scenes. 
 
 Seyton approached the table and looked at the pictures. 
 
 "A discussion has arisen," observed Henrietta, "with 
 respect to caricatures. What side do you take ? I am aa 
 
•I64 GOETHE. 
 
 advocate for them, and wish to know whether all caricaturca 
 do not possess something irresistibly attractive ?" 
 
 Amelia. — And does not every evil calumny, provide it 
 relate to the absent, also possess an incredible charm ? 
 
 Henrietta. — But does not a sketch of this kind produce an 
 indelible impression ? 
 
 Amelia. — And that is just the reason why I condemn it. 
 Is not the indelible impression of what is disagreeable pre- 
 cisely the evil which so constantly pursues us in life and 
 destroys our greatest enjoyments ? 
 
 Henrietta. — Favour us, Seyton, with your opinion. 
 
 Seyton. — I should propose a truce to the argument. Why 
 should our pictures be better than ourselves ? Our nature 
 seems to have two sides, which cannot exist separately. 
 Light and darkness, good and evil, height and depth, virtue 
 and vice, and a thousand other contradictions unequally dis- 
 tributed, appear to constitute the component parts of human 
 nature ; and why, therefore, should I blame an artist who, 
 whilst he paints an angel bright, brilliant and beautiful, on 
 the other hand paints a devil black, ugly, and hateful ? 
 
 Amelia. — There could be no objection to such a course, if 
 caricaturists did not introduce within their province, subjects 
 which belong to higher spheres. 
 
 Seyton. — So far I think you perfectly right. But artists, 
 whose province is the Beautiful alone, also appropriate what 
 does not precisely belong to them. 
 
 Amelia. — I have no patience, however, with caricaturists 
 who ridicule the portraits of eminent men. In spite of my 
 better sense, I can never consider that great man Pitt as any 
 thing else than a snub-nosed broomstick ; and Fox, who was 
 in many respects an estimable character, anything better 
 than a stall-fed swine. 
 
 Henrietta. — Precisely my view. Caricatures of such a 
 nature make an indelible impression, and I cannot deny that 
 it often affords amusement to evoke their recollection and 
 pervert them even into worse distortions. 
 
 Sinclair. — But, ladies, allow us to revert for a moment 
 from this discussion, to a consideration of our engravings. 
 
 Seyton. — I observe that a fancy for dogs is here delineated 
 in no very flattering manner. 
 
 Amelia. — ^That I have no objection to, for I detest such 
 auimaJls. 
 
THE GOOD WOMEN. 435 
 
 Sinclair. — First an enemy to caricatures, and then un- 
 friendly to the dog tribe. 
 
 Amelia. — And why not ? What are such animals but 
 caricatures of men? 
 
 Seyton. — You remember, probably, what a certain traveller 
 relates of the city of Gratz, " that the place was full of dogs, 
 and of dumb persons half idiotic." Might it not be possible 
 that the habitual sight of so many barking, senseless animals 
 should have produced an effect upon the human race ? 
 
 Sinclair. — Our attachment to animals deteriorates our pas- 
 sions and affections. 
 
 Amelia.—-^vit if our reason, according to the general ex- 
 pression, is sometimes capable of standing still, it may surely 
 do so in the presence of dogs. 
 
 Sinclair. — Fortunately there is no one in our company 
 who cares for dogs, but Madame Seyton. She is very much 
 attached to her pretty greyhound. 
 
 Seyton. — And that same animal is particularly dear and 
 valuable to her husband. 
 
 Madame Seyton from a distance, raised her finger to her 
 lips in an attitude of playful threatening. 
 
 Seyton. — I know a proof that such animals detach our 
 affections from their legitimate objects. May I not, my dear 
 child (addressing his wife), relate our anecdote ? We need 
 not be ashamed of it. 
 
 Madame Seyton, signified her assent by a friendly nod, and 
 he commenced his narration. 
 
 " We loved each other and had entered into an engagement 
 to marry, before we had well considered the possibility of 
 supporting an establishment. At length better hopes began 
 to dawn, when I was unexpectedly compelled to set out upon 
 a journey which threatened to last longer than I could have 
 wished. On my departure I forgot my favourite greyhound. 
 It had often been in the habit of accompanying me to my in- 
 tended wife's house, sometimes returning with me, and occa- 
 sionally remjiining behind. It now became her property, was a 
 cheerful companion, and reminded her of my return. At 
 home the little animal afforded much amusement, and in 
 the promenades, where we had so often walked together, it 
 seemed constantly engaged in looking for me, and barked as 
 if announcing me, as it sprang from among the trees. My 
 
 2h 
 
466 G0ETH3. 
 
 darling little Meta amused itself thus for a considerable time, 
 by fancying me really present, until at length, about the time 
 when I had hoped to return, the period of my absence being 
 again indefinitely prolonged, the poor animal pined away and 
 died." 
 
 Madame Seyton. — Just so, dear husband ! A.nd your nar- 
 rative is sweetly interesting. 
 
 Seyton. — ^You are quite at liberty to interrupt me, my dear, 
 if you think fit. My friend's house now seemed desolate, 
 her walks had lost all their interest, her favourite dog, which 
 had ever been at her side when she wrote to me, had grown 
 to be an actual necessity of existence, and her letters were 
 now discontinued. But she found, however, some consolation 
 in the company of a handsome youth, who evinced an anxiety 
 to fill the place of her former four-footed companion, both in 
 the house and in the promenades. But without enlarging on 
 this subject, and let me be ever so inimical to rash judg- 
 ments, i may say that matters began to assume a rather 
 critical appearance. 
 
 Madame Seyton. — I must let you continue. A story 
 which is all truth and wholly free from exaggeration, is 
 seldom worth hearing. 
 
 Seyton. — A mutual friend of ours, who was a prudent man, 
 versed in the world, and acquainted with human nature, con- 
 tinued to reside near my dear friend after my departure. He 
 paid frequent visits at her house, and observed with pain and 
 anxiety the change which she had undergone. He formed 
 his plan in secrecy, and called upon her one day, accompanied 
 by a greyhound which precisely resembled mine. The cor- 
 dially afiectionate and appropriate address with which he 
 accompanied his present, the unexpected appearance of a 
 favourite, which seemed to have risen from the grave, the 
 silent rebuke with which her susceptible heart reproached 
 her at the sight, brought back to her mind a lively recollec- 
 tion of me. My young supplanter accordingly received his 
 conge in the politest manner possible, and the new favourite 
 was retained by the lady as her constant companion. When, 
 upon my return, I held my beloved in my embrace, I thought 
 the greyhound was my own, and wondered not a little that 
 he barked at me as at a stranger. I thought that dogs of the 
 present day had far less faithful memories than those of 
 
THE GOOD WOMEN. 467 
 
 classical times, and observed that Ulysses had been remem- 
 bered by his dog after many years' absence, whilst mine had 
 forgotten me in an incredibly short space of time. *' But 
 yet he has taken good care of your Penelope," she replied, 
 promising at the same time to explain her mysterious speech. 
 This was soon done, and unbroken confidence has ever since 
 been the characteristic of our union. 
 
 Madame Seyton. — Well now, conclude with the anecdote. 
 If you please, I will walk for an hour, for you intend doubt- 
 less to sit down to the card-table. 
 
 He signified his assent. She took the arm of her com- 
 panion and went towards the door. " Take the dog with 
 you, my dear !" he exclaimed as she departed. The entire 
 company smiled, as did Seyton also, when he saw the precise 
 point of his unintentional observation, and every one else 
 silently felt a trifling degree of malicious satisfaction. 
 
 Sinclair. — You have related an anecdote of a dog which 
 was happily instrumental in promoting a marriage ; I can 
 tell another whose influence destroyed one. I was also once 
 in love, and it was also my fate to set out upon a journey, 
 and, moreover, left a dear young friend behind me. But there 
 was this difierence between the two cases, my wish to possess 
 my treasure had been as yet undeclared. At length I re- 
 turned. The many adventures in which I had engaged were 
 imprinted strongly upon my mind. Like all travellers, I was 
 fond of recounting them, and I hoped by this means to win 
 the attention and sympathy of my beloved. I was anxious 
 that she should know all the experience I had acquired and 
 the pleasures I had enjoyed. But I found that her attention 
 was wholly directed to a dog. Whether she so engaged 
 herself from that spirit of opposition which so often charac- 
 terises the fair sex, or whether it arose from some unlucky 
 accident, it so happened that the amiable qualities of the dog, 
 their amusements together, and her attachment to the little 
 animal, were the sole topics of conversation which she could 
 find for a lover who had long been passionately devoted to 
 her. I wondered and felt astonished, and related a thousand 
 circumstances to prove my afiection for her. I then felt 
 vexed at her coldness, and took my leave, but soon returned 
 Vv'ith feelings of self-reproach and became even more imhappy 
 than before. Under these circumstances our attachment 
 
 2h2 
 
468 GOETHE. 
 
 cooled and our acquaintance was discontinued, and I felt in 
 my heart that I might attribute the misfortune to a dog. 
 
 Armidoro, who had once more joined the company from the 
 cabinet, observed, upon hearing the anecdote, " that it would 
 be interesting to make a collection of stories showing the influ- 
 ence which social animals of the lower order exercise over 
 mankind. In the expectation that such a collection will be 
 one day made, I will relate an anecdote to show how a dog 
 was the cause of a very tragical occurrence." 
 
 " Ferdinand and Cardano, two young noblemen, had been 
 attached friends from their very earliest youth. As court pages 
 and as officers in the same regiment, they had shared many 
 adventures together, and had become thoroughly acquainted 
 with each other's dispositions. Cardano's attraction was the fair 
 sex, whilst Ferdinand had a passion for play. The former was 
 thoughtless and haughty, the latter suspicious and reserved. 
 It happened, at a time when Cardano was accidentally 
 obliged to break ojff a certain tender attachment, that he 
 left a beautiful little pet spaniel behind him. He soon 
 procured another, which he afterwards presented to a second 
 lady, from whom he was about to separate, and from that time, 
 upon taking leave of every new female friend with whom he 
 had become intimate, he invariably presented her with a 
 similar little spaniel. Ferdinand was aware of Cardano's 
 peculiar habit in this respect, but he never payed much at- 
 tention to the circumstance. 
 
 " The different pursuits of the two friends at length caused 
 a long separation between them, and when they next met, 
 Ferdinand had become a married man, and was leading 
 the life of a country gentleman. Cardano spent some time 
 with him, either at his house or in the neighbourhood, where, 
 as he had many relations and friends, he resided for nearly 
 a year. 
 
 " Upon his departure Ferdinand's attention was attracted 
 by a very beautiful spaniel of which his wife had lately 
 become possessed. He took it in his arms, admired its 
 beauty, stroked it, praised it, and inquired where she had 
 obtained so charming an animal. She replied *' from Car- 
 dano." He was struck at once with the memory of bygone 
 times and events, and with a recollection of the significant 
 memorial with which Cardano was accustomed to mark his 
 
THE GOOD WOMEN. 46d 
 
 insincerity ; he felt oppressed with the indignity of an injured 
 husband, raged violently, flung the innocent little animal 
 with fury to the earth, and ran from the apartment amid the 
 cries of the spaniel and the supplications of his astonished 
 wife. A fearful dispute and countless disagreeable conse- 
 quences ensued, which, though they did not produce an ac* 
 tual divorce, ended in a mutual agreement to separate, and a 
 ruined household was the termination of this adventure." 
 
 The story was not quite finished when Eulalia entered the 
 apartment. She was a young lady whose society was uni- 
 versally sought after, and she formed one of the most attractive 
 ornaments of the Club — an accomplished woman and a suc- 
 cessful authoress. 
 
 The female caricatures were laid before her with which 
 the clever artist, before alluded to, had attacked the fair sex, 
 and she was invited to defend her good sisterhood. 
 
 " Probably," said Amelia " a collection of these charming 
 portraits is intended for the Almanack, and possibly some 
 celebrated author will undertake tlie witty task of explaining 
 in words what the ingenious artist has represented in his 
 pictures." 
 
 Sinclair felt that the pictures were not worthy of utter 
 condemnation, nor could he deny that some sort of explana- 
 nation of their meaning was necessary, as a caricature which 
 is not understood is worthless, and is in fact only valuable 
 for its application. For however the ingenious artist may 
 endeavour to display his wit, he cannot always succeed, and 
 without a title or an explanation his labour is lost : words 
 alone can give it value. 
 
 Amelia. — Then let words bestow a value upon this little 
 picture. A young lady has fallen asleep in an armchair, 
 having been engaged, as it appears, with some sort of writing, 
 Another lady who stands by weeping, presents a small box, 
 or something else, to her companion. What can it mean ? 
 
 Sinclair, — Shall I endeavour to explain it? — notwith- 
 standing that the ladies seem but ill disposed both to cari- 
 catures and their exposition. I am told that it is intended 
 to represent an authoress, who was accustomed to compose at 
 night ; she always obliged her maid to hold her inkstand, and 
 forced the poor creature to remain in that posture even when 
 •he herself had been overcome by sleep, and the office of her 
 
470 GOETHE. 
 
 maid had thus been rendered useless. She was desirous, oa 
 awaking, to resume the thread of her thoughts and of her 
 composition, and wished to find her pen and ink ready at 
 the same moment. 
 
 Arbon, an artist of talent who had accompanined Eulalia, 
 declared war against the picture. He observed that to 
 delineate the situation or circumstance above alluded to, 
 another course should have been adopted. 
 
 Henrietta. — Let us then compose the picture afresh. 
 
 Arhon. — But let us first of all consider the subject atten- 
 tively. It seems natural enough that a person employed in 
 writing should cause the inkstand to be held, if the circum- 
 stances are such that no place can be found to set it down. 
 So Brantome's grandmother held the inkstand for the Queen of 
 Navarre, when the latter, reposing in her litter, composed the 
 history which we have all read with so much pleasure. 
 Agaiu, that any one who writes in bed should cause his 
 inkstand to be held, is quite conceivable. But tell us, pretty 
 Henrietta, you who are fond so of questioning and guessing, 
 tell us what the artist should have done to represent this sub- 
 ject properly. 
 
 Henrietta. — He should have put the table away, and have 
 so arranged the sleeper, that nothing should appear at hand 
 upon which an inkstand could be placed. 
 
 Arhon. — Quite right. I should have drawn her in a well- 
 cushioned easy-chair, of the fashion which, if I mistake not, 
 are called Bergeres ; she should have been near the fire- 
 place, and presenting a front view to the spectator. I should 
 suppose her to be engaged in writing upon her knee, for 
 usually one becomes uncomfortable in exacting an incon- 
 venience from another. The paper sinks upon her lap, the 
 pen from her hand, and a sweet maiden stands near, holding 
 the inkstand with a forlorn look. 
 
 Henrietta. — Quite right. But here we have an inkstand 
 upon the table already ; and what is to be done, therefore, 
 with the inkstand in the hand of the maiden ? It is not 
 easy to conceive why she should be engaged in wiping 
 away her tears. 
 
 Sinclair. — Here I defend the artist ; he allows scope for 
 the ingenuity of the commentator. 
 
 Arhon. — ^Who will probably be engaged in exercising his 
 
THE GOOD WOMEN. 471 
 
 vrit upon the headless men that hang against the wall. This 
 seems to me a clear proof of the inevitable confusion that 
 , arises from uniting arts between which there is no natural 
 connection. If we were not accustomed to see engravings 
 with explanations appended to them, the evil would cease. I 
 have no objection that a clever artist should attempt witty 
 representations, but they are difficult to execute, and he 
 should at all events endeavour to make his subject independent 
 of explanations. I could even tolerate remarks and little sen- 
 tences issuing from the mouths of his figures, provided he 
 restricted himself to being his own commentator. 
 
 Sinclair. — l^ut if you allow such a thing as a witty picture, 
 you must admit that it is intended only for persons of intel- 
 ligence ; it can possess an attraction for none but those con- 
 versant with the occurrences of the day ; why then should we 
 object to a commentator who enables us to understand the 
 nature of the intellectual amusement prepared for us ? 
 
 Arhon. — I have no objection to explanations of pictures, 
 which fail to explain themselves. But they should be short 
 and to the point. Wit is for the intelligent, they alone can 
 imderstand a witty work, and the productions of bygone 
 times and foreign lands are completely lost upon us. It is all 
 well enough with the aid of such notes as we find appended 
 to Kabelais and Hudibras, but what should we say of an 
 author who should find it necessary to write one witty work 
 to elucidate another ? Wit, even when fresh from its fountain, 
 is oftentimes feeble enough ; it will scarcely become stronger 
 by passing through two or three hands. 
 
 Sinclair. — How I wish that, instead of thus arguing, we 
 could assist our friend, the owner of these pictures, who 
 would be glad to hear the opinions that have been expressed. 
 
 Armidoro. — (Coming from the cabinet.) I perceive that the 
 company is still engaged about these censurable pictures: 
 had they produced a pleasant impression, they would doubt- 
 less have been laid aside long ago. 
 
 Amelia.*—! propose that that be their fate now ; the 
 owner must be required to make no use of them. What! 
 a dozen and more hateful, objectionable pictures to appear in 
 a Ladies' Almanack ! Can the man be blind to his own interest ? 
 He will ruin his speculation. What lover will present a copy 
 to his mistress, what husband to his wife, what father to 
 
472 GOETHE. 
 
 his daughter, when the first glance will display such a libel 
 upon the sex ? 
 
 Armidoro.^—l have a proposal to make. These objec- 
 tionable pictures are not the first of the kind which have 
 appeared in the best almanacks. Our celebrated Chodo- 
 vieckihas in his collection of monthly engravings, already repre- 
 sented scenes not only untrue to nature, but low and devoid of 
 all pretensions to taste ; but how did he do Jt ? Opposite the 
 pictures I allude to, he delineated others of a most charming 
 character, — scenes in perfect harmony with nature, the result 
 of a high education, of long study, and of an innate taste for 
 the Good and Beautiful. Let us go a step beyond the editor 
 of the proposed Almanack, and act in opposition to his 
 project. If the intelligent artist has chosen to portray the 
 dark side of his subject, let our author or authoress, if I may 
 dare to express my view, choose the bright side to exercise 
 her talents and so form a complete work. I shall not longer 
 delay, Eulalia, to unite my own wishes to this proposal. 
 Undertake a description of good female characters. Create 
 the opposite to these engravings, and employ the charm of 
 your pen, not to elucidate these pictures, but to annihilate them. 
 
 Sinclair. — Promise to comply, Eulalia. Place us under so 
 great an obligation to you. 
 
 Uulalia. -^Authovs are ever apt to promise too easily, 
 because they hope for ability to execute their wishes ; but 
 experience has rendered me cautious. And even if I could 
 foresee the necessary leisure, within so short a space of time, 
 I should yet hesitate to undertake the arduous duty. The 
 praises of our sex should be spoken by a man, — a young, 
 ardent, loving man. A degree of enthusiasm is requisite for 
 the task, and who has enthusiasm for one's own sex ? 
 
 Armidoro. — I should prefer intelligence, justice, and 
 delicacy of taste. 
 
 Sinclair. — And who can discourse better on the character 
 of good women than the authoress from whose fairy tale of 
 yesterday we all derived such pleasure, and so much incom- 
 parable instruction ? 
 
 Eulalia.'^ThQ fairy tale was not mine. 
 
 Sinclair. — Not yours ? 
 
 Armidoro. — To that I can bear witness, 
 
 Sinclair. — But still it was a lady's ? 
 
THE GOOD "WOMEN, 473 
 
 Sulalia. — ^The production of a friend. 
 
 /Sinclair. — Then there are two Eulalias. 
 
 Eulalia. — Many, perhaps ; and better than 
 
 Armidoro. — ^Will you relate to the company what you so 
 lately confided to me ? You will all hear with astonishment 
 how this delightful production originated. 
 
 Eulalia. — A young lady, with whose great excellence I 
 became accidentally acquainted upon a journey, found herself 
 once in a situation of extreme perplexity, the circumstances 
 of which it would be tedious to narrate. A gentleman to 
 whom she was under many obligations, and who finally offered 
 her his hand, having won her entire esteem and confidence, in a 
 moment of weakness obtained from her the privileges of a 
 husband, before their vows of love had been cemented by 
 marriage. Some peculiar circumstances compelled him to 
 travel, and, in the retirement of a country residence, she an- 
 ticipated with fear and apprehension the moment when she 
 should become a mother. She used to write to me daily, and 
 informed me of every circumstance that happened. But 
 there was shortly nothing more to fear — she now needed only 
 patience, and I observed, from the tone of her letters, that 
 she began to reflect with a disturbed mind upon all that had 
 already occurred, and upon what was yet to take place in her 
 regard. I determined, therefore, to address her in an earnest 
 tone, on the duty which she owed no less to herself than to 
 her infant, whose support, particularly at the commencement 
 of its existence, depended so much upon her mind being free 
 from anxiety. I sought to console and to cheer her, and for 
 this purpose sent her several volumes of fairy tales, which I 
 expressed a wish that she should read. Her own desire to 
 escape from the burden of her melancholy thoughts, and the 
 arrival of these books, formed a remarkable coincidence. She 
 could not help reflecting frequently upon her peculiar fate, 
 and she therefore adopted the expedient of clothing all her 
 past sorrowful adventures, as well as her painful apprehensions 
 for the future, in a garb of romance. The events of her past 
 life, — her attachment, her passion, her errors, and her sweet 
 maternal cares, — no less than her present sad condition, were 
 all embodied by her imagination in forms vivid, though im- 
 palpable, and passed before her mind in a varied succession of 
 
474 G0ETH3. 
 
 strange and unearthly fancies. With pen in hand, she spent 
 many a day and night in noting down her reflections. 
 
 Amelia. — In which occupation she must have found it 
 difficult to hold her inkstand. 
 
 Eulalia. — Thus did I acquire the rare collection of letters 
 which I now possess. They are all picturesque, strange, and 
 romantic. I never received from her an account of anything 
 actual, so that I sometimes trembled for her reason. Her 
 own situation, the birth of her infant, her sweet affection for 
 her offspring, her joys, her hopes, and her maternal fears, 
 were all treated as events of another world, from which she 
 only expected to be liberated by the arrival of her husband. 
 Upon her nuptial day she concluded the fairy tale which you 
 heard recited yesterday, almost in her own words, and which 
 derives its chief interest from the unusual circumstances- 
 under which it was composed. 
 
 The company could not sufficiently express their astonish- 
 ment at this statement, and Seyton, M'ho had abandoned his 
 place at the gaming-table to another person, now entered the 
 apartment, and made inquiries concerning the subject of con- 
 versation. He was briefly informed that it related to a fairy 
 tale, which, partly founded on fixcts, had been composed by 
 the fantastic imagination of a mind that was diseased. 
 
 *' It is a great pity," he remarked, " that private diaries 
 are so completely out of fashion. Twenty years ago they 
 Avere in general use, and many persons thought they possessed 
 a veritable treasure in the record of their daily thoughts. I 
 recollect a very w^orthy lady upon whom this custom entailed, 
 a sad misfortune. A certain governess had been accustomed 
 from her earliest youth to keep a regular diary, and, in fact, 
 she considered its composition to form an indispensable part 
 of her daily duties. She continued the habit when she grew 
 up, and did not lay it aside even when she married. Her 
 memorandums were not looked upon by her as absolute 
 secrets, she had no occasion for such mystery, and she fre- 
 quently read passages from it for the amusement of her 
 friends and of her husband. But the book in its entirety 
 was entrusted to nobody. The account of her husband's at- 
 tachment had been entered in her diary with the same 
 minuteness with which she had formerly noted down the 
 
THE GOOD WOMEN. 475 
 
 ordinary occurrences of the day ; and the entire history of 
 her own affectionate feelings had been described from their 
 first opening hour until they had ripened into a passion, and 
 become at length a rooted habit. Upon one occasion this 
 diary accidentally fell in her husband's way, and the perusal 
 afforded him a strange entertainment. He had undesignedly 
 approached the writing-desk upon which the book lay, and, 
 without suspicion or intention, had read through an entire 
 page which was open before him. He took the opportunity 
 of referring to a few previous and subsequent passages, and 
 then retired with the comfortable assurance that it was high 
 time to discontinue the disagreeable amusement. 
 
 Henrietta. — But, according to the wish of my friend, our 
 conversation should be confined to good women, and already 
 we are turning to those who can scarcely be counted amongst 
 the best. 
 
 Seyton. — Why this constant reference to bad and good ? 
 Should we not be quite as well contented with others as with 
 ourselves, either as we have been formed by nature, or im- 
 proved by education ? 
 
 Armidoro. — I think it would be at once pleasant and useful 
 to arrange and collect a series of anecdotes such as we have 
 heard narrated, and many of which are founded on real oc- 
 currences. Light and delicate traits, which mark the cha- 
 racters of men, are well worthy of our attention, even 
 though they give birth to no extraordinary adventures. They 
 are useless to writers of romance, being devoid of all exciting 
 interest ; and worthless to the tribe of anecdote-collectors, 
 for they are for the most part destitute of wit and spirit, but 
 they would always prove entertaining to a reader who, in a 
 mood of quiet contemplation, should wish to study the 
 general characteristics of mankind. 
 
 Sinclair. — Well said. And if we had only thought of so 
 praiseworthy a work a little earlier, we might have assisted our 
 friend, the editor of the Ladies' Calendar, by composing a 
 dozen anecdotes, if not of model women, at least of well- 
 behaved personages, to balance his catalogue of naughty 
 ladies. 
 
 Amelia. — I should be particularly pleased with a collection 
 of incidents to show how a woman forms the very soul and 
 existence of a household establishment; and this because 
 
476 GOETHE. 
 
 the artist has introduced a sketch of a spendthrift and im- 
 provident wife, to the defamation of our sex. 
 
 Seyton. — I can furnish Amelia with a case precisely in 
 point. 
 
 Amelia. — Let us hear it. But do not imitate the usual 
 custom of men who undertake to defend the ladies: they 
 frequently begin with praise, and end with censure. 
 
 Seyton. — Upon this occasion, however, I do not fear the 
 perversion of my intention, through the influence of any evil 
 spirit. A young man once became tenant of a large hotel 
 which was established in a good situation. Amongst the 
 qualities which recommend a host, he possessed a more than 
 ordinary share of good temper, and as he had from his youth 
 been a friend to the ale-house, he was peculiarly fortunate in 
 selecting a pursuit in which he found it necessary to devote a 
 considerable portion of the day to his home duties. He was 
 neither careful nor negligent, and his own good temper 
 exercised a perceptible influence over the numerous guests 
 who assembled around him. 
 
 He had married a young person who was of a quiet, 
 passive disposition. She paid punctual attention to her 
 business, was attached to her household pursuits, and loved 
 her husband, though she often found fault with him in secret for 
 his carelessness in money matters. She had a great love for 
 ready money ; she thoroughly comprehended its value, and 
 understood the advantage of securing a provision for herself. 
 Devoid of all activity of disposition, she had every tendency 
 to avarice. But a small share of avarice becomes a woman, 
 however ill extravagance may suit her. Generosity is a 
 manly virtue, but parsimony is becoming in a woman. This 
 is the rule of nature, and our judgments must be subservient 
 thereto. 
 
 Margaret (for such was the name of this prudent per- 
 sonage) was very much dissatisfied with her husband^s care- 
 lessness. Upon occasions when large payments were made to 
 him by his customers, it was his habit to leave the money 
 lying for a considerable time upon the table, and then to 
 collect it in a basket, from which he afterwards paid it away, 
 without making it up into packages, and without keeping any 
 account of its application. His wife plainly perceived that, 
 even without actual extravagance, where there was such a 
 
THE GOOD WOMEN. 477 
 
 total want of system, considerable sums must be wasted. 
 She was above all things anxious to mal^e her husband 
 change his negligent habits, and she became grieved to 
 observe that the small savings which she collected and so 
 carefully retained were as nothing in comparison with the 
 money that was squandered, and she determined, therefore, 
 to adopt a rather dangerous expedient to make her husband 
 open his eyes. She resolved to defraud him of as much 
 money as possible, and for this purpose had recourse to an 
 extraordinary plan. She had observed that when he had once 
 counted his money which he allowed to remain so long upon 
 the table, he never reckoned it over a second time before 
 putting it away ; she therefore rubbed the bottom of a candle- 
 stick with tallow, and then, apparently without design, she 
 placed it near the spot where the ducats lay exposed, a 
 species of coin for which she entertained a warm partiality. 
 She thus gained possession of a few pieces, and subsequently 
 of some other coins, and was soon sufficiently well satisfied 
 with her success. She therefore repeated the operation fre- 
 quently, and entertained no scruple about employing such 
 evil means to effect so praiseworthy an object, and she tran- 
 quillized her conscience on the subject by the reflection that 
 such a mode of abstracting her husband's money could not be 
 termed robbery, as her hands were not employed for the 
 purpose. Her secret treasure increased gradually, and soon 
 became very much greater by the addition of the ready 
 money which she herself received from the customers of the 
 hotel, and of which she invariably retained possession. 
 
 She had carried on this practice for a whole year, and 
 though she carefully watched her husband, she never had 
 reason to believe that his suspicions were awakened, until at 
 length he began to grow discontented and unhappy. She 
 induced him to tell her the cause of his anxiety, and learned 
 that he was grievously perplexed. After the last payment 
 which he had made of a considerable sum of money, he had 
 laid aside tire amount of his rent, and not only this had dis- 
 appeared, but he was unable to meet the demand of his land- 
 lord from any other channel ; and as he had always been 
 accustomed to keep his accounts in his head, and to write 
 down nothing, he could not possibly understand the cause of 
 the deficiency. 
 
478 GOETHE. 
 
 Margaret reminded him of his great carelessness, cen- 
 sured his thoughtless manner of receiving and paying away 
 money, and spoke of his general imprudence. Even his 
 generous disposition did not escape her remarks ; and, in 
 truth, he had no excuse to offer for a course of conduct the 
 consequences of which he had so much reason to regret. 
 
 But she could not leave her husband long in this state 
 of grievous trouble, more especially as she felt a pride in 
 being able to render him once more happy. Accordingly, to 
 his great astonishment, on his birthday, which she was always 
 accustomed to celebrate by presenting him with something 
 useful, she entered his private apartment with a basket filled 
 with rouleaux of money. The different descriptions of coin 
 were packed together separately, and the contents were care- 
 fully endorsed in a handwriting by no means of the best. It 
 would be difficult to describe his astonishment at finding 
 before him the precise sums which he had missed, or at his 
 wife's assurance that they belonged to him. She thereupon 
 circumstantially described the time and the manner of her 
 abstracting them, confessed the amount which she had taken, 
 and told also how much she had saved by her own careful 
 attention. His despair was now changed into joy, and the 
 result was that he abandoned to his wife all the duty of re- 
 ceiving and paying away money for the future. His business 
 was carried on even more prosperously than before, although 
 from the day of -which we have spoken, not a farthing ever 
 passed through his hands. His wife discharged the duty of 
 banker with extraordinary credit to herself; no false money 
 was ever taken, and the establishment of her complete 
 authority in the house was the natural and just consequence 
 of her activity and care ; and, after the lapse of ten 5^ears, 
 she and her husband were in a condition to purchase the 
 hotel for themselves. 
 
 Sinclair. — And so all this truth, love, and fidelity ended in 
 the wife becoming the veritable mistress. I should like to 
 know how far the opinion is just that women have a tendency 
 to acquire authority. 
 
 Amelia. — There it is again. Censure, you observe, is 
 sure to follow in the wake of praise. 
 
 Armidoro. — Favour us with your sentiments on this sub- 
 ject, good Eulalia. I think I have observed in your writings 
 no disposition to defend your sex against this imputation. 
 
THE GOOD WOMEN. 479 
 
 Eulalia.-^ln so far as it is a grievous imputation, x should 
 wish it were removed by the conduct of our sex. But where 
 we have a right to authority, we can need no excuse. We 
 like authority because we are human. For what else is 
 authority, in the sense in which we use it, than a desire for 
 independence, and for the enjoyment of existence as much 
 as possible. This is a privilege which all men seek with 
 determination, but our ambition appears, perhaps, more ob- 
 jectionable, because nature, usage, and social regulations place 
 restraints upon our sex, whilst they enlarge the authority of 
 men. What men possess naturally, we have to acquire, and 
 property obtained by a laborious struggle will always be 
 more obstinately held than that which is inherited. 
 
 Seyton. — But women, as I think, have no reason to com- 
 plain on that score. As the world goes, they inherit as 
 much as men, if not more and in my opinion it is a much 
 more difficult task to become a perfect man than a perfect 
 woman. The phrase, " He shall be thy master," is a formula 
 characteristic of a barbarous age long since passed away. 
 Men cannot claim a right to become educated and refined, 
 without conceding the same privilege to women. As long 
 as the process continues, the balance is even between them ; 
 but as women are more capable of improvement than men, 
 experience shows that the scale soon turns in their favour. 
 
 Armidoro. — There is no doubt that in all civilized nations 
 women in general are superior to men, for where the two 
 sexes exert a corresponding influence over each other, man 
 becomes effeminate, and that is a disadvantage ; but when 
 a woman acquires any masculine virtue, she is the gainer, 
 for if she can improve her own peculiar qualities by the 
 addition of masculine energy, she becomes an almost perfect 
 being. 
 
 Seyton. — I have never considered the subject so deeply. 
 But j think it is generally admitted that w^omcn do rule and 
 must* continue to do so, and therefore whenever I become 
 acquainted with a young lady, I always inquire upon what 
 subjects she exercises her authority, since it must be exercised 
 somewhere. 
 
 Amelia. — And thus you establish the point with which you 
 started ? 
 
 iScy/ow.-— And why not ? Is not my reasoning as good as 
 
480 GOiiXHE. 
 
 that of philosophers in general, who are convinced by their 
 experience ? Active women, who are given to habits of ac- 
 quisition and saving, are invariably mistresses at home ; pretty 
 women, at once graceful and superiScial, rule in large societies, 
 whilst those who possess more sound accomplishments exert 
 their influence in smaller circles. 
 
 Amelia. — And thus we are divided into three classes. 
 
 Sinclair. — All honourable, in my opinion ; and yet those 
 three classes do not include the whole sex. There is still a 
 fourth, to which perhaps we had better not allude, that we 
 may escape the charge of convertiLg our praise into censure. 
 
 Henrietta. — Then we must guess the fourth class. Let us 
 see. 
 
 Sinclair. — ^Well then, the three first classes, were those 
 whose activity was displayed at home, in large societies, or 
 in smaller circles. 
 
 Henrietta. — What other sphere can there be where we can 
 exercise our activity ? 
 
 Sinclair. — There may be many. But I am thiuking of 
 the reverse of activity. 
 
 Henrietta. — Indolence ! How could an indolent woman rule? 
 
 Sinclair. — Why not ? 
 
 Henrietta. — In what manner ? 
 
 Sinclair, — By opposition. Whoever adopts such a course, 
 either from character or principle, acquires more authority 
 than one would readily think. 
 
 -4me/m.— I fear we are about to fall into the tone of cen- 
 sure so general to men. 
 
 Henrietta. — Do not interrupt him, Amelia. Nothing can 
 be more harmless than these mere opinions, and we are the 
 gainers, by learning what other persons think of us. Now 
 then for the fourth class, what about it ? 
 
 Sinclair. — I must take the liberty of speaking unreserv- 
 edly. The class I allude to does not exist in our country, 
 and does not exist in France, because the fair sex, both 
 amongst us and our gallant neighbours, enjoys a proper 
 degree of freedom. But in countries where women are 
 under restraint and debarred from sharing in public amuse- 
 ments, the class I speak of is numerous. In a neighbouring 
 country there is a peculiar name, by which ladies of this class 
 are invariably designated. 
 
THE GOOD WOMEN. 481 
 
 Henrietta. — ^You must tell us the name ; we can never 
 guess names. 
 
 Sinclair. — Well I must tell you, they are called roguish. 
 
 Henrietta. — A strange appellation. 
 
 Sinclair. — Some time ago you took great interest in read- 
 ing the speculations of Lavater upon physiognomy ; do you 
 remember nothing about roguish countenances in his book ? 
 
 Henrietta. — It is possible, but it made no impression upon 
 me. I may perhaps have construed the word in its ordinary 
 sense, and read on without noticing it. 
 
 Sinclair. — It is true, that the word ** roguish" in its ordinary 
 sense is usually applied to a person who, with malicious 
 xcvity, turns another into ridicule; but in its present 
 sense it is meant to describe a young lady, who, by her indif- 
 ference, coldness, and reserve — qualities which attach to her 
 as a disease — destroys the happiness of one upon whom 
 she is dependent. We meet with examples of this every- 
 where ; sometimes even in our own circle. For instance, 
 when I have praised a lady for her beauty, I have heard it 
 said in reply — " Yes, but she is a bit of a rogue." I even 
 remember a physician saying to a lady who complained of 
 the anxiety she suffered about her maid-servant, *' My dear 
 madam, the girl is somewhat of a rogue, and will give a deal 
 of trouble." 
 
 Amelia rose from her seat and left the apartment. 
 
 Henrietta. -^TYi^t seems rather strange. 
 
 Sinclair. — I thought so too, and I therefore took a note ol 
 the symptoms, which seemed to mark a disease half moral and 
 half physical, and framed an essay which I entitled, " A 
 Chapter on Rogues," and as I meant it to form a portion of a 
 work on general anthropological observations, I have kept it 
 by me hitherto. 
 
 Henrietta. — But you must let us see it, and if you know 
 any interesting anecdotes to elucidate your meaning of the 
 word " rogue,", they must find a place in our intended col- 
 lection of novels. 
 
 Sinclair. — ^This may be all very well, but I find I have 
 failed in the object which brought me hither. I was anxious 
 to find some one in this intelligent assembly to undertake an 
 explanation of these engravings, or who could recommend a 
 talented wTiter for the purpose ; in place of which, the engrav- 
 
 2i 
 
4d2 UOETHE. 
 
 lugs are abused and pronounced worthless, and I must take 
 my leave without having attained my purpose. But if I had 
 only made notes of our conversation and anecdotes this even- 
 ing, I shou^ almost possess an equivalent. 
 
 Armidoro. -^(Coming from the cabinet, to which he had 
 frequently retired.) Your wish is accomplished. I know the 
 motive of our friend, the editor of the work. I have taken 
 down the heads of our conversation upon this paper. I will 
 arrange the draft, andifEulalia will kindly promise to impart 
 to the whole that spirit of charming animation which she 
 possesses, the graceful tone of the work, and perhaps also its 
 contents, will in some measure expiate the offence of the 
 artist for his ungallant attack. 
 
 Henrietta. — I cannot blame your oiEcious friendship, Armi- 
 doro, but I wish you had not taken notes of our conversation ; 
 it is setting a bad example. Our intercourse together has 
 been quite free and unrestrained and nothing can be worse 
 than that our unguarded conversation should be overheard 
 and written down, perhaps even printed for the amusement 
 of the public. 
 
 But Henrietta's scruples were silenced by a promise that 
 nothing should meet the public eye, except the little anecdotes 
 which had been related. 
 
 Eulalia, however, could not be persuaded to edit the notes 
 of the short-hand writer. She had no wish to withdraw her 
 attention from the fairy tale with which she was then occu- 
 pied. The notes remained in possession of the gentlemen of 
 the party, who, with the aid of their own memories, gene- 
 rously afforded their assistance, that they might thereby 
 contribute to the general edification of all " good wouietu** 
 
A TALE. 4Sa 
 
 A TAIE. 
 
 The thick fog of an early autumnal morning obscured the 
 extensive courts which surrounded the Prince's castle, but 
 through the mists, which gradually dispersed, a stranger 
 might observe a cavalcade of huntsmen, consisting of horse 
 and foot, already engaged in their early preparations for the 
 field. The active employments of the domestics were already 
 discernible. These latter were engaged in lengthening and 
 shortening stirrup-leathers, preparing the rifles and ammu- 
 nition, and arranging the game-bags ; whilst the dogs, im- 
 patient of restraint, threatened to break away from the slips 
 by which they were held. Then the horses became restive, 
 from their own high mettle, or excited by the spur of the 
 rider, who could not resist the temptation to make a vain dis- 
 play of his prowess, even in the obscurity by which he was 
 surrounded. The cavalcade awaited the arrival of the Prince, 
 who was detained a little too long by the tender endearments 
 of his young wife. 
 
 Lately married, they thoroughly appreciated the happiness 
 of their own congenial dispositions ; both were lively and 
 animated, and each shared with delight the pleasures and 
 pursuits of the other. The Prince's father had already sur- 
 vived and enjoyed that period of life when one learns that all 
 the members of a State should spend their time in diligent 
 employments^ and that every one should engage in some 
 energetic occupation corresponding with his taste, and should 
 by this means fii-st acquire, and then enjoy, the fruits of his 
 labour. 
 
 How far these maxims had proved successful might have 
 been observed on this very day, for it was the anniversary of 
 the great market in the town, a festival which might indeed 
 
 2 I 2 
 
48 1 GOETHE . 
 
 be considered a species of fair. The Prince had on the previous 
 day conducted his wife on horseback through the busy 
 scene, and had caused her to observe what a convenient 
 exchange M!as carried on between the productions of the 
 mountainous districts and those of the plain, and he took 
 occasion then and there to direct her attention to the indus- 
 trious character of his subjects. 
 
 But whilst the Prince was entertaining himself and his 
 courtiers almost exclusively with subjects of this nature, and 
 was perpetually employed with his finance minister, his chief 
 huntsman did not lose sight of his duty, and upon his repre- 
 sentation it was impossible, during these favourable autumnal 
 days, any longer to postpone the amusement of the chase, as 
 the promised meeting had already been several times de- 
 ferred, not only to his own mortification, but to that of many 
 strangers who had arrived to take part in the sport. 
 
 The Princess remained, reluctantly, at home. It had been 
 determined to hunt over the distant mountains, and to disturb 
 the peaceful inhabitants of the forests in those districts by an 
 unexpected declaration of hostilities. 
 
 Upon taking his departure, the Prince recommended his 
 wife to seek amusement in equestrian exercise, under the 
 conduct of her uncle Frederick ; " and I commend you, more- 
 over," he said, " to the care of our trusty Honorio, who will 
 act as your esquire, and pay you every attention:" and say- 
 ing this as he descended the stairs, and gave the proper 
 instructions to a comely youth who stood at hand, the Prince 
 quickly disappeared amid the crowd of assembled guests and 
 followers. 
 
 The Princess, who had continued waving her handkerchief 
 to her husband as long as he remained in the court-yard, 
 now retired to an apartment at the back of the castle, which 
 showed an extensive prospect over the mountain, as the 
 castle itself was situated on the brow of the hill, from which 
 a view at once distant and varied opened in all directions. 
 She found the telescope in the spot where it had been left on 
 the previous evening, when they had amused themselves in 
 surveying the landscape, and the extent of mountain and 
 Ibrest, amid which the lofty ruins of their ancestral castle 
 .vere situated. It was a noble relic of ancient times, and 
 bhone out gloriouslv in the evening illumination. A grand 
 
A TALE. 485 
 
 but somewhat inadequate idea of its importance was con- 
 veyed by the large masses of light and shadow which now 
 fell upon it. Moreover, by the aid of the telescope, the 
 autumnal foliage was seen to lend an indescribable charm to 
 the prospect, as it waved upon trees which had grown up 
 amid the ruins, undisturbed and unmolested for countless 
 years. But the Princess soon turned the telescope in the 
 direction of a dry and sandy plain beneath her, across which 
 the hunting cavalcade was expected to bend its course. She 
 patiently surveyed the spot, and was at length rewarded, as 
 the clear magnifying power of the instrument enabled her 
 delighted eyes to recognize the Prince and his chief equerry. 
 Upon this she once more waved her handkerchief as she 
 observed, or rather fancied she observed, a momentary pause 
 in the advance of the procession. 
 
 Her uncle Frederick was now announced, and he entered 
 the apartment, accompanied by an artist, bearing a largo 
 portfolio under his arm. 
 
 " Dear cousin," observed the worthy knight, addressing 
 her, *' we have brought some sketches of the ancestral castle 
 for your inspection, to show how the old walls and battle- 
 ments were calculated to afford defence and protection in 
 stormy seasons and in years gone by, though they have 
 tottered in some places, and in others have covered the plain 
 with their ruins. Our efforts have been unceasing to render 
 the place accessible, since few spots offer more beauty or 
 sublimity to the eye of the astonished traveller." 
 
 The Prince continued, as he opened the portfolio contain- 
 ing the different views. " Here, as you ascend the hollow 
 w^ay, through the outer fortifications, you meet the principal 
 tower, and a rock forbids all further progress. It is the 
 firmest of the mountain range. A castle has been erected upon 
 it, so constructed that it is difficult to say where the work 
 of nature ceases and the aid of art begins. At a little 
 distance, side-walls and buttresses have been raised, the whole 
 forming a sort of terrace. The height is surrounded by a 
 wood. For upwards of a century and a half, no sound of an axe 
 has been heard within these precincts, and giant trunks of trees 
 appear on all sides. Close to the very walls spring the glossy 
 maple, the rough oak, and the tall pine. They oppose our 
 progress with their boughs and roots, and compel us to make 
 
486 GOETHE. 
 
 a circuit to secure our advance. See how admirably our 
 artist has sketched all this upon paper ; how accurately he 
 has represented the trees as they become entwined amid the 
 masonry of the castle, and thrust their boughs through the 
 opening in the walls. It is a solitude which possesses the 
 indescribable charm of displaying the traces of human power 
 long since past away, contending with perpetual and still 
 reviving nature." 
 
 Opening a second picture, he continued his discourse. 
 " "What say you to this representation of the castle court, 
 which has been rendered impassable for countless years by the 
 falling of the principal tower ? We endeavoured to approach 
 it from the side, and in order to form a convenient private 
 road, were compelled to blow up the old walls and vaults 
 with gunpowder. But there was no necessity for similar 
 operations within the castle walls. Here is a flat rocky sur- 
 face which has been levelled by the hand of nature, through 
 which, however, mighty trees have here and there been able 
 to strike their roots. They have thriven well, and thrust 
 their branches into the very galleries where the knights of 
 old were wont to exercise, and have forced their way through 
 doors and windows into vaulted halls, from which they are 
 not likely now to be expelled, and whence we, at least, shall 
 not remove them. They have become lords of the territory, 
 and may remain so. Concealed beneath heaps of dried leaves, 
 we found a perfectly level floor, which probably cannot be 
 equalled in the world. 
 
 *' In ascending the steps which lead to the chief tower, it is 
 remarkable to observe, in addition to all that we have men- 
 tioned above, how a maple-tree has taken root on high, and 
 has grown to a great size, so that in ascending to the highest 
 turret to enjoy the prospect, it is difficult to pass. And here 
 you may refresh yourself beneath the shade, for even at this 
 elevation, the tree of which we speak throws its shadows over 
 all around. 
 
 " We feel much indebted to the talented artist who, in the 
 course ofseveral views, has brought thus the whole scenery as 
 completely before us, as if we had actually witnessed the 
 original scene. He selected the most beautiful hours of the 
 day and the most favourable season of the year for his task, 
 to v/liich he devoted many weeks incessantly. A small dwell- 
 
A TALE. 487 
 
 ing was erected for him and his assistant in a corner of the 
 castle; you can scarcely imagine what a splendid view of 
 the country, of the court, and of the ruins he there enjoyed. 
 We intend these pictures to adorn our country-house, and 
 every one who enjoys a view of our regular parterres, of our 
 bowers and shady walks, will doubtless feel anxious to feed 
 his imagination and his eyes with an actual inspection of 
 these scenes, and so enjoy at once the old and the new, 
 the firm and the pliant, the indestructible and the young, the 
 perishable and the eternal." 
 
 Honorio now entered and announced the arrival of the 
 horses. The Princess thereupon addressing her uncle, ex- 
 pressed a wish to ride up to the ruins and examine personally 
 the subjects which he had so graphically described. " Ever 
 since my arrival here," she said, " this excursion has been 
 intended, and I shall be delighted to accomplish what has 
 been declared almost impracticable, and what the pictures 
 show to be so difficult." 
 
 *' Not yet, my dear," replied the Prince; "these pictures only 
 portray what the place will become, but many difficulties 
 impede a commencement of the work." 
 
 " But let us ride a little towards the mountain," she re- 
 joined, "if only to the beginning of the ascent; I have a great 
 desire to-day to enjoy an extensive prospect." 
 
 " Your desire shall be gratified," answered the Prince. 
 
 " But we will first direct our course through the town," 
 continued the lady, " and across the market-place, where a 
 countless number of booths wear the appearance of a small 
 town, or of an encampment. It seems as if all the wants 
 and occupations of every family in the country were brought 
 together and supplied in this one spot ; for the attentive 
 observer may behold here whatever man can produce or 
 require. You would suppose that money was wholly unneces- 
 sary, and that business of every kind could be carried on by 
 means of barter ; and such in fact is the case. Since the 
 Prince directed my attention to this view yesterday, I have 
 felt pleasure in observing the manner in which the inhabitants 
 of the mountain and of the valley mutually comprehend each 
 other, and how both so plainly speak their wants and their 
 wishes in this place. The mountaineer, for eXtimple, has cut 
 
488 G0ETH3. 
 
 the timber of his forests into a thousand forms, and applied 
 his iron to multifarious uses, while the inhabitant of the 
 valley meets him with his various wares and merchandize, the 
 very materials and object of which it is difficult to know or to 
 conjecture.'* 
 
 " I am aware," observed the Prince, " that my nephew 
 devotes his attention wholly to these subjects, for at this 
 particular season of the year he receives more than he ex- 
 pends ; and this after all is the object and end of every national 
 financier, and indeed of the pettiest household economist. 
 But excuse me, my dear, I never ride with any pleasure 
 through the market or the fair ; obstacles impede one at every 
 step, and my imagination continually recurs to that dreadful 
 calamity which happened before my own eyes, when I wit- 
 nessed the conflagration of as large a collection of merchan- 
 dize as is accumulated here. I had scarcely — '* 
 
 " Let us not lose our time" said the Princess, interrupting 
 him, as her worthy uncle had more than once tortured her 
 with a literal account of the very same misfortune. It had 
 happened when he was upon a journey, and had retired 
 fatigued to bed, in the best hotel of the town, which was 
 situated in the market-place. It was the season of the fair, 
 and in the dead of the night he was awoke by screams and 
 by the columns of fire which approached the hotel. 
 
 The Princess hastened to mount her favourite palfrey, and 
 led the way for her unwilling companion, when she rode 
 through the front gate down the hill, in place of passing 
 through the back gate up the mountain. But who could have 
 felt unwilling to ride at her side or to follow wherever she 
 led? And even Honorio had gladly abandoned the plea- 
 sure of his favourite amusement, the chace, in order to 
 ofiiciate as her devoted attendant. 
 
 As we have before observed, they could only ride through 
 the market step by step, but the amusing observations of the 
 Princess rendered every pause delightful. *' I must repeat 
 my lesson of yesterday," she remarked " for necessity will try 
 our patience." And in truth the crowd pressed upon them 
 in such a manner, that they could only continue their progress 
 at a very slow pace. The people testified unbounded joy at 
 beholding the young Princess, and the complete satisfaction 
 
A TALE. 489 
 
 of many a smiling face evinced the pleasure of the people at 
 finding that the first lady in the land was at once the most 
 lovely and the most gracious. 
 
 Mingled together promiscuously were rude mountaineers 
 who inhabited quiet cottages amongst bleak rocks and tow- 
 ering pine-trees, lowlanders from the plains and meadows, 
 and manufacturers from the neighbouring small towns. After 
 quietly surveying the motley crowd, the Princess remarked 
 to her companion, that all the people she saw, seemed to take 
 delight in using more stuff for their garments than was 
 necessary, whether it consisted of cloth, linen, ribbon, or 
 trimming. It seemed as if the wearers, both men and women, 
 thought they would be the better if they looked a little 
 larger. 
 
 " We must leave that matter to themselves," answered the 
 uncle ; "every man must dispose of his superfluity as he 
 pleases ; well lorthose who spend it in mere ornament." 
 
 The Princess nodded her assent. 
 
 They had now amved at a wide open square which led to 
 one of the suburbs ; they there perceived a number of small 
 booths and stalls, and also a large wooden building from 
 whence a most discordant howling issued. It was the feeding 
 Lour of the wild animals which were there enclosed for 
 exhibition. The lion roared with that fearful voice with 
 which he was accustomed to teiTify both woods and wastes. 
 The horses trembled, and no one could avoid observing how 
 the monarch of the deserts made himself terrible in the 
 tranquil circles of, civilized life. Approaching nearer, they 
 remarked the ta'vFdry'^colossal pictures on which the beasts 
 were painted in the brightest colours, intended to afford 
 irresistible temptation to the busy citizen. The grim and 
 fearful tiger was in the act of springing upon a negro to tear 
 him to pieces. The lion stood in solemn majesty as if he 
 saw no worthy prey before him. Other wonderful creatures 
 in the same group presented inferior attractions. 
 
 " Upon our return," said the Princess, *'we will alight and 
 take a nearer inspection of these rare creatures.'* 
 
 " Is it not extraordinary," replied the Prince, **that man 
 takes pleasure in fearful excitements ? The tiger, for instance, 
 is lying quietly enough within his cage, and yet here the brute 
 must be painted in the act of springing fiercely on a negro^ in 
 
490 GOETHE. 
 
 order that the public may believe that the same scene is to be 
 'witnessed within. Do not murder and death, fire and deso- 
 lation, sufficiently abound, but that every mountebank must 
 repeat such horrors ? The worthy people like to be alarmed, 
 that they may afterwards enjoy the delightful sensation of 
 freedom and security." 
 
 But whatever feelings of terror such frightful representa- 
 tions might have inspired, they disappeared when they 
 reached the gate, and surveyed the cheerful prospects around. 
 The road led down to a river, a narrow brook in truth, 
 and only calculated to bear light skiffs, but destined after- 
 wards, when swelled into a wider stream, to take another 
 name, and to water distant lands. They then bent their course 
 further through carefully cultivated fruit and pleasure 
 gardens, in an orderly and populous neighbourhood, until 
 first a copse and then a wood received them as guests, and 
 delighted their eyes with a limited but charming landscape. 
 A green valley leading to the heights above, which had been 
 lately mowed for the second time, and wore the appearance 
 of velvet, having been watered copiously by a rich stream, 
 now received them with a friendly welcome. They then 
 bent their course to a higher and more open spot, which, 
 upon issuing from the wood, they reached after a short ascent, 
 and whence they obtained a distant view of the old castle, the 
 object of their pilgrimage, which shone above the groups of 
 trees, and assumed the appearance of a well-wooded rock. 
 Behind them (for no one ever attained this height without turn- 
 ing to look round,) they saw through occasional openings in the 
 lofty trees, the Prince's castle on the left, illuminated by the 
 morning sun ; the, higher portion of the town obscured by a light 
 cloudy mist, and on the right hand, the lower part through 
 which the river flowed in many windings, with its meadows 
 and its mills ; whilst straight before them, the country ex- 
 tended in a wide productive plain. 
 
 After they had satisfied their eyes with the landscape, 
 or rather, as is often the case in surveying an extensive view 
 from an eminence, when they had become desirous of a wider 
 and less circumscribed prospect, they rode slowly along a 
 broad and stony plain, where they saw the mighty ruin stand- 
 ing with its coronet of green, whilst its base was clad with 
 trees of lesser height ; and proceeding onwards they encoun- 
 
A TALE. 491 
 
 tercd the steepest and most impassable side of the ascent. 
 It was defended by enormous rocks which had endured for 
 ages ; proof against the ravages of time, they were fast rooted 
 in the earth and towered aloft. One part of the castle had 
 fallen, and lay in huge fragments irregularly massed, and 
 seemed to act as an insurmountable barrier, the mere attempt 
 to overcome which is a delight to youth, as supple limbs ever 
 find it a pleasure to undertake, to combat, and to conquer. 
 The Princess seemed disposed to make the attempt ; Honorio 
 was at hand, her princely uncle assented, unwilling to 
 acknowledge his want of agility. The horses were directed 
 to wait for them under the trees, and it was intended they 
 should make for a certain point where a large rock had been 
 rendered smooth, and from which a prospect was beheld, 
 which, though of the nature of a bird's-eye view, was suffi- 
 ciently picturesque. 
 
 It was mid-day, the sun had attained its highest altitude, 
 and shed its clearest rays around ; the princely castle in all 
 its parts, battlements, wings, cupolas and towers, presented a 
 glorious appearance. The upper part of the town was seen 
 in its full extent, the eye could even penetrate into parts of 
 the lower town, and with the assistance of the telescope, 
 distinguish the market-place, and even the very booths. It 
 was lionorio's invariable custom to sling this indispensable 
 instrument to his side. They took a view of the river, in its 
 course and its descent, and of the sloping plain, and of the 
 luxuriant country with its cjentle undulations, and then of the 
 numerous villages, for it had been from time immemorial a 
 subject of contention how many could be counted from this 
 spot. 
 
 Over the wide plain there reigned a calm stillness, such as 
 is accustomed to rule at mid-day ; an hour when, according 
 to classical phraseology, the god Pan sleeps, and all nature is* 
 breathless, that his repose may be undisturbed. ^ 
 
 *'It is nfot the first time," observed the Princess "that, ( 
 standing upon an eminence which presents a wide extended \ 
 view, I have thought how pure and peaceful is the look of ' 
 holy Nature, and the impression comes upon me, that the 
 world beneath must be free from strife and care ; but return- 
 ing to the dwellings of man, be they the cottage or the 
 palace, be they wide or circumscribed, we find that there is 
 
492 GOETHE. 
 
 in truth ever something to subdue, to struggle with, to quiet 
 and allay." 
 
 Honorio, in the meantime, had directed the telescope 
 towards the town, and now exclaimed, " Look, look ! the town 
 is on fire in the market-place.'* 
 
 They looked and saw a column of smoke arising, but the 
 glare of daylight eclipsed the flames. "The fire increases," 
 they exclaimed, still looking through the instrument. The 
 Princess saw the calamity with the naked eye ; from time to 
 time they perceived a red flame ascending amid the smoke. 
 Her uncle at length exclaimed, " Let us return ; it is calami- 
 tous. I have always feared the recurrence of such a mis- 
 fortune." 
 
 They descended, and having reached the horses, the Prin- 
 cess thus addressed her old relative, "Ride forward, sir, hastily 
 with your attendant, but leave Honorio with me, and we will 
 follow." 
 
 Her uncle perceived the prudence and utility of this 
 advice, and riding on as quickly as the nature of the ground 
 would allow, descended to the open plain. The Princess 
 mounted her steed, upon which Honorio addressed her thus : 
 '* I pray your Highness to ride slowly ; the fire-engines are in 
 the best order, both in the town and in the castle, there can 
 surely be no mistake or error even in so unexpected an emer- 
 gency. Here, however, the way is dangerous, and riding is 
 insecure, from the small stones and the smooth grass, and in 
 addition, the fire will no doubt be extinguished before we 
 reach the town." 
 
 But the Princess indulged no such hope ; she saw the 
 smoke ascend, and thought she perceived a flash of lightning 
 and heard a thunder-clap, and her mind was filled with the 
 frightful pictures of the conflagration which her uncle's oft- 
 repeated narrative had impressed upon her. 
 
 That calamity had indeed been dreadful, sudden and im- 
 pressive enough to make one apprehensive for the repetition 
 of a like misfortune. At midnight a fearful fire had broken 
 out in the market-place, which was filled with booths and 
 stalls, before the occupants of those temporary habitations 
 had been roused from their deep slumber. The Prince him- 
 self, after a weary day*s journey, had retired to rest, but rush- 
 ing to the window, perceived with dismay the flames which 
 
A TALE. 493 
 
 raged around on every side and approached the spot where he 
 stood. The houses of the market-place, crimsoned with the 
 reflection, appeared already to burn, and threatened every 
 instant to burst out into a generai conflagration. The fierce 
 element raged irresistibly, the beams and rafters crackled, 
 whilst countless pieces of consumed linen flew aloft, and the 
 burnt and shapeless rags sported in the air and looked like 
 foul demons revelling in their congenial element. With loud 
 cries of distress, each individual endeavoured to rescue what 
 he could from the flames. Servants and assistants vied with 
 their masters in their efibrts to save the huge bales of goods 
 already half consumed, to tear what still remained uninjured 
 from the burning stalls, and to pack it away in chests, 
 although they were even then compelled to abandon their 
 labours and leave the whole to fall a prey to the conflagration. 
 How many wished that the raging blaze would allow but a 
 single moment's respite, and pausing to consider the possibility 
 of such a mercy, fell victims to their brief hesitation. Many 
 buildings burned on one side, while the other side lay in obscure 
 darkness. A few determined, self-willed characters bent 
 themselves obstinately to the task of saving something from 
 the flames, and sufiered for their heroism. The whole scene 
 of misery and devastation was renewed in the mind of the beau- 
 tiful Princess ; her countenance was clouded, which had beamed 
 so radiantly in the early morning ; her eyes had lost their lustre, 
 and even the beautiful woods and meadows around now looked 
 sad and mournful. 
 
 Riding onwards she entered the sweet valley, but she felt 
 uncheered by the refreshing coolness of the pUce. She had, 
 however, not advanced far, before she obsei ved an unusual 
 appearance in the copse near the meadow where the sparkling 
 brook which flowed through the adjacent country took its 
 rise. She at once recognized a tiger couched in the attitude 
 to spring, as she had seen him represented in the painting. 
 The impression was fearful. " Fly ! gracious lady," cried 
 Honorio, " fly at once ! " She turned her horse to mount the 
 steep hill which she had just descended, but her young 
 attendant drew his pistol, and approaching the monster, fired; 
 unfortunately he missed his mark, the tiger leaped aside, the 
 horse started, and the terrified beast pursued his course and 
 followed the Princess. The latter urged her horse up the 
 
494 GOETHE. 
 
 steep stony acclivity, forgetting for a moment that the pam- 
 pered animal she rode was unused to such exertions. But 
 urged by his impetuous rider, the spirited steed made a new 
 effort, till at length, stumbling at an inequality of the ground, 
 after ra^iny attempts to recover his footing, he fell exhausted 
 to the ground. The Princess released- herself from the saddle 
 with great expcrtness and presence of mind, and brought her 
 horse again to its feet. The tiger was in pursuit at a slow 
 pace. The uneven ground and sharp stones appeared to retard 
 his progress, though as Honorio approached, his speed and 
 strength seemed to be renewed. They now came nearer to 
 the spot where the Princess stood by her horse, and Honorio 
 bending down, discharged a second pistol. This time he was 
 successful and shot the monster through the head. The 
 animal fell, and as he lay stretched upon the ground at full 
 length, gave evidence of that might and terror, which was^ 
 now reduced to a lifeless form. Honorio had leaped from his 
 horse, and was now kneeling on the body of the hugh brute. 
 He had already put an end to his struggles, with the hunting 
 knife which gleamed within his grasp. He looked even more 
 handsome and active than the Princess had ever seen him in 
 list or tournament. Thus had he oftentimes driven his bullet 
 through the head of the Turk in the riding-school, piercing 
 his forehead under the turban, and carried onward by his 
 rapid courser, he had oftentimes struck the Moor's head to 
 the ground with his shining sabre. In all such knightly feats 
 he was dexterous and successful, and here he had found an 
 opportunity for putting his skill to the test. 
 
 «' Despatch him quickly," said the Princess faintly, " I fear 
 he may injure you with his claws.*' 
 
 " There is no danger," answered the youth, "he is dead 
 enough, and I do not wish to spoil his skin — it shall ornament 
 your sledge next winter." 
 
 " Do not jest at such a time," continued the Princess ; " such 
 a moment calls forth every feeling of devotion that can fill 
 the heart." 
 
 "And I never felt more devout than now," added Honorio, 
 " and therefore are my thoughts cheerful ; I only consider 
 how this creature's skin may serve your pleasure." 
 
 " It would too often remind me of this dreadful moment," 
 elie replied. 
 
A TAliH. 495 
 
 " And yet/* answered the youth with burning cheek, "this 
 triumph is more innocent than that in which the arms of the 
 defeated are borne in proud procession before the conqueror." 
 
 " I shall never forget your courage and skill," rejoined the 
 Princess, *' and let me add that you may during your whole life 
 command the gratitude and favour of the Prince. But rise, 
 the monster is dead ; rise, I say, and let us think what next is 
 to be done." 
 
 " Since I find myself now kneeling before you," replied 
 Honorio, " let me be assured of a grace, of a favour, which 
 you can bestow upon me. I have oftentimes implored your 
 princely husband for permission to set out upon my travels. 
 He who dares aspire to the good fortune of becoming your 
 guest, should have seen the world. Travellers flock hither 
 from all quarters, and when the conversation turns on some 
 town, or on some peculiar part of the globe, your guests are 
 asked if they have never seen the same. Ko one can expect 
 confidence who has not seen everything . We m ust instruct 
 ourselves for the benefit of others. ~" 
 ^ " Rise," repeated the Princess ; " I can never consent to 
 desire or request anything contrary to the wish of my husband, 
 but if I mistake not, the cause of your detention here has 
 already been removed. It was the wish of your Prince to 
 mark how your character should ripen, and prove worthy of 
 an independent nobleman, who might one day be required to 
 assert his honour abroad, as you have done hitherto here at 
 Court, and I doubt not that your present deed of bravery will 
 prove as good a passport as any youth can carry with him 
 through the world." 
 
 The Princess had scarcely time to mark, that instead of an 
 expression of youthful delight, a shade of grief now darkened 
 his countenance, and he could scarcely display his emotion, 
 before a woman approached, climbing the mountain hastily 
 and leading, a boy by the hand. Honorio had just risen 
 from his kneeling posture and seemed lost in thought, when 
 the woman advanced with piercing cries, and immediately 
 flung herself upon the lifeless body of the tiger. Her con- 
 duct, no less than her gaudy and peculiar attire, bore evidence 
 that she was the owner and attendant of the animal. The boy 
 by whom she was accompanied was remarkable for his sparkling 
 eyes and jet-black hair. He carried a flute in his hand, and he 
 
496 GOETHE. 
 
 united his tears to those of his mother, whilst, with a moro 
 cahn but deep-felt sorrow than she displayed, he knelt quietly 
 at her side. 
 
 The violent expression of this wretched woman's grief was 
 succeeded by a torrent of expostulations which rushed from her 
 in broken sentences, reminding one of a mountain stream whose 
 course is interrupted by impeding rocks. Her natural ex- 
 pressions, short and abrupt, were forcible and pathetic; 
 it would be a vain task to endeavour to translate them into 
 our idiom, we must be satisfied with their general meaning. 
 *' They have murdered thee, poor animal, murdered thee 
 without cause. Tamely thou wouldest have lain down to 
 await our arrival, for thy feet pained thee, and thy claws were 
 powerless. Thou didst lack thy burning native sun to bring 
 thee to maturity. Thou wert the most beautiful animal of 
 thy kind. Who ever beheld a more noble royal tiger stretched 
 out to sleep, than thou art as thou liest here never to rise 
 again ? When in the morning thou awokest at the earliest 
 dawn of day, opening thy wide jaws and stretching out thy 
 ruddy tongue, thou seemedst to us to smile; and even when a 
 growl burst from thee, still didst thou ever playfully take thy 
 food from the hand of a woman, or from the fingers of a child. 
 Long did we accompany thee in thy travels, and long was thy 
 society to us as indispensable as profitable. To us, in very 
 truth, did food come from the ravenous, and sweet refreshment 
 from the strong. But alas ! alas ! this can never be again ! " 
 
 She had not quite finished her lamentations, when a troop 
 of horsemen was observed riding in a body over the heights 
 which led from the castle. They were soon recognized as the 
 hunting cavalcade of the Prince, and he himself was at their 
 head. Riding amongst the distant hills, they had observed the 
 dark columns of smoke which obscured the atmosphere, and, 
 pushing on over hill and dale, as if in the heat of the chase, they 
 had followed the course indicated by the smoke, which served 
 them as a guide. Rushing forwards, regardless of every 
 obstacle, they had come by surprise upon the astonished 
 group, who presented a remarkable appearance in the opening 
 of the hills. The recognition of each other produced a 
 general surprise, and after a short pause, a few words of 
 explanation cleared up the apparent mystery. The Prince 
 heard with astonishment the extraordinary occurrence, as 
 
A TALE. 497 
 
 he stood surrounded by the crowd of horsemen and pedestrian 
 
 attendants. There seemed no doubt about the necessary 
 course. Orders and commands were at once issued by the 
 Prince. 
 
 A stranger now forced his way forward, and appeared 
 within the circle. He was tall in figure, and attired as 
 gaudily as the woman and her child. The members of the 
 family recognized each other with mutual surprise and pain. 
 But the man, collecting himself, stood at a respectful distance 
 from the Prince, and addressed him thus :— 
 
 "This is not a moment for complaining. My lord and 
 mighty master, the lion has also escaped, and is concealed 
 somewhere here in the mountain ; but spare him, I implore 
 you ; have mercy upon him, that he may not perish, like this 
 poor animal." 
 
 "The lion escaped!" exclaimed the Prince. "Have you 
 found his track?" 
 
 "Yes, sire. A peasant in the valley, who needlessly took 
 refuge in a tree, pointed to the direction he had taken — this 
 is the way, to the left; but perceiving a crowd of men and 
 horses before me, I became curious to know the occasion of 
 their assembling, and hastened forward to obtain help." 
 
 "Well," said the Prince, "the chase must begin in this 
 direction. Load your rifles, go deliberately to work ; no mis- 
 fortune can happen, if you but drive him into the thick woods 
 below us ; but in truth, worthy man, we can scarcely spare 
 your favourite : why were you negligent enough to let him 
 escape?" 
 
 " The fire broke out," replied the other, " and we remained 
 quiet and prepared ; it spread quickly round, but raged at a 
 distance from us. We were provided with water in abun- 
 dance, but suddenly an explosion of gunpowder took place, 
 and the conflagration immediately extended to us and beyond 
 us. We were too precipitate, and are now reduced to ruin." 
 
 The Prince was still engaged in issuing his orders, and 
 there was general silence for a moment, when a man was 
 observed flying, rather than running, down from the castle. 
 He was quickly recognized as the watchman of the artist's 
 studio, whose business it was to occupy the dwelling and to 
 taku care of the workmen. Breathless he advanced, and a 
 few words served to announce the nature of his business. 
 
 2 K 
 
498 GOETHE. 
 
 " The lion had taken refuge on the heights, and had lain 
 down in the sunshine behind the lofty walls of the castle. He 
 was reposing at the foot of an old tree, in perfect tranquillity. 
 But," continued the man, in a tone of bitter complaint, 
 " unfortunately, I took my rifle to the town yesterday, to have 
 it repaired, or the animal had never risen again ; his skin, at 
 least, would have been mine, and I had worn it in triumph 
 for my life." 
 
 The Prince, whose military experience had often served 
 him in time of need — for he had frequently been in situations 
 where unavoidable danger pressed on every side — observed, 
 in reply to the man, " What pledge can you give, that if we 
 spare your lion, he will do no mischief in the country?" 
 
 " My wife and child," answered the father, hastily, " will 
 quiet him and lead him peacefully along, until I repair his 
 shattered cage, and then we shall keep him harmless and 
 uninjured." 
 
 The child seemed to be looking for his flute. It was that 
 species of instrument which is sometimes called the soft, 
 sweet flute, short in the mouthpiece, like a pipe. Those who 
 understood the art of using it, could extract from it the most 
 delicious tones. 
 
 In the meantime, the Prince inquired of the caretaker 
 by which path the lion had ascended the mountain. 
 
 " Through the low road," replied the latter; " it is walled 
 in on both sides, has long been the only passage, and shall 
 continue so. Two footpaths originally led to the same point, 
 but we destroyed them, that there might remain but one way 
 ^0 that castle of enchantment and beauty which is to be 
 formed by the taste and talent of Prince Frederick." 
 
 After a thoughful pause, during which the Prince stood 
 contemplating the child, who continued playing softly on his 
 flute, the former turned towards Honorio, and said : 
 
 " Thou hast this day rendered me an essential service ; 
 finish the task you have begun. Occupy the narrow road of 
 which we have heard, hold your rifle ready, but do not shoot, 
 if you think it likely that the lion may be driven back ; but 
 under any circumstances kindle a fire, that he may be afraid to 
 descend in this direction. The man and his wife must 
 answer for the consequences.." 
 
 Honorio proceeded without delay to execute the orders he 
 had received. 
 
A TALE. 499 
 
 The child still continued to play upon his flute. He pro- 
 duced no exact melody, as a mere succession of notes fol- 
 lowed, without any precise order or artistic arrangement, 
 yet, perhaps for this very reason, the effect seemed replete 
 with enchantment. Every one was delighted with the simple 
 music, when the father, full of a noble enthusiasm, addressed 
 the assembled spectators thus : — 
 
 " God has bestowed the gift of wisdom upon the Prince, 
 and the power of seeing that all Divine works are good, each 
 after its kind. Behold how the rocks stand firm and motion- 
 less, proof against the ejBfects of sun and storm. Their sum- 
 mits are crowned with ancient trees, and elated with the 
 pride of their ornaments, they look round boldly far and wide. 
 But should a part become detached, it no longer appears as 
 before ; it breaks into a thousand pieces, and covers the side 
 of the declivity. But even there the pieces find no resting- 
 place; they pursue their course downwards, till the brook 
 receives them, and carries them onward to the river. Thence, 
 unresisting and submissive, their sharp angles having become 
 rounded and smooth, they are borne along with greater 
 velocity from stream to stream, till they finally attain the 
 ocean, in whose mighty depths giants abide and dwarfs 
 abound. 
 
 " But who celebrates the praise of the Lord, whom the stars 
 praise from all eternity ? Why, however, should we direct 
 our vision so far ? Behold the bee, how he makes his pro- 
 vision in harvest time, and constructs a dwelling, rectangular 
 and level, at once the architect and workman. Behold the 
 ant, she kno%vs her way, and loses it not; she builds her 
 habitation of grass and earth and tiny twigs, builds it high and 
 strengthens it with arches, but in vain, — the prancing steed 
 approaches and treads it into nothing, destroying the little 
 raft.Ts and -supports of the edifice. He snorts with impatience 
 and wfth restlessness, for the Lord has formed the horse as 
 companion to the wind, and brother to the storm, that he 
 may carry mankind whither he will. But in the palm forest 
 even he takes to flight. There, in the wilderness, the lior 
 roams in proud majesty; he is monarch of the beasts, and 
 nothing can resist his strength. ^jiL_nian_^ has subdued his 
 valour ; the mightiest of animals has respect for the image of 
 God, in which the very angels are formed, and they minister 
 to the Lord and His servants. Daniel trembled not in the 
 
500 GOETHE. 
 
 lions* den ; he stood full of faith and holy confidence, and the 
 wild roaring of the monsters did not interrupt his pious 
 song." 
 
 This address, which was delivered with an expression of 
 natural enthusiasm, was accompanied by the child's sweet 
 music. But when his father had concluded, the boy com- 
 menced to sing with clear and sonorous voice, and some 
 degree of skill. His parent in the meantime seized his flute, 
 and in soft notes accompanied the child as he sung : 
 
 ** Hear the Prophet's song iscending 
 
 From the cavern's dark retreat, 
 Whilst an Angel, earthward bending, 
 
 Cheers his soul with accents sweet. 
 Fear and terror come not o'er him. 
 
 As the lion's angry brood 
 Crouch with placid mien before Aim, 
 
 By his holy song subdued." 
 
 The father continued to accompany ;he verses with his 
 flute, whilst the mrJher's voice was occasionally hecxd to in- 
 tervene as second. 
 
 The effect of the whole was rendered more peculiar £~id 
 impressive, by the child's frequently inverting tne order of 
 the verses. And if he did not, by this artifice, give a new 
 sense and meaning to the who)t*, he at least highly excited 
 the feelings of his audience : 
 
 *' Angels o'er us mildly bending, 
 
 Cheer us with their voices sweet. 
 Hark ! what strains enchant the ear I 
 
 In the cavern's dark retrea^% 
 Can the Prophet quake with fear ? 
 
 Holy accents sweetly blending, 
 Banish ev'ry earthly ill. 
 
 Whilst an Angel choir descending 
 Executes the heavenly will." 
 
 Then all three joined with force and emphasis : 
 
 " Since the Eternal eye, far-seeing, 
 
 Earth and sea surveys in peace, 
 Lion shall with lamb agreeing 
 
 Live, and angry tempests cease. 
 Warriors* sword no more shall lour, 
 
 Faith and Hope their fruit shall bear; 
 Wondrous is the mighty power 
 
 Of Love, which pours its soul in prayer. ** 
 
A TALE. Sdi 
 
 The music ceased. Silence reigned around. Each one 
 listened attentively to the dying tones, and now for the first 
 time could one obseiTC and note the general impression. 
 Every listener was overcome, though each was affected in a 
 different manner. The Prince looked sorrowfully at his wife, 
 as though he had only just perceived the danger which had 
 lately threatened him, whilst she, leaning upon his arm, did 
 not hesitate to draw forth her embroidered handkerchief to 
 dry the starting tear. It was delightful to relieve her 
 youthful heart from the weight of grief with which she had 
 for some time felt oppressed. A general silence reigned 
 around, and the fears were forgotten which all had expe- 
 rienced both from the conflagration below and the appearance 
 of the formidable lion above. 
 
 The repose of the whole company was first interrupted 
 by the Prince, who made a signal to lead the horses 
 nearer ; he then turned to the woman and addressed her 
 thus : " You think, then, to master the lion wherever you 
 meet him, by the power of your song, assisted by that of the 
 child and the tones of your flute, and believe that you can 
 thus lead him harmless and uninjured to his cage ?" 
 
 She protested and assured him that she would do so ; where- 
 upon a servant was ordered to show her the way to the castle. 
 The Prince and a few of his attendants now took their departure 
 hastily, whilst the Princess, accompanied by the rest, fol- 
 lowed more slowly after. But the mother and the child, ac- 
 companied by the servant, who had armed himself with a 
 rifle, hastened to ascend the mountam. 
 
 At the very entrance of the narrow road which led to the 
 castle, they found the hunting attendants busily employed in 
 piling together heaps of dry brushwood, to kindle a large 
 fire. 
 
 " There is no necessity for such precaution," observed the 
 woman ; " all will yet turn out well." ' 
 
 They perceived Honorio at a little distance from them, sitting 
 upon a fragment of the wall, with his double-barrelled rifle 
 in his lap, prepared as it seemed for every emergency. But 
 he paid little attention to the people who approached ; he was 
 absorbed in his own contemplations, and seemed engaged in 
 deepest thought. The woman entreated that he would not per- 
 mit the fire to be kindled, he, however, paid not the smallest 
 
502 GOETHE. 
 
 attention to her request. She then raised her voice, and ex* 
 claimed with a loud cry : " Thou handsome youth, who killed 
 my tiger, I curse thee not ; but spare my lion, and I will bless 
 thee." 
 
 But Honorio was looking upon vacancy ; his eyes were 
 bent upon the sun, which had finished its daily course and 
 was now about to set. 
 
 *' You are looking to the evening," cried the woman, " and 
 you are riglit, for there is yet much to do ; but hasten, 
 delay not, and you will conquer. But first of all, conquer 
 yourself." He seemed to smile at this observation — the 
 woman passed on, but could not avoid looking round to 
 observe him once more. The setting sun had cast a rosy glow 
 upon his countenance ; she thought she had never beheld so 
 handsome a youth. 
 
 " If your child," said the attendant, " can, as you imagine, 
 with his fluting and his singing, entice and tranquillize 
 the lion, we shall easily succeed in mastering him ; for the fero- 
 cious animal has lain down to sleep under the broken arch, 
 through which we have secured a passage into the castle 
 court, as the chief entrance has been long in ruins. Let the 
 child then entice him into the interior, when we can close 
 the gate without difficulty, and the child may, if he please, 
 escape by a small winding staircase, which is situated in one 
 of the corners. We may in the meantime conceal ourselves, 
 but I shall take up a position which will enable me to assist 
 the child at any moment with my rifle," 
 
 " These preparations are all needless ; Heaven, and our 
 own skill, bravery, and good fortune, are our best defence." 
 
 *' But first let me conduct you by this steep ascent to the top 
 of the tower, right opposite to the entrance of which I have 
 spoken. The child may then descend into the arena, and there 
 he can try to exercise his power over the obedient animal." 
 
 This was done. Concealed above, the attendant and the 
 mother surveyed the proceeding. The child descended the 
 narrow staircase, and soon appeared in the wide court-yard. 
 He immediately entered into the narrow opening opposite, 
 when the sweet sounds of his flute were heard, but these 
 gradually diminished till at length they finally ceased. The 
 pause was fearful — the solemnity of the proceeding filled the 
 old attendant with apprehension, accustomed as he was to 
 
A TALE. 503 
 
 every sort of danger. He declared that he would rather 
 engage the enraged animal himself. But the mother preserved 
 her cheerful countenance, and leaning over the parapet in a 
 listening attitude, betrayed no sign of the slightest fear. ' « 
 At length the flute was heard again. The child had issued 
 from the dark recess, his face beaming with triumph ; the lion 
 was slowly following, and seemed to walk with difficulty. 
 Now and then the animal appeared disposed to lie down, but 
 the child continued to lead him quietly along, bending his 
 way through the half-leafless autumn-tinged trees, until he 
 arrived at a spot which was illumined by the last rays of the 
 setting sun. They were shedding their parting glory through 
 the ruins, and in this spot he recommenced his sweet song, 
 which we cannot refrain from repeating : 
 
 ** Hear the Prophet's song ascending 
 
 From the cavern's dark retreat, 
 Whilst an Angel, earthward bending. 
 
 Cheers his soul with accents sweeU 
 Fear and terror come not o'er him, 
 
 As the lion's angry brood 
 Crouch with placid mien before hua. 
 
 By his holy song subdued." 
 
 The lion in the mean time had lain quietly down, and raising 
 his heavy paw, had placed it in the lap of the child. The 
 latter stroked it gently and continued his chaunt, but soon 
 observed that a sharp thorn had penetrated into the ball of 
 the animal's foot. With great tenderness the child extracted 
 the thorn, and taking his bright-coloured silk handkerchief 
 from his neck, bound it round the foot of the huge creature, 
 whilst the attentive mother, still joyfully leaning over the 
 parapet with outstretched arms, would probably have testified 
 her approbation with loud shouts and clapping of hands, if 
 the attendant had not rudely seized her and reminded her 
 that the danger was not yet completely over. 
 
 The child now joyfully continued his song, after he had 
 hummed a few notes by way of prelude : 
 
 *' Since the Eternal eye, far-seeing, 
 Earth and sea surveys in peace, 
 Lion shall with lamb agreeing 
 Live, and angry tempests cease. 
 
604 GOETHE. 
 
 Warriors' sword no more shall lour, 
 
 Faith and Hope their fruit shall bear ; 
 Wondrous is the mighty power 
 
 Of Love, which pours its soul iu prayer." 
 
 If it were possible to conceive that the features of so fierce 
 a monster, at once the tyrant of the forest and the despot of 
 the animal kingdom, could display an expression of pleasure 
 and grateful joy, it might have been witnessed upon this 
 occasion ; and in very truth, the child, in the fulness of his 
 beauty, looked like some victorious conqueror, though it could 
 not be said that the lion seemed subdued, for his mighty power 
 was only for a time concealed ; he wore the aspect of some 
 domesticated creature, who had been content to make a 
 voluntary surrender of the mighty power with which it was 
 endued. And thus the child continued to play and to sing, 
 transposing his verses or adding to them, as he felt inclined ; 
 
 '* Holy Angels, still untiring, 
 
 Aid the good and virtuous diii^y, 
 Every noble deed inspiring 
 
 And restraining actions wild. 
 So the forest king to render 
 
 Tame as child at parent's knea. 
 Still be gentle, kind, and tender. 
 
 Use sweet love aud melody." 
 
 THB END, 
 
 PRINTED BT W. CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET 
 AND CHARING CROSS. 
 

 wT.,td/vL 
 
604 
 
 If i 
 s. mon 
 
 the aD 
 and g 
 occasi 
 beaut; 
 not be 
 was o 
 dome; 
 volun 
 endut 
 trans] 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
 RETUKN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 LOAN DEPT. 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below, or 
 
 on the date to which renewed. 
 
 Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 
 
 '^%W&iUfh 
 
 RECEivgD 
 
 AUG IS 'G6 -12 AM 
 
 N01/24'S7-'9AM 
 
 LOAN UBPT. 
 
 fc©AW fSRPT. 
 
 |^2418STB9 
 
 «e^ 
 
 ' my 1 «'<■<!"<;•■ 
 
 P 
 
 1 ^'P4. 
 
 SEUX — P E C 1 i 1983 
 
 F£D221984 
 
 ^ 
 
 'i 
 
 #'^ 
 
 P*^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 JU'N -9 1974 
 
 LD 21A-60m-10,'65 
 (F7763sl0)476B 
 
 General Library 
 
 University of California 
 
 Berkeley 
 
m^ w^ 
 
 V^ V^ S.m\^ \^