- •<» A *. '^ .. • • ^' •^'^ T '\i ).Y7v ' 7,:. ■/'.•• 'Kf 5' WMiL ^>: i!#;^EI V r/r- S^fi |^^S!^fff M Bf:S^^f > \ The Younir Goethe at SesenJmm Photogravure from the paintinR by Urockmann. Hife of (§otii)t BY George Henry Lewes In Two Volumes Volume I. Edited bv Nathan Haskell Dole Boston ^ Francis A. Niccolls cj C7 Company "^ Publishers ISnition ©f (Sranti !Luxc This Edition is Limited to Two Hundred and Fifty Copies, of which this is copy Ko,..5.4 Copyright, tgo2 By Francis A. Niccolls & Co. Solonijl iilrcss ElBCtrctyped and Printed by C. H. SImonda & Co. Boston. Mass., U. S. A. SRLF URL PT Preface to the Third Edition Since the last edition of this work was published, many volumes have appeared which it was necessary for me to go through, and from which I have gathered numerous fresh details of interest, though nothing that alters the main outhnes of my narrative. Among the new works there have been two regular biographies. The one by M. M^zieres, entitled " W. Goethe, Ses ceuvres expli([uees par sa vie" (2 vols. Paris, 1872-3), is a barefaced reproduction of my work, with little added except the writer's own re- marks, and an occasional extract from some French book. Yet while thus appropriating my labours, M. M^zi^res abstains from even the slightest indica- tion of his indebtedness. When he borrows a passage from a French writer he is careful to avow it; he borrows my whole book, and ignores it. The only time he refers to me, is in a note on the Weimar theatricals. Nay, so careful is he to avoid acknowl- edgment, that having in one place to put forward a somewhat different view of the Frau von Stein from that which he finds in my pages, he attributes the opinion he combats to Carlyle, who has never printed a hue on the subject. Yet it is on the strength of such performances that M. M6zieres presents himself as a candidate for a seat in the French Academy — and is admitted. Very different is the other biography, " Goetlie's Leben und Schriften, von Karl Gddeke " (1 vol. 1874), a compact compilation by one thoroughly conversant with the original sources. The Priory, A ugust, 1875. vii Preface to the Second Edition There was, perhaps, some temerity in attempting a " Life of Goethe " at a time when no German author had undertaken the task ; but the reception which my work has met with, even after the appearance of the biographies by Viehoff and Schafer, is a justification of the temerity. The sale of thirteen thousand copies in England and Germany, and the sympathy gener- ously expressed, not un mingled, it is true, with adverse and even angiy criticism, are assurances that my labours were not wholly misdirected, however far they may have fallen short of their aim. For the expres- sions of sympathy, public and private, I cannot but be grateful ; and I have done my best to profit by criti- cism even when it was most hostile. I wish to make special mention of the assist- ance tendered me by the late Mr. Franz Demmler. Although a stranger to me, this accomplished student of Goethe kindly volunteered, amid many and press- ing avocations, to re-read my book with the express purpose of annotating it; and he sent me several sheets of notes and objections, all displaying the vigour of his mind, and the variety of his reading. Some of these I was glad to use ; and even those which I could not agree with or adopt, were always carefully considered. On certain points our opinions were diametrically opposed ; but it was always an advan- tage to me to read criticisms so frank and acute. The present edition is altered in form and in sub- stance. It has been rewritten in parts, with a view not only of introducing all the new material which ix X PREFACE several important publications have furnished, but also of correcting and reconstructing it so as to make it more wurthy of pubHc favour. As there is little probability of any subsequent publication bringing to lighi fresh material of importance, 1 hope that this reconstruction of my book will be final. With respect to the use I have made of the materials at hand, especially of Goethe's Autobiography, I can but repeat what was said in the preface to the first edition ; the " Dichtung uud Wahrheit" not only wants the egotistic garruhty and detail which give such con- fessions their value, but presents great difhculties to a biographer. The main reason of this is the abiding inaccuracy of toiu, which, far more misleading than the many inaccuracies of fact, gives to the whole youthful period, as narrated by him, an aspect so directly contrary to what is given by contemporary evidence, especially his own letters, that an attempt to reconcile the contradiction is futil«\ If any one doubts this and persists in his doubts after reading tlie early chapters of this work, let him take up Goethe's letters to the Countess von Stolberg, or the recently publi.shed letters to Kestner and Charlotte, and compare their tone with the tone of the Auto- biography, wherein the old man depicts the youth as the old man saw him, not as the youth felt and hved. Tlie picture of youtliful folhes and youthful passions comes softened through the distant avenue of years. The turbulence of a youth of genius is not indeed quite forgotten, but it is hinted with stately reserve. Jupiter, serenely throned upon 01ym])us, forgets that hf was once a rebel with the Titans. When we come to know the real facts, we see that the Autobiography does not so much misstate as under- .state ; we, who can " read between the lines," perceive that it errs more from want of sliarpness of relief and precision of detail than from positive misrepresenta- PREFACE xi tion. Controlled by contemporary evidence, it fur- nishes one great source for the story of the early years ; and I greatly regret there is not more contem- porary evidence to furnish more details. For the later period, besides the mass of printed testimony in shape of Letters, Memoirs, Reminiscences, etc., I have endeavoured to get at the truth by con- sulting those who hved under the same roof with him, those who hved in friendly intercourse with him, and those who have made his life and works a special study. I have sought to acquire and to reproduce a definite image of the living man, and not simply of the man as he appeared in all the reticences of print. For this purpose I have controlled and completed the testimonies of print by means of papers which have never seen the light, and papers which in all probabil- ity never will see the light — by means of personal corroboration, and the many sHght details which are gathered from far and wide when one is alive to every scrap of authentic information and can see its signifi- cance ; and thus comparing testimony with testimony, completing what was learned yesterday by something learned to-day, not uufrequently helped to one passage by details furnished from half a dozen quarters, I have formed the conclusions which appear in this work. In this difficult and sometimes dehcate task, I hope it will be apparent that I have been guided by the desire to get at the truth, having no cause to serve, no parti- sanship to mislead me, no personal connection to trammel my judgment. It will be seen that I neither deny nor attempt to slur over points which may tell against my hero. The man is too great and too good to forfeit our love, because on some points he may incur blame. Considerable space has been allotted to analyses and criticisms of Goethe's works ; just as in the life of a great captain much space is necessarily occupied xii PREFACE by his campaigns. By these analyses I have tried to be of service to the student of German literature, as well as to those who do not read German ; and throughout it will be seen that pains have not been spared to make the readers feel at home in this foreign land. The scientific writings have been treated with what proportionately may seem great length ; and tliis, partly because science filled a large portion of Goethe's hfe ; partly because, even in Germany, there was uotliing like a full exposition of his aims and achieve- ments in this direction. The Priory, North Bank, KegenCs Park, November, 18(JS. Contents OB AFTER PAOK Book the First. 1749 to 1765 I. Parentage :i II. The Precociuis Child . 15 III. Early Exi'eriences . 27 IV. Various Studies . 38 V. The Child Is Father to the Man . Book the Second. 1765 to 1771 . 4t; I. The Leipsic Student . 53 II. Mental Characteristics . 72 III. Art Studies . 78 IV. Return Home . 84 V. Strasburg . 93 VI. Herder and Frederika . 113 Book the Third. 1771 to 1775 I. Doctor Goethe's Return II. GoTz von Berlichingen . III. Wetzlar .... IV. Preparations for Werther V. Wkrther .... VI. The Literary Lion . VII. LiLi 139 151 101 181) 20t> 227 255 Book the Fouktii. 1775 to 1779 I. Weimar in the Eighteenth Century . II. The Notabilities of Weimar . III. The First Wild Weeks at Weimar IV. The Frau von Stein .... xiii 271 289 300 317 xiv CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE V. Private Theatricals 328 VI. Many - COLOURED Threads 339 VII. The Real Philanthropist 349 Book the Fifth. 1779 to 1793 I. New Birth 371 II. Iphigknia 376 III. Progress 392 List of Illustrations PAGE The Yocng Goethe at Sesekheim (See page US) Frontispiece " Rath Moritz gave a great party " . . • .87 ''Upon the broad and lofty gallery" .... 116 Portrait of Goethe 2^" " She lured him back with tenderness "... 340 Book the First 1749 to 1765 Vom Vater hab' ich die Statur, Des Lebeiis ernstes Fiihren ; Von Miilterchen die Frohnatur, Die Lust zu fabuliren. Hatte Gott niich auders gewollt, So hiitt' er mich aiiders gebaut. Life and Works of Goethe CHAPTER I. PARENTAGE. QuiNTUS CURTIUS tells us that in certain seasons Bactria was darkened by whirlwinds of dust, which completely covered and concealed the roads. Left thus without their usual landmarks, the wanderers awaited the rising of the stars, — " To light them on their dim and perilous way." May we not say the same of literature ? From time to time its pathways are so obscured beneath the rub- bish of the age, that many a footsore pilgrim seeks in vain the hidden route. In such times it may be well to imitate the Bactrians : ceasing to look upon the con- fusions of the day, and turning our gaze upon the gi-eat Immortals who have gone before, we may seek guid- ance from their light. In all ages the biogiapliies of great men have been fruitful in lessons ; in all ages they have been powerful stinuilants to a noble am- bition ; in all ages they have been regarded as armories wherein are gathered the weapons with which great battles have been won. There may be some among my readers who will 3 4 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE dispute Goethe's claim to greatness. They will admit that he was a great poet, but deny that he was a great man. In denying it, they will set forth the quahties which constitute their ideal of greatness, and finding him deficient in some of these quahties, will dispute his claim. But in awarding him that title, I do not mean to imply that he was an ideal man ; I do not present him as the exemplar of all gi-eatness. No man can be such an exemplar. Humanity reveals itself in frat^ments. One man is the exponent of one kind of excellence, another of another. Achilles wins the victory, and Homer immortalises it: we bestow the laurel crown on both. In virtue of a genius such as modern times have only seen equalled once or twice, Goethe deserves the epithet of great. Nor is it in virtue of genius alone that he deserves the title. Merck said of him that what he hved was more beautiful than what he wrote ; and his Life, amid all its weaknesses and all its errors, presents a picture of a certain gran- deur of soul, which cannot be contemplated unmoved. I shall make no attempt to conceal his faults. Let them be dealt witli as harslily as severest justice may dictate, they will not echpse the central light whicli shines throughout his life. And without wishing to excuse, or to conceal faults which he assuredly had, we must always bear in mind that the faults of a celebrated man are apt to carry an undue emphasis. They are thrown into stronger relief by the very splen- dour of liis fame. Had Goethe never written " Faust" no one would have heard that he was an inconstant lover, or a tepid politician. His glory immortalises liis shame. TA^t us begin as near the beginning as may be desir- able, by glancing at his ancestry. That he had in- herited his organisation and tendencies from his fore- fathers, and could call nothing in himself original, he has told us in these verses : LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE $ " Vom Vater hab' ich die Statur, Des Lebens ernstes Fiihren ; Von Miitterchen die Frohnatur, Die Lust zu fabuliren. Urahnherr war der Schonsten hold, Das spukt so bin uud wieder ; Urahnfrau liebte Schmuck und Gold, Das zuckt -svobl durch die Glieder. Sind nun die Elemente nicht, Aus dem Complex zu trennen, Was ist denn an dem ganzen Wicht Original zu nennen ?" ^ The first glimpse we get of his ancestry carries us back to about the middle of the seventeenth century. In the Grafschaft of Mansfeld, in Thuringia, the little town of Artern numbered among its scanty inhabitants a farrier, by name Hans Christian Goethe. His son, Frederick, being probably of a more meditative turn, selected a more meditative employment than that of shoeing horses : he became a tailor. Having passed an ap- prenticeship (not precisely that of " Wilhelm Meister "), he commenced liis Wanderings, in the course of which he reached Frankfort. Here he soon found employ- ment, and being, as we learn, " a ladies' man," he soon also found a wife. The master tailor, Sebastian Lutz, gave him his daughter, on his admission to the citizen- 1 " From my father I inherit my frame, and the steady guidance of life ; from dear little mother my happy disposition, and love of story-telling. My ancestor was a 'ladies' man,' and that habit haunts me now and then ; my ancestress loved finery and show, which also runs in the blood. If, then, the elements are not to be separated from the whole, what can one call original in the descendant ? " This is a very inadequate translation ; but believing that to leave German untranslated is unfair to those whose want of leisure or inclination lias prevented their acquiring the language, I shall throughout translate every word cited. At the same time it is unfair to the poet, and to tlie writer quoting the poet, to be forced to give translations which are after all felt not to represent the force and spirit of the original. I will do my best to give approximative translations, which the reader will be good enough to accept as such, rather than be left in the dark. 6 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE ship of Frankfort and to the guild of tailors. This was in 1687. Several children were born, and van- ished; in 1700 his wife, too, vanished, to be replaced, five years afterward, by Frau Corneha Schellhorn, the daughter of another tailor, Georg Walter ; she was then a widow, blooming with six and thirty summers, and possessing the solid attractions of a good property, namely, the hotel Zum Weidenliof, where her new husband laid down the scissors, and donned the land- lord's apron. He had two sons by her, and died in 1730, aged seventy-three. Of these two sons, the younger, Johann Caspar, was the father of our poet. Thus we see that Goethe, like Schiller, sprang from the people. He makes no mention of the lucky tailor, nor of the Thuringian farrier, in his Autobiography. This silence may be variously interpreted. At first, I imagined it was aristocratic prudery on the part of von Goethe, minister and nobleman ; but it is never well to put ungenerous constructions, when others, equally plausible and more honourable, are ready ; let us rather follow the advice of Arthur Helps, to " employ our imagination in the service of charity." We can easily imagine that Goethe was silent about the tailor, because, in truth, having never known him, there was none of that affectionate remembrance which encircles the objects of early life, to make this grandfather figure in the Autobiography beside the grandfather Textor, who was known and loved. Probably, also, the tailor was seldom talked of in the parental circle. There is a peculiar and indelible ridicule attached to the idea of a tailor in Germany, which often prevents people of much humbler pretensions than Goethe from whispering their con- nection with such a trade. Goethe does mention this grandfather in the Second Book of his Autobiography, and Lei Is us how he was teased by the taunts of boys respecting his humble parentage ; these taunts even LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 7 went so far as to imply that he might possibly have had several grandfathers; and he began to speculate on the possibility of some latent aristocracy in his descent. This made him examine with some curiosity the portraits of noblemen, to try and detect a likeness. Johann Caspar Goethe became an imperial councillor in Frankfort, and married, in 1748, Kathariua Elizabeth, daughter of Johann Wolfgang Textor, the chief magis- trate (SchuUheiss)} The genealogical tables of kings and conquerors are thought of interest, and why should not the genealogy of our poet be equally interesting to us ? In the belief that it will be so, I here subjoin it. iThe family of Textor and Weber (Textor being simply the Latinised form of Weber) exist to this day, and under botii names, in the Hohenlohe territory. Karl Julius Weber, the humourous author of " Democritus " and of the " Briefe eines in Deutschland reisenden Deutschen," was a member of it. In the description of the Jubilceum of the Niirnberg University of Altorf, in 1723, men- tion is made of one Joannes Guolfgangus Textor as a bygone or- nament of the faculty of law ; and Mr. Demmler, to whom I am indebted for these particulars, suggests the probability of this being the same John Wolfgang, who died as Oberbiirgermeister in Frankfort, 1701. o H XI H W H P^ O PQ H i-J o o o w :^ o S) be cS C a 03 a ei u 4^ e a g o O OS 0) "3 2 'S K 3 1-0 O OJ "3 ? r; a §2 C3 - ^•=_ o « u fc a o ^J 2^ o o <0 •3 « O *-2 ^15 o •-5 :«2 4J d O m g5 a «5 •- W b O M » K S c 5 J ^^ tc . Has O 1-0 - ♦-' c ® £** o o >5 KM H 05 s .2 M^ < •- -fl * CO o5 * ^*' h- t— r. C3 O 03 (4-1 -** »f^ •a a ® '- CO /■■ Si* •" ^^ -" = S < — < t- o X. P " - N < 'J ». « c 75 - t; '-- J *— ^ ^ *-* u "^ - ". -•-5 3'- c w - U C /. O t« o -$.2S- ,' ce ^ "^ >5 m lo tJ u o c4 ?.3 2^ — -t- T-T Oh ?.2.2So ti* — U r* "^ - ..$2'^ 2 w — - .m§«' * z', 5^2 o« w H O o W H O PQ <^ H <1 O I— I o o Ci5 ^:^ • tM a « 3 O - b4-< ■ c J © c a _ 4) - O .2 §3 &; !« *^ tH ^ ^ • - o 'r- 0) «^ So 1-1 '^ a W I- a C3 » B3 H W O o cj '"'So O o Q a o ^^ t--t.— 1 3^2 .2SS- ^ tn Qi — O m •sa <« "^-^ ,* aj --^ fan *H S! .. ^s - ogS 5 N rt o2S t' ?; 2 o -■" ..n o *e =«-= Wig S5o i; ' to n o 3 P --I >^ "^ OJ «ag a i!0 a a g <■" o ^5 «'3 -l-s f? S ?' ^: w« Si- t- a x^ 63 * o fl S _ >j; -OS'S — - fa "^ a: Si a «_ . Wo'='SP _ J t-'.a a K 1-T3 ao2 2 o o'S £ f^ e t= a.5 -O o . a <-> o .J a o 5 a ►JS; " go 2 c q .^ pH 00 fci ^ _ _ . '2 « ■« fl S tU ^ -S " ■" O ^ -c O 'i- t- a u ~ o ■'00 C 00 <; r a,<" O 3 lo LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE Goethe's father, who had studied law in Leipsic and practised it for awhile in Wetzlar, and had travelled iu Italy, Holland, and France, so that in those days he appeared an exceptionally cultivated burgher, was a cold, stern, formal, somewhat pedantic, but truth-lov- ing, upright-minded man. He hungered for knowl- edge ; and, although in general of a laconic turn, freely imparted all he learned. In his domestic circle his word was law. Not only imperious, but in some respects capricious, he was nevertheless gi-eatly re- spected, if Httle loved, by wife, children, and friends. He is characterised by Krause as ein gcradliniger Frankfurter Rcichsburger — "a formal Frankfort citi- zen " whose habits were as measured as his gait.^ From him the poet inherited the well-built frame, the erect carriage, and the measured movement, which in old age became stiffness, and was construed as diplomacy or haughtiness ; from him also came that orderliness and stoicism which have so much distressed those who cannot conceive genius otherwise than as vagabond in its habits. The craving for knowledge, the delight in communicating it, the almost pedantic attention to details, wliich are noticeable in the poet, are all traceable in the father. The mother was more like what we conceive as the proper parent for a poet. She is one of the pleasantest figures in German hterature, and one standing out with greater vividness than almost any other. Her simple, hearty, joyous, and affectionate nature endeared her to all. She was the dehght of children, the fa- vourite of poets and princes. To the last retaining her enthusiasm and simphcity, mingled with great shrewd- 1 Perhaps geradimiger might be translated as " an old square- toes," haviiitc reference to the aiiti. mated cut of the old Tuan's clothes. The fathers of the present generation dubbed the stiff coat of their grandfathers, with its square skirts and collars, by the name of magiMer mnthe-'teos, the name by which the Pythag- orean proposilion is known in Germany. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE n ness and knowledge of character, Frau Aja as they christened her, was at once grave and hearty, dignified and simple. She had read most of the best German and Italian authors, had picked up considerable desul- tory information, and had that " mother wit " which so often in women and poets seems to render culture superfluous, their rapid intuitions anticipating the tardy conclusions of experience. Her letters are full of spirit: not always strictly grammatical; not irre- proachable in orthography ; but vigorous and viva- cious. After a lengthened interview with her, an enthusiast exclaimed, " Now do I understand how Goethe has become the man he is!"^ Wieland, Merck, Biirger, Madame de Stael, Karl August, and other gi-eat people sought her acquaintance. The Duchess Amaha corresponded with her as with an intimate friend ; and her letters were welcomed eagerly at the Weimar Court.^ She was married at seventeen, to a man for whom she had no love, and was only eighteen when the poet was born.^ This, instead of making her prematurely old, seems to have perpetuated her girlhood. " I and my Wolfgang," she said, " have always held fast to each other, because we were both young together." To him she transmitted her love of 1 " Epheineriden der Literatur," quoted in "Nicolovius iiber Goethe." 2 A large portion of this correspondence has recently been pub- lished (" Brief wechsel von Katharina Elizabeth Goethe," 1871), and amply proves what, from private sources, I had been able to state iu the text. The letters, both of the Duchess Anialia and the Frau Rath, are very amusing, very unrestrained, and ex- tremely unlike any other correspondences between the court and the bourgeoisie. Indeed they are not unfrequently more like what one would expect to find two lively grocers writing to each other. There is a free and easy tone which the editor idealises when he says that " the wash of the Main is heard between the lines, and the vineyards look down on every sentence." It is interesting to see how every one at the court writes to her as " dear mother " and sends her all the gossip of the hour. 3 Lovers of parallels may be reminded that Napoleon's mother was only eighteen when the hero of Austerlitz was born. 12 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE story-telling, her animal spirits, her love of everything which bore the stamp of distinctive individuahty, and her love of seeing happy faces around her. " Order and quiet," she says in one of her charming letters to Freiherr von Stein, " are my principal characteristics. Hence I despatch at once whatever I have to do, the most disagreeable always first, and I gulp down the devil without looking at him. When all has returned to its proper state, then I defy any one to surpass me in good humour." Her heartiness and tolerance are the causes, she thinks, why every one likes her. " I am fond of people, and that every one feels directly — young and old. I pass without pretension through the world, and that gratifies people. I never hemoral- ise any one — always seek out the good that is in them, and leave ivhat is had to him who made man- hind and Jcnoivs hoiv to round off the angles. In this way I make myself happy and comfortable." Who does not recognise the sou in those accents ? The kindliest of men inherited his loving nature from the heartiest of women. He also inherited from her his dislike of unneces- sary agitation and emotion : that deliberate avoidance of all things capable of disturbing liis peace of mind, which has been construed as coldness. Her sunny nature shrank from storms. She stipulated with her servants that they were not to trouble her with afflict- ings news, except upon some positive necessity for the communication. In 1805, when her sou was dangerously ill at Weimar, no one ventured to speak to her on the subject. Not until he had completely recovered did she voluntarily enter on it. " I knew it all," she remarked, " but said nothing. Now we can talk about him without my feeling a stab every time his name is mentioned." In this voluntary insulation from disastrous intelli- gence, there is something so antagonistic to the notori- LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 13 ous craving for excitement felt by the Teutonic races, something so unlike the morbid love of iutellectual drams, — the fierce alcohol of emotion with which many intoxicate themselves, — that it is no wonder if Goethe has on this account been accused of insensi- bility. Yet, in truth, a very superficial knowledge of his nature suffices to show that it was not from cold- ness he avoided indulgence in the " luxury of woe." It was excess of sensibility, not want of sympathy. His delicate nature shrank from the wear and tear of needless excitement ; for that which to coarser natures would have been a stimulus, was to him a disturbance. It is doubtless the instinct of an emotional nature to seek sach stimulants ; but his reason was strong enough to keep this instinct under control. Falk re- lates that when Goethe heard he had looked upon Wieland in death, " and thereby procured myself a miserable evening, and worse night, he vehemently reproved me for it. Why, said he, should I suffer the delightful impression of the features of my friend to be obliterated by the sight of a disfigured mask ? I carefully avoided seeing Schiller, Herder, or the Duchess Amalia, in the coffin. I, for my part, desire to retain in my memory a picture of my departed friends more full of soul than the mere mask can furnish me." This subjection of the instinct of curiosity to the dictates of reason is not coldness. There is danger indeed of carrying it too far, and of coddling the mind ; but into this extreme neither Goethe nor his mother can be said to have fallen. At any rate, let the reader pronounce what judgment he thinks fit, it is right that he should at the outset distinctly understand it to be a characteristic of the man. The self-mastery it imphes forms the keystone of his character. In him emotion was not suppressed, but subjected to the intellect. He was "king over himself." He, as he tells us, found 14 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE men " eager enough to lord it over others, while indif- ferent whether they could rule themselves " — " Das woUen alle Herren seyn, Und keiner ist Herr von sich ! " He made it his study to subdue into harmonious unity the rebeUious impulses which incessantly threatened the supremacy of reason. Here, on the threshold of his career, let attention be called to this cardinal characteristic; his footsteps were not guided by a light tremulous in every gust, hable to fall to the ground amid the hurrying agitation of vulgar instincts, but a torch grasped by an iron will, and lifted high above the currents of those lower gusts, shedding a continuous steady gleam across the troubled path. I do not say he never stumbled. At times the clamor- ous agitation of rebellious passions misled him as it misleads others ; for he was very human, often erring ; but viewing his life as it disposes itself into the broad masses necessary for a characteristic appreciation, I say that in him, more than in almost any other man of his time, naked vigour of resolution, moving in alli- ance with steady clearness of intellect, produced a self- mastery of the very highest kind.^ This he owed partly to his father and partly to his mother. It was from the latter he derived those char- acteristics which determined the movement and orbit of his artistic nature : her joyous, healthy tempera- ment, humour, fancy, and susceptibility, were, in him, creative, owing to the marvellous insight which gath- ered up the scattered and vanishing elements of experience into new and living combinations. > " All I have had to do I have done in kindly fashion," he said : " I let tonpues wag as they pleased. What I saw to be the right thing that I did." CHAPTER 11. THE PRECOCIOUS CHILD. JoHANN Wolfgang Goethe was born on the 28th August, 1749, as the clock sounded the hour of noon, in the busy town of Frankfort-on-the-Maiu. The busy town, as may be supposed, was quite heedless of what was then passing in the corner of that low, heavy- beamed room in the Grosse Hirsch-Grahen, where an infant, black, and almost lifeless, was watched with agonising anxiety — an anxiety dissolving into tears of joy, as the aged grandmother exclaimed to the pale mother : " Puithin, er lebt ! — he lives ! " But if the town was heedless, not so were the stars, if astrologers are to be trusted ; the stars knew who was gasping for hfe beside his trembling mother, and in solemn convo- cation they prefigured his future greatness. Goethe, with a grave smile, notes this conjunction of the stars. Whatever the stars may have betokened, this August, 1749, was a momentous month to Germany, if only be- cause it gave birth to the man whose influence on his nation has been greater than that of any man since Luther, not even excepting Lessing. A momentous month in very momentous times. It was the middle of the eighteenth century : a period when the move- ment which had culminated in Luther was passing from religion to politics, and freedom of thought was translating itself into liberty of action. From theology the movement had communicated itself to philosophy, morals, and politics. The agitation was still mainly in the higher classes, but it was gradually descending to 15 i6 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE the lower. A period of deep unrest : big with events which would expand the conceptions of all men, and bewilder some of the wisest. It is not the biographer's province to write a history of an epoch while telling the story of a hfe ; but some historical indication is necessary, in order that the time and place should be vividly before the reader's mind ; and perhaps the readiest way to call up such a picture in a paragraph will be to mention some of the " nota- bles " of that period, and at what points in their career they had arrived. In that very month of August Madame du Chatelet, the learned translator of Newton, the loving but hot-tempered " Uranie " of Voltaire, died in childbed, leaving him without a companion, and without a counsellor to prevent his going to the court of Frederick the Great. In that year Rousseau was seen in the brilliant circle of Madame d'Epinay, disput- ing with the Encyclopedists, declaiming eloquently on the sacredness of maternity, and going home to cast his newborn infant into the basket of the Foundling Hos- pital In that year Samuel Johnson was toiling man- fully over his English dictionary ; Gibbon was at Westminster, trying with unsuccessful dihgence to master the Greek and Latin rudiments ; Goldsmith was delighting the Tony Lumpkins of his district, and the " wandering bear-leaders of genteeler sort," with his talents, while enjoying that " careless idleness of fire- side and easy chair," and that "tavern excitement of the game of cards, to which he looked back so wist- fully from his first hard London struggles." In that year Buffon, whose scientific greatness Goethe was one of the first to perceive, produced the first volume of his "Histoire Naturelle." Haller was at Gottiu- gen performing those experiments on sensibility and irritability which were to immortahse him. Jolm Hunter, who had recently left Scotland, joined Chesel- den at the Chelsea Hospital. Mirabeau and Alficri LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 17 were tyrants in their nurseries ; and Marat was an in- nocent boy of five years old, toddling about in the Val de Travers, unmolested as yet by the wickedness of " les aristocrats." If these names have helped to call up the period, we must seek in Goethe's own pages for a picture of the place. He has painted the city of Frankfort as one who loved it. No city in Germany was better fitted for the birthplace of this cosmopolitan poet. It was rich in speaking memorials of the past, remnants of old German life, lingering echoes of the voices which sounded through the middle ages : such as a town within a town, the fortress within a fortress, the walled cloisters, the various symbolical ceremonies still pre- served from feudal times, and the Jews' quarter, so picturesque, so filthy, and so strikingly significant. But if Frankfort was thus representative of the past, it was equally representative of the present. The travellers brought there by the Rhine-stream, and by the great northern roads, made it a representative of Europe, and an emporium of Commerce. It was thus a centre for that distinctively modern idea — Industrialism — which began, and must complete, the destruction of Feudalism. This twofold character Frankfort retains to the present day (1853) : the storks, perched upon its ancient gables, look down upon the varied bustle of Fairs held by modern Commerce in the ancient streets. The feeling for antiquity, and especially for old Ger- man life, which his native city would thus pictur- esquely cultivate, was rivalled by a feeling for Italy and its splendours, which was cultivated under the paternal roof. His father had retained an inextinguish- able delight in all that reminded him of Italy. His walls were hung with architectural drawings and views of Rome ; so that the poet was thus familiar from infancy with the Piazza del Popolo, St. Peter's, the Coliseum, and other centres of grand associations. iS LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE Typical of bis own nature and strivings is this conjunc- tion of the Classic and the German — the one lying nearest to him, in homely intimacy, the other lying outside, as a mere scene he was to contemplate. Goethe by nature was more Greek than German, but he never freed himself from German influence. Thus much on time and place, the two cardinal con- ditions of Kfe. Before quitting such generalities for the details of biography, it may be well to call atten- tion to one hitherto unnoticed, viz., the moderate ele- vation of his social status. Placed midway between the two perilous extremes of afHuence and want, his whole career received a modifying influence from this position. He never knew adversity. This alone must necessa- rily have deprived him of one powerful chord which vibrates through literature. Adversity, the sternest of teachers, had little to teach him. He never knew the gaunt companionship of Want, whispering terrible sug- gestions. He never knew the necessity to conquer for himself breathing-room in the world. Thus all the feelings of bitterness, opposition, and defiance, which accompany and perplex the struggle of life, were to him almost unknown, and he was taught nothing of the aggressive and practical energies with which these feel- ings develop in impetuous natures. How much of his serenity, how much of his dislike to political agitation, may be traced to this origin ? That lie was the lovehest baby ever seen, exciting admiration wherever nurse or mother carried him, and exliibiting, in swaddling-clothes, the most wonderful intelligence, we need no biographer to tell us. Is it not said of every baby ? But that he was in truth a wonderful child we have undeniable evidence, and of u kind less questionable than the statement of mothers and relatives. At three years old he could seldom be brought to play with little children, and only on the condition of their being pretty. One day, in a neigh- LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 19 hour's house, he suddenly began to cry and exclaim, " That black cliild must go away ! I can't bear him ! " And he howled till he was carried home, where he was slowly pacified ; the whole cause of his grief being the ugliness of the child. A quick, merry little girl grew up by the boy's side. Four other children also came, but soon vanished. Cornelia was the only companion who survived, and for her his affection dated from her cradle. He brought his toys to her, wanted to feed her and attend on her, and was very jealous of all who approached her. " When she was taken from the cradle, over which he watched, his anger was scarcely to be quieted. He was alto- gether much more easily moved to anger than to tears." To the last his love for Cornelia was steadfast. In old German towns, Frankfort among them, the ground floor of residences consists of a great hall where the vehicles are housed. This floor opens in folding trap-doors, for the passage of wine-casks into the cellars below. In one corner of the hall there is a sort of lattice, opening by an iron or wooden grating upon the street. This is called the Gercims. Here the crockery in daily use was kept ; here the servants peeled their potatoes, and cut their carrots and turnips, preparatory to cooking ; here also the housewife would sit with her sewing, or her knitting, giving an eye to what passed in the street (when anything did pass there) ; and an ear to a little neighbourly gossip. Such a place was of course a favourite with the children. One fine afternoon, when the house was quiet, Mas- ter Wolfgang, with his cup in his hand and nothing to do, finds himself in this Gcrams, looking out into the silent street; and telegraphing to the young Ochsen- steins, who dwelt opposite. By way of doing some- thing he begins to fling the crockery into the street, delighted at the smashing music which it makes, and stimulated by the approbation of the brothers Ochsen- 20 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE stein, who chuckle at him from over the way. The plates and dishes are flying in this way, when his mother returns : she sees the mischief with a house- wifely horror, meltmg into girhsh sympathy, as she hears how heartily the httle fellow laughs at his es- capade, and how the neighbours laugh at him. This genial, indulgent mother employed her faculty for story -telling to his and her own delight. " Air, fire, earth, and water I represented under the forms of prin- cesses ; and to all natural phenomena I gave a mean- ing, in which I almost believed more fervently than my httle hearers. As we thought of paths which led from star to star, and that we should one day inhabit the stars, and thought of the great spirits we should meet there, I was as eager for the hours of story-telling as the children themselves ; I was quite curious about the future course of ray own improvisation, and any invita- tion which interrupted these evenings was disagreeable. There I sat, and there Wolfgang held me with his large black eyes ; and when the fate of one of his favourites was not according to his fancy, I saw the angry veins swell on his temples, I saw him repress his tears. He often burst in with ' But, mother, the princess won't marry the nasty tailor, even if he does kill the giant.* And when I made a pause for the night, promising to continue it on the morrow, I was certain that he would in the meanwliile think it out for himself, and so he often stimulated my imagination. When I turned the story according to his plan, and told him that he had found out the denouement, then was he all fire and flame, and one could see his little heart beating under- neath his dress ! His grandmother, who made a great pet of him, was tlie confidant of all his ideas as to how the story would turn out, and as she repeated these to me, and I turned the story according to these hints, there was a little di])lomatic secrecy between us, which we never disclosed. I had the pleasure of continuing LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 21 my story to the delight and astonishment of my hear- ers, and Wolfgang saw with glowing eyes the ful- filment of his own conceptions, and listened with enthusiastic applause." What a charming glimpse of mother and son ! The grandmother here spoken of lived in the saue house, and when lessons were finished, away tie children hurried to her room, to play. The dear o d lady, proud as a grandmother, " spoiled " them, of course, and gave them many an eatable, which they would get only in her room. But of all her gifts nothing was comparable to the puppet-show with which she sur- prised them on the Christmas Eve of 1753, and which Goethe says " created a new world in the house." The reader of " Wilhelm Meister " will remember with what solemn importance the significance of such a puppet- show is treated, and may guess how it would exercise the boy's imagination. There was also the grandfather Textor, whose house the children gladly visited, and whose grave person- ality produced an impression on the boy, all the deeper because a certain mysterious awe surrounded the mono- syllabic dream-interpreting old gentleman. His por- trait presents him in a perruque d huit Stages, with the heavy golden chain round his neck, suspending a medal given liim by the Empress Maria Theresa ; but Goethe remembered him more vividly in his dressing-gown and slippers, moving amid the flowers of his garden, weeding, training, watering; or seated at the dinner-table where on Sundays he received his guests. The mother's admirable method of cultivating the inventive activity of the boy, finds its pendant in the father's method of cultivating liis receptive faculties. He speaks with less approbation than it deserved of his father's idea of education ; probably because late in life he felt keenly his deficiencies in systematic train- 22 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE ing. But the principle upon which the father pro- ceeded was an excellent one, namely, that of exercising the intellect rather than the memory. An anecdote was dictated, generally something from every-day life, or perhaps a trait from the life of Frederick the Great ; on tliis the boy wrote dialogues and moral reflections in Latin and German. Some of these have been pre- served and published ; a glance at them shows what a mastery over Latin was achieved in his eighth year. We can never be quite certain that the hand of the master is not mingled mth that of the child ; but the very method of independence which the master through- out pursued is contrary to a supposition of his improv- ing the exercises, although the style is certainly above what even advanced pupils usually achieve. Doctor Wisemann, of Frankfort, to whom we are indebted for these exercises and compositions, written during Goethe's sixth, seventh, and eighth years, thinks there can be no doubt of thuir being the unassisted produc- tions of the boy. In one of the dialogues there is a pun which proves that the dialogue was written in Latin first and then translated into German. It is this : the child is making wax figures, his father asks him why he does not relinquish such trivialities. The word used is nuces, which, meaning triviahties in a metapliorical sense, is by the boy wilfully interpreted in its ordinary sense, as nuts — " cera nunc ludo non nucibus" — I play with wax, not with nuts. The German word iW/.s.sr means nuts sim])ly, and lias no metaphorical meaning. Here is one of his moral reflections. " Horatius and Cicero were indeed Heathens, yet more sensible than many Gliristians ; for the one says silver is baser tlian gold, gold tlian virtue ; and the otlier says notbing is so beautiful as virtue. ^loreover, many Heathens have surpassed Cliristians in virtue. Who was truer in friendship than Damon ? more generous than Alcxan- LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 23 der ? more just than Aristides ? more abstinent than Diogenes ? more patient than Socrates ? more humane than Vespasian ? more industrious than Apelles and Demosthenes ? " Platitudes these, doubtless ; but they are platitudes which serve many as the ripe maxims of maturity. They give us a notion of the boy being somewhat " old-fashioned," and they show great prog- ress in culture. His progress in Greek was remark- able, as may be seen from his published exercises. Italian he learned by listening to his father teaching Cornelia. He pretended to be occupied with his own lesson, and caught up all that was said. French, too, he learned, as the exercises testify ; and thus before he is eight, we find him writing German, French, Italian, Latin, and Greek. He was, in fact, a precocious child. This will probably startle many readers, especially if they have adopted the current notion that precocity is a sign of disease, and that marvellous children are necessarily evanescent fruits which never ripen, early blossoms which wither early. Ohservatum fere est celerius occidere festiiiatam maturitatem, says Quiutilian, in the mourn- ful passage which records the loss of his darling son ; and many a proud parent has seen his hopes frustrated by early death, or by matured mediocrity following the brilliant promise. It may help to do away with some confusion on this subject, if we bear in mind that men distinguish themselves by receptive capacity and by productive capacity ; they learn, and they invent. In men of the highest class these two qualities are united. Shakespeare and Goethe are not less remarkable for the variety of their knowledge, than for the activity of their invention. But as we call the child clever who learns liis lessons rapidly, and the child clever who shows wit, sagacity, and invention, this ambiguity of phrase has led to surprise when the child who was " so clever " at school, turns out a mediocre man ; or, 24 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE conversely, when the child who was a dunce at school, turns out a man of genius. Goethe's precocity was nothing abnormal. It was the activity of a native disposition at once greatly re- ceptive and readily productive. Through life he mani- fested the same eager desire for knowledge, and was not in the least alarmed by that bugbear of " knowledge stifling originality," which alarms some men of ques- tionable genius and unquestionable ignorance. He knew that if abundant fuel stifles miserable fires, it makes the great fire blaze. " Ein Quidam sagt : ' Ich bin von keiner Schule ; Kein Meister lebt mit dem ich buhle ; Auch bin ich weit davon entfernt Dass ich von Todten was gelernt.' Das heisst, weiin ich ihn recht verstand: ' Ich bin ein Narr auf eigne Hand ! ' " ^ In the summer of 1754 the old house was entirely rebuilt, Wolfgang officiating at the ceremony of laying the foundation, dressed as a little bricklayer. The quick, observant boy found much in this rebuilding of the paternal house to interest him ; he chatted with the workmen, learning their domestic circumstances, and learning something of the builder's art, which in after years so often occupied him. This event, more- over, led to his being sent to a friend during the restoration of the upper part of the house — for the family inhabited the house during its reconstruction, which was made story by story from the ground 1 An epigram, which may be rendered thus : — An author boasting said : " I follow none ; I owe uiy wisdom to myself alone ; To neither ancient nor to modern sage Am I indebted for a single page." — To place this b()a.sting in its ])ropfir light : Thiti author in — a Fool iu hib own Kight 1 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 25 upwards — and the event also led to his being sent to school. Viehoff thinks that Germany would have had quite another Goethe had the child been kept at a public school till he went to the university; and quotes Gervinus to the effect that Goethe's home education prevented his ever thoroughly appreciating history, and the struggles of the masses. Not accepting the doc- trine that character is formed by circumstances, I cannot accept the notion of school life affecting the poet to this extent. We have only to reflect how many men are educated at public schools without their developing a love of history or much sympathy with the masses, to see that Goethe's peculiarities must have had some other source than home education. That source lay in his character. Moreover, it is extremely questionable whether Goethe could have learned to sympathise with the masses in a school of one of the German imperial towns, where there could be no " masses," but only close corporations, ruled and ruling according to narrow and somewhat sordid ideas. From intercourse with the sons of Frankfort citizens, no patriotism, certainly no republicanism, was to be learned. Nor was the pubhc teaching, especially the historical teaching, likely to counteract this influence, or to inspire the youth with gi-eat national sympathies. Those ideas had not penetrated schools and universi- ties. History, as taught by Schiller and Heeren, was undreamed of. " When I entered at Tubingen in 1826," writes Mr. Demmler to me, " the university of Paulus, Schelling, Hegel and, in days of yore, of Melanchthon, Eeuchlin, and Kepler, traditions were still surviving of the lectures of Eosler, professor of history. In one of them, as I was told by a fellow of the college who had heard it, the old cynical skeptic said, ' As regards the Maid of Orleans, I conclude she was a cow girl, and was, moreover, on a very friendly footing with the 26 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE young officers.' Another time he said, ' Homer was a bhnd schoolmaster and wandering minstrel, and I cannot comprehend the fuss that is made about his poems.' " If this was the man who instructed Schel- liug and Hegel (1790-94), we may form some estimate of what Goethe would have heard forty years earher. One thing, however, he did learn at school, and that was disgust at schools. He, carefully trained at liome, morally as well as physically, had to mingle with schoolboys who were what most schoolboys are, — dirty, rebellious, cruel, low in their tastes and habits. The contrast was very painful to him, and he was glad when the completion of liis father's house once more enabled him to receive instruction at home. One school anecdote he relates which well illustrates his power of self-command. Fighting during school- time was severely punished. One day the teacher did not arrive at the appointed time. The boys played to- gether till the hour was nearly over, and then three of them, left alone with Wolfgang, resolved to drive him away. They cut up a broom, and reappeared with the switches. " I saw their design, but I at once resolved not to resist them till the clock struck. They began pitilessly lashing my legs. I did not stir, although the pain made the minutes terribly long. My wrath deep- ened with my endurance, and on the first stroke of the hour I grasped one of my assailants by the hair and hurled him to the ground, pressing my knee on his back ; I drew the head of the second, who attacked me behind, umler my arm and nearly tlirottled him ; with a dexterous twist I threw the third flat on the ground. Tliey bit, scratched, and kicked, liut my soul was swelhng with one feeling of revenge, and I knocked their licads together without mercy. A shout of mur- der bmught the household round us. But the scattered switches and my bleeding legs bore witness to my story." CHAPTER III. EARLY EXPERIENCES. It is profoundly false to say that " Character is formed by Circumstance," unless the phrase, with unphilosophic equivocation, include the whole com- plexity of circumstances, from Creation downwards. Character is to outward Circumstance what the Organ- ism is to the outward world : living in it, but not specially determined hy it. A wondrous variety of vegetable and animal organisms live and flourish under circumstances which furnish the means of living, but do not determine the specific forms of each organism. In the same way various characters live under iclentical circumstances, nourished by them, not formed by them. Each character assimilates, from surrounding circum- stance, that which is by it assimilable, rejectmg the rest ; just as from the earth and air the plant draws those elements which will serve it as food, rejecting the rest. Every biologist knows that circumstance has a modifying influence ; but he also knows that modifica- tions are only possible within certain limits. Abun- dance of food and peculiar treatment will modify the ferocity of a wild beast ; but it will not make the lion a lamb. I have known a cat, living at a mill, from abundance of fish food take spontaneously to the water ; but the cat was distinctively a cat, and not an otter, although she had lost her dread of water. Goethe truly says that if Raphael were to paint peas- ants at an inn he could not help making them look like Apostles, whereas Teniers would make his Apos- 28 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE ties look like Dutch boors ; each artist working accord- ing to his own inborn genius. Instead, therefore, of saying that man is the crea- ture of circumstance, it would be nearer the mark to say that man is the architect of circumstance. It is character which builds an existence out of circum- stance. Our strength is measured by our plastic power. From the same materials one man builds palaces, another hovels, one warehouses, another villas ; bricks and mortar are mortar and bricks, until the architect can make them something else. Thus it is that in the same family, in the same circumstances, one man rears a stately edifice, while his brother, vacillating and incompetent, lives for ever amid ruins : the block of granite which was an obstacle on the pathway of the weak, becomes a stepping-stone on the pathway of the strong.^ If the reader agrees with this conception of the in- fluence of circumstances, he will see that I was justi- fied in laying some stress on Goethe's social position, though I controverted Viehoff and Gervinus on the point of school education. The contraued absence of "Want is one of those permanent and powerful condi- tions which necessarily modify a character. The well- fed mastiff loses his ferocity. But the temporary and incidental effect of school education, and other circum- stances of minor importance, can never be said to modify a character ; they only more or less accelerate its development. 'The greatness or thesmallncss of a man is determined for him at his birth, as strictly as it is determined for a fruit, whether it is to be a currant or an apricot. Education, favourable circum- stances, resolution, industry, may do much, in a certain sense they do evcrythinrj ; that is to say, they determine whether the poor apricot shall fail in the form of a green bead, blighted by the east wind, and be trodden under foot ; or whether it shall expand into tender pride and sweet brightness of golden velvet. — Rus- kin, " Mftdrrn Painters,''' iii. p. 44. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 29 Goethe furnishes us with a striking illustration of the degree in which outward circumstances affect character. He became early the favourite of several eminent painters, was constantly in their ateliers, play- ing with them, and making them explain their works to him. He was, moreover, a frequent visitor at picture sales and galleries, till at last his mind became so familiarised with the subjects treated by artists, that he could at once tell what historical or Biblical subject was represented in every painting he saw. Indeed, his imagination was so stimulated by familiarity with these works, that in his tenth or eleventh year he wrote a description of twelve possible pictures on the history of Joseph, and some of his conceptions were thought worthy of being executed by artists of renown. It may be further added, in anticipation, that during the whole of his life he was thrown nmch with painters and pictures, and was for many years tormented with the desire of becoming an artist. If, therefore. Circum- stance had the power of forming talent, we ought to find him a painter. What is the fact ? The fact is that he had not the talent which makes a painter ; he had no faculty, properly speaking, for plastic art ; and years of labour, aided by the instruction and counsel of the best masters, were powerless to give him even a respectable facility. All therefore that Circumstance did in this case was to give his other faculties the opportunity of exercising themselves in art ; it did not create the special talent required. Circumstance can create no talent : it is food, not nutrition : stinmlus, not organ. Other boys, besides Goethe, heard the Lisbon earth- quake eagerly discussed ; but they had not their religious doubts awakened by it, as his were awakened in his sixth year. This catastrophe, which, in 1755, spread consternation over Europe, he has described as having greatly perturbed him. The narratives he so LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE heard of a magnificent capital suddenly smitten — churches, houses, towers, falUng with a crash — the bursting land vomiting flames and smoke — and sixty- thousand souls perishing in an instant — shook his faith in tlie beneficence of Providence. " God, the creator and preserver of heaven and earth," he says, " whom the first article of our creed declared to be so wise and benignant, had not displayed paternal care in thus consigning both the just and the unjust to the same destruction. In vain my young mind strove to resist these impressions. It was impossible ; the more so as the wise and religious themselves could not agree upon the \dew to be taken of the event." At this very time Voltaire was agitating the same doubts. " Direz-vons, en voyant cet amas de victimes : Dieu s'est \eng6, leur mort est le prix de leurs crimes? Quel crime, quelle faute ont commis ces enfans Sur le seiu materuel 6cras6s et sanglans ? Lisboune qui n'est plus, eut-elle plus de vices Que Loiulres, i\ue Paris, ploughs dans les delices? Lisboune est abim^e ; et Ton danse a Paris." We are not, however, to suppose that the child rushed hastily to such a conclusion. He debated it in his own mind as he heard it debated around him. Bettina records that on his coming one day from church, where he had listened to a sermon on the subject, in which God's goodness was justified, his father asked him wliat impression the sermon had made. " Why," said he, " it may after all be a much simpler matter than the clergyman thinks ; God knows very well that an immortal soul can receive no injury from a mortal accident." noul)ts once raised would of course recur, and the child began to settle into a serious disbehef in the be- nignity of Providence, learning to consider God as the LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 31 wrathful Deity depicted by the Hebrews. This was streugtliened by the foolish conduct of those around him, who, on the occasion of a terrible thunder-storm which shattered the windows, dragged him and his sister into a dark passage, " where the whole household, distracted with fear, tried to conciliate the angry Deity by frightful groans and prayers." Many children are thus made skeptics. The doubts which troubled Wolfgang gradually sub- sided. In his family circle he was the silent reflective listener to constant theological debates. The various sects separating from the estabhshed church all seemed to be animated by the one desire of approaching the Deity, especially through Christ, more nearly than seemed possible through the ancient forms. It occurred to liini that he, also, might make such an approach, and in a more direct way. Unable to ascribe a form to the Deity, he " resolved to seek him in his works, and in the good old Bible fashion, to build an altar to Him." For this purpose he selected some types, such as ores and other natural productions, and arranged them in symbolical order on the ranges of a music stand ; on the apex was to be a flame typical of the soul's aspira- tion, and for this a pastille did duty. Sunrise was awaited with impatience. The glittering of the house- tops gave signal ; he applied a burning-glass to the pastille, and thus was the worship consummated by a priest of seven years old, alone in his bedroom ! ^ Lest the trait just cited should make us forget that we are tracing the career of a child, it may be well to recall the anecdote related by Bettiua, who had it from his mother ; it will serve to set us right as to the childishness. One day his mother, seeing him from ^A similar auecdote is related of himself by that strange Romancist, once the idol of his day, and now almost entirely for- gotten, Restif de la Bretouue. — See " Les Illumines,'''' par Gerard de Nerval. 32 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE her window cross the street with his comrades, was amused with the gravity of his carriage, and asked, laughingly, if he meant thereby to distinguish himself from his companions. The little fellow replied, " I he- gin with this. Later on in life I shall distinguish my- self in far other ways." On another occasion he plagued her with questions as to whether the stars would perform all they had promised at his birth. " Why," said she, " must you have the assistance of the stars, when other people get on very well without ? " "I am not to be satisfied uith what does for other people ! " said the juvenile Jupiter. He had just attained liis seventh year when the Seven Years' War broke out. His grandfather espoused the cause of Austria, his father that of Frederick. This difference of opinion brought with it contentions, and finally separation between the famihes. The ex- ploits of the Prussian army were enthusiastically cited on the one side and depreciated on the other. It was an all-absorbing topic, awakening passionate partisanship. Men looked with strange feehngs on the struggle which the greatest captain of his age was maintaining against Russia, Austria, and France. The ruler of not more than five milHons of men was fighting unaided against the rulers of more than a hundred millions ; and, in spite of liis alleged violation of honour, it was difficult to hear without enthusiasm of his brilliant exploits. Courage and genius in desperate circumstances always awaken sympathy ; and men paused not to ask what justification there was for the seizure of Silesia, nor why the Saxon standards drooped in the churches of Berlin. The roar of victorious cannon stunned the judgment; the intrepid general was blindly wor- shipped. The Seven Years' War soon became a Ger- man epos. Archenholtz wrote its history (1791); and this work — noisy witli guard-room bragging and folly, the rant of a miles gloriosus turned philosophc — was LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 33 nevertheless received with enthusiasm, was translated into Latin, and read in schools in company with Tacitus and Ca'sar. This Seven Years' War was a circumstance from which, as it is thought, Goethe ought to have received some epic inspiration. He received from it precisely that which was food to his character. He caught the grand enthusiasm, but, as he says, it was th.Q, personality of the hero, rather than the greatness of his cause, which made him rejoice in every victory, copy the songs of triumph, and the lampoons directed against Austria. He learnt now the effects of party spirit. At the table of his grandfather he had to hear galling sarcasms, and vehement declamations showered on his hero. He heard Frederick " shamefully slandered." " And as in my sixth year, after the Lisbon earthquake, I doubted the beneficence of Providence, so now, on account of Frederick, I began to doubt the justice of the world." Over the doorway of the house in which he was born was a lyre and a star, announcing, as every inter- preter will certify, that a poet was to make that house illustrious. The poetic faculty early manifested itself. We have seen him inventmg conclusions for his mother's stories ; and as he gi-ew older he began to in- vent stories for the amusement of his playfellows, after he had filled his mind with images — " Lone sitting on the shores of old Romance." He had read the " Orbis Pictus," Ovid's " Metamor- phoses," Homer's Iliad in prose, Virgil in the original, " Telemachus," " Piobinson Crusoe," " Anson's Voyages," with such books as " Fortunatus," " The Wandering Jew," " The Four Sons of Aymon," etc. He also read and learned by heart most of the poets of that day : Gellert, Haller, who had really some gleams of poetry ; 34 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE and Canitz, Hagedorn, Drollinger, — writers then much beloved, now slumbering upon dusty shelves, unvisited except by an occasional historian, and by spiders of an inquiring mind. Not only did he tell stories, he wrote them also, as we gather from a touching little anecdote preserved by Bettina. The smallpox had carried off his little brother Jacob. To the surprise of liis mother, Wolf- gang shed no tears, beheving Jacob to be with God in heaven. " Did you not love your little brother, then," asked his mother, "that you do not grieve for his loss ? " He ran to his room, and from under the bed drew a quantity of papers on which he had written stories and lessons. " I had written all these that I misht teach them to him," said the child. He was then nine years old. Shortly before the death of his brother he was startled by the sound of the warder's trumpet from tlie chief tower, announcing the approach of troops. This was in January, 1759. On came the troops in continuous masses, and the rolhng tumult of their drums called all the women to the windows, and all the boys in admiring crowds into the streets. The troops were French. They seized the guard-house ; and in a little while the city was a camp. To make matters worse, these troops were at war with Frederick, whom Wolfgang and his father worshipped. They were soon billeted through the town ; and things relapsed into tlieir usual routine, varied by a military occupation. In the Goethe house an important ])erson was quartered, — Count de Thorane, the king's lieutenant, a man of taste and munificence, who assembled around him artists and celebrities, and won the aifectionate admira- tion of Wolfgang, thotigli lie failed to overcome the hatred of the old councillor. This occu]iation of Frankfort brought with it many advantages to Goethe. It relaxed the severity of LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 35 paternal book education, and began another kind of tuition, — that of life and manners. The perpetual marching through the streets, the brilliant parades, the music, the " pomp, pride, and circumstance " were not without their influence. Moreover, he now gained con- versational familiarity with French,^ and acquaintance with the theatre. The French nation always carries its " civilisation " with it, — namely, a caf^ and a tlieatre. In Frankfort both were immediately opened ; and Goethe was presented with a " free admission " to the theatre, a privilege he used daily, not always understanding, but always enjoying what he saw. In tragedy the measured rhythm, slow utterance, and abstract language enabled him to understand the play better than he understood comedy, wherein tlie language, besides moving amid the details of private hfe, was also more rapidly spoken. But at the theatre, boys are not criti- cal, and do not need to understand a play in order to enjoy it.^ A Raciiie, found upon his father's shelves, was eagerly studied, and the speeches were declaimed with more or less appreciation of their meaning. The theatre, and acquaintance with a chattering Uttle braggart, named Derones, gave him such famihar- ity with the language, that in a month he surprised his parents with his facility. This Derones was acquainted 1 He says that he hai never learned French before ; but this is erroneous, as his exercises prove. - Well do I remember, as a child of the same age, my inten.se delight at the French theatre, although certainly no three consecu- tive phrases could have been understood by me. Nay, so great was this delight, that although we regarded the French custom, of opening theatres on Sunday, with the profoundest sense of its "wickedness," the attraction became irresistible: and one Sun- day night, at Nantes, my brother and I stole into the theatre with pricking consciences. To this day I see the actors gesticulating, and hear the audience cry his! bis! rederaauding a couplet (in which we joined with a stout British encore !) ; and to this day I remember how we laughed at what we certainly understood oidy in passing glimpses. Goethe's ignorance of the language was, I am sure, no obstacle to his enjoyment. 36 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE \\-ith the actors, and introduced him " behind the scenes." At ten years of age to go " behind the scenes" means a great deal. We shall see hereafter how early he was introduced behind the scenes of life. For the present let it be noted that he was a frequenter of the greenroom, and admitted into the dressing-room where the actors and actresses dressed and undressed with philosophic disregard to appearances; and this, from repeated visits, he also learned to regard as quite natural. A grotesque scene took place between these two boys. Derones excelled, as he affirmed, in " affairs of honour." He had been engaged in several, and had always managed to disarm his antagonist, and then nobly forgive him. One day he pretended that Wolf- gang had insulted him : satisfaction was peremptorily demanded, and a duel was the result. Imagine Wolf- gang, aged twelve, arrayed in shoes and silver buckles, fine woollen stockings, dark serge breeches, green coat with gold facings, a waistcoat of gold cloth, cut out of his father's wedding waistcoat, his hair curled and powdered, his hat under his arm, and httle sword with silk sword- knot. Tliis little mannikin stands opposite his antag- onist with theatrical formality ; swords clash, thrusts come quick upon each other, the combat grows hot when the point of Deroues's rapier lodges in the bow of Wolfgang's sword-knot ; hereupon the French boy, with great magnanimity, declares that he is satisfied ! The two embrace, and retire to a caf^ to refresh themselves witli a glass of almond milk.^ Theatrical ambition, whicli stirs ns all, soon prompted Wolfgang. As a child he had imitated Terence ; he was now to make a more elaborate efibrt in the stvle of Piron. When the play was completed he submitted * To remove increilulity, it may be well to remind the reader that to tills day German youths tight out their quarrels with swords — not fists. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 37 it to Derones, who, pointing out several grammatical blunders, promised to examine it more critically, and talked of giving it his support with the manager. Wolfgang saw, in his mind's eye, the name of his play already placarded at the corners of the street ! Un- happily, Derones in his critical capacity was merciless. He picked the play to pieces, and stunned the poor author with the critical jargon of that day ; proclaimed the absolute integrity of the Three Unities, abused the English, laughed at the Germans, and maintained the sovereignty of French taste in so confident a style, that his listener was without a reply. If silenced, however, he was not convinced. It set him thinking on those critical canons. He studied the treatise on the Unities by Corneille, and the prefaces of Racine. The result of these studies was profound contempt for that system ; and it is, perhaps, to Derones that we owe something of the daring defiance of all " rule," which startled Germany in " Gotz von Berlichingen." CHAPTEE IV. VARIOUS STUDIES. At length, June, 1761, the French quitted Frank- fort ; and studies were seriously resumed. Mathe- matics, music, and drawing were commenced under paternal superintendence. For mathematics Wolf- gang had no aptitude ; for music little ; he learned to play on the harpsichord, and subsequently on the violoncello, but he never attained any proficiency. Drawing continued through life a pleasant exercise. Left now to the calm of uninterrupted studies, he made gigantic strides. Even the hours of recreation were filled with some useful occupation. He added English to his polyglot store ; and to keep up his several languages, he invented a Romance, wherein six or seven brothers and sisters scattered over tlie world corresponded with each other. The eldest describes in good German all the incidents of his travels ; his sister answers in womanly style with short sharp sentences, and nothing but full stops, much as " Siegwart" was after- ward written. Another brother studies theology, and therefore wi'ites in Latin, with postcripts in Greek. A third and a fourth, clerks at Hamburg and Marseilles, take Enghsh and French ; Italian is given to a musi- cian ; wliilc the youngest, who remains at home, writes in Jew-German. This romance led him to a more accurate study of geography. Having placed his characters in various parts of tlie globe, he was not satisfied till he had a distinct idea of these locahties, so that the objects and events should be consonant with 38 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 39 probability. While trying to master the strange dia- lect — Jew-German — he was led to the study of Hebrew. As the original language of the Old Testa- ment this seemed to him an indispensable acquisition. His father consented to give him a Hebrew master ; and although he attained no scholarship in that diffi- cult language, yet the reading, translating, and commit- ting to memory of various parts of the Bible brought out the meaning more vividly before him ; as every one will understand who compares the lasting effect produced by the laborious school reading of Sallust and Livy with the facile reading of Robertson and Hume. The Bible made a profound impression upon him. To a boy of his constitutional reflectiveness, the severe study of this book could not fail to exercise a deep and permeating influence ; nor, at the same time, in one so accustomed to think for himself, could it fail to awaken certain doubts. "The contradiction," he says, "between the actual or possible, and tradition, forcibly arrested me. I often posed my tutors with the sun standing still on Gideon, and the moon in the valley of A jalon ; not to mention other incongruities and impossibilities. All my doubts were now awakened, as in order to master the Hebrew I studied the literal version by Schmidt, printed under the text." One result of these Hebrew studies was a Biblical poem on Joseph and his brethren ; which he dictated to a poor half idiot who lived in his father's house, and who had a mania for copying or writing under dicta- tion. Goethe soon found the process of dictation of great service ; and through life it continued to be his favourite mode of composition. All his best thoughts and expressions, he says, came to him while walking ; he could do nothing seated. To these multifarious studies in Literature must be added multifarious studies of Life. The old Frankfort city with its busy crowds, its fairs, its mixed population. 40 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE and its many sources of excitement, offered great temptations, and great pasture to so desultory a genius. This is perhaps a case wherein Circumstance may be seen influencing the direction of Character. A boy of less impressionable nature, of less many-sided curi- osity, would have lived in such a city undisturbed ; some eyes would see little of the variety, some minds would be unsohcited by the exciting objects. But Goethe's desultory, because impulsive, nature found continual excitement in fresh objects ; and he was thus led to study many tilings, to grasp at many forms of life, instead of concentrating himself upon a few. A large continuity of thought and effort was perhaps radically uncongenial to such a temperament ; yet one cannot help speculating whether under other circum- stances he might not have achieved it. Had he been reared in a quiet httle old German town, where he would have daily seen the same faces in the silent streets, and come in contact with the same characters, his culture might have been less various, but it might perhaps have been deeper. Had he been reared in the country, with only the changing seasons and the sweet serenities of Nature to occupy his attention when released from study, he would certainly have been a different poet. The long summer afternoons spent in lonely rambles, the deepening twilights filled with shadowy visions, the slow uniformity of his external hfe necessarily throwing him more and more upon the subtle diversities of inward experience, would inevitably have influenced his genius in quite different directions, would have animated his works with a very different spirit. Yet who shall say that to him this would have been all gain ? Who shall say that it would not have been a loss ? For such an organisation as his the life he led was perhaps the very best. He was desultory, and the varieties of objects which solicited his attention, while they helped to encourage that tendency, also LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 41 helped to uourish his mind with images such as after- ward became the richest material for his art. At any rate, it is idle to speculate on what would have been ; we must concern ourselves with what was. The boy saw much of life, in the lower as in the upper classes. He passed from the society of the Count de Thorane, and of the artists whom the count assembled round him (from whom the boy learnt something of the technical details of painting), to the society of the Jews in the strange, old, filthy, but deeply interesting Judcngassc ; or to that of various artisans, in whose shops his curiosity found perpetual food. The Jews were doubly interesting to him : as social pariahs, over whom there hovered a mingled mystery of terror and contempt, and as descendants of the Chosen People, who preserved the language, the opinions, and many of the customs of the old Bibhcal race. He was im- pressed by their adherence to old customs ; by their steadfastness and courageous activity ; by their strange features and accents, by their bright cleverness and good nature. The pretty Jewish maidens, also, smiled agreeably upon him. He began to mingle with them ; managed to get permission to attend some of their ceremonies ; and attended their schools. As to artisans, he was all his Ufe curious about their handicrafts, and fond of being admitted into their family circles. Scott himself was not fonder of talking to one ; nor did Scott make better use of such manifold experience. Fred- erika's sister told a visitor that Goethe knew several handicrafts, and had even learned basket-making from a lame man in Sesenheim. Here in Frankfort the boy was welcome in many a shop. The jeweller, Lauten- sack, gladly admitted him to witness the mysteries of his art, while he made the bouquet of jewels for the Kaiser, or a diamond snuff-box which Rath Goethe had ordered as a present for his wife ; the boy eagerly ques- tioning him respecting precious stones, and the engrav- 42 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE ings which the jeweller possessed. Nothnagel, the painter, had established an oilcloth manufactory ; and the boy not only learned all the processes, but lent a helping hand. Besides these forms of hfe, there were others whose influence must not be overlooked ; one of these brings before us the Fraulein von Klettenberg, of whom we first get a glimpse in connection with his confirmation, wMch took place at tliis period, 1763. The readers of " Wilhelm Meister " are familiar with this gentle and ex- quisite character, where she is represented in the " Con- fessions of a Beautiful Soul," ^ In the " Confessions " we see that the " piety " and retirement are represented less as the consequences of evangehcal illumination than of moral serenity and purity shrinking from contact with a world of which it has been her fate to see the coarsest features. The real Fraulein von Klettenberg it is perhaps now impossible to separate from the ideal so beautifully painted by Goethe. On him her influ- ence was avowedly very great, both at this period and subsequently. It was not so much the effect of relig- ious discussion, as the experience it gave Mm of a deeply religious nature. She was neither bigot nor prude. Her faith was an inner light which slied mild radiance around her. ^ Moved by her influence, he wrote a series of " Religious Odes," after the fashion of that day, and greatly pleased his father by presenting them copied neatly in a quarto volume. His father begged that every year he would present him with such a volume. 1 Or as we in England, following Carlyle, have been misled into callinu it. the "Confessions of a Fair Saint." The schnne Seele — une belle dme, was one of tlie favourite epithets of the last century. Goethe applies it to Klopstock, who was neither "saint nor fair." - In Varnhagen von Ense's "Vermi.schte Schriften " (vol. iii. p. .1:]) the reader will find a few significant details respecting this remarkable person, and some of her poems. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 43 A very different sort of female influence has now to be touched on. His heart began to flutter with the emotions of love. He was not quite fifteen, when Gretchen, the sister of one of his disreputable com- panions, first set his youthful pulses throbbing to the movements of the divine passion. The story is told in a rambling way in the Autobiography, and may here be very briefly dismissed. He had often turned his poetical talents to practical purposes, namely, writing wedding and funeral verses, the money produce of wliich went in joyous feastings. In these he was almost daily thrown with Gretchen ; but she, though kind, treated him as a child, and never permitted the slightest familiarity. A merry life they led, in picnics and pleasure bouts ; and the coronation of the Kaiser Joseph II. was the occasion of increased festivities. One night, after the fatigues of a sightseeing day, the hours rolled unheeded over these thoughtless merry heads, and the stroke of midnight startled them. To his dismay, Wolfgang found he had forgotten the door- key with which hitherto he had been able to evade paternal knowledge of his late hours. Gretchen pro- posed that they should all remain together, and pass the night in conversation. This was agreed on. But, as in all such cases, the effort was vain. Fatigue weighed down their eyelids ; conversation became feebler and feebler; two strangers already slumbered in corners of the room ; one friend sat in a corner with his betrothed, her head reposing on his shoulder ; another, crossing his arms upon the table, rested his head upon them — and snored. The noisy room had become silent. Gretchen and her lover sat by the window talking in undertones. Fatigue at length conquered her also, and drooping her head upon his shoulder, she too slept. With tender pride he supported that delicious burden, till hke the rest he gave way, and slept. 44 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE It was broad day when he awoke. Gretchen was standing before a mirror arranging her cap. She smiled on him more amiably than ever she had smiled before ; and pressed his hand tenderly as he departed. But now, while he seemed drawing nearer to her, the de- nouement was at hand. Some of the joyous compan- ions had been guilty of nefarious practices, such as forgeries of documents. His friend and Gretchen were involved in the accusation, though falsely. Wolfgang had to undergo a severe investigation, which, as he was perfectly innocent, did not much afflict him ; but an affliction came out of the investigation, for Gretchen, in her deposition concerning him, said, " I will not deny that I have often seen him, and seen him with pleasure, but I treated him as a child, and my affection for him was merely that of a sister." His exasperation may be imagined. A boy aspiring to the dignity of manhood knows few things more galling than to be treated as a boy by the girl whom he has honoured with his hom- age. He suffered greatly at this destruction of his romance : nightly was his pillow wet with tears ; food became repugnant to him ; hfe, he thought, had no longer an object. But pride came to his aid ; pride and that volatility of youth, which compensates for extra-sensitiveness by extra-facility in forgetting. He threw himself into study, especially of philosophy, under guidance of a tutor, a sort of Wagner to the young Faust. This tu- tor, who preferred dusty quartos to all the landscapes in the world, used to banter him upon being a true German, such as Tacitus describes, avid of the emo- tions excited by solitude and scenery. Laughter weaned him not from the enjoyment. He was en- joying his first sorrow : the luxury of melancholy, the romance of a forlorn existence, drove him into solitude. Like Bellerophon, he fed upon his own heart, away from the haunts of men. He made frequent walking LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 45 excursions. Those mountains which from earliest child- hood had stood so distant, " haunting him like a pas- sion," were now his favourite resorts. He visited Homburg, Kronburg, Konigstein, Wiesbaden, Schwal- bach, Biberich. These filled his mind with lovely images. Severer studies were not neglected. To please his father he was dihgent in application to jurisprudence ; to please himself he was still more diligent in literature ; Morhof's " Polyhistor," Gessner's " Isagoge," and Bayle's Dictionary, filled him with the ambition to become a University professor. Herein, as, indeed, throughout his career, we see the strange impressibility of his nature, which, like the fabled chameleon, takes its colour from every tree it lies under. The melancholy fit did not last long. And he again felt a fluttering of the heart in the society of Charity Meixner, one of his sister's friends, of whom we shall catch another ghmpse during his stay at Leipsic. A circle of lively friends, among them Horn, of whom we shall hear more anon, drew him into gaiety again. Their opinion of his talents appears to have been enor- mous ; their love for him, and interest in all he did, was of the kind which followed him through life. No matter what his mood — in the wildest student-period, in the startling genius-period, and in the diplomatic- period — whatever offence his manner created, was soon forgotten in the irresistible fascination of his nature. The secret of that fascination was liis own overflowing lovingness, and Iris genuine interest in every individuality, however opposite to his own. With these imperfect glances at his early career we close this book, on his departure from home for the University of Leipsic. Before finally quitting this period, we may take a survey of the characteristics it exhibits, as some guide in our future inquiries. CHAPTEE V. THE CHILD IS FATHER TO THE MAN, As in the soft round lineaments of childhood we trace the features which after years will develop into more decided forms, so in the moral lineaments of the Child may be traced the characteristics of the Man. But an apparent solution of continuity takes place in the transition period, and the Youth is in many respects unlike what he has been in childhood, and what he will be in maturity. In youth, when the passions begin to stir, the character is made to swerve from the orbit previously traced. Passion rules the hour. Thus we often see the prudent child turn out an extravagant youth ; but he crystallises once more into prudence, as he hardens with age. This was certainly the case with Goethe, who, if he had died young, like Shelley or Keats, would have left a name among the most genial, not to say extravagant of poets ; but, who, living to the age of eighty-two, had fifty years of crystalhsation to acquire a definite figure which perplexes critics. In his childhood, scanty as the details are which enable us to reconstruct it, we see the main features of the man. And first of his manysidedness. Seldom has a boy exhibited such variety of tendencies. The multiplied activity of his life is prefigured in the' varied tendencies of his childhood. We see him as an orderly, somewhat formal, inquisitive, reasoning, deliberative child, a pre- cocious learner, an omnivorous reader, and a vigorous logician who thinks for himself ; so independent, that 46 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 47 at six jears of age he doubts the beneficence of the Creator, and at seven, doubts the competence and jus- tice of the world's judgment. He is inventive, poetical, proud, loving, volatile, with a mind open to all influ- ences, swayed by every gust, and yet, while thus swayed as to the direction of his activity, master over that activity. The most diverse characters, the most antag- onistic opinions interest him. He is very studious : no bookworm more so; alternately busy with languages, mythology, antiquities, law, philosophy, poetry, and religion ; yet he joins in all festive scenes, gets familiar vdth life in various forms, and stays out late 0' nights. He is also troubled by melancholy, dreamy moods forc- ing him ever and anon into solitude. Among the dominant characteristics, however, are seriousness, formality, rationality. He is by no means a naughty boy. He gives his parents no tremulous anxiety as to " what will become of him." He seems very much master of himself. It is this which in later years perplexed his critics, who could not recon- cile this appearance of self-mastery, this absence of expressed enthusiasm, with their conceptions of a poet. Assuredly he had enthusiasm, if ever man had it: at least, if enthusiasm (being " full of the God ") means being filled with a sublime idea, and by its light work- ing steadily. He had httle of the other kind of en- thusiasm — that insurrection of the feelings carrying away upon their triumphant shoulders the Reason which has no longer power to guide them. And hence it is that whereas the quahty which first strikes us in most poets is Emotion, with its caprices, infirmities, and generous errors ; the first quality which strikes us in Goethe — the Child and Man, but not the Youth — is Intellect, vsrith its clearness and calmness. He has also a provoking immunity from error. I say provohing, for we all gladly overlook the errors of enthusiasm : some, because these errors appeal to compassion ; and 48 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE some, because these errors establish a community of impulse between the sinner and ourselves, forming, as it were, broken edges which show us where to look for support — scars wliich tell of wounds we have escaped. But we are pitiless to the cold prudence which shames our weakness and asks no alms from our charity. Why do we all preach Prudence, and secretly dislike it ? Perhaps, because we dimly feel that life without its generous errors might want its lasting enjoyments ; and thus the very mistakes which arise from an im- prudent, unreflecting career are absolved by that instinct which suggests other aims for existence beyond prudential aims. This is one reason why the erring lives of Genius command such deathless sympathy. Having indicated so much, I may now ask those who are distressed by the calm, self-sustaining superiority of Goethe in old age, whether, on deeper reflection, they cannot reconcile it with their conceptions of the poet's nature ? We admire Eationahty, but we sympathise with Sensibihty. Our dislike of the one arises from its supposed incompatibihty with the other. But if a man unites the mastery of Will and Intellect to the profoundest sensibility of Emotion, shall we not say of him that he has in hving synthesis vindicated both what we preach and what we love ? That Goethe united these will be abundantly shown in this biog- raphy. In the chapters about to follow we shall see him wild, restless, aimless, erring, and extravagant enough to satisfy the most ardent admirer of the vaga- bond nature of genius : the Child and the ]\Ian will at times be scarcely traceable in the Youth. One trait must not be passed over, namely, his want of patience, whicli, while it prevented his ever tlioroughly mastering the technique of any one subject, lay at the Ijottom of his multiplied activity in direc- tions so opposed to each other. He was excessively impressible, caught the impulse from every surrounding LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 49 influence, and was thus never constant to one thing, because his susceptibility was connected with an im- patience which soon made him weary. There are men who learn many languages, and never thoroughly master the gi-ammar of one. Of these was Goethe. Easily excited to throw his energy in a new direction, he had not the patience which begins at the beginning and rises gradually, slowly into assured mastery. Like an eagle he swooped down upon his prey; he could not watch for it, with cat-like patience. It is to this im- patience we must attribute the fact of so many works being left fragments, so many composed by snatches during long intervals. "Prometheus," "Mahomet," "Die Naturhche Tochter," " Elpenor," "Achilleis," " Nausikaa," remain fragments. " Faust," " Egmont," " Tasso," " Iphigeuia," " Meister," were many years in hand. Whatever could be done in a few days — while the impulse lasted — was done ; longer works were spread over a series of years. Book the Second 1765 to 1771 *«In grossen Stadten lernen friih Die jiingsten Knaben was ; Dena manche Biicher lesen sie Und horen diess und dass; Vom Lieben und vom Kiissen Sie brauchen's nicht zu wissen; Und mancher ist im zwoflten Jahr Fast kliiger als sein Vater war Da er die Mutter nahm." " Q5ser taught me that the Ideal of Beauty is Simplicity and liepose, and thence it follows that no youth can be a Master." 51 CHAPTEE I. THE LEIPSIC STUDENT. In the month of October, 1765, Goethe, aged six- teen, arrived in Leipsic, to commence his collegiate hfe, and to lay, as he hoped, the sohd foundation of a future professorship. He took lodgings in the Feuer- kugel, between the Old and New Markets, and was by the rector of the university inscribed on the 19th as student " in the Bavarian nation." At that period, and until quite recently, the university was classed accord- ing to four " nations," viz., the Meisnian, the Saxon, the Bavarian, and the Polish. When the inscription was official, the " nations " were what in Oxford and Paris are called " tongues ; " when not official, they were students' clubs, such as they exist to this day. Goethe, as a Frankforter, was placed in the Bavarian.^ If the reader has any vivid recollection of the Leip- sic chapters in the Autobiography, let me beg him to dismiss them wath all haste from his mind ; that very work records the inabihty of recalling the enchanting days of youth " with the dimmed powers of an aged mind ; " and it is evident that the calm narrative of his Excellency J. W, von Goethe very inaccurately repre- sents the actual condition of the raw, wild student, just escaped from the paternal roof, with money which seems uuHmited, with the world before him which liis genius is to conquer, His own letters, and the letters lotto Jahn, in the "Briefe an Lcipzicer Freundc," p. 9. A translation of these interesting letters has been published by Mr. Robert Slater, Junior. 53 54 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE of his friends, enable us " to read between the lines " of the Autobiography, and to read there a very different account. He first presented himself to Hofrath Bohme, a genuine German professor, shut within the narrow cir- cle of his specialty. To him, hterature and the fine arts were trivialities ; so that when the confiding youth confessed his secret ambition of studying belles-lettres, in heu of the jurisprudence commanded by his father, he met with every discouragement. Yet it was not difficult to persuade this impressible student that to rival Otto and Heineccius was the true ambition of a vigorous mind. He set to work in earnest, at first, as students usually do on arriving at seats of learning. His attendance at the lectures on philosophy, history of law, and jurisprudence, was assiduous enough to have pleased even his father. But this flush of eagerness quickly subsided. Logic was invincibly repugnant to him. He hungered for reahties, and could not be sat- isfied with definitions. To see operations of his mind, which from childhood upwards had been conducted with perfect ease and unconsciousness, suddenly pulled to pieces, in order that he might gain the superfluous knowledge of what they were, and what they were called, was to him tiresome and frivolous. " I fancied I knew as much about God and the world as the pro- fessor himself, and logic seemed in many places to come to a dead standstill." We are here on the threshold of that experience which lias been immortalised in the scene between Mephistopheles and the Student. Juris- prudence soon became almost equally tiresome. He already knew as much law as the professor thought proper to communicate ; and what with the tedium of the lectures, and the counter-attraction of delicious fritters, which used to come " hot from the pan, pre- cisely at the hour of lecture," no wonder that volatile Sixteen soon abated attendance. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 55 Volatile he was, wild, and somewhat rough, both in appearance and in speech. He had brought with him a wild, uneasy spirit struggling toward the Hght. He had also brought \vith him the rough manners of Frank- fort, the strong Frankfort dialect and colloquialisms, rendered still more unfit for the Leipsic salon by a mixture of proverbs and Bibhcal allusions. Nay, even his costume was in unpleasant contrast with that of the society in which he moved. He had an ample wardrobe, but unhappily it was doubly out of fashion : it had been manufactured at home by one of his father's servants, and thus it was not only in the Frankfort style, but grotesquely made in that style. To complete his discomfiture, he saw a favourite low comedian throw an audience into fits of laughter by appearing on the stage dressed precisely in that costume, which he had hitherto worn as the latest novelty ! All who can remember the early humiliations of being far be- hind their companions in matters of costume will sym- patliise with this youth. From one of his letters, written shortly after his arrival, we may catch a ghmpse of him. " To-day I have heard two lectures : Bohme on law, and Ernesti on Cicero's ' Orator.' That'll do, eh ? Next week we have collegium philosophicum et mathematicum. I haven't seen Gottsched yet. He is married again. She is nineteen, and he sixty- five. She is four feet high, and he seven feet. She is as thin as a herring, and he as broad as a feathersack. I make a great figure here ! But as yet I am no dandy. I never shall become one. I need some skill to be industrious. In society, concerts, theatre, f eastings, promenades, the time flies. Ha ! it goes gloriously. But also expensively. The devil knows how my purse feels it. Hold ! rescue ! stop ! There go two louis d'or. Help ! there goes another. Heavens ! another couple are gone. Pence are here as farthings are with you. Nevertheless one can live cheaply here. So I hope to 56 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE get off with two hundred thaler s — what do I say ? with three hundred. N. B. Not including what has already gone to the devil." Dissatisfied with college, he sought instruction else- where. At the table where he dined daily, kept by Hofrath Ludwig, the rector, he met several medical students. He heard little talked of but medicine and botany, and the names of Haller, Linnaeus, and Buff on were incessantly cited with respect. His ready quick- ness to interest himself in all that interested those around him threw him at once into these studies, which hereafter he was to pursue with passionate ar- dour, but which at present he only lightly touched. Another source of instruction awaited him, one which through life he ever gratefully acknowledged, namely, the society of women. " Willst du genau erfahren was sich ziemt, So frage nur bei edlen Frauen an ! " ^ So he speaks in " Tasso ; " and here, in Leipsic, he was glad to learn from !Frau Bohme not only some of the requisites for society, but also some principles of poetic criticism. This delicate, accomphshed woman was able to draw him into society, to teach him I'ombre and piquet, to correct some of his awkwardness, and lastly to make him own that the poets he admired were a deplorable set, and that his own imitations of them de- served no better fate than the tiames. He had got rid of his absurd wardrobe at one fell swoop, without a murmur at the expense. He now had also to cast away the poetic wardrobe brought from home with pride. He saw that it was poetic frippery — saw that his own poems were lifeless ; accordingly, a holocaust was made of all his writings, prose and verse, and the kitchen fire wafted them into space. ^ " Wouldst clearly learn what the Becoming is, inquire of noble-minded women ! " LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 57 But society became vapid to him at last. He was not at his ease. Cards never amused him, and poetical discussion became painful. " I have not written a long while," he writes to his friend Riese. " Forgive me. Ask not after the cause ! It was not occupation, at all events. You live contented in Marburg ; I hve so here. Solitary, sohtary, quite soHtary. Dear Riese, this solitude has awakened a certain sadness in my soul : <' ' It is my only pleasure Away from all the world, To lie beside the streamlet, And think of tliose 1 love.' But contented as I am, I still feel the want of old com- panions. I sigh for my friends and my maiden, and when I feel that my sighs are vain — " ' Then fills my heart with sorrow, — My eye is dim ; The stream which softly passed me Roars now in storm. No bird sings in the bushes, The zephyr which refreshed me Now storms from the north. And whirls off the blossoms. AVith tremor I fly from the spot, — I fl)^ and seek in deserted sti'eets Sad solitude.' Yet how happy I am, quite happpy ! Horn has drawn me from low spirits by his arrival. He wonders why I am so changed. ^o^ " ' He seeks to find the explanation, Smiling thinks o'er it, looks me in the face ; But how can he find out my cause of grief? I know it not myself.' But I must tell you something of myself : " ' Quite other wishes rise within me now. Dear friend, from those you liave been wont to hear. 58 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE Yon know how seriously T wooed the Muse ; With what a hate I scorned those whom the Law And not the Muses beckoned. And you know How fondly I (alas! most falsely) hojaed The Muses loved me, — gave me gift of song! My Lyre sounded many a lofty song, But not the Muses, not Apollo sent them. True, it is my pride made me believe The gods descended to me, and no Master Produced more perfect works than mine ! No sooner came I here, than from my eyes Fell off the scales, as I first learned to prize Fame, and the mighty efforts fame required. Then seemed to me my own ambitious flight But as the agitation of a worm, Who in the dust beholds the eagle soar. And strives to reach him; strains every nerve, Yet only agitates the dust he lies in. Sudden the wind doth rise, and whirls the dust In clouds, the worm is also raised with it : Then the poor worm believes he has the wings Of eagles, raising him too in the air ! But in another moment lulls the wind, The cloud of dust drops gently on the ground. And with the dust the worm, who crawls once more ! ' Don't be angry with ray galimathias. Good-bye. Horn will finish this letter." Not only is this letter curious in its revelations of his state of mind, but the verses into which it spontane- ously flows, and which I have translated with more jealous fidelity to the meaning than to poetical repro- duction, show how among his friends he was even tlien regarded as a future poet. The confession uttered in his final verses clearly owes its origin to Frau Bohme's criticisms ; but it is not every young poet who can be so easily discouraged. Even his discourngement could not last long. Schlosser, afterward liis brother-in-law, came to Leipsic, and by his preaching and example once more roused the productive activity which showed itself in German, French, P^nglish and Itahan verses. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 59 Schlosser, who was ten years his senior, not only- awakened emulation by his own superior knowledge and facility, but further aided him by introducing him to a set of literary friends with whom poetic discus- sions formed the staple of conversation. This circle met at the house of one Schdukopf, a Wcinhamllcr and Hauswirth, living in the Briihl, No. 79.^ To trans- late these words into EngHsh equivalents would only mislead the reader. Schonkopf kept neither an hotel, nor a pubhc-house, but what in Germany is a substitute for both. He sold wine, and kept a table-d'hote ; occasionally also let bedrooms to travellers. His wife, a lively, cultivated woman, belonging to a good family in Frankfort, drew Frankfort visitors to the house ; and with her Goethe soon became on terms of intimacy, which would seem surprising to the English reader who only heard of her as an innkeeper's wife. He became one of the family, and fell in love with the daughter. I must further beg the reader to understand that in Germany, to this day, there is a wide difference between the dining customs and our own. The English student, clerk, or bachelor, who dines at an eating-house, chop- house, or hotel, goes there simply to get his dinner, and perhaps look at the Times. Of the other diners he knows nothing, cares little. It is rare that a word is interchanged between him and his neighbour. Quite otherwise in Germany. There the same society is generally to be found at the same table. The table- d'hote is composed of a circle of hahitues, varied by occasional visitors, who in time become, perhaps, mem- bers of the circle. Even with strangers conversation is freely interchanged ; and in a little while friendships are formed over these dinner-tables, according as natural taste and likings assimilate, which, extending beyond the mere hour of dinner, are carried into the 1 The house still stands there, but has been almost entirely re- modelled. 6o LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE current of life. Germans do not rise so hastily from the table as we ; for time with them is not so precious ; life is not so crowded ; time can be found for quiet after-dinner talk. The cigars and coffee, which appear before the cloth is removed, keep the company to- gether ; and in that state of suflused comfort which quiet digestion creates, they hear without anger the opinions of antagonists. In such a society must we imagine Goethe in the Schonkopf establishment, among .students and men of letters, all eager in advanc- ing their own opinions, and combating the false taste which was not their own. To complete this picture, and to separate it still more from our English customs, you must imagine host and hostess dining at the table, while their charming daugh- ter, who had cooked or helped to cook the dinner, brought them the wine. This daughter was the Anna Katharina, by intimates called Kathchen, and by Goethe, in the Autobiography, designated as Annchen and Annette. Her portrait, still extant, is very pleas- ing. She was then nineteen, lively, and loving ; how could she be insensible to the love of this glorious youth, in all the fervour of genius, and with all the attractions of beauty ? Insensible she was not, Imt be- ing three years older and of a lively satirical turn, she rather played with and plagued him, than suffered her affections to be ensnared. They saw each other daily, not only at dinner but in the evenings, when he accom- panied the piano of her brother by a fee])le performance on the flute. They also got up private theatricals, in which Goethe and Kiithchen played the lovers. " Minna von Barnhelm," then a novelty, was among the pieces performed. That these performances were of a strictly amateur order may be gathered from the fact tliat in one of them the part of a nightingale, which is impor- tant, was represented by a handkerchief, rolled up into such ornithological resemblance as art could reach. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 6i Two letters, quite recently discovered, have falleu into my hands ; ^ they give us a curious glimpse of him at this time, such as one may look for in vain in his own account of himself, or in the accounts of any other writer. They are from his friend Horn, whose arrival he mentioned in the letter previously quoted, and who was one of his daily companions in Frankfort. The first is dated 12th of August, 1766, and is addressed to one Moors, a Frankfort companion. " To speak of our Goethe ! He is still the same proud, fantastic personage as when I came hither. If you only saw him, you would either be mad Nvith anger or you would burst with laughter. I cannot at all understand how a man can so quickly transform him- self. His manners and his whole bearing, at present, are as different as possible from his former behaviour. Over and above his pride, he is a dandy ; and all his clothes, handsome as they are, are in so odd a taste that they make liim conspicuous among all the students. But this is indifferent to him ; one may remonstrate with him for his folly as much as one hkes — " ' Man mag Amphion seyii und Fold und Wald bezwingen, Nur keinen Goethe nicht kaiui man zur Klugheit bringen.' - All his thought and effort is only to please himself and his lady-love. In every circle he makes himself more ridiculous than agreeable. Merely because the lady admires it, he has put on tricks and gestures that one cannot possibly refrain from laughing at. He has adopted a walk which is quite insufferable. If you only saw it ! " ' 11 marche a pas compt^s, Comma un Recteur suivi des quatre Facult^s.' 1 Since printed in tiie work cited, on page 37. 2 "One may be Amphion and coerce the trees and rocks, but not bring Goethe to his senses." 62 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE His society is every day more intolerable to me, and he, too, tries to avoid me whenever he can. I am too plain a man for him to walk across the street with me. What would the ' king of Holland ' say if he saw him in this guise ? Do write again to him soon and tell him your opinion ; else he and his lady-love will remain as silly as ever. Heaven only preserve me, as long as I am here, from any sweetheart, for the women here are the very devil. Goethe is not the first who has made a fool of himself to please his Dulcinea. I only wish you could see her just for once : she is the most absurd creature in the world. Her mine coquette avec un air hautain is all with which she has bewitched Goethe. Dear friend ! how glad should I be if Goethe were still what he was in Frankfort ■ Good friends as we were formerly, we can now scarcely endure each other for a quarter of an hour. Yet with time I still hope to convert him, though it is a hard matter to make a coxcomb wise. But I will venture everything for the sake of it. " ' Ach I friichtete dies mein Bemiihn ! Ach I konnt' ich meinen Zweck erreichen ! Ich wollt' nicht Luther, nicht Calvin, Noch eineni der Bekehrer weichen.' ^ I cannot write to him again what I have here told you. I shall be delighted if you will do so. I care neither for his auger nor for that of liis lady-love. For, after all, he is not easily offended with me ; even when we have quarrelled he sends for me next day. So much of him ; more another time. " Live and forget not thy Horn." Moors followed Horn's ad\dce, and expressed to Goethe, apparently in very plain terms, his astonish- 1 " Ah, if lay attempt succeed, I shall not envy Luther, Calvin, nor any other Converter." LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 63 ment and dissatisfaction at the disadvantageous change. In October of the same year, he received from Horn the following explanation : " But, dear Moors ! how glad you will be to learn that we have lost no friend in our Goethe, as we falsely supposed. He had so travestied liimself as to deceive not only me but a gi-eat many others, and we should never have discovered the real truth of the matter, if your letter had not threatened him with the loss of a friend. I must tell you the whole story as he himself told it to me, for he has commissioned me to do so in order to save him the trouble. He is in love it is true — he has confessed it to me, and will confess it to you ; but his love, though his cir- cumstances are sad, is not culpable, as I formerly supposed. He loves. But not that young lady whom I suspected him of loving. He loves a girl beneath him in rank, but a girl whom — I think I do not say too much — you would yourself love if you saw her. I am no lover, so I shall write entirely without passion. Imagine to yourself a woman, well-grown though not very tall ; a round, agreeable, though not extraordinarily beautiful face ; open, gentle, engaging manners ; a very pretty understanding, without having had any great education. He loves her very tenderly, with the per- fect, honest intentions of a virtuous man, though he knows that she can never be his. Whether she loves him in return I know not. You know, dear Moors, that is a point about which one cannot well ask ; but this much I can say to you, that they seem to be born for each other. Now observe his cunning! That no one may suspect him of such an attachment, he under- takes to persuade the world of precisely the opposite, and hitherto he has been extraordinarily successful. He makes a great parade and seems to be paying court to a certam young lady of whom I have told you before. He can see his beloved and converse with her at certain 64 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE times without giving occasion for the slightest suspicion, and I often accompany him to her. If Goethe were not my friend, I should fall in love with her myself. Meanwhile he is supposed to be in love with the Frau- lein ■ (but what do you care about her name ?) and people are fond of teasing him about her. Perhaps she herself believes that he loves her, but the good lady de- ceives herself. Since that time he has admitted me to closer confidence, has made me acquainted with liis affairs, and shown me that his expenditure is not so great as might be supposed. He is more of a philosopher and moralist than ever ; and innocent as his love is, he nevertheless disapproves it. We often dispute about this, but let him take what side he will, he is sure to win ; for you know what weight he can give to only apparent reasons. I pity him and his good heart, which really must be in a very melancholy condition, since he loves the most virtuous and perfect of girls without hope. But if we suppose that she loves him in return, how miserable must he be on that very account ! I need not explain that to you, who so well know the human heart. He has told me that he will write you one or two things about it himself. There is no necessity for me to recommend silence to you on this subject ; for you yourself see how necessary it In his little poem, " Der Wahre Genuss," he says, " She is perfect, and her only fault is — that she loves me : " " Sie ist vollkommen, und sie fehlet Darin alleiii dass sie mich liebt." And he wishes us to believe that he teased her with trifles and idle .suspicions; was jealous without cause, convinced without reason ; plagued her with fantastic quarrels, till at last her endurance was exhausted, and her love was washed away in tears. No sooner was he aware of this, than he repented, and tried to recover LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 65 the jewel which like a prodigal he had cast away. In vain. He was in despair, and tried in dissipation to forget his grief. This is his version of the affair given in the Auto- biography, but by the evidence of his letters it is clear that it was not he who trifled with her affections, but she who played with him. It was not he who was inclined to escape when he found her love secured ; he never did secure it. " Erringen will der Mensch ; er mil nicht sicher seyn." ("Man loves to conquer, not to feel secure.") As he truly says,. in the little piece wherein he drama- tises this episode ; but the truth is often as applicable to woman as to man. At any rate, we know from the poet's own letters that it was Kiithchen who teased and laughed at him, and it was in reality his own tor- ments that he dramatised. If we reverse the positions, we may read in some of his lyrics the burden of this experience. One entire play, or pastoral, is devoted to a poetical representation of these lovers' quarrels : this is " Die Laune des Ver- liebten," which is very curious as the earliest extant work of the great poet, and as the earliest specimen of his tendency to turn experience into song. In the opera of " Erwin uud Elmire " he subsequently treated a similar subject, in a very different manner. The first effort is the more curious of the two. The style of composition is an imitation of those pastoral dramas, wliich, originated by Tasso and Guarini in the soft and almost luscious " Aminta " and " Pastor Fido," had by the French been made popular all over Europe. Two happy and two unhappy lovers are somewhat artificially contrasted ; the two latter representing Kathchen and the poet. Action there is none ; the piece is made up of talk about love, some felicitous verses of the true stamp and ring, and an occasional 66 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE glimpse of insight into the complexities of passion. Eridon, the jealous lover, torments his mistress in a style at once capricious and natural ; with admirable truth she deplores his jealousy and excuses it : " Zwar oft betriibt er mich, doch riihrt ihn auch mein Schmerz. Wirft er rair etwas vor, fangt er mich an zu plagen, So darf ich nur eiu Wort, ein gutes Wort nur sagen, Gleich ist er umgekehrt, die wilde Zanksucht flieht, Er weint sogar mit mir, weun er mich weinen sieht.^ It is admirably said that the very absence of any cause for grief prompts him to create a grief : " Da er kein Elend hat, will er sich Elend machen." Amine is also touched with a delicate pencil. Her lovingness, forgivingness, and endurance are true to hfe. Here is a couplet breathing the very tenderness of love : " Der Liebe leichtes Band machst du zum schweren Joch. Du qiialst mich als Tyrann ; und ich ? ich lieb dich noch ! " ^ One more line and I have done : Egl^ is persuading Eridon that Amine's love of dancing is no trespass on her love for him ; since, after having enjoyed her dance, her first thought is to seek him: " Und durch das Suchen selbst ivirsi du ihr immer lieber." ^ In such touches as these lurks the future poet ; still more so in the very choice of the subject. Here, as ever, he does not cheat himself with pouring feigned 1 " 'Tis true he vexes me, and yet my sorrow pains him. Yet let him but reproach — begin to tease nie, Then need I but a word, a single kind word utter. Away flics all his anger in a moment. And he will weep with me, because he sees me weep." 2 " The fairy liTik of Love thou raak'st a galling yoke. Thou trcat'st me ;is a slave ; and I ? I love thee still ! " 3 " And in the very search her heart grows fonder of thee." LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 67 sorrows into feigning verse : he embalms his own ei:penence. He does not trouble himself with drawing characters and events from the shelves of the hbrary : his soul is the fountain of his inspiration. His own hfe was uniformly the text from which he preached. He sang what he had felt, and because he had felt it ; not because others had sung before him. He was the echo of no man's joys and sorrows, he was the lyrist of his own. This is the reason why his poems have an endless charm : they are as indestructible as passion itself. They reach our hearts because they issue from his. Every bullet hits the mark, according to the huntsman's superstition, if it have first been dipped in the marksman's blood. He has told us, emphatically, that all his works are hut fragments of the grand confession of his life. Of him we may say what Horace so well says of Lucilius, that he trusted his secrets to books as to faithful friends : " Ille velut fidis arcana sodalibus olim Credebat libris ; neqiie, si male cesserat, unquam Decurrens alio, neque si bene: quo ft, ut omnis Votiva patent veluti descripta tahella Vita senis." ^ How clearly he saw the nullity of every other pro- cedure is shown in various passages of his letters and conversations. Riemer has preserved one worth select- ing : " There will soon be a poetry without poetry, a real ■n-oL-qa-L's, where the subject-matter is iv iroi-qcru, in the making : a manufactured poetry." ^ He dates from 1 Horace : lib. it. 1. - '■'• Briefe von und an Goethe." Herausge?. von Riemer. 1846. What follows is untranslatable, from the play on words: "Die Dichtee heissen dann so, wie schon Moritz spasste, a spissando, densando, vom Dichtm;v:aen, well sie Alles zusammendriingen, und kommen mir vor wie eine Art Wurstmacher. die in den Darm des Hexamete;'d oder Trimeters ihre Wort und Sylbenftillo stopfen." / / 68 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE Leipsic the origin of his own practice, which he says was a tendency he never could deviate from all his hfe : " namely, the tendency to transform into an image, a poem, everything which delighted or troubled me, or otherwise occupied me, and to come to some distinct uuderstauding with myself upon it, to set my inward being at rest." The reason he gives for this tendency is very questionable. He attributes it to the isolation in which he lived with respect to matters of taste, forcing him to look within for poetical subjects. But had not the tendency of his genius lain in that direc- tion, no such circumstances could have directed it. Young, curious, and excitable as he was, nothing is more natural than that he should somewhat shock the respectabihties by his pranks and extravagances. His constant companion was Behrisch, one of the most in- teresting figures among these Leipsic friends. With strongly marked features and a certain dry causticity of manner, always well dressed, and always preserving a most staid demeanour, Behrisch, then about thirty years of age, had an ineradicable love of fun and mystification. He could treat trifles with an air of im- mense importance. He would invent narratives about the perversity and absurdity of others, in order to con- vulse his hearers with the unction of his philippics against such absurdity. He was fond of dissipation, into which he carried an air of supreme gravity. He rather affected the French style of politesse, and spoke the language well ; and, above all, he had some shrewd good sense, as a buttress for all his follies. Behrisch introduced him to some damsels who " were better than their reputation," and took liini into scenes more useful to the future poet than advantageous to the repute of the young student. He also laughed him out of all respect for gods, goddesses, and other mythological inanities which still pressed their heavy dulness on his verse ; would not let him commit the imprudence of LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 69 rushing into print, but calmed the author's longing, by beautifully copying his verses into a volume, adorning them with vignettes. Behrisch was, so to speak, the precursor of Merck ; his influence not so great, but somewhat of the same kind. The friends were dis- pleased to see young Goethe falling thus away from good society into such a disreputable course ; but just as Lessing before him had neglected the elegant Leip- sic- world for actors and authors of more wit than money, and preferred Mylius, with his shoes down at heel, to all that the best-dressed society could offer ; so did young Goethe neglect salon and lecture-hall for the many-coloured scene of life in less elegant circles. Eulightened by the result, we foresee that the poet will receive httle injury from these sources: he is gaining experience ; and experience even of the worst sides of human nature will be sublimated into noble uses, as carrion by the wise farmer is turned into excellent manure. In this great drama of hfe every theatre has its greenroom; and unless the poet know how it is behind the scenes he will never understand how actors speak and move. Goethe had often been " behind the scenes," looking at the skeleton which stands in almost every house. His adventure with Gretchen, and its consequences, early opened his eyes to the strange gulfs which lie under the crust of society. " Eehgion, morals, law, rank, habits," he says, " rule over the svrfacc of social life. Streets of magnificent houses are kept clean; every one outwardly conducts himself with propriety ; but the disorder within is often only the more deso- late ; and a polished exterior covers many a wall which totters, and falls with a crash during the night, all the more terrible because it falls during a calm. How many families had I not more or less distinctly known in which bankruptcy, divorce, seduction, murder, and robbery had wrought destruction ! Young as I was, I 70 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE had often, in such cases, lent my succour ; for as my frankness awakened confidence, and my discretion was known, and as my activity did not shun any sacrifice — indeed, rather preferred the most perilous occasions — I had frequently to mediate, console, and try to avert the storm ; in the course of which I could not help learning many sad and humiliating facts." It was natural that such sad experience should at first lead him to view the whole social fabric with con- tempt. To reheve himself, he — being then greatly captivated with Moliere's works — sketched the plans of several dramas ; but their plots were so uniformly un- pleasant, and the catastrophes so tragic, that he did not work out these plans. " The Fellow Sinners " {Die Mit- schuldigen) was sketched, though not completed till the next year during his convalescence at home. The piece now printed among his works is no doubt greatly altered from the original ; and since what we have is the piece rearranged for the Weimar stage in 1776, and no copy of the original is extant, we are entirely at a loss in forming a judgment of the amount of dra- matic maturity and literary facility it may have exhib- ited as the production of a youth of eighteen. It can only be relied on as indicating the direction of his mind. The choice of the subject and the characters we must assign to this period, however little of the original treatment may remain. Few, in England at least, ever read it ; yet such as we have it now, it is worth a rapid glance, is lively, and strong with effect- ive situations and two happily sketched characters — Soller, the scampish husband, and his father-in-law, the inquisitive landlord. The plot is briefly this: Soller's wife — before she became his wife — loved a certain Alcest ; and her husband's conduct is not such as to make her forget her former lover, who, at the opening of the play, is residing in her fathin's hotel. Alcest prevails upon her to grant him an interview in LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 71 his own room, while lier husband Soller, is at the masquerade. Unluckily, Soller has determined to rob Alcest that very night. He enters the room by stealth — opens the escritoire — takes the money — is alarmed by a noise — hides himself in an alcove, and then sees his father-in-law, the landlord, enter the room ! The old man, unable to resist a burning curiosity to know the contents of a letter wliich Alcest has received that day, has come to read it in secret. But he in turn is alarmed by the appearance of his daughter, and, letting the candle fall, he escapes. Soller is now the exasper- ated ■VNitness of an interview between Alcest and his wife : a cituation which, hke the whole of the play, is a mixture of the ludicrous and the painful — very dramatic and very unpleasant. On the following day the robbery is discovered. Sophie thinks the robber is her father : he returns her the compliment — nay, more, stimulated by his eager curiosity, he consents to inform Alcest of his suspicion in return for the permission to read the contents of the mysterious letter. A father sacrificing his daughter to gratify a paltry curiosity is too gi-oss ; it is the only trait of juvenility in the piece — a piece otherwise pre- maturely old. Enraged at such an accusation, Sophie retorts the charge upon her father, and some unamiable altercations result. The piece winds up by the self- betrayal of Soller, who, intimating to Alcest that he was present during a certain nocturnal interview, shields himself from punishment. The moral is — " Forget and forgive among fellow sinners." CHAPTEE II. MENTAL CHAKACTERISTICS. The two dramatic works noticed toward the close of the last chapter may be said to begin the real poetic career of their author, because in them he drew from his actual experience. They will furnish us with a text for some remarks on his peculiar characteristics, the distinct recognition of which will facilitate the comprehension of his life and writings. We make a digression, but the reader will find that in thus swerv- ing from the direct path, we are only tacking to fill our sails with wind. Frederick Schlegel (and after him Coleridge) aptly said that every man was born either a Platonist or an Aristotelian. This distinction is often expressed in the terms suhjcctive and objective intellects. Perhaps we shall best define these by calling the objective intellect one which is eminently mipersojial, and the subjective intellect one which is eminently personal ; the former disengaging itself as much as possible from its own prepossessions, striving to see and represent objects as they exist ; the other viewing all objects in the hght of its own feelings and preconceptions. It is needless to add that no mind can be exclusively objec- tive, nor exclusively subjective ; but every mind has a more or less dominant tendency in one of these direc- tions. We see the contrast in Philosophy, as in Art. The realist argues from Nature upwards, starting from reality, and never long losing siglit of it, but even in the adventurous flights of hypothesis and speculation 72 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 73 striving to make his hypothesis correspond with real- ities. The ideahst starts from some conception, and seeks in reahties only visible illustrations of a deeper existence. The achievements of modern Science, and the masterpieces of Art, prove that the grandest gen- eralisations and the most elevated types can only be reached by the former method ; and that what is called the " ideal school," so far from having the supe- riority which it claims, is only more lofty in its pre- tensions ; the realist, with more modest pretensions, achieves loftier results. The Objective and Subjective, or, as they are also improperly called, the Eeal and Ideal, are thus contrasted as the termini of two oppo- site lines of thought. In Philosophy, in Morals, and in Art, we see a constant antagonism between these two tendencies. Thus in Morals the Platonists are those who seek the highest morality o%it of human nature, instead of in the healthy development of all human tendencies, and their due coordination; they hope, in the suppression of integral faculties, to attain some superhuman standard. They superpose ah extra, instead of trying to develop ah intra. They draw from their own minds, or from the dogmas handed to them by tradition, the notion of a mould, into wliich they attempt to fuse the activity of Nature. If this school had not in its favour the imperious instinct of progress, and aspirations after a better, it would not hold its ground. But it satisfies that crav- ing, and thus deludes many minds into acquiescence. The poetical and enthusiastic disposition most readily acquiesces : preferring to overlook what man is, in its delight of contemplating what the poet makes him. To such a mind all conceptions of man must have a halo round them — half mist, half sunshine ; the hero must be a Demigod, in whom no valet de chamhre can find a failing : the villain must be a Demon, for whom no charity can find an excuse. 74 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE Not to extend this to a dissertation, let me at once say that Goethe belonged to the objective class. " Everywhere in Goethe," said Franz Horn, " you are on firm land or island ; nowhere the infinite sea." A better characterisation was never written in one sen- tence. In every page of his works may be read a strong feeling for the real, the concrete, the living ; and a repugnance as strong for the vague, the abstract, or the supersensuous. His constant striving was to study Nature, so as to see her directly, and not through the mists of fancy, or through the distortions of preju- dice — to look at men, and into them — to apprehend things as they were. In his conception of the uni- verse he could not separate God from it, placing God above it, beyond it, as the philosophers did who repre- sented God whirling the universe round his finger, " seeing it go." Such a conception revolted him. He animated the universe with God; he animated fact with divine life ; he saw in Eeahty the incarnation of the Ideal ; he saw in Morality the high and harmoni- ous action of all human tendencies ; he saw in Art the highest representation of Life. Nature, Nature, Nature, is everywhere the burden of his striving. It was to him an inexhaustible mystery and delight ; its com- monest details were of divine significance. To over- look and undervalue the facts of Nature, and to fix attention on fleeting personal impressions, or purely individual fancies, was a sign of decadence at every period of history. "No one merits the name of a poet, nor of a philosopher, unless he can assimilate Nature, and paint it or explain it." He boasted that, unlike so many of his contemporaries, he had " never thought about tliinking;" and had carefully avoided mingling his personality with the great impersonality of Nature. His vision was all directed outwards. If we look through his works with critical attention, we shall observe the objective tendency determining — LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 75 first, his choice of subjects ; secondly, his handling of character ; and, thirdly, his style. Intimately con- nected with this concreteness is another characteristic of his genius. His imagination was not, like that of many poets, incessantly at work in the combination and recombination of images which could be accepted for their own sake. It demanded the confrontation with fact ; it moved with ease only on the secure ground of Reality. In science there are men whose active imaginations carry them into hypothesis and speculation, all the more easily because they do not bring hypothesis to the stern test of fact. The mere delight in combining ideas suffices them: provided the deductions are logical, they seem almost indifferent to their truth. There are poets of this order; indeed most poets are of this order. Goethe was of a quite opposite tendency. In him an imperious desire for reahty controlled the errant facility of imagination. " The first and last thing demanded of Genius," he says, " is love of truth." Hence we see why he was led to portray men and women instead of demigods and angels ; no Posas and Theklas, but Egmonts and Clarchens. Hence also his portraitures carry their moral with them, in them, but have no moral superposed, — no accompanying verdict as from some outside judge. His drama is without a chorus. Further, — and this is a point to be insisted on, — his style both in poetry and prose, is subject to the same law. It is \avid with pictures, but it has scarcely any extraneous imagery. Most poets describe object by metaphors or comparisons ; Goethe seldom tells you what an object is lihe, he tells you what it is. Shakespeare is very unlike Goethe in this respect. The prodigal luxuriance of his imagery often entangles, in its overgrowth, the movement of his verse. It is true, he also is eminently concrete ; he sees the real object vividly, and he makes us see it vividly ; but he 76 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE scarcely ever paints it save in the colours of metaphor and simile. Shakespeare's imagery bubbles up like a perpetual spring : to say that it repeatedly overfioivs, is only to say that his mind was lured by its own sirens away from the direct path. He did not master his Pegasus at all times, but let the wild careering creature take its winged way. Goethe, on the contrary, always masters his : perhaps because his steed had less of restive life in its veins. Not only does he master it, and ride with calm assured grace, he seems so bent on reaching the goal, that he scarcely thinks of anything else. To quit metaphor, he may be said to use with the utmost sparingness all the extraneous aids of imagery ; he tries to create images of the objects, rather than other images of what the objects are like. Shakespeare, like Goethe, was a decided realist. He, too, was content to let his pictures of life carry their own moral with them. He uttered no moral verdict ; he was no Chorus preaching on the text of what was pictured. Hence we cannot gather from his works what were his opinions. But there is this difference between him and Goethe, that his intense sympathy with the energetic passions and fierce volitions of our race made liim delight in heroic characters, in men of robust frames and impassioned lives. Goethe, with an infusion of the best blood of Schiller, would have been a Shakespeare ; but, such as Nature made him he was — Goethe, not Shakespeare. Turning from these abstract considerations to the two earhest works which form our text, we observe how this youth is determined in the choice of his subject by the realistic tendency. Instead of ranging through tlif! enchanted gardens of Arniida — instead of throw- ing himself back into the distant l\ist, thus escaping from tlie trammels of a modern subject, which the con- frontation of reality always makes more difficult — tliis LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 77 boy fashions into verse his own experience, his own observation. He looks into his own heart — he peers into the byways of civihsatiou, walking with curious observation through squalid streets and dark fearful alleys. Singular, moreover, is the absence of any fierce indignation, any cry of pain at the sight of so much corruption underlying the surface of society. In youth the loss of illusions is generally followed by a cynical misanthropy, or a vehement protest. But Goethe is neither cynical nor indignant. He seems to accept the fact as a thing to be admitted, and quietly striven against, with a view to its amehoration. He seems to think with the younger Phny, that indulgence is a part of justice, and would cite with approval the favourite maxim of the austere yet humane Thraseas, qui vitia odit homines odit, — he who hates vices hates man- kind.i For in the " Mitschuldigen " he presents us with a set of people whose consolation is to exclaim " Eogues all ! " — and in after years he wrote of this piece, that it was dictated, though unconsciously, by " far-sighted tolerance in the appreciation of moral actions, as ex- pressed in the eminently Christian sentence, ' Let him who is without sin among you cast the first stoiu.' " 1 Pliny, Epist., lib. viii. 22. After I had written this sentence, SchoU published Goethe's Note-book kept at Strasburg, wherein I found this very aphorism transcribed. CHAPTER III. ART STUDIES. Frau Bohme died. In her he lost a monitress and friend, who had kept some check on his waywardness, and drawn him into society. The Professor had long since cooled towards him, after giving up all hopes of making him another Heineccius, A youth with such remarkable dispositions, who would not be assiduous in attendance at lecture, and whose amusement during lecture was to sketch caricatures of various law digni- taries in his note-book : another ornament to jurispru- dence irrecoverably lost ! Indeed, the collegiate aspect of this Leipsic residence is not one promising to pro- fessors ; but we — instructed by the result — know how much better he was employed, than if he had tilled a hundred volumes of note-books by diligent attendance at lecture. He studied much, in a desul- tory manner ; he studied Moliere and Corneille ; he began to translate " Le Menteur." The theatre was a perpetual attraction ; and even the uneasy, unsatisfied condition of his afl'ections, was instructing him in directions whither no professor could lead liim. But greater than all this was the influence of Shakespeare, whom he first learned a httle of through Dodd's " l>eauties of Shakespeare," a work not much prized in England, wliere tlie plays form part of our traditional education, but wbicli nmst have been a revelatitm to the Germans, something analogous to what Charles Laml/s " Specimens of the Old Eughsh Drama " was to 78 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 79 US. The strength and beauty of language, the bold and natural imagery of these " Beauties," startled the young poets of that day, like the discovery of huge fossil remains of some antediluvian fauna ; " and to gratify the curiosity thus awakened," he says, " there came Wieland's prose translation of several plays, which we studied with enthusiasm." ^ There are no materials to till up the gaps of his narrative here, so that I am forced to leave much in- distinct. For instance, he has told us that Kilthchen and he were no longer lovers ; but we find him writing to her in a lover-like tone from Frankfort, and we know that friendly intercourse still subsisted between them. Of this, however, not a word occurs in the Autobiography. Nor are we accurately informed how he made the acquaintance of the Breitkopf family. Breitkopf was a bookseller in Leipsic, in whose house Literature and Music were highly prized. Bernhard, the eldest son, was an excellent performer, and com- posed music to Goethe's songs, which were pubhshed in 1769, under this title : " Neue Lieder in Melodieen gesetzt von Bernhard Theodor Breitkopf." The poet is not named. This Liederhuch contains twenty songs, the majority of which were subsequently reprinted in the poet's works. They are love songs, and contain a love-philosophy more like what is to be found in Catullus, Horace, and Wieland, than what one would expect from a boy, did we not remember how the braggadocio of youth delights in expressing rouS senti- ments, as if to give itself airs of profound experience. This youth sings with gusto of inconstancy : " Da fiihl ich die Freuden der wechselden Lust." 1 It is possible that Wieland's translation only then fell into Goethe's hands, but the publication was commenced before his arrival in Leipsic, namely, in 17GL So LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE He gaily declares that if one mistress leaves you, an- other will love you, and the second is sweeter to kiss than the first : " Es kiisst sich so susse der Busen der Zweiten, Als kaum sich der Busen der Ersten gektisst." Through Breitkopf he learned to know Hiller ; and among Killer's pupils was the Corona Schroter, whom we shall meet hereafter in the Weimar circle. She was a year older than Goethe, and surrounded with admirers, both of her beauty and her talents. He is said, I know not on what evidence, to have lent his poetical talent to some of these admirers. Another acquaintance, and one more directly in- fluential, was that of Oeser, the director of the Draw- ing Academy. He had been the friend and teacher of Winckelmann, and his name stood high among connois- seurs. Goethe, who at home had learned a little drawing, joined Oeser's class, where, among other fellow students, was the Hardenberg who afterward made such a noise in the Prussian political world. He joined the class, and did his best to acquire by labour the skill which only talent can acquire. That he made httle progress in drawing, we learn from his subsequent confession, no less than from his failure ; but tuition had this effect at least — it taught him to use his eyes. In a future chapter ^ I shall have occasion to enter more fully on this subject. Enough if for the present a sentence or two from his letters tell us the enthu- siasm Oeser inspired. " What do I not owe to you," he writes to him, "for having pointed out to me the way of the True and the Beautiful ! " and concludes by saying, " the undersigned is your work ! " Writing to a friend of Oeser's, he says that Oeser stands beside Shakespeare and Wielaud in the influence exercised over him. " His instruction will influence my whole iSee Book V., ch. v. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 8i life. He it was who taught me that the Ideal of Beauty is Simplicity aud Repose, and thence it follows that no youth can be a master." Instruction in the theory of Art he gained from Oeser, from Winckelmann, and from " Laokoon," the incompa- rable little book which Lessing at this period carelessly flung upon the world. Its effect upon Goethe can only be appreciated by those who early in life have met with this work, and risen from it with minds widened, strengthened, and inspired.^ It opened a pathway amid confusion, throwing light upon many of the obscurest problems which torment the artist. It awakened in Goethe an intense yearning to see the works of ancient masters ; and these beckoned from Dresden. To Dresden he went. But here, in spite of Oeser, Winckelmann, and Lessing, in spite of grand phrases about Art, the invincible tendency of his natvire asserted itself, and instead of falhng into raptures with the great Italian pictures, he confesses that he took their merits upon trust, and was really charmed by none but the landscape and Dutch painters, whose sub- jects appealed directly to his experience. He did not feel the greatness of Itahan Art ; and what he did not feel he would not feign. It is worth noticing that this trip to Dresden was taken in absolute secrecy. As, many years later, he stole away to Italy without letting his friends even suspect his project, so now he left Leipsic for Dresden without a word of intimation. Probably the same motive actuated him in both instances. He went to see, to enjoy, to learn, and did not want to be disturbed by personal influence — by other people's opinions. On his return he was active enough with drawing. He made the acquaintance of an engraver named 1 Lord Macaulay told me that the reading of this little book formed an epoch in his mental history; aud that he leai'iied more from it than he had ever learned elsewhere. 82 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE Stock,^ and with his usual propensity to try his hand at whatever his friends were doing, he forthwith began to learn engraving. In the Morgc7iblatt for 1828 there is a detailed account of two of his engravings, both representing landscapes with small cascades shut in by rocks and grottoes ; at the foot of each are these words : "■ 'p&int par A. TJieile, grave par Goethe." One plate is dedicated " a Monsieur Goethe, Conseiller actuel dc S.M. Imperiale par son Jils tres-oheissant." In the room which they show to strangers in his house in Frank- fort, there is also a specimen of his engraving — very amateurish ; but Madame von Goethe showed me one in her possession which really has merit. Melancholy, wayward, and capricious, he allowed Lessing to pass through Leipsic without making any attempt to see the man he so much admired : a caprice he afterward repented, for the opportunity never recurred. Something of his hypochondria was due to mental, but more to physical causes. Dissipation, bad diet (especially the beer and coffee), and absurd endeav- ours to carry out Eousseau's preaching about returning to a state of nature, had seriously affected his health. The crisis came at last. One summer night (1768) he was seized with violent hemorrhage. He had only strength enough to call to his aid the fellow student who slept in the next room. Medical assistance promptly came. He was saved ; but his convalescence was embittered by the discovery of a tumour on his neck, which lasted some time. His recovery was slow, but it seemed as if it relieved him from all the peccant humours which had made him hypocliondriacal, leav- ing beliind an inward hghtness and joyousness to which he had long been a stranger. One tiling greatly touched him — the sympathy expressed for him by several ^This Stock had two amiable daughters, one of whom maiTied (1785) Korner, the correspondeut of Schiller, and father of the poet. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 83 eminent men ; a sympathy he felt to be (|uite unde- served, for there was not one among them whom he had not vexed or affronted by his caprices, extrava- gances, morbid opposition, and stubborn persistence. One of these friends, Langer, not only made an ex- change of books with him, giving a set of Classic authors for a set of German, but also, in devout yet not dogmatic conversation, led his young friend to regard the Bible in another light than that of a merely human composition. " I loved the Bible and valued it, for it was almost the only book to which I owed my moral culture. Its events, dogmas, and symbols were deeply impressed on my mind." He therefore felt little sympathy with the Deists who were at this time agitating Europe ; and although his tendency was strongly against the Mystics, he was afraid lest the poetical spirit should be swept away along with the prophetical. In one word, he was in a state of religious doubt — "destitute of faith, yet terrified at scepticism." This imrest and this bodily weakness he carried with him, September, 1768, from Leipsic to Frankfort, whither we will follow him. CHAPTER IV. RETURN HOME. He returned home a boy in years, in experience a man. Broken in health, unhappy in mind, with no strong impulses in any one direction, uncertain of him- self and of his aims, he felt, as he approached his native city, much hke a repentant prodigal, who has no \'ision of the fatted calf awaiting him. His father, unable to perceive the real progress he had made, was very much alive to the slender prospect of his becom- ing a distinguished jurist. The fathers of poets are seldom gratified with the progress in education visible to them ; and the reason is that they do not know their sons to be poets, nor understand that the poet's orbit is not the same as their own. They tread the common highway on which the milestones accurately mark distances ; and seeing that their sons have trudged but httle way according to this measurement, are filled with misgivings. Of that silent progress, which consists less in travelling on the broad highway, than in development of the limbs which will make a sturdy traveller, parents seldom judge. Mother and sister, however, touched by the worn face, and, woman-like, more interested in the man than what he had achieved, received him with an aflection which compensated for his father's coldness. There is quite a pathetic glimpse given of this domestic interior in the Autobiography, where he alludes to his father's impatience at his illness, and anxiety for his speedy recovery. And we gladlv escape from this picture to '84 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 85 the Letters written from Frankfort to his old love, Kiithchen Schoukopf.^ It appears that he left Leipsic without saying adieu. He thus refers to it : " Apropos, you will forgive me that I did not take leave of you. I was in the neighbourhood, I was even below at the door ; / saiu the lamp burning and went to the steps, but I had not the courage to mount. For the last time — how should I have come down again ? " Thus I now do what I ought to have done then : I thank you for all the love and friendship which you have constantly shown me, and which I shall never forget. I need not beg you to remember me, — a thousand occasions will arise which must remind you of a man who for two years and a half was part of your family, who indeed often gave you cause for dis- pleasure, but stni was always a good lad, and whom it is to be hoped you will often miss ; at least, I often miss you." The tumour on liis neck became alarming : the more so as the surgeons, uncertain about its nature, were wavering in their treatment. Frequent cauterisation, and constant confinement to his room, were the worst parts of the cure. He read, drew, and etched to while away tlie time. It was also perhaps at this period that he completed the two plays which he had roughly sketched at Leipsic, and of which an account has already been given in the preceding chapter. By the end of the year this letter to Kathcheu announces his recovery. " My best, anxious friend : — You will doubtless have heard from Horn, on the new year, the news of my recovery ; and I hasten to confirm it. Yes, dear friend, it is over, and in future you must take it quietly, even if you hear — he is laid up again ! You know 1 Printed in " Goethe's Brief e an seine Leipziger Freunde." Ilerausgegeben von Otto Jahn. 86 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE that my constitution often makes a slip, and in a week gets on its legs again ; this time it was bad, and seemed yet worse than it was, and was attended with terrible pains. Misfortune is also a good. I have learned much in illness which I could have learned nowhere else in life. It is over, and I am quite brisk again, though for three whole weeks I have not left my room, and scarcely any one has visited me but my doctor, who, thank God ! is an amiable man ! An odd thing it is in us men : when I was in lively society I was out of spirits, now I am forsaken by all the world I am cheer- ful ; for even throughout my illness my cheerfulness has comforted my family, who were not in a condition to comfort themselves, to say nothing of me. The new year's song which you have also received, I composed duriug an attack of great foolery, and had it printed for the sake of amusement. Besides this, I draw a great deal, write tales, and am contented with myself. God give me, this new year, what is good for me ; may He do the same for all of us, and if we pray for noth- ing more than this, we may certainly hope that He will give it us. If I can only get along till April, I shall easily reconcile myself to my condition. Then I hope things will be better ; in particular my health may make progress daily, because it is now known precisely what is tlie matter with me. My lungs are as sound as possible, but there is something wrong at the stomach. And, in confidence, I have had hopes given me of a pleasant, enjoyable mode of life, so that my mind is quite cheerful and at rest. As soon as I am better again I shall go away into foreign countries, and it will depend only on you and another person how soon I shall see Leipsic again ; in the meantime I think of going to France to see what French life is, and learn the French language. So you can imagine wliat a charming man I shall be when I return to you. It often occurs to me, that it would be a laughable feol^ n 'i. my t -• d " Kiilh Monl:^ gave a great putty " Phoiogravurc from uie pamtuig by Kirkbach LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 87 affair, if, in spite of all my projects, I were to die be- fore Easter. In that case I would order a gravestone for myself in Leipsic churchyard, that at least every year on St. John's Day you might visit the figure of St. John and my grave. "\Miat do you think ? " To celebrate his recovery. Rath Moritz gave a great party, at which all the Frankfort friends assembled. In a little while, however, another illness came to lay the poet low ; and, worse than all, there carae the news from Leipsic that Kiitchen was engaged to a Doctor Kanne, whom Goethe had introduced to her. This for ever decided his restlessness about her. Here is a letter from him. "My dear, my beloved friend: — A dream last night has reminded me that I owe you an answer. Not that I had entirely forgotten it — nor that I never think of you : no, my dear friend, every day says some- thing to me of you and of my faults. But it is strange, and it is an experience which perhaps you also know, the remembrance of the absent, though not extin- guished by time, is veiled. The distractions of our life, acquaintance with new objects, in short, every change in our circumstances, do to our hearts what smoke and dirt do to a picture — they make the delicate touchas quite undisceruible, and in such a way that one does not know how it comes to pass. A thou- sand things remind me of you ; 1 see your image a thousand times, but as faintly, and often with as little emotion, as if I thought of some one quite strange to me ; it often occurs to me that I owe vou an answer, without my feeling the slightest impulse to write to you. Now, when I read your kind let- ter, which is already some montlis old, and see your friendsliip and your solicitude for one so unworthy, I am shocked at myself, and for the first time feel what S8 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE a change has taken place in my heart, that I can be without joy at that which formerly would have lifted me up to heaven. Forgive me this ! Can one blame an unfortunate man because he is unable to rejoice ? ^ly wretchedness has made me dead to the good which still remains to me. My body is restored, but my mind is still uncured. I am in dull, inactive repose ; that is not happiness. And in this quietude my imag- ination is so stagnant, that I can no longer picture to myself what was once dearest to me. It is only in a dream that my heart often appears to me as it is — only a dream is capable of recalling to me the sw^eet images, of so recalling them as to reanimate my feel- ings ; I have already told you that you are indebted to a dream for this letter. I saw you, I was with you ; how it was, is too strange for me to relate to you. In one word, you were married. Is that true ? I took up your kind letter, and it agrees with the time ; if it is true, oh, may that be the beginning of your hap- piness ! " When I think of this disinterestedly, how I do rejoice to know that you, my best friend, you, before every other who envied you and fancied herself better than you, are in the arms of a worthy husband ; to know tliat you arc happy, and freed from every annoy- ance to which a single state, and especially your single state, was exposed! I thank my dream that* it has vividly depicted your happiness to me, and the happi- ness of your husl)and, and his reward for having made you happy. Obtain me his friendship in virtue of your being my friend, for you must have all things in common, even including friends. If I may believe my dream, we shall see each other again, but I hope not so very quickly, and for my part I shall try to defer its fulfilment. If, indeed, a man can undertake anything in ojiposition to destiny. Fonncrly I wrote to you somewhat enigmatically about what was to be- LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 89 come of me. Now I may say more plainly that I am about to change my place of residence, and move far- ther from you. Nothing will any more remind me of Leipsic, except, perhaps, a restless dream ; no friend who comes from thence ; no letter. And yet I per- ceive that this will be no help to me. Patience, time and distance will do that which nothing else can do ; they will annihilate every unpleasant impression, and give us back our friendship, with contentment with life, so that after a series of years we may see each other agaiu with altogether different eyes, but with the same heart. Within a quarter of a year you shall have another letter from me, which will tell you of my destination and the time of my departure, and which can once more say to superfluity what I have already said a thousand times. I entreat you not to answer me any more ; if you have anything more to say to me, let me know it through a friend. That is a melancholy entreaty, my best ! you, the only one of all her sex, whom I cannot call friend, for that is an insignificant title compared with what I feel. I wish not to see your writing again, just as I %vish not to hear your voice ; it is painful enough for me that my dreams are so busy. You shall have one more letter ; that promise I will sacredly keep, and so pay a part of my debts ; the rest you must forgive me." To round off this story, the following extract may be given from the last letter which has been preserved of those he wrote to her. It is dated Frankfort, Jan- uary, 1770. " That I live peacefully is all that I can say to you of myself, and vigorously, and healthily, and industri- ously, for I have no woman in my head. Horn and I are still good friends, but, so it happens in the world, he has his thoughts and ways, and I have my thoughts and ways, and so a week passes and we scarcely see 90 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE each other once. But, everything considered, I am at last tired of Frankfort, and at the end of March I shall leave it. I must not yet go to you, I perceive ; for if I came at Easter you would not be married. And Kiithchen Schoukopf I will not see again, if I am not to see her under another name. At the end of March, therefore, I go to Strasburg ; if you care to know that, as I believe you do. Will you write to me to Strasburg also ? You will play me no trick. For, Kiithchen Schonkopf, now I know perfectly that a letter from you is as dear to me as from any hand in the world. You were always a sweet girl and will be a sweet woman. And I, I shall remain Goethe, You know what that means. If I name my name, I name my whole self, and you know that so long as I have known you I have hved only as part of you." So fall away the young blossoms of love which have not the force to ripen into fruit. " The most lovable heart," he writes to Kathchen, with a certain bit of humour, "is that wliicli loves the most readily; but that which easily loves also easily forgets." It was his case ; he could not be happy without some one to love ; but his mobile nature soon dried the tears wrung from him l>y her loss. Turning once more to his domestic condition, we find him in cold, unpleasant relations with his father, who had almost excited the hatred of his other child, Cornelia, by the stern, pedantic, pedagogic way in wliich he treated her. The old man continued to busy liimself with writing his travels in Italy, and with instructing his daugliter. She, who was of a restless, excitable, almost morbid disposition, secretly rebelled against his tyranny, and made her brother the confi- dant of all her griefs. The poor niotlier had a terrilile time of it, trying to pacify the cliildren, and to stand Ixitween them and their father. Very noticeable is one detail recorded by him. He LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 91 had fallen ill agaiu ; tliis time with a stomach disorder, which no therapeutic treatment in the power of Frank- fort medicine seemed to mitigate. The family physi- cian was one of those duped dupers who still clung to the great promises of Alchemy. It was whispered that he had in his possession a marvellous panacea which was only to he employed in times of gi-eatest need, and of which, indeed, no one dared openly speak. Frau Aja, trembling for her son, besought him to employ this mysterious salt. He consented. The patient recovered, and belief in the physician's skill became more complete. Not only was the poet thus restored once more to health, he was also thereby led to the study of Alchemy, and, as he narrates, employed himself in researches after the " virgin earth." In the little study of that house in the Hirsch-yrahen, he col- lected his glasses and retorts, and following the direc- tions of authorities, sought, for a time, to penetrate the mystery which then seemed so penetrable. It is char- acteristic of his ardent curiosity and volatility that he should have now devoted the long hours of study to works such as Welling's " Opus Mago-cabbalisticum et Theosophicum," and the unintelligible mystifications and diatribes of Paracelsus. He also tried Van Hel- mont (an interesting though fantastic writer), Basil Valentme, and other Alchemists. These, however, must quickly have been laid aside. They were re- placed by the " Compendium " and the " Aphorisms " of Boerhaave, who at that period filled Europe with the sound of his name.^ Goethe's studies of these writings were valuable as preparations for " Faust ; " and were not without influence on his subsequent career in science. 1 So little can contemporary verdicts settle an author's position, that Boerhaave, whose "Institutions" were thought worthy of a commentary in seven quartos by the great Haller, and whose "Aphorisms" were expanded into five quartos by the illustrious Van Swieten, is now nothing but a name. 92 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE Ilenewed intercourse with Friiulein von Klettenberg, together with much theological and philosophical read- ing, brought Ptchgion into prominence in his thoughts. He has given a sketch of the sort of Neoplatouic Cliristiauity into which his thoughts moulded them- selves ; but as this sketch was written so very many years after the period to which it relates, one cannot well accept its authenticity. For biographic purposes it is enougli to indicate that, besides these Alchemic studies, Eeligion rose also into serious importance. Poetry seemed quite to have deserted him, although he still occasionally touched up his two plays. In a letter he humourously exposes the worthlessness of the " Bardenpoesie," then in fashion among versifiers, who tried to be patriotic and Tyrtteau by Imddhng together golden helmets, flashing swords, the tramp of horses, and when the verse went lame for want of a syllable, supplying an Oh ! or Ha ! " Make me feel," he says, " what I have not yet felt, — make me think what I have not yet thought, then I will praise you. But shrieks and noise will never supply the place of pathos." Paoli, the Corsican patriot, passed through Frankfort at this time, and Goethe saw him in the house of Bethmann, tbc rich merchant; but, with this excep- tion, Frankfort presented nothing remarkable to him, and he was impatient to escape from it. His health was sufficiently restored for his father to hope that now jurisprudence could be studied with some suc- cess; and Strasburg was the university selected for that purpose. CHAPTER V. STRASBURG. He reached Strasburg on the 2d April, 1770. He was just turned twenty, and a more magnificent youth never, perhaps, entered the Strasburg gates. Long be- fore celebrity had fixed all eyes upon him he was likened to an Apollo ; and once, when he entered a dining- room, people laid down their knives and forks to stare at the beautiful youth. Pictures and busts, even when most resembhng, give but a feeble indication of that which was most striking in his appearance ; they give the form of features, but not the play of features ; nor are they very accurate as to the form. His features were large and hberally cut, as in the fine sweeping lines of Greek art. The brow was lofty and massive, and from beneath it shone large, lustrous brown eyes of marvellous beauty, their pupils being of almost un- exampled size. The slightly aquiline nose was large, and well cut. The mouth was full, with a short, arched upper lip, very sensitive and expressive. The chin and jaw boldly proportioned ; and the head rested on a handsome, and muscular neck. In stature he was rather above the middle size ; but although not really tall, he had the aspect of a tall man, and is usually so described, because his presence was very imposing.^ His frame was strong, muscular, 1 liauch, the sculptor, who made the well-known .statuette of Goethe, explained this to me as owing to his large bust and erect carriage. 93 94 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE yet sensitive. Dante says this contrast is in the nature of things, for — «< Quanta la cosa e piii perfetta, Piu seuta '1 bene, e cosl la doglienza." Excelling in all active sports, he was almost a barome- ter in sensitiveness to atmospheric influences. Such, externally, was the youth who descended at the hotel Ziim Gcist, in Strasburg, this 2d April, and who, ridding himself of the dust and ennui of a long imprisonment in the dihgence, sallied forth to gaze at the famous Cathedral, which made a wonderful impres- sion on him as he came up to it through the narrow streets. The Strasburg Cathedral not inaptly serves as the symbol of his early German tendencies; and its glorious tower is always connected, in my mind, with the brief but ardent endeavours of his Hellenic nature to throw itself into the old German world. German his spirit was not, but we shall see it, under the shadow of this tower, for a moment inspired with true German enthusiasm. His lodgings secured — No. 80, on the south side of the Fish-market (now called, le Quai dc Baielier) — he dt'livered his letters of introduction, and arranged to dine at a taJdr d'hote kept by two maiden ladies, named I.auth, in the Kriimergasse, No. 13. The guests here were about ten in number, mostly medical. Their president was Doctor Salzmann, a clean old bachelor of eight and forty, scrupuhius in his stockings, immaculate as to his shoes and buckles, with hat under his arm, and scarcely ever on his head — a neat, dapper, old gentle- man, well instructed, and greatly liked by the poet, to whom he gave excellent advice, and for whom he found a vahiable rcpetent} Tn spite of the services of this ' The modical .•student will host. luukTstand what a rcpetent is. if the wort! be translated a grinder ; the university student, if the LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 95 excellent repetent, jurisprudence wearied liim consider- ably, according to bis account ; at first, bowever, be seems to bave taken to it witb some pleasure, as we learn by a letter, in wbich be tells Friiulein von Klet- tenberg a different story: — " Jurisprudence begins to please me very mucb. Tbus it is witb all tbings as with Merseburg beer ; tbe first time we shudder at it, and having drunk it for a week, we cannot do without it." The study of jurisprudence, at any rate, did not absorb him. Scholl has pubhshed a note-book kept during this period, which reveals an astonishing activity in desultory research.^ When we remember that tbe society at bis table d'hote was principally of medical students, we are prepared to find him eagerly throwing himself into tbe study of anatomy and chemistry. He attended Lobstein's lectures on Anatomy, Ehrmann's clinical lectures, with those of bis son on midwifery, and Spielmanu's on chemistry. Electricity occupied him, Frankbn's great discovery having brought that subject into prominence. No less than nine works on electricity are set down in the Note-book to be studied. We also see from this Note-book that chromatic sub- jects begin to attract him — the future antagonist of Newton was preluding in the science. Alchemy still fascinated him ; and he wrote to Friiulein von Kletten- berg, assuring her that these mystical studies were bis secret mistresses. With such a direction of his thoughts, and the influence of this pure, pious woman still operat- ing upon him, we can imagine tbe disgust wliicb fol- lowed his study of the " Systeme de la Nature," then making so great a noise in tbe world. This dead and word be translated a coach. The repeteut prepares students by an examination, and also by repeating; and explaining in private what the professor has taught in tlie lecture hall. i"Bricfe und Aufsatze von Goethe." Herausgegeben von Adolf Schiill. In this, as in his other valuable work, Scholl is not content simply to reprint papers entrusted to him, but enriches them by his own careful, accurate editing. 96 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE dull exposition of an atheism as superficial as it was dull, must have been every way revolting to him : irritat- ing to his piety, and unsatisfying to his reason. Vol- taire's wit and Kousseau's sarcasms he could copy into his note-book, especially when they pointed in the direction of tolerance ; but he who could read Bayle, Voltaire, and Eousseau with delight, turned from the " Systeme de la Nature, " with scorn ; especially at a time when we find him taking the sacrament, and trying to keep up an acquaintance with the pious families to which Friiulein von Klettenberg had introduced him. I say trying, because even his good-will could not long withstand their dulness and narrowness ; he was forced to give them up and confessed so nuich to his friend. Shortly after his arrival in Strasburg, namely, in May, 1770, an event occurred wliich agitated the town, and gave him an opportunity of seeing, for the first time, Raphael's cartoons. Marie Antoinette, about to become the Dauphiness of France, was to pass through on her way to Paris. On a small island on the Rhine a l)uilding was erected for her reception ; and this was adorned with tapestries worked after the cartoons. These tapestries roused his enthusiasm ; but he was shocked to find that they were placed in the side cham- bers, while the chief salon was hung with tapestries worked after pictures by modern French artists. That Raphael should thus be thrown into a subordinate position was less exasperating to him than the subjects chosen from the modern artists. " These pictures were the history of Jason, Medea, and Creusa — consequently, a story of a most wretched marriage. To the left of the throne was seen tlie bride struggling against a horrible death, surrounded by persons full of sympathetic grief ; to the right stood the father, horror-struck at the mur- dored babes at his feet ; whilst the fury, in her dragon car, drove tlirough the air." LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 97 All the ideas which he had learned from Oeser were outraged by this selection. He did not quarrel so much with the arrangement which placed Christ and the Apostles in side chambers, since he had thereby been enabled to enjoy the sight of them. " But a blunder like that of the grand saloon put me altogether out of my self-possession, and with loud and vehement cries I called to my comrades to witness the insult against feeling and taste. ' Wliat ! ' I exclaimed, regardless of bystanders, ' can they so thoughtlessly place before the eyes of a young queen, on her first setting foot m her dominions, the representation of the most horrible mar- riage perhaps that ever was consummated ! Is there among the architects and decorators no one man who understands that pictures represent something — that they work upon the mind and feelings — that they produce impressions and excite forebodings ? It is as if they had sent a ghastly spectre to meet this lovely, and and as we hear most joyous, lady at the very frontiers ! ' " To him, indeed, pictures meant something ; they were reahties to him, because he had the true artistic nature. But to the French architects, as to the Strasburg offi- cials, pictures were pictures — ornaments betokening more or less luxury and taste, flattering the eye, but never touching the soul. Goethe was right ; and omen-lovers afterward read in that picture the dark foreshadowing of her destiny. But no one then could have foreseen that her future career would be less triumphant than her journey from Vienna to Paris. That smiling, happy, lovely princess of fifteen, whose grace and beauty extort expressions of admiration from every beliolder, as she wends her way along roads lined \vith the jubilant peasantry leaving their fields to gaze upon her, through streets strewn with nosegays, through triumphal arches, and rows of maidens garlanded, awaiting her arrival to offer her spring-flowers as symbols — can her joy be for a mo- 98 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE ment dashed by a pictured sorrow ? Can omens have a dark significance to her ? " I still vividly remember," says Goethe, " the beau- teous aud lofty mien, as charming as it was dignified, of the young princess. Plainly visible in her carriage, she seemed to be jestiug with her female attendants respecting the throng which poured forth to meet her train." Scarcely had the news of her happy arrival in the capital reached them, than it was followed by the intelligence of the accident which had disturbed the festivities of her marriage. Goethe's thoughts naturally recurred to the ominous pictures : a nature less super- stitious would not have been entirely unmoved by such a coincidence. " The excitement over, the Strasburgers fell into their accustomed tranquillity. The mighty stream of courtly magnificence had now flowed by, and left me no other longing than that for the tapestries of Raphael, which I could have contemplated and worshipped every hour. Luckily my earnest desires succeeded in inter- esting several persons of consequence, so that the tap- estries were not taken down till the very last moment." The reestablished quiet left him time for studies again. In a letter of this date he intimates that he is " so improved in knowledge of Greek as almost to read Homier without a translation. I am a week older ; that you know says a great deal with me, not because I do much, but many things." Among these many things, we nnist note his ardent search through mystical meta- physical writings for the material on which his insatia- ble appetite could feed. Strange revelations in this direction are afTorded by his Note-book. On one page there is a passage from Thomas a Kempis, followed by a list of mystical works to be read ; on another page, sarcastic sentences from Eousseau and Voltaire ; on a third, a n^fcrence to Tauler. The book contains an analysis of the " rha-don " of Moses Mendelssohn, con- LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 99 trasted with that of Plato ; and a defence of Giordano Bruno against the criticism of Bayle. Apropos of Bruno, one may remark the early ten- dency of Goethe's mind toward Nature-worship. Taci- tus, indeed, noticed the tendency as national.^ The scene in Frankfort, where the boy-priest erected his Pantheistic altar, will help to explain the interest he must have felt in the glimpse Bayle gave him of the great Pantheist of the sixteenth century — the brilliant and luckless Bruno, who after teaching the heresy of Copernicus at Pome and Oxford, after combating Aristotle and gaining the friendship of Sir Philip Sid- ney, was publicly burnt on the 17th February, 1600, in the presence of the Roman crowd : expiating thus the crime of teaching that the earth moved, the Church ha\-ing declared it to be stable. A twofold interest attached itself to the name of Bruno. He was a martyr of Philosophy, and his works were rare ; every one abused him, few had read him. He was almost as much hated as Spinoza, and scarcely any one knew the writings they reviled. The rarity of Bruno's works made them objects of bibliopolic luxury ; some were among the black swans of literature. The " Spac- cio " had been sold for thirty pounds in England, and three hundred florins in Holland. Hamann, whom Herder and Goethe ardently admired, searched Italy and Germany for the "De la Causa" and "Del In- finito " in vain. Forbidden fruit is tempting ; but when the fruit is rare, as well as forbidden, the attrac- tion is irresistible.2 Pantheism, which captivates poeti- 1 What Tacitus there represents as a more exalted creed than anthropomorphism, was really a lower form of religious concep- tion — the Fetichism, which in primitive races precedes Poly- theism. 2 Since then the works have been made accessible through the cheap and excellent odition collected by A. Wagner: "Opere di Giordano Bruno Nolano." 2 vols. Leipsic : 1830. But I do not observe that, now they are accessible, many persons interest themselves enough in Bruno to read them. lOO LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE cal minds, has a poetical grandeur in the form given to it by Bruno which would have allured Goethe had his tendencies not already lain in that direction. To preach that doctrine Bruno became a homeless wan- derer, and his wanderings ended in martyrdom. Noth- ing could shake his faith ; as he loftily says, " con questa filosofia I'anima mi s'aggrandisce e mi si magni- fica I'intelletto." Goethe's notes on Bayle's criticism may be given here, as illustrating his metaphysical opinions and his mastery of French composition. We can be certain of the authenticity of the French : in spite of inaccu- racies and inelegancies, it is fluent and expressive, and trives one the idea of greater conversational command of the language than he reports of himself. " Je ne suis pas du sentiment de M. Bayle a I'^gard de Jor. Brunus, et je ne trouve ni d'impi^t^ ni d'ab- surditd dans les passages qu'il cite, quoique d'ailleurs je ne pr^tende pas d'excuser cet horn me paradoxe. ' L'uno, I'infinito, lo ente e quelle ch' e in tutto, e per tutto anzi e Vistezzo ubique. E che cosse la iutinita dimenzione per uou essere magnitudine coincide coll' individuo, come la iufinita moltitudine per nou esser luimero coincide coll' unita.' Giord. Brun. Epist. Dcd. del Trntt. de la Causa Principio et Uno} " Ce passage mdriteroit une explication et une re- cherche plus philosophiques que le disc, de M. Bayle. II est plus facile de prononcer uu passage obscur et contraire a nos notions que de le d^chiffrer, et que de •suivre les idees d'un gi-and homme. II est de meme du passage nu il plaisante sur une idee de Brunus, c^ue je n'applaudis pas entierement, si peu que les pr^c^- >"ThoOat., ilio Infinite, the Bcinsi, and that vvliicli is in all thini^ is everywhere the same. Tims infinite extension not being inai;ni(iuln coincides with the Individ nal, as infinite mnltitude bccauso it is not nnmber coincides witii unity." The words in ilnlica are piven a,s in (Joethe — carelessly copied for Vistesso and co^! s... nruMo, "Opere," 1, p. 211, ed. Wagner. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE loi dentes, mais que je crois du moins profondes et peut- etre fecondes pour un observateur judicieux. Notez, je vous prie, de B. uue absurdity : il dit que ce n'est point I'etre qui fait qu'il y a beaucoup de choses, mais que cette multitude consiste daus ce qui paroit sur la superfice de la substance." In the same Note-book there is a remarkable com- ment on a chapter in Fabricius (" Bibliog. Antiq.") which Goethe has written in Latin, and which may be thus rendered : " To discuss God apart from Nature is both difficult and perilous ; it is as if we separated the soul from the body. We know the soul only through the medium of the body, and God only through Nature. Hence the absurdity, as it appears to me, of accusing those of absurdity who philosophically have united God with the world. For everything which exists necessarily pertains to the essence of God, be- cause God is the one Being whose existence includes all things. Nor does the Holy Scripture contradict this, although we differently interpret its dogmas each according to his views. All antiquity thought in the same way ; an unanimity which to me has great sig- nificance. To me the judgment of so many men speaks highly for the rationality of the doctrine of emanation ; though I am of no sect, and grieve much that Spinoza should have coupled tliis pure doctrine with his de- testable errors." ^ This reference to Spinoza, whom he 1 1 subjoin the original, as the reader may not be displeased to see a specimen of Goethe's Latin composition : 8eparatim de Deo, et natura rerum disserere difficile et pericolosum est, eodem modo quam si de corpore et aniiua sejunctim cogitamus. Animam uonuisi mediante corpore, Deum nonnisi perspecta natura cog- noscimus ; hinc absurdum mihi videtur, eos absm-ditatis accusare, qui ratiocinatione maxime philosophica Deinn cum mundo con- junxere. Qua) enim sunt omnia ad essentiam Dei pertinere necesse est, cum Dcus sit unicum existens et omnia comprehen- dat. Nee Sacer Codex nostrse sententiiB refragatur, cujus tamen dicta ab unoquoque in sententiam suam torqueri patienter ferinius. Omnis antiquitatis ejusdem fuit scntcntia), cui consensu! quam multum tribuo. Testimonio enim mihi est virorum tantonmi I02 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE subsequently reverenced as one of his best teachers, is easily explicable when we reflect that he then knew no more of Spinoza than could be gathered from Bayle. Time was not all consumed by these studies, multi- farious as they were. Lively Strasburg had its anmse- ments, and Goethe joined his friend Salzmann in many a pleasant party. The various pleasure-gi'ounds and public gardens were always crowded with promenaders, and there the mixture of the old national costume with modern fashions gave charming variety to the scene, and made the pretty women still more attractive. He found himself in the presence of two sharply defined nationalities. Alsatia, and especially Stras- burg, although belonging to France, still preserved its old German character. Eight hundred years of national life were not to be set aside at once, when it pleased the powers, at the peace of Westphaha, to say that Alsatia should be French. Until the middle of the eighteenth century the old German speech, costume, and manners were so dominant, that a Frankforter, or a Mainzer, found himself at once at home there. But just l)efore tlie outbreak of the French Revolution the gradual influx of officials brought about a sort of fashion m French costume. Milliners, friseurs, and dancing masters had done their best, or their worst, to " ])olish " society. But the surface was rough, and did not take kindly to this polishing. Side l)y side with the French cmployS there was the old German pro- fessor, who obstinately declined to acquire more of the foreigners' language than sufficed for daily needs and houHL'liold matters ; for the rest he kept sturdily Teu- tonic;. P>L'n in costume the imitation was mainly Hentciitia rcctic rationi quain convcnientissimum fuisse systenia emaiialivum, licet luiUi subscribere velim sectte, valdeque iloleam Spiuozisnmni, tetcrrimis prrnribus ex eodem fonte inanantibus, doctrinro huic purissiinie iniquissiinum fratrem natum esse. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 103 confined to the upper classes.^ Goethe describes the maidens of the bourgeoisie still wearing their hair in one long plait, falling behind, and with petticoats of picturesque but perilous brevity. Salzmann introduced him to several families, and thus more than by all his advice helped to soften down the exuberant expression of animal spirits which very often sinned against quiet conventionalities ; for by inducing him to frequent society, it forced him to learn that demeanour which society imperatively demands. In " Wilhelm Meister " great stress is laid upon the culture necessary to tit a man of genius for society ; and one of the great motives advanced for the pursu- ance of a theatrical career is the facility it affords a man of gaining address. An excitable, impetuous youth, ambitious of shining in society, yet painfully conscious of the unsuitableness of his previous training for the attainment of that quiet- ness deemed so necessary, would require to attend to every trifle which might affect his deportment. Thus, although he had magnificent hair, he allowed the hair- dresser to tie it up in a bag, and affix a false queue. This obhged him to remain propped up powdered, from an early hour of the morning, and also to keep from overheating himself and from violent gestures, lest he should betray the false ornament. " Tliis restraint con- tributed much toward making me for a time more gentle and polite in my bearing ; and I got accustomed to shoes and stockings, and to carrying my hat under my arm ; I did not, however, neglect wearing fine under- stockings as a protection against the Ehine gnats." To these qualifications as a cavaher, he added those of an excellent swordsman and rider. With his fellow students he had abundant exercise in the use of the rapier ; and prompted, I presume, by his restless desire to do all that his friends did, he began to learn the violoncello ! ^Stoeber : " Der Aktuar Salzmann," 1855, p. 7. 104 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE His circle of frieuds widened ; and even that of his fellow boarders in the Kramergasse increased. Among the latter, two deserve special mention — Jung Stilling and Franz Lerse. Stilhng has preserved an account of their first meeting.^ About twenty were assembled at dinner, when a young man entered the room in high spirits, whose large, clear eyes, splendid brow, and beautifully proportioned figure, irresistibly drew the attention of Troost and Stilling. The former remarked, " That must be an extraordinary man ! " Stilling assented ; but feared lest they might be somewhat annoyed by him, he looked such a wild, rollicking fellow. Meanwhile they learned that this student, whose unconstrained freedom and aplomb made them draw under their shells, was named Herr Goethe. Dinner proceeded. Goethe, who sat opposite Stilhng, had completely the lead in conversation, without once seeking it. At length one of the company began quiz- zing the wig of poor Stilling, and the fun was relished by all except Troost, Salzmann, and one who, indignantly reproving them for making game of so inoffensive a person, silenced the ridicule immediately ; this was none other than the large-eyed student whose appear- ance had excited Stilling's uneasiness. The friendship thus begun was continued by the sympathy and tender affectionateness Goethe always displayed toward the simple, earnest, and unfriended thinker, whose deep religious convictions, and trusting, childlike nature, singularly interested him. Goethe was never tired of listening to the story of his life. Instinctively he sought on all sides to penetrate the mysteries of humanity, and, liy probing every man's experience, to make it his own. H(;re was a poor charcoal-burner, who from tailoring had passed to keeping a school ; that failing, he had resumed liis needle ; and having joined a religious sect, had, in silent communion with his own soul, gained for » Stilling's " Wandcrschaft," p. 158. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 105 himself a sort of culture which raised him above the ordinary height of men ; — what was there in his life or opinions to captivate the riotous, skeptical, prosperous student ? There was earnestness — there was genuine- ness. Goethe was eminently qualified to become the friend of one who held opposite convictions to his own, for his tolerance was large and genuine, and he re- spected every real conviction. Sympathising with Stilling, listening to him, and dexterously avoiding any interference with his religious faith, he was not only enabled to be his friend, but also to learn quietly and surely the inner nature of such men. Franz Lerse attracted him by different ' qualities ; upright manliness, scrupulous orderliness, dry humour, and a talent for reconciling antagonists. As a memo- rial of their friendship his name is given to the gallant fellow in " Gotz von Berlichingen," who knows how to subordinate himself with dignity. Salzmann had some years before founded a sort of club, or, as Stilling calls it, Gesellschaft der scJionen Wissenschaften, the object of which was to join a book society with a debating club. In 1763-64 this club had among its members no less a person than 0. F. Miiller, the renowned helminthologist ; and now in 1770-71 it numbered, among others, Goethe, Lerse, Jung Stilling, Leuz, Weyland, and, as a guest, was honoured by the presence of Herder, who was then writing his w^ork on the " Origin of Language." Generally speaking, Goethe is so liberal in informa- tion about his friends and contemporaries, and so sparing of precise indications of his own condition, that we are left in the dark respecting much that would be wel- come knowledge. There is one thing mentioned by him which is very significant ; although his health was sufficiently established for ordinary purposes, he still suffered from great irritability. Loud sounds were dis- agreeable to him ; diseased objects aroused loathing io6 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE aiul horror. And he was especially troubled with gid- diness, which came over him whenever he looked down from a height. All these infirmities he resolved to couquer, aud that somewhat violently. In the evening when they beat the tattoo, he went close to the drums, though the powerful rolling and beating of so many seem'ed enough to make his heart burst m his bosom. Alone he ascended the highest pinnacle of the cathe- dral, and sat in what is called the neck, under the crovvn, for a quarter of an hour before venturing to step out again into the open air. Standing on a platform, scarcely an ell square, he saw before him a boundless prospect, the church and the supports of his standing place being concealed by the ornaments. He felt ex- actly as if carried up in a balloon. These painful sen- sations he repeated until they became quite indifferent ; he subsequently derived great advantage from this con- quest, in mountain excursions and geological studies. Anatomy was also of double value, as it taught him to tolerate the most repulsive sights whilst satisfying his thirst for knowledge. He succeeded so well, that no hideous sight could disturb his self-possession. He also sought to steel himself against the terrors of imagina- tion. Thii awful and shuddering impressions of darkness in churchyards, solitary places, churches and chapels by night, he contrived to render indifferent — so much so, that when a desire came over him to recall in such scenes the pleasing shudder of youth, he could scarcely succeed even by the strangest and most terrific images. Two love poems, written during this year — " Stirbb der P'uchs so gilt der P>alg " and " Blinde Kuh " — put us on the scent of fiirtations. He is silent respect- ing Dorilia and Theresa in his Autobiograpliy ; and in ordinary cases a biographer would accept tliat silence without drawing any conclusion frnm the poems. No QUO hereafter will think of identifying the Olaribels, Isabels, and Madelines, with young ladies whom our LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 107 poets met in society, and who led captive their incon- stant hearts. With Goethe it is otherwise. All his poems grow out of occasions ; they are flowers of which circumstance is the earth. Utterances of real feelings to real beings, they are unlike all coquettings with imaginary beauties. His poems are evidences.^ Un- happily, the bare fact in this instance is all we can discover. One flirtation, however, was not so easily effaced. His strange didactic father had instructed him and his sister in dancing, a task which seems rather ludicrous as we picture to ourselves the cold, formal, rigoroua old Frankforter. He was perfectly unconscious of any incongruity. With the utmost gravity he drilled them into a minuet, playing to them on the flageolet. Goethe's dancing had been for some time neglected, and when he stood up to a minuet once at Leipsic, ho got through it so awkwardly as to draw upon himself the suspicion of having done so to prevent being in- vited again. A handsome youth unable to dance was an anomaly in Strasburg. Not a Sunday evening passed without the pleasure-gardens being crowded with gay dancers ; galas frequently enhvened the week; and the merry Alsatians seldom met but they commenced spinning round in the waltz. Into these gardens, amidst these waltzers, Goethe constantly went — yet could not waltz. He resolved at length to learn. A friend recommended him to a dancing-master of repute, who soon pronounced liimself gTatified with the progress made. This master, a dry, precise, but amiable Frenchman, had two daughters, who assisted him at his lessons, 1 I tind Viehoff insisting on a similar clue ; be supposes Dorilis and Theresa (probably one and the same person) to be real per- sons, and that Goethe knew them through Salzmann. Mr. Demm- ler argues with some force that Dorilis can be none other than Frederika — of whom more auou. io8 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE acting both as partners and correctors. Two pretty girls, both under twenty, charming with Trench vivac- ity and coquetry, could not fail to interest the young poet ; nor could the graceful, handsome youth fail to create an impression on two girls whose lives were somewhat lonesome. Symptoms of this interest very soon showed themselves. The misfortune was that the state of their feelings made what dramatists call " a situation." Goethe's heart inclined toward Emilia, who loved another ; while that of Lucinda, the eldest sister, was bestowed upon him. Emilia was afraid to trust herself too much with him ; but Lucinda was always at hand, ready to waltz with him, to protract his lesson, or to show him httle attentions. There were not many pupils ; so that he often remained after his lesson to chat away the time, or to read aloud to them a romance : dangerous moments ! He saw how things stood, yet puzzled himself about the reserve of the younger sister. The cause of it came out at last. One evening, after the dance was over, Lucinda detained him in the dancing-room, tell- ing him that her sister was in the sitting-room with a fortune-teller, who was disclosing the condition of a lover to whom the girl's heart was given. " Mine," said Lucinda, " is free, and I must get used to its being shghted." He tried to parry this thrust by divers little compli- ments ; and, indiscreetly enough, advised her to try her own fate with the fortune-teller, offering to do the same himself. Lucinda did not like that tampering witli fate, declaring that the disclosures of the oracle were too true to be made a matter of sport. Probably this pifpied him into a little more earnestness than he had shown, for ultimately he persuaded her to go into the sitting-room with liiin. They found Emilia much pleased witli the information that she had received from the pythoness, who was highly flattered at the LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 109 new devotee to her shrine. A handsome reward was promised her if she should disclose the truth. With the customary ceremonial she began to tell the fortune of the elder sister. She hesitated. " Oh, I see," said Emilia, " that you have something unpleasant to tell." Lucinda turned pale, but said, " Speak out ; it will not cost me my hfe." The fortune-teller heaved a deep sigh, and proceeded with her disclosures. Lucinda, she said, was in love, but her love was not returned ; another person standing in the way. And she went on with more in the same style. It is not dithcult to imagine that the sybil should readily enough interpret this httle drama which w^as then acting by the youth and two girls before her eyes. Lucinda showed evi- dence of distress ; and the old woman endeavoured to give a better turn to the affair by throwing out hopes of letters and money. " Letters," said Lucinda, " I do not expect ; and money I do not want. If I love as you say, I have a right to be loved in return." The fortune-teller shuffled the cards again; but that only made matters worse; the girl now appeared in the oracular vision in greater trouble, her lover at a greater distance. A third shuffle of the cards was still worse ; Lucinda burst into a passionate flood of tears, and rushed from the room. " Follow her," said Emilia, " and comfort her." But he hesitated, not seeing what comfort he could well give, as he could not assure her of some return for her affection. " Let us go together " he replied. Emilia doubted whether her presence would do good ; but she consented. Lucinda had locked herself in ; and paying the old woman for her work, Goethe left the house. He had scarcely courage to revisit the sisters; but on the third day Emilia sent for him, and he received his lesson as usual. Lucinda, however, was absent; and when he asked for her, Emiha told him that she was in bed, declaring that she should die. She had no LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE thrown out great reproaches against him for his un- grateful behaviour. "And yet I do not know," said he, " that I am guilty of having expressed any sort of affection for her. I know somebody who can bear me witness of tliat." Emilia smiled. " I comprehend," she said ; " but if we are not careful we shall all find ourselves in a disastrous position. Forgive me if I say that you nuist not go on with your lessons. My father says that he is ashamed to take your money any longer, unless you mean to pursue the art of danc- ing ; since you know already what is needed by a young man in the world." " Do you tell me to avoid the house, Emilia ? " he asked. " Yes," she said ; " but not on my own account. When you had gone the otlier day, I had the cards cut for you ; and the same answer was given thrice. You were surrounded by friends, and all sorts of good fortune ; but the ladies kept aloof from you ; my poor sister stood farthest of all. One otlier constantly came near to you ; but never close ; for a third person, a man, always came between. I will confess that I thought I was myself this second lady ; and now you will understand my advice. I have promised myself to another, and until now I loved him more than any one. Yet your pres- ence miglit become more dangerous to me than it has been ; and then what a position would be yours be- tween two sisters, one of whom you would have made miserable by your affection, and the other by your coldness." She held out her hand and bade him fare- well ; .she then led him to the door; and in token that it was to be tlieir last meeting, she threw herself upon his bosom and kissed him tenderly. Just as he had put his arms round her, a side door flew open, and her sister, in a light but decorous dressing-gown, rushed in, crying, " You shall not be the only one to take leave of him!" Emilia released him. Lucinda took him in }itT arms, pressed her black locks against his cheeks; LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE iii remained thus for some time, and then drawing back looked him earnestly in the face. He took her hand and tried to muster some kind expressions to soothe her ; but she turned away, walked passionately up and down the room, and then threw herself in great agita- tion into a corner of the sofa, EmiHa went up to her, but was violently repulsed ; and a scene ensued, which had in it, says the principal performer, nothing really theatrical, although it could only be represented on the stage by an actor of sensibility. Lucinda poured forth reproaches against her sister. " This," said she, " is not the first heart beating for me that you have wheedled away. Was it not so with the one now betrothed to you, while I looked on and bore it ? I, only, know the tears it cost me ; and now you would rob me of this one. How many would you manage to keep at once ? I am frank and easy-tempered, and all think they un- derstand me at once, and may slight me. You are secret and quiet, and make people wonder at what may be concealed behind : there is nothing there but a cold, selfish heart, sacrificing everything to itself." Emilia seated herself by her sister, and remained silent, while Lucinda, growing more excited, began to betray matters not quite proper for him to hear. Emilia made a sign to him to withdraw. But Lucinda caught the sound, sprang towards him, and then remained lost in thought. " I know that I have lost you," she said : " I claim you no more; — but neither shall you have him." So say- ing, she grasped liim wildly by the head, with her hands thrust among his hair, pressed her face to his, and kissed him repeatedly on the mouth. " Now fear my curse ! Woe upon woe, for ever and ever, to her who for the first time after me kisses these hps ! Bare to sport with him now ! Heaven hears my curse ! And you, begone, begone while you may ! " He hurried from the house never to return. Is not this narrative Hke a scene in a novel ? The excited 112 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE little Frenchwoman — the bewildered poet — the old fortune-teller, and the dry old dancing-master, faintly sketched, in the background, are the sort of figures a novelist would delight in. CHAPTEE VI. HERDER AND FREDERIKA. One thing very noticeable in this Strasburg period is the thoroughly German culture it gave him. In those days culture was mostly classical and French. Classi- cal studies had never exercised much influence over him ; and, indeed, throughout his career, he approached antiquity more through Art than through the Greek and Eoman writers. To the French, on the other hand, he owed a great deal both of direction and material. A revival of the old German nationality was, however, actively agitated at this epoch. Klopstock, Lessing, Herder, Shakespeare, and Ossian were the rivals op- posed to France. A feeling of national pride gave its momentum to this change in taste. Gothic art began to be considered the true art of modern times. At the table dliote our friends, all German, not only banished the French language, but made a point of be- ing in every way unlike the French. French literature was ridiculed as affected, insincere, unnatural. The truth, homely strength, and simplicity of the German character were set against this literature of courtiers. Goethe had been dabbling in medieval studies, had been awestruck by the cathedral, had been inspired by Shakespeare, and had seen Lessing's iconoclastic wit scattering the pretensions of French poetry. More- over, he had read the biography of " Gotz von Berlichin- gen ; " and the picture of that Titan in an age of anarchy which he had conjured up from the meagre materials "3 114 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE had so impressed itself upon him, that it slowly grew into a dramatic conception. The legend of " Faust " especially attracted him, now that he was in the condi- tion into which youths so readily fall after a brief and unsatisfactory attempt to penetrate the mysteries of science. " Like him, too, I had swept the circle of science, and had early learned its vanity ; like him I had trodden various paths, always returning unsatis- fied." The studies of alchemy, medicine, jurisprudence, philosophy, and theology, which had so long engaged him, must have made him feel quite a personal interest in the old Faust legend. In such a mood the acquaintance with Herder was of great importance. Herder was five years his senior, and had already created a name for himself. He came to Strasburg with an eye-disease, which obliged him to remain there the whole winter, during the cure. Goethe, charmed with his vigorous intellect, attended on him during the operation, and sat with him morning and evening during his convalescence, listening to the wisdom which fell from those hps, as a pupil listens to a much-loved master. Great was the contrast between the two men, yet the difference did not separate them. Herder was decided, clear, pedagogic ; knowing his own aims, and fond of communicating his ideas, Goethe was skeptical and inquiring. Herder, rude, sarcastic, and bitter ; Goethe amiable and infinitely tolerant. The bitterness which repelled so many friends from Herder, could not repel Goethe : it was a peculiarity of his to be at all times able to learn from antagonistic natures ; meeting them on the common ground of sympathy, ho avoided those subjects on which they would inevitably clash. It is somewhat curious that although Herder took a great liking to his young friend, and was grateful for his kind attentions, he seems to have had little suspicion of his genius. The only frag- ment we have of that period, which gives us a hint of LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 115 his opinion, is in a letter to his bride, dated February, 1772 : " Goethe is really a good fellow, only somewhat light and sparrow-like,^ for which I incessantly reproach him. He was almost the only one who visited me during my illness in Strasburg whom I saw with pleasure ; and I believe I influenced him in more ways than one to his advantage." His own vanity may have stood between Goethe and himself; or he may have been too conscious of his young friend's defects to think much of his genius, " Herder, Herder," Goethe writes to him from Strasburg, " be to me what you are. If I am destined to be your planet, so wUl I be, and will- ingly and truly, a friendly moon to your earth. But you must feel that I would rather be Mercury, the last, the smallest of the seven, to revolve with you about the sun, than the first of the five which turn round Saturn." ^ In one of the many inaccuracies of his Autobiography, he says that he withheld from Herder his intention of writing " Gotz ; " but there is a passage in Herder's work on German Art, addressed to Goethe, which very plainly alludes to this intention.^ Such oversights are inevitable in retracing the minor details of the past. There was indeed contrast enough between the two, in age, character, intellect, and knowledge, to have pre- vented any very close sympatliy. Herder loved the abstract and ideal in men and things, and was for ever criticising and complaining of individuals, because they did not realise his ideal standard. What Gervinus says ^ Nur etwas lelcht und spatzenmdssig : I translate the phrase, leaving the reader to interpret it ; for twenty Germans have given twenty different meanings to the word "sparrow-like," some re- ferring to the chattering of sparrows, others to the boldness of sparrows, others to the curiosity of sparrows, and others to the libertine character of sparrows. Whether Herder meant gay, vola- tile, forward, careless, or amorous, I cannot decide. 2 " Aus Herder's Nachlass," 1, p. 28. 3 Herder : " Von deutschen Ait und Kuust," p. 112. Ii6 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE of Herder's relation to Lessing, namely, that he loved him when he considered him as a whole, but could never cease plaguing him about details, holds good also of his relation to Goethe through hfe. Goethe had Httle of that love of mankind in the abstract, which to Herder, and so many others, seems the sub- stitute for individual love, — which animates philan- thropists who are sincere in their philanthropy, even when they are bad husbands, bad fathers, bad brothers, and bad friends. He had, instead of this, the most overflowing love for individual men. His concrete and affectionate nature was more attracted to men than to abstractions. It is because many do not recognise this that they declaim against him for his " indifference " to political matters, to history, and to many of the great questions which affect Humanity. Herder's influence on Goethe was manifold, but mainly in the direction of poetry. He taught him to look at the Bible as a magnificent illustration of the truth that Poetry is the product of a national spirit, not the privilege of a cultivated few. From the poetry of the Hebrew People he led him to other illustrations of national song ; and here Homer and Ossian were placed highest. It was at this time that Ossian made the tour of Europe, and everywhere met believers. Goethe was so delighted with the "wild northern singer, that he translated the song of " Selma," and afterward incorporated it in " Werther." Besides Shakespeare and Ossian, he also learned, through Herder, to appreciate the " Vicar of Wakefield ; " and the exquisite picture there painted, he was now to see living in the parson- age of Frederika's father. Upon the broad and lofty gallery of the Strasburg Cathedral he and his companions often met to salute tlie setting su!i with brimming goblets of Rhine wine. Tlie calm wide landscape stretched itself for miles before them, and they pointed out the several spots which " Ut^oti ihe broad and loftv gallerv'' from the drawing by W. Kriedrich LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 117 memory endeared to each. One spot, above all others, has interest for us — Sesenheim, the home of Frederika. Of all the women who enjoyed the distinction of Goethe's love, none seem to me so fascinating as Frederika. Her idyllic presence is familiar to every lover of German literature, through the charming epi- sode of the Autobiography, over which the poet lingered with pecuhar delight. The secretary is now (1854) living to whom this episode was dictated, and he re- members vividly how much affected Goethe seemed to be as these scenes revisited memory ; walking up and down the room, with his hands behind him, he often stopped in his walk, and paused in the dictation ; then after a long silence, followed by a deep sigh, he continued the narrative in a lower tone. Weyland, a fellow boarder, had often spoken of a clergyman who, with his wife and two amiable daugh- ters, lived near Drusenheim, a village about sixteen miles from Strasburg. Early in October, 1770, Wey- land proposed to his friend to accompany him on a visit to the worthy pastor. It was agreed between them that Weyland should introduce him under the guise of a shabby theological student. His love of incognito often prompted him to such disguises. In the present instance he borrowed some old clothes, and combed his hair in such a way that when Weyland saw him he burst out into a fit of laughter. They set forth in high glee. At Drusenheim they stopped, Weyland to make himself spruce, Goethe to rehearse his part. Eiding across the meadows to Sesenheim, they left their horses at the inn, and walked leisurely toward the parsonage, — an old and somewhat dilapi- dated farmhouse, but very picturesque, and very still. They found pastor Brion at home, and were welcomed by him in a friendly manner. The rest of the family were in the fields. Weyland went after them, leaving Goethe to discuss parish interests with the pastor, who ii8 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE soon grew confidential. Presently the wife appeared ; and she was followed by the eldest daughter bouncing into the room, inquiring after Frederika, and hurrying away again to seek her. Itefreshments were brought, and old acquaintances were talked over with Weyland, — Goethe listening. Then the daughter returned, uneasy at not having found Frederika. This little domestic fuss about Fred- erika prepared the poet for her appearance. At length she came in. Both girls wore the national costume, with its short, white, full skirt and furbelow, not con- cealing the neatest of ankles, a tight bodice, and black taffeta apron. Frederika's straw hat hung on her arm ; and the beautiful braids of her fair hair drooped on a delicate white neck. Merry blue eyes, and a piquant little nez retrousse, completed her attractions. In gaz- ing on this bright young creature, then only sixteen, Goethe felt ashamed of his disguise. It hurt his amour propre to appear thus before her like a bookish student, shorn of all personal advantages. Meanwhile conver.sation rattled on between Weyland and his fam- ily. Endless was the Ust of uncles, aunts, nieces, cousins, gossips, and guests they had something to say about, leaving him completely excluded from the con- ver.sation. Frederika, seeing this, seated herself by him, and with charming frankness began to talk to him. Music was lying on the harpsichord ; she asked liim if he played, and on his modestly qualified affirm- ative begged him " to favour them." Her father, how- ever, suggested that she ought to begin by a song. She sat down to the harpsicliord, which was somewhat out of tune, and, in a provincial style, performed sev- eral pieces, such as then were Ihouglit enchanting. After this she began to sing. The song was tender and melancholy, liut she was ap]>arently not in tlie uiood, for acknowledging her failure she rose and said, " If 1 sing badly it is not the fault of my harpsichord LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 119 nor of my teacher : let us go into the open air, and then you shall hear my Alsatian and Swiss songs." Into the air they went, and soon her merry voice carolled forth : " I come from a forest as dark as the night, And believe me, I love thee, my only delight. Ei, ja, ei, ja, ei, ei, ei, ei, ja, ja, ja ! " ^ He was already a captive. His tendency to see pictures and poetry in the actual scenes of life, here made him see reahsed the Wake- field family. If pastor Brion did not accurately repre- sent Mr. Primrose, yet he might stand for him ; the elder daughter for Olivia, the younger for Sophia ; and when at supper a youth came into the room, Goethe involuntarily exclaimed, " What, Moses too ! " A very merry supper they had ; so merry that Weyland, fear- ing lest wine and Frederika should make his friend betray himself, proposed a walk in the moonlight. Weyland offered his arm to Salome, the elder daughter (always named Olivia in the Autobiography), Fred- erika took Goethe's arm. Youth and moonlight — need one say more ? Already he began to scrutinise her tone in speaking of cousins and neighbours, jealous lest it should betray an affection. But her blithe spirit was as yet untroubled, and he listened in delicious silence to her unembarrassed loquacity. On retiring for the night the friends had much to talk over. Weyland assured him the incognito had not been betrayed ; on the contrary, the family had inquired after the young Goethe, of whose joviality and eccentricities they had often heard. And now came the tremulous question ; w^as Frederika engaged ? No. That was a rehef ! Had she ever been in love ? 1 The entire song is to be found in the " Sesenheimer Lieder- buch " and in Viehoff : " Goethe Erlautert," vol. i. p. 110. 120 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE No. Still better ! Thus chatting, they sat till deep iu the uight as friends chat on such occasions, with hearts too full and brains too heated for repose. At dawn Goethe was awake, impatient to see Frederika with the dew of morning on her cheek. While dress- ing he looked at his costume in disgust, and tried in vain to remedy it. His hair could be managed ; but when his arms were thrust into his threadbare coat, the sleeves of which were ludicrously short, he looked pitiable ; Weyland, peeping at him from under the coverlet, giggled. In his despair he resolved to ride back to Strasburg, and return in his own costume. On the way another plan suggested itself. He ex- changed clothes with the son of the landlord at the Drusenheim Inn, a youth of his own size ; corked his eyebrows, imitated the son's gait and speech, and returned to the parsonage the bearer of a cake. This second disguise also succeeded, so long as he kept at a distance ; but Frederika running up to him and say- ing, " George, what do you here ? " he was forced to reveal himself. " Not George, but one who asks for- giveness." " You shocking creature 1 " she exclaimed, " how you frightened me ! " The jest was soon ex- plained and forgiven, not only by Frederika, but by the family, who laughed heartily at it. Gaily passed the day ; the two hourly falling deeper and deeper in love. Passion does not chronicle by time : moments are hours, hours years, when two hearts are rushing into one. It matters little, therefore, that the Autobiography speaks only of two days passed in this happy circle, whereas a letter of his says distinctly he was there " some days — ciriif/e Taijc " {less than three cannot be understood by eiauje). He was there long enough to fall in love, and to captivate the whole family by his gaiety, obligingness, and poetic gifts. He had given them a taste of his quality as a roman- cist, by telling the story of "The New Melu.'^ina" LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 121 (subsequently published in the " Wander jahr"). He had also mterested himself in the pastor's plans for the rebuilding of the parsonage, and proposed to take away the sketches with him to Strasburg. The pain of separation was hghtened by the promise of speedy reunion. He returned to Strasburg with new life in his heart. He had not long before written to a friend that for the first time he knew what it w^as to be happy without his heart being engaged. Pleasant people and manifold studies left him no time iov feel- ing. " Enough, my present hfe is like a sledge journey, splendid and sounding, but with just as little for the heart as it has much for eyes and ears." Another tone runs through his letters now, to judge from the only one which has been recovered.^ It is addressed to Frederika, dated the 15th October. " Dear new Friend : — I dare to call you so ; for if I can trust the language of eyes, then did mine in the first glance read the hope of this new friendship in yours — and for our hearts I will answer. You, good and gentle as I know you, will you not show some favour to one who loves you so ? " Dear, dear friend, that I have something to say to you there can be no question ; but it is quite another matter whether I exactly know wherefore I now write, and what I may write. Thus much I am conscious of by a certain inward unrest : that I would gladly be by your side, and a scrap of paper is as true a consolation and as winged a steed for me here in noisy Strasburg as it can be to you in your quiet, if you truly feel the separation from your friend. " The circumstances of our journey home you can easily imagine, if you marked my pain at parting, and how I longed to remain behind. Weyland's thoughts 1 SchoU : " Briefe unci Aufsatze," p. 61. The letters in PfeiSer's book are manifest forgeries. 122 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE went forward, mine backward; so you can under- stand how our conversation was neither interesting nor copious. "At the end of the Wanzenau we thought to shorten our route, and found ourselves in the midst of a morass. Night came on ; and we only needed the storm which threatened to overtake us, to have had every reason for being fully convinced of the love and constancy of our princesses.^ " Meanwhile, the scroll which I held constantly in my hand — fearful of losing it — was a talisman which charmed away all the perils of the journey. And now ? oh I dare not utter it — either you can guess it, or you will not believe it ! "At last we arrived, and our first thought, which had been our joy on the road, was the project soon to see you again. "How delicious a sensation is the hope of seeing again those we love ! And we, when our coddled heart is a little sorrowful, at once bring it medicine and say : Dear little heart, be quiet, you will not long be away from her you love ; be quiet, dear little heart ! Meanwhile we give it a chimera to play with ; and then is it good and still as a child to whom the mother gives a doll instead of the apple which it must not eat. " Enough, we are not here, and so you see you were wrong. You wi^uld not believe that the noisy gaiety of Strasburg would be disagreeable to me after the sweet country pleasures enjoyed with you. Never, Mamsell, did Strasburg seem so empty to me as now. I liope, indeed, it will be better when the remem- brance of those charming hours is a little dimmed — wlu'u T no longer feel so vividly how good, how amiable my friend is. Yet ought I to forget that, or > An ftlhi.sion ilnubtless intelligible to the person addressed, but I can make nothing of it. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 123 to wish it ? No ; I will rather retain a little sorrow and write to you frequently. "And now many, many thanks and many sincere remembrances to your dear parents. To your dear sister many hundred . . . what I would so willingly give you again ! " A few days after his return, Herder underwent the operation previously alluded to. Goethe was con- stantly with him ; but as he carefully concealed all his mystical studies, fearing to have them ridiculed, so one may suppose he concealed also the new passion which deliciously tormented him. In silence he occupied himself with Frederika, and carefully sketched plans for the new parsonage. He sent her books, and received from her a letter, which of course seemed priceless. In November he was again at Sesenheim. Night had already set in when he arrived ; his impatience would not suffer him to wait till morning, the more so as the landlord assured him the young ladies had only just gone home, where " they expected some one." He felt jealous of this expected friend ; and he hastened to the parsonage. Great was his surprise to find them Twt surprised ; greater still to hear Frederika whisper, " Did I not say so ? Here he is ! " Her loving heart had prophesied his coming, and had named the very day. The next day was Sunday, and many guests were expected. Early in the morning Frederika proposed a walk with him, leaving her mother and sister to look after domestic preparations. Who shall describe that walk, wherein the youthful pair abandoned themselves without concealment to all the delightful nothings of dawning love ? They talked over the expected pleasures of the day, and arranged how to be always together. She taught him several games; 124 L'FE AND WORKS OF GOETHE he taught her others ; and underneath these innocent arrangements Love serenely smiled. The church bell called them from their walk. To church they went, and listened — not very attentively — to the worthy pastor. Another kind of devotion made their hearts devout. He meditated on her charming qualities, and as his glance rested on her ruddy lips, he recalled the last time woman's lips had been pressed to his own ; recalled the curse which the excited French girl had uttered, a curse which hitherto had acted like a spell. This superstition not a httle troubled him in games of forfeits, where kisses always form a large proportion ; and his presence of mind was often tried in the attempts to evade them ; the more so as many of the guests, sus- pecting the tender relation between him and Frederika, sportively took every occasion to make them kiss. She, with natural instinct, aided him in his evasions. The time came, however, when, carried away by the excitement of the dance and games, he felt the burning pressure of her lips crush the superstition in a " Kiss, a long, long kiss Of youth and beauty gathered into one." He returned to Strasburg, if not a formally betrothed, yet an accepted lover. As such the famil}' and friends seem to have regarded him. Probably no betrothal took place, on account of his youth, and the necessity of obtaining his father's consent. His muse, lately silent, now found voice again, and several of the poems Frederika inspired arc to be read in his pub- lished works.^ He had been sent to Strasburg to gain a doctor's degree. His Dissertation had been commenced just before this Sesenheim episode. But Shakespeare, Os- 1 Tlie whole have been reprinted in liie " Seseuheimcr Lieder- buch ;" and in Viehoff's "Goethe Erlautert." LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 125 sian, " Faust," " Gcitz," aud, above all, Frederika, scat- tered his plans ; and he followed the advice of friends to choose, instead of a Dissertation, a number of Theses, upon which to hold a disputation. His father would not hear of such a thing, but demanded a regular Dis- sertation. He chose, therefore, this theme, " That it is the duty of every law-maker to establish a certain relig- ious worship binding upon clergy and laity." A theme he supported by historical and philosophical argu- ments. The Dissertation was written in Latin, and sent to his father, who received it with pleasure. But the dean of the faculty would not receive it — either because its contents were paradoxical, or because it was not sufficiently erudite. In lieu thereof he was permitted to choose Theses for disputation. The dis- putation was held on the 6th of August, 1771, his opponent being Franz Lerse, who pressed him hard. A jovial Schmaus, a real student's banquet, crowned this promotion of Doctor Goethe.^ He could find no time for visits to Sesenheim during this active preparation for his doctorate ; but he was not entirely separated from Frederika : her mother had come with both daughters to Strasburg, on a visit to a rich relative. He had been for some time acquainted with this family, and had many opportunities of meet- ing his beloved. The girls, who came in their Alsatian costume, found their cousins and friends dressed like Frenchwomen ; a contrast which greatly vexed Ohvia, who felt " like a maidservant " among these fashionable friends. Her restless manners evidently made Goethe somewhat ashamed of her. Frederika, on the other hand, though equally out of her element in this society, was more self-possessed, and perfectly contented so long 1 There is some obscm-ity on this point. From a letter to Salz- mann, it seems he only got a licentiate degree at this time. The doctorate he certainly had ; but ivhen his diploma was prepared is not known. 126 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE as he was by her side. There is in the Autobiography a siguiticaut phrase : this visit of the family is called a « peculiar test of his love." And test it was, as every one must see who considers the relations in w^hich the lovers stood. He was the son of an important Frank- fort citizen, and held almost the position of a nobleman in relation to the poor pastor's daughter. Indeed, the social disparity was so gi-eat, that many explain his not marrying Frederika on the gi-ound of such a match being impossible, — " his father," it is said, " would not have listened to such a thing for a moment." Love in no wise troubles itself about station, never asks " what will the world say?" but there is quite a different solicitude felt by Love when approaching Marriage. In the first eagerness of passion, a prince may bhndly pursue a peasant ; but when his love is gratified by re- turn, when reflection reasserts its duties, then the prince will consider what in other mmds will be the estimation of his mistress. Men are very sensitive to the opinions of others on their mistresses and wives ; and Goethe's love must indeed have been put to the test, at seeing Frederika and her sister thus in glaring contrast with the society in which he moved. In the groves of Sesenheim she was a wood-nymph; but in Strasburg salons the wood-nymph seemed a peasant. Who is there that has not experienced a similar destruc- tion of illusion, in seeing an admired person lose almost all cliarm in the change of environment ? Frederika laid her sweet commands on him one evening, and bade him entertain the company by read- ing "Handet" aloud. He did so, to the great enjoy- ment of all, especially Frederika, " who from time to time siglied deeply, and a passing colour tinged her cheeks." Was she thinking of poor Ophelia — placing herself in that forlorn positiim ? " For IIiuiiltM and the tritlincc of his favovu-, Hold it a fashion and u toy in blood I " LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 127 She may have had some presentiment of her fate. The applause, however, which her lover gained was proudly accepted by her, " and in her graceful manner she did not deny herself the httle pride of having shone through him." It is quite certain that his mind was disturbed by vague uneasiness. " How happy is he," he writes, " whose heart is light and free ! Courage urges us to confront difficulties and dangers, and only by great labour are great joys obtained. That, perhaps, is the worst I have to allege against Love. They say it gives courage : never ! The heart that loves is weak. When it beats wildly in the bosom, and tears fill our eyes, and we sit in an inconceivable rapture as they flow — then, oh ! then, we are so weak, that flower-chains bind us, not because they have the strength of any magic, but because we tremble lest we break them." The mention of " Hamlet " leads us naturally into the society where he sought oblivion, w^hen Frederika quitted Strasburg. Her departure, he confesses, was a relief to him. She herself felt, on leaving, that the end of their romance was approaching. He plunged into gaiety to drown tormenting thoughts. " If you could but see me," he wrote to Salzmann, after describ- ing a dance which had made him forget his fever : " my whole being was sunk in dancing. And yet could I but say : I am happy ; that would be better than all. ' Who is't can say I am at the worst ? ' says Edgar (in ' Lear '). That is some comfort, dear friend. My heart is like a weathercock when a storm is rising, and the gusts are changeable." Some days later he wrote : " All is not clear in my soul. I am too curi- ously awake not to feel that I grasp at shadows. And yet. . . . To-morrow at seven my horse is saddled, and then adieu ! " Besides striving to drown in gaiety these tormenting thoughts, he also strove to divert them into channels 128 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE of nobler activity ; stimulated thereto by the Shake- spearian fanaticism of his new friend Lenz. lleinhold Lenz, irrevocably forgotten as a poet, whom a vain ellbrt on the part of Gruppe has tried to bring once more into public favour,^ is not without interest to the student of German literature during the Sttorm und Drang (Storm and Stress) period. He came to Strasburg in 1770, accompanying two young noblemen as their tutor, and minghug with them in the best society of the place ; and by means of Salzmann was introduced to the club. Although he had begun by translating Pope's " Essay on Criticism," he was, in the strictest sense of the word, one of the Shakespeare bigots, who held to the severest orthodoxy in Shake- speare as a first article of their creed, and who not only maintained the Shakespeare clowns to be incomparable, but strove to imitate them in their language. It is not easy for us to imagine the effect which the revela- tion of such a mind as Shakespeare's must have pro- duced on the young Germans. His strength, profundity of thought, originality and audacity of language, his beauty, pathos, sublimity, wit, and wild overflowing humour, and his accuracy of observation as well as depth of insight into the mysteries of passion and character, were qualities which no false criticism, and, above all, no national taste prevented Germans from appreciating. It was very different in France. There an established form of art, with which national pride was identified, and an established set of critical rules, upon which Taste securely rested, necessarily made Shakespeare appear like a Cyclops of Genius — a mon- ster, though of superhuman proportions. Frenchmen could not help being shocked at many things in Shake- speare; yet even those who were most outraged, were also most amazed at the pearls to be found upon the dunghill. In Germany the pearls alone were seen. * Gruppe : '> Roiiihold Leuz, Leben und Werke," 1861. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 129 French taste had beeu pitilessly ridiculed by Lessing. The Freoch Tragedy had been contrasted with Shake- speare, and pronounced unworthy of comparison. To the Germans, therefore, Shakespeare was a standard borne by all who combated against France, and his greatness was proclaimed with something of wilful preference. The state of German literature also ren- dered his influence the more powerful. Had Shake- speare been first revealed to us when Mr. Hayley was the great laureate of the age, we should have felt some- thing of the eagerness with which the young and ardent minds of Germany received this greatest poet of all ages. I am fortunately enabled, thanks to Otto Jahn, to give here a very interesting illustration of the enthu- siasm with which these young men studied Shakespeare ; and among the new materials this Biography contains, perhaps nothing will be so welcome in England. It is an oration prepared by Goethe for one of the meetings of the Shakespeare circle before mentioned. To hear the youth of one and twenty thus eloquent on his great idol, lets us intimately into the secret of his mental condition. ORATION ON SHAKESPEARE. " In my opinion, the noblest of our sentiments is the hope of continuing to live, even when destiny seems to have carried us back into the common lot of non-exist- ence. This life, gentlemen, is much too short for our souls ; the proof is, that every man, the lowest as well as the highest, the most incapable as well as the most meritorious, will be tired of anything sooner than of life, and that no one reaches the goal toward which he sets out ; for however long a man may be prosperous in his career, still at last, and often when in sight of the hoped-for object, he falls into a grave, which God 130 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE knows who dug for him, and is reckoned as nothing. Reckoned as nothing ? I ? who am everything to my- self, since I know things only through myself ! So cries every one who is truly conscious of himself ; and makes great strides through this life — a preparation for the unending course above. Each, it is true, accord- ing to his measure. If one sets out with the sturdiest walking pace, the other wears seven-leagued boots and outstrips him ? two steps of the latter are equal to a day's journey of the former. Be it as it may with him of the seven-leagued boots, this diligent traveller remains our friend and our companion, while we are amazed at the gigantic steps of the other and admire him, follow his footsteps and measure them with our own. " Let us up and be going, gentlemen ! To watch a solitary march like this enlarges and animates our souls more than to stare at the thousand footsteps of a royal procession. To-day we honour the memory of the greatest traveller on this journey of life, and thereby we are doing an honour to ourselves. When we know how to appreciate a merit, we have the germ of it within ourselves. Do not expect that I should say much or methodically ; mental calmness is no gar- ment for a festival ; and as yet I have thought little upon Shakespeare ; to have glimpses, and, in exalted passages, to feel, is the utmost I have been able to obtain. The first page of his that I read made me his for life ; and when I had finished a single play, I stood like one born blind, on whom a miraculous hand be- stows sight in a moment. I saw, I felt, in the most vivid manner, that my existence was infinitely ex- panded, everything was now unknown to me, and the unwonted light pained my eyes. By little and little I learned to see, and, thanks to my receptive genius, I f-ontinue vividly to feel what I have won. I did not hesitate for a moment about renouncing the classical LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 131 drama. The unity of place seemed to mc irksome as a prison, the unities of action and of time burtheusome fetters to our imagination ; I sprang into the open air, and felt for the first time that I had hands and feet. And now that I see how much injury the men of rule did me in their dungeon, and how many free souls still crouch there, my heart would burst if 1 did not declare war against them, and did not seek daily to batter down their towers. " The Greek drama, which the French took as their model, was both in its inward and outward character such, that it would be easier for a marquis to imitate Alcibiades than for Corneille to follow Sophocles. At first an intermezzo of divine worship, then a mode of political celebration, the tragedy presented to the people great isolated actions of their fathers with the pure simplicity of perfection ; it stirred thorough and gi-eat emotions in souls because it was itself thorough and great. And in what souls ? Greek souls ! I cannot explain to myself what that expresses, but I feel it, and appeal for the sake of brevity to Homer and Sophocles, and Theocritus; they have taught me to feel it. "Now hereupon I immediately ask: Frenchman, what wilt thou do with the Greek armour ? it is too strong and too heavy for thee. " Hence, also, French tragedies are parodies of them- selves. How regularly everything goes forward, and how they are as like each other as shoes, and tire- some withal, especially in the fourth act — all this, gentlemen, you know from experience, and I say nothing about it. " Who it was that first thought of bringmg great pohtical actions on the stage, I know not; this is a subject which affords an opportunity to the amateur for a critical treatise. I doubt whether the honour of the invention belongs to Shakespeare; it is enough 132 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE that he brought this species of drama to the pitch wliich still remains the highest, for few eyes can reach it, and thus it is scarcely to be hoped that any one will see beyond it or ascend above it. Shakespeare, my friend ! if thou wert yet amongst us, I could hve nowhere but with thee ; how gladly would I play the subordinate character of a Pylades, if thou wert Ores- tes ; yes, rather than be a venerated high priest in the temple of Delphos. " I will break off, gentlemen, and write more to- morrow, for I am in a strain which, perhaps, is not so edifying to you as it is heartfelt by me. " Shakespeare's dramas are a beautiful casket of rarities, in which the history of the world passes before our eyes on the invisible thread of time. His plots, to speak according to the ordinary style, are no plots, for his plays all turn upon the hidden point (which no philosopher has yet seen and defined), in which the peculiarity of our ego, the pretended freedom of our will, clashes with the necessary course of the whole. But our corrupt taste so beclouds our eyes, that we almost need a new creation to extricate us from this darkness. " All French writers, and Germans infected with French taste, even Wieland, have in this matter, as in several others, done themselves little credit. Voltaire, who from the first made a profession of vilifying every- tliing majestic, has here also shown himself a genuine Thersites, If I were Ulysses, his back should writhe under my sceptre. Most of these critics object espe- cially to Shakespeare's characters. And I cry, nature, nature! notliiug so natural as Shakespeare's men. " There I have them all by the neck. Give me air that I may speak ! He rivalled Prometheus, and formed his men feature liy feature, only of colossal size ; tlierein lies the reason that we do not recognise our brethren ; and tli'-ii he animated them with the breath of his LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 133 mind ; he speaks in all of them, and we perceive their relationship. " And how shall our age form a judgment as to what is natural ? Whence can we be supposed to know nature, we who, from youth upward, feel everything within us, and see everything in others, laced up and decorated ? I am often ashamed before Shakespeare, for it often happens that at the first glance I think to myself I should have done that differently ; but soon I perceive that I am a poor sinner, that nature proph- esies through Shakespeare, and that my men are soap- bubbles blown from romantic fancies. " And now to conclude, — though I have not yet begun. What noble philosophers have said of the world, applies also to Shakespeare ; — namely, that what we call evil is only the other side, and belongs as necessarily to its existence and to the Whole, as the torrid zone must burn and Lapland freeze, in order that there may be a temperate region. He leads us through the whole world, but we, enervated, inexperienced men, cry at every strange grasshopper that meets us : He will devour us. " Up, gentlemen ! sound the alarm to all noble souls who are in the elysium of so-called good taste, where drowsy in tedious twilight they are half alive, half not alive, with passions in their hearts and no marrow in their bones ; and because they are not tired enough to sleep, and yet are too idle to be active, loiter and yawn away their shadowy life between myrtle and laurel bushes." In these accents we hear the voice of the youth who wrote " Gotz with the Iron Hand." If the reader turn to the Autobiography and see there what is said of Shakespeare, he will be able to appreciate what I meant in saying that the tone of the Autobiography is unlike the reahty. The tone of this speech is that of 134 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE the famous Sturm und Drang (Storm and Stress) period, which iu after life became so very objectionable to him. How differently Schiller was affected by Shakespeare may be read in the following confession: "When at an early age I first grew acquainted with this poet, I was indignant at his coldness — indignant with the insensibility which allowed him to jest and sport amidst the highest pathos. Led by my knowledge of more modern poets to seek the poet in his works ; to meet and sympathise with his heart; to reflect with him over his object ; it was insufferable to me that this poet gave me nothing of himself. Many years had he my reverence — certainly my earnest study, before I could comprehend his individuahty. I was not yet fit to comprehend nature at first hand." The enthusiasm for Shakespeare naturally excited Goethe to dramatic composition, and, besides "Gotz" and " Faust," before mentioned, we find in his Note- book the commencement of a drama on " Julius Cffisar." Three forms rise up from out the many influences of Strasburg into distinct and memorable importance : Frederika; Herder; the Cathedral. An exquisite woman, a noble thinker, and a splendid monument, led him into the regions of Passion, Poetry, and Art. The influence of the Cathedral was gi-eat enough to make him write the little tractate on German archi- tecture, " D. M. Erwini a Steinbach," with an enthusi- asm so incoinpreliensible to him in after years, that he was with ditliculty persuaded to reprint the tractate among his works. Do we not see here — as m so luiuiy other traits — how diiTerent the youth is from the child or man ? How thoroughly he had entered into the spirit of (iothic architecture is indicated by the following ancc- ilote. In company with some friends lie was admiring the Strasburg Cathedral, when one remarked, " What a LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 135 pity it was not finished, and that there should be only one steeple ! " Upon this he answered, " It is a matter of equal regret to me to see this solitary steeple unfin- ished ; the four spiral staircases leave off too abruptly at the top; they ought to have been surmounted by four light pinnacles, with a higher one rising in the centre instead of the clumsy mass." Some one, turn- ing round to him, asked him who told him that ? " The tower itself," he answered ; " I have studied it so long, so attentively, and with so much love, that it has at last confessed to me its open secret." Where- upon his questioner informed him that the tower had spoken truly, and offered to show him the original sketches, which still existed among the archives. Inasmuch as in England many professed admirers of architecture appear imperfectly acquainted with the history of the revival of the taste for Gothic art, it may not be superfluous to call attention to the fact that Goethe was among the very first to recognise the pe- culiar beauty of that style, at a period when classical, or pseudo-classical, taste was everywhere dominant. It appears that he was in friendly correspondence with Sulpiz Boisser^e, the artist who made the restored design of the Cologne Cathedral ; from whom he doubt- less learned much. And we see by the " Wahlverwandt- schaften " that he had a portfolio of designs illustrative of the principle of the pointed style. This was in 1809, when scarcely any one thought of the Gothic; long before Victor Hugo had written his "Notre Dame de Paris ; " long before Pugin and Ptuskiu had thrown their impassioned energy into this revival ; at a time when the Church in Langham Place was thought beautiful, and the Temple Church an eyesore. And now he was to leave Strasburg, — to leave Frederika. Much as her presence had troubled him of late, in her absence he only thought of her fascina- tions. He had not ceased to love her, though he 136 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE already felt she never would be his. He went to say- adieu. " Those were painful days, of which I remem- ber nothing. When 1 held out my hand to her from my horse, the tears were in her eyes, and I felt sad at heart. As I rode along the footpath to Drusenheim a strange phantasy took hold of me. I saw in my mind's eye my own figure riding toward me, attired in a dress I had never worn — pike gray with gold lace. I shook off this phantasy, but eight years after- ward I found myself on the very road, going to visit Frederika, and that too in the very dress which I had seen myself in, in this phantasm, although my wearing it was quite accidental." The reader will probably be somewhat skeptical respecting the dress, and will sup- pose that this prophetic detail was afterward trans- ferred to the vision by the imagination of later years.^ And so farewell, Frederika, bright and exquisite vision of a poet's youth ! We love you, pity you, and think how differently we should have treated you! We make pilgrimages to Sesenheim as to Vaucluse, and write legibly our names in the Visitors' Album, to testify so much. And we read, not without emo- tion, narratives such as that of the worthy philologist Niike, who in 1822 made the first pilgrimage,^ think- ing, as he went, of this enchanting Frederika {and somewhat also of a private Frederika of his own), examined every rood of the ground, dined meditatively at the inn (with a passing reflection that the bill was larger than he anticipated), took coflee with the pas- tor's successor ; and, with a sentiment touching in a philologist, bore away a sprig of the jessamine which in days gone by had been tended by the white hands of Frederika, and placed it in his pocketbook as an imperishable souvenir. * The correspondence with the Fran von Stein contains a letter written by him a day or two after this visit, but, singularly enough. ni> mention of this coincidence. 2" Die WiiUfalirt nach ISeseuhoim." Book the Third 1771 to 1775 " Es bildet ein Talent, sich in der Stille, Sich ein Charakter in dem Strom der Welt." " Trunken miissen wir alle seyn : Jugend ist Trunkeuheit olme Wain." " They say best men are moulded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad." — Shakespeare. 137 CHAPTER I. DOCTOR GOETHE'S RETURN. Ox the 25th or 28th of August, 1771, he quitted Strasburg. His way led through Mannheim ; and there he was first thrilled by the beauty of ancient masterpieces, some of which he saw in plaster cast. Whatever might be his predilection for Gothic art, he could not view these casts without feehng himself in presence of an Art in its way also divine ; and his previous study of Lessing lent a peculiar interest to the Laocoon gi'oup, now before his eyes. Passing on to Mainz, he fell in with a young wandering harpist, and invited the ragged minstrel to Frankfort, promising him a public in the Fair, and a lodging in his father's house. It was lucky that he thought of acquainting his mother with this invitation. Alarmed at its imprudence, she secured a lodging in the town, and so the boy wanted neither shelter nor patronage. Rath Goethe was not a little proud of the young Doctor. He was also not a little disturbed by the young doctor's manners ; and often shook his ancient respectable head at the opinions which exploded like bombshells in the midst of society. Doctoral gravity was but slightly attended to by this young hero of the Sturm und Drang. The revolutionary movement known by the title of the " Storm and Stress " was then about to astonish Germany, and to startle all conventions, by works such as Gerstenberg's " Ugo- 139 I40 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE lino," Goethe's " Gotz von Berlichingen," and Klinger's " Sturm uud Drang " (whence the name). The wisdom and extravagance of that age united in one stream: the masterly criticisms of Lessing, — the enthusiasm for Shakespeare, — the mania for Ossian and the northern mythology, — the revival of ballad litera- ture, and imitations of Eousseau, all worked in one rebeihous current against estabhshed Authority. There was one universal shout for Nature. With the young, Nature seemed to be a compound of volcanoes and moonlight ; her force, explosion, her beauty, sentiment. To be insurgent and sentimental, explosive and lachry- mose, were the true signs of genius. Everything estab- lished was humdrum. Genius, abhorrent of humdrum, would neither spell correctly, nor write correctly, nor demean itself correctly. It would be German — law- less, rude, and natural. Lawless it was, and rude it was, but not natural, according to Nature of any reputable type. It is not easy, in the pages of the Autobiography, to detect in Goethe an early leader of the Sturm und Drang ; " but it is easy enough to detect this in other sources. Here is a ghmpse, m a letter from Mayer of Lindau (one of the Strasburg set) to Salzmann, worth chapters of the Autobiography on such a point. " Cori/don, Corydon, qum te dementia cepit ! According to the chain in which our ideas are linked together, Corydon and dementia put me in mind of the extrava- gant Goethe. He is still at Frankfort, is he not ? " That such a youth, whose wildiiess made friends nickname him the " bear " and the " wolf," could have been wholly pleasing to his steady, formal father, is not to be expected. Yet the worthy sire was not a little proud of his son's attainments. The verses, essays, notes, and drawings which had accunnilated during the residence in Strasburg were very gratifying to liim. He began to arrange them with scrupulous LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 141 neatness, hoping to see them shortly published. But the poet had a virtue, perhaps of all virtues the rarest in youthful writers, — a reluctance to appear in print. Seeing, as we daily see, the feverish alacrity with which men accede to that extremely imaginary re- quest, " request of friends," and dauntlessly rush into print, — seeing the obstinacy with which they chng to all they have written, and insist on what they have written being printed, — Goethe's reluctance demands an explanation. And if I may interpret according to my own experience, the explanation is that his delight in composition was rather the pure delight of intellectual activity, than a delight in the result : delight, not in the work, but in the working. Thus no sooner had he finished a poem than his interest in it began to fade ; and he passed on to another. Hence it was that he left so many works fragments, his inter- est having been exhausted before each whole was completed. He had a small circle of hterary friends to whom he communicated his productions, and this was pubh- cation enough for him. We shall see him hereafter in Weimar, wTiting solely for a circle of friends and troubling himself scarcely at all about a public. It was necessary for him to occupy himself with some work which should absorb him as " Gotz " did at this time, for only in work could he forget the pain, almost remorse, which followed his renunciation of Frederika. If at Strasburg he had felt that an end was approach- ing to this sweet romance, at Frankfort, among family connections, and with new prospects widening before him, he felt it still more. He wrote to her. Unhap- pily that letter is not preserved. It would have made clear much that is now conjectural. " Frederika's answer," he says, " to the letter in which I had bidden her adieu, tore my heart. I now, for the first time, became aware of her bereavement, and saw no possi- 142 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE bilit V of alleviating it. She was ever in my thoughts ; I felt that she was wanting to me ; and, worst of all, I could not forgive myself ! Gretchen had been taken from me ; Annchen had left me ; but now, for the first time, I was guilty ; I had wounded, to its very depths, one of the most beautiful and tender of hearts. And that period of gloomy repentance, bereft of the love which had so invigorated me, was agonising, insupport- able. But man will live ; and hence I took a sincere interest in others, seeking to disentangle their embar- rassments, and to unite those about to part, that they might not feel what I felt. Hence I got the name of the ' Confidant,' and also, on account of my wanderings, I was named the ' Wanderer.' Under the broad open sky, on the heights or in the valleys, in the fields and through the woods, my mind regained some of its calmness. I almost hved on the road, wandering between the mountains and the plains. Often I went, alone or in company, right through my native city, as though I were a stranger in it, dining at one of the great inns in the High Street, and after dinner pursu- ing my way. I turned more than ever to the open world and to Nature ; there alone I found comfort. During my walks I sang to myself strange hymns and dithyrambs. One of these, the ' Wanderer's Sturmhed,' still remains. I remember singing it aloud in an impassioned style amid a terrific storm. The burden of this rhapsody is that a man of genius must walk resolutely through the storms of life, relying solely on himself ; " a burden which seems to give expression to what lie then felt respecting liis relation to Frederika. AlLliough we have no exact knowledge of the cir- cumstances from the height of which to judge his conduct, the (juestion must be put, Why did he not marry Frederika ? It is a question often raised, and as often .sopliistically answered. I'y one party he is angrily condenmed ; disingenuously absolved by another. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 143 But be himself acknowledged his fault. He himself never put forth any excuse. He does not hint at disparity of station, he does not say there were objec- tions from his parents. He makes no excuse, but confesses the wrong, and blames himself without sophistication. Yet the excuses he would not suggest, partisans have been eager to suggest for him. Some have sought far and w^ide in the gutters of scandal for materials of defence. One gets up a story about Frederika being seduced by a Catholic priest ; whence it is argued that Goethe could not be expected to marry one so frail ; whence also it follows, by way of counterblast, that it was his desertion which caused her fall.i The basis of fact on which this He is reared (there is usually some basis, even for the wildest hes) is that Frederika brought up the orphan child of her sister Salome. Let me endeavour, without sophistication, to state the real case, at least as far as the imperfect evidence admits of a judgment. It seems always to have been forgotten by the many writers who have discussed this topic, that our judgment is misled by the artistic charm which Goethe has thrown over the narrative : we fail to separate the Fact from the Fiction : we read the poem he has made out of his early experience, and read it as if the poem were an unvarnished record of that experience. He has painted Frederika so charm- ingly ; he has told the story of their simple youthful love with so much grace, and quiet emotion ; he has captivated us so entirely by the Idyl, that our feelings are rudely disturbed when we find the Idyl is not to end in a marriage. But if we consider the case calmly, divesting it as much as possible of illusive suggestions, we may, per- haps, come to the conclusion that it was after all only 1 Strangely enough, although Goethe read the MS. in which Nake repeats this story, he takes no notice of it. 144 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE a " love-affair " between a boy and a girl, a temporary fascination, such as often stirs the affections of youth without deepening into serious thought of marriage. Doubtless the reader can from his or her own history rapidly recall such an experience ; certainly the expe- rience of their friends will supply such cases. If we read the story in this hght all is clear. The boy and girl are fascinated by each other ; they look into each other's eyes, and are happy ; they walk together, talk together, and, when separated, think of each other. But they never think of marriage ; or tliink of it vaguely as a remote contingency. Young love's dream is enough for them. They are pained at parting; perhaps all the more so, because they dimly feel that the awaken- ing is at hand. But there is a sort of tacit understand- ing that marriage is not the issue to be looked for. Had any one hinted to either Goethe or Frederika that their passion was but a " youthful stirring of the blood," and not an eternal union of souls, they would assuredly have resented it with emphatic denial. Yet so it was. Goethe soon consoled himself ; and there is positive evidence that Frederika, shortly afterward, allowed herself to be consoled by Lenz. Such, after mature deliberation, I believe to have been the real story. When Goethe, reviewing in old age the pleasant dreams of youth, and weaving them into an artistic narrative, avowedly half fiction, came to that episode with Frederika, he thought of it as we all think of our early loves, with a mingled tenderness and pain ; his imagination was kindled, and he turned his experience into an Idyl. But the fact thus ideal- ised was a very ordinary fact ; the story thus poetised was a very common story, and could be told by ninety out of every hundred students, who do not marry the idol of the last university term. Tliat Goethe, with his affectionate sensitive nature, was for a time in love with Frederika, is cei-tain. It is also certain that. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 145 whatever the agitation of his feeliugs, they were not deeply moved : she had laid no firm hold of his soul : there were none of those ties between them which grow stronger \vith advancing time. No sooner had he made this decisively clear to him- self, than he wrote to Frederika to tell her so. No woman can be given up without feeling pain, and probably Frederika's affections were far more deeply engaged than his were ; nevertheless, in spite of the pain she doubtless felt, and pathetically expressed in her letter to him, we find her presently engaged in another " love-affair," with the -poet Lenz, which, though it ended in a breach, certainly went so far as the exchange of vows ; and, according to Lenz, the growth of the passion was rapid. " It was with us both," ho writes to his friend, " as with Caesar : veni, vidi, vici. Through unconscious causes grew our con- fidence — and now it is sworn, and indissoluble." When, in after years, Goethe visited Frederika, she — having long given up Lenz, whose madness must have made her rejoice in her escape — told him of Lenz having pretended to be in love with her, but omitted to say anything about her own reciprocity ; and she omitted this from motives which every woman will appreciate. But however obscure the story may be, it seems certain that at least for a short time she believed in and to some extent returned Lenz's passion.^ After this exposition of what I conceive to be the real case, it will be easy to answer the outcry of the sentimentalists against Goethe's " faithlessness " and his " cruel treatment of Frederika," without recurring to the excuses sometimes put forth, that to have been faithful to her he must have been faithless to his genius, or that it was better one M'oman's heart should be broken (which it was iiot) than that the poet's ex- iFor full details see Gruppe : "Reinhold Lenz, Leben und Werke," 1861, pp. 11, s?. 146 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE perience should be narrowed within the small circle of domestic hfe. It is a mistake to speak of faithlessness at all. We may regret that he did not feel the serious affection which would have claimed her as a wife ; we may upbraid him for the thoughtlessness with which he encouraged the sentimental relation : but he was perfectly right to draw back from an engagement which he felt his love was not strong enough properly to fulfil. It seems to me that he acted a more moral part in rehnquishing her, than if he had swamped this lesser in a greater wrong, and escaped one breach of faith by a still greater breach of faith — a reluctant, because unloving, marriage. The thoughtlessness of youth and the headlong impetus of passion frequently throw people into rash engagements; and in these cases the formal morality of the world, more careful of externals than of the soul, declares it to be nobler for such rash engagements to be kept, even when the rashness is felt by the engaged, than that a man's honour should be stained by a withdrawal. The letter thus takes precedence of the spirit. To satisfy this prejudice a life is sacrificed. A miserable marriage rescues the honour ; and no one throws the burden of that misery upon the prejudice. I am not forgetting the necessity of being stringent against the common thoughtlessness of youth in forming such relations; but I say that this thoughtlessness once having oc- curred, reprobate it as we may, the pain which a separation may bring had better be endured, than evaded by an unholy marriage, which cannot come to good. Frederika herself must have felt so, too, for never did a word of blame escape her ; and we shall see how affectionately she welcomed him, when they met after tlii^ lapse of years. This, however, does not absolve him from the blame of having thoughtlessly incurred the responsibility of her affection. That blame he LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 147 must bear. Tlie reader will apportion it according as he estimates the excuses of temperament, and the common thoughtlessness of men in such matters. Although I think Goethe's conduct in this matter perfectly upright, and justifiable from a far more serious point of view than that of being faithful to his genius, I am not at all disposed to acquiesce in the assumption that marriage with Frederika would have crippled his genius by narrowing his sympathies. The cause of his rehnquishing her was the want of a sufficiently powerful love ; and that also is his justifi- cation. Had he loved her enough to share a life with her, his experience of woman might have been less extensive, but it would assuredly have gained an element it wanted. It would have been deepened. He had experienced, and he could paint (no one better), the exquisite devotion of woman to man ; but he had scarcely ever felt the peculiar tenderness of man for woman, when that tenderness takes the form of vigi- lant protecting fondness. He knew little, and that not until late in life, of the subtle interweaving of habit with affection, which makes life saturated with love, and love itself become dignified through the serious aims of life. He knew little of the exquisite companionship of two souls striving in emulous spirit of loving rivalry to become better, to become wiser, teaching each other to soar. He knew little of this ; and the kiss he feared to press upon the loving lips of Frederika — the Kfe of sympathy he refused to share with her — are wanting to the fulness of his art. In such a mood as that which followed the rupture with Frederika, it is not wonderful if Frankfort and the practice of law were odious to him. Nothing but hard work could do him good : and he worked hard. From the Herder Correspondence it appears that he read Greek writers with some eagerness, his letters 148 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE being studded with citations from Plato, Homer, and Pindar. Die Griechen sind mein einzigcs Studium (I study nothing but the Greeks), he says. We find him also working at " Gotz von Berlichingen." Gothic Art, a kindred subject, occupies him, and from thence, by an easy transition, he passes to the Bible, to study it anew. The results of this study are seen in two little tractates published in 1773, one called "Brief des Pastors zu an den neuen Pastor zu ; " the other, " Zwei wichtige bisher unerortete biblische Fragen, zum ersten Mai gi-undlich beantwortet von eiuem Landgeisthchen in Schwaben." The influence of Friiulein von Klettenberg is traceable in the religious tone of these works ; while his own affectionate nature speaks in the tolerance preached. Of the two Biblical questions, one goes to prove that it was not the ten commandments which stood on the tables of Moses, but ten laws of the Israelitish- Jehovah covenant. The second is an answer, by no means clear, to the ques- tion : " What is it to speak with tongues ? " which he explains as a " speech of the Spirit, more than panto- mime, and yet inarticulate." Among the friends to whom he communicated his plans and ideas, two must be named : Schlosser, whom we have seen at Leipsic, and Merck, whose influence was very beneficial. The portrait sketched of this remarkable man in the Autobiography gives a very incorrect idea to those who cannot control what is there said by other direct evidence ; especially cal- culated to mislead is the nickname " ]\Ie})histopheles Merck : " for whatever tendency to sarcasm Merck may have indulged in, it is quite clear that his admi- ration was generous and warm, his influence over Goethe being uniformly one of friendly incitement, or of friendly warning. Johann Ileinrich Merck was born in Parmstadt, 1741. The sou of an apothecary, he raised himself to LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 149 the companionship of princes. He was at this time Kricgsrath in Darmstadt, and in correspondence with most of the notabihties of the day ; among them Herder, who had the highest opinion of his abiHties, and the most jealous anxiety to retain his friendship, fearing lest the new friendship with Goethe should step between them ; as, indeed, eventually it did. Merck, whose significance in the history of German literature is considerable, and whose correspondence shows him to have critically influenced men greatly his superiors in production, was one of the most zealous propa- gators of English literature. He began by translating Hutcheson " On Beauty," Addison's " Cato," and Shaw's " Travels in the Levant." The Shakespeare neophytes found him prepared to share their enthusiasm ; and when, in 1772, he persuaded Schlosser to undertake the editing of the Franhfurter Gelehrten Anzeigen, and to make it the Moniteur of the Sturm tend Drang party, his own contributions were numerous and valuable.^ His official duties do not seem to have pressed very heavily upon him, for he made frequent excursions, and seems to have stayed some time at Frankfort. The friendship between him and Goethe was warm. He saw more deeply than Herder into this singular genius, and on many critical occasions we find him always manifesting a clear insight and a real regard. The Frankfurter Gelehrten Anzeigen was a point of reunion, bringing Goethe into relation with many per- sons of ability. It also afforded him an opportunity of exercising himself in criticism. Thirty -five of the articles he wrote for this journal have been collected into his works, where the curious student will seek them. In these studies the time flew swiftly. He had recommenced horse and sword exercise, and Klop- ^See for further information the work of Stahr : "Johauu Heinrich Merck : Ein Deukmal." 150 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE stock having made skating illustrious, it soon became an amusement of wliich he was never tired ; all day long, and deep into the night, he was to be seen wheeUng along ; and as the full moon rose above the clouds over the wide nocturnal fields of ice, and the night wind rushed at his face, and the echo of his movements came with ghostly sound upon his ear, he seemed to be in Ossian's world. Indoors there were studies and music. " Will you ask my violoncello master," he wTites to Salzmann, " if he still has the sonatas for two basses, which I played with him, and if so, send them to me as quickly as convenient ? I practise this art somewhat more earnestly than before. As to my other occupations, you will have gathered from my drama (' Gotz '), that the purposes of my soul are becoming more earnest." It has before been hinted that Sturm und Drang, as it manifested itself in the mind and bearing of the young doctor, was but very moderately agreeable to the old Rath Goethe ; and whatever sympathy we may feel with the poet, yet, as we are all parents, or hope to be, let us not permit our sympathy to become injustice ; let us admit that the old Rath had consider- able cause for parental uneasiness, and let us follow the son to Wetzlar without flinging any hard words at his father. CHAPTER 11. GOTZ VON BERLICHINGEN. Although " Gotz " was not published until the summer of 1773, it was written in the winter of 1771, or, to speak more accurately, the first of the three versions into which the work was shaped was written at this time. We must bear in mind that there are three versions ; the first is entitled the " Geschichte Gottfriedens von Berlichiugen mit der eisernen Hand, dramatisirt," ^ which was not published until very many years afterward. The second is entitled " Gotz von Berlichingen, Schauspiel," ^ and is the form in which the work was originally published. The third is an adaptation of this second piece, with a view to stage representation, which adaptation was made with Schiller during the first efforts to create a national stage at Weimar." ^ The first form is the one I most admire, and tlie one which, biographically, has most interest. While he is on his way to Wetzlar we will open his portfolio, and take out this manuscript for closer scrutiny, in- stead of waiting till he publishes the second version. From a letter to Salzmann we learn that it was written in November, 1771. "My whole genius is given to an undertaking which makes me forget Shakespeare, Homer, everything ; I am dramatising the history of 1 " Werke," vol. xxxiv., of the edition of 1840. 2 " Werke," vol. ix. 8 "Werke," vol. xxxv. 152 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE the noblest of Germans, to rescue the memory of a brave man ; and the hibour it costs me kills time here, which is at present so necessary for me." He gives the following account of its composition, in the Auto- bio'^raphy : " An unceasing interest in Shakespeare's works had so expanded my mind, that the narrow compass of the stage, and the short time allotted to a representation, seemed to me msuiiicient for the development of an important idea. The life of ' Gotz von Berlichingeu,' written by himself, suggested the historic mode of treatment ; and my imagination took so wide a sweep, that my dramatic construction also went beyond all theatrical limits in seeking more and more to approach life. I had, as I proceeded, talked the matter over with my sister, who was interested heart and soul in such subjects ; and I so often re- newed this conversation, without taking any steps toward beginning the work, that at last she impatiently and urgently entreated me not to be always talking, but, once for all, to set down upon paper that which must be so distinct before my mind. Moved by this impulse, I began one morning to write without having made any previous sketch or plan. I wrote the first scenes, and in the evening they were read aloud to CorneUa. She greatly applauded them, but doubted whether I should go on so ; nay, she even expressed a decided unbelief in my perseverance. This only incited me the more; I wrote on the next day, and also on the third. Hope increased with the daily com- munications, and step by step everything gained more life as I mastered the conception. Thus I kept on, without interruption, looking neither backwards nor for- wards, neither to the right nor to the left; and in about six weeks I had the pleasure of seeing the manuscript stitched." Gottfried von Berhchingen, surnamed of the Iron Hand, was a distinguished predatory burgrave of the LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 153 sixteenth century ; ^ one of the last remains of a turbu- lent, lawless race of feudal barons, whose personal prowess often lent the lustre of romance to acts of brigandage. Gottfried with the Iron Hand was a worthy type of the class. His loyalty was as unshak- able as his courage. Whatever his revered emperor thought fit to do, he thought right to be done. Below the emperor he acknowledged no lord. With his fellow barons he waged continual war. Against the Bishop of Bamberg, especially, he was frequently in arms ; no sooner was a peace arranged with him, than the Bishop of Mainz was attacked. War was his element. With something of Eobin Hood chivalry, he was found on the side of the weak and persecuted ; unless when the Kaiser called for his arm, or imless when tempted by a httle private j'illag'^ on his own account. To his strong arm the persecuted looked for protection. A tailor earns two hundred florins by shooting at a mark; the sum is withheld; he goes to Gotz with a piteous tale ; instantly the Iron Hand clutches the recalcitrant debtors travelling that way, and makes them pay the two hundred florins. It was a tempting subject for a poet of the eight- eenth century, this bold, chivalrous robber, struggling single-handed against the advancing power of civili- sation, this lawless chieftain making a hopeless stand against the Law, and striving to perpetuate the feudal spirit. Pecuharly interesting to the poet was the con- secration of individual greatness in Giitz. Here was a man great not by privilege, but by Xature ; his superiority given him by no tradition, by no 'court favour, but by favour only of his own strong arm and indomitable spirit. And was not the struggle of the whole eighteenth century a struggle for the recognition * Scott by an oversight makes him flourish in the fifteenth cen- tury. He was born in 1482, and thus reached man's estate with the opening of the sixteenth century. 154 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE of iudividual worth, of Eights against Privileges, of Liberty against Tradition ? Such also was the struggle of the sixteenth century. The Eeformatiou was to Eehgion what the Eevolution was to Politics : a stand against the tyranny of Tradition — a battle for the rights of indivichtal liberty of thought and action, against the absolute prescriptions of privileged classes. In the " Chronicle of Gotz von Berlichingen," his deeds are recorded by himself with unafiected dignity. There Goethe found materials, such as Shakespeare found in Holinshed and Saxo-Grammaticus ; and used them in the same free spirit. He has dramatised the chronicle — made it live and move before us: but he has dramatised a chronicle, not written a drama. The distinction is drawn for a reason which will presently appear. Viehoff has pointed out the use which has been made of the chronicle, and the various elements which have been added from the poet's own invention. The Eng- lish reader cannot be expected to feel the same interest in such details as the German reader does ; it is enough therefore to refer the curious to the passage,^ and only cite the characters invented by Goethe ; these are Adel- heid, the voluptuous, fascinating demon ; Elizabeth, the noble wife, in whom Goethe's mother saw herself ; Alaria, a reminiscence of Erederika ; Georg, Eranz Lerse, Weislingen, and the Gipsies. The death of Gotz is also new. The tower mentioned by Goethe is still extant at Heilbronn, under the name of Gotzen's Thurm. The rest, including tlie garden, is the creation of the poet. Gotz was confined for only one niglit in that tower. His death, which according to the play must have happened in 1525, did not occur till 1562, when the burly old knight, upwards of eighty, died at his castle of Horberg, at peace with all men 1 Goethe's "Leben," vol. ii. pp. 77, 79. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 155 and in perfect freedom. His tomb may be seen at the monastery of Schonthal.^ Gotz was a dramatic chronicle, not a drama. It should never have been called a drama, but left in its original shape with its original title. This would have prevented much confusion ; especially with reference to Shakespeare, and his form of dramatic composition. While no one can mistake the injiuence of Shakespeare in this work, there is great laxity of language in calling it Shakespearian. Critics are judges who mostly rely on precedents with the rigour of judges on the beuch. They pronounce according to precedent. That indeed is their office. No sooner has an original work made its appearance, than one of these two courses is invari- ably pursued ; it is rejected by the critics because it does not range itself under any acknowledged class, and thus is branded because it is not an imitation ; or it is quietly classified under some acknowledged head. The latter was the case with " Gotz von Berlichingen." Because it set the unities at defiance, and placed the people beside the nobles on the scene ; because, instead of declaiming, the persons spoke dramatically to the purpose ; because, in short, it did not range uuder the acknowledged type of French tragedy, it was supposed to range under the Shakespearian type — the only ac- cepted antagonist to the French. Is it like Othello ? Is it like Macbeth ? Is it like Henry IV., King John, Julius Ca?sar, or any one un- questioned play by Shakespeare ? Unless the words " Shakespearian style " are meaningless, people must mean that " Gotz " resembles Shakespeare's plays in the structure and organisation of plot, in the delineation of character, and in the tone of dialogue ; yet a cursory review of the play will convince any one that in all 1 Count Joseph Berlichingen, the present representative of the family, has recently published a "Life of Gotz," but it has not reached me. 156 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE these respects it is singularly unlike Shakespeare's plays. In construction it differs from Shakespeare, first, as intended to represent an epoch rather than a story ; secondly, as taking the licenses of narrative art, instead of keeping the stage always in view, and submitting to the stern necessities of theatrical representation ; thirdly, as wanting in that central unity round which all the persons and events are grouped, so as to form a work of art. It is a succession of scenes : a story of episodes. In the presentation of character the work is no less un-Shakespearian. Our national bigotry, indeed, as- sumes that every masterly portraiture of character is Shakespearian ; an assumption which cannot consistently maintain itself in the presence of Sophocles, Racine, and Goethe. Each poet has a manner of his own ; and Shakespeare's manner is assuredly not visible in " Gcitz von Berlichingen," wherein the characters move before us with singular distinctness in their external charac- teristics, but do not as in Shakespeare involuntarily betray the inmost secret of their being. We know them by their language and their acts ; we do not know their thoughts, their self-sophistications, their involved and perplexed motives partially obscured even to them- selves, and seen by us in the cross hghts which break athwart their passionate utterances. To take a decisive example : Weishngen is at once ambitious and irreso- lute, well-meaning and weak.^ The voice of friendship awakens remorse in him, and forces liim to accept the proffered hand of Gotz. He swears never again to enter the bishop's palace. But, easily seduced by high thoughts, he is afterward seduced as easily by vanity ; tempted he falls ; turns once more against his noble friend ; and dies betrayed and poisoned by the wife to 1 In his vacillation, Goethe meant to stigmatise his own weak- ness with regard to Frederika, as he tells us in the " Wahrheit uud Diclitung." LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 157 whom he has sacrificed all — dies unpitied by others, despicable to himself. This vacillation is truthful, but not truthfully presented. We who only see the con- duct cannot explain it. We stand before an enigma, as in real life ; not before a character such as Art enables us to see, and see through. It is not the busi- ness of Art to present enigmas ; and Shakespeare, in his strongest, happiest moods, contrives to let us see into the wavering depths of the soids, while we follow the actions of his characters. Contrast Weislingen with such vacillating characters as Eichard II., King John, or Hamlet. The difference is not of degree, but of kind. Nor is the language Shakespearian. It is powerful, picturesque, clear, dramatic ; but it is not pregnant with thought, obscured in utterance, and heavy with that superfatation of ideas, which is a characteristic and often a fault in Shakespeare. It has not his redun- dancy and prodigal imagery. Indeed, the absence of all rhetorical amplification, and of all delight in imagery for its own sake, is very singular, and in the production of a boy especially so. It was the first-born of the Romantic School, or rather of the tendency from which that school issued ; and its influence has been widespread. It gave the impulse and direction to Scott's historical genius, which has altered our conceptions of the past, and given new life to History. It made the Feudal Ages a subject of eager and almost universal interest. It decided the fate of French tragedy in German litera- ture. But its influence on dramatic art has been, I think, more injurious than beneficial, and mainly because the distinction between a dramatised chronicle and a drama has been lost sight of. This injurious influence is traceable in the excessive importance it has given to local colour, and the inter- mingling of the historic with the dramatic element. 158 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE Any one at all acquainted with the productions of the Komantic School in Germany or France will under- stand this. Goethe's object not being to write a drama but to dramatise a picture of the times, local colour was of primary importance ; and because he made it so attractive, others have imitated him in departments where it is needless. Nay, critics are so persuaded of its importance, that they strain every phrase to show us that Shakespeare was also a gi-eat painter of times : forgetting that local colouring is an appeal to a critical and learned audience, not an appeal to the heart and imagination. It is history, not drama. Macbeth in a bag-wig, with a small sword at his side, made audiences tremble at the appaUiug ruin of a mind entangled in crime. The corrected costume would not make that tragedy more appalhng, had we not now grown so critical that we demand historical " accuracy," where, in the true dramatic age, they only demand passion. The merest glance at our dramatic literature will suf- fice to show the preponderating (and misplaced) iutiu- ence of History, in the treatment, no less than in the subjects chosen. " Gotz," as a picture of the times, is an animated and successful work; but the eighteenth century is on more than one occasion rudely thrust into the six- teenth ; and on this ground Hegel denies its claim to the highest originahty. " An origmal work appears as the creation of one mind, which, admitting of no exter- nal influence, fuses the whole work in one mould, as the events therein exliibited were fused. If it contains scenes and motives which do not naturally evolve themselves from the original materials, but are brought together from far and wide, then the internal unity becomes necessarily destroyed, and these scenes betray the author's subjectivity. For example, Goethe's * Giitz ' has been gi-eatly lauded for originality, nor can we deny that he has therein boldly trampled under foot all the LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 159 rules and theories which were then accepted : but the execution is notwithstanding not thoroughly original. One may detect in it the poverty of youth. Several traits, and even scenes, instead of being evolved from the real subject, are taken from the current topics of the day. The scene, for example, between Gtitz and brother Martin, which is an allusion to Luther, contains notions gathered from the controversies of Goethe's own day, when — especially in Germany — people were pitying the monks because they drank no wine, and because they had passed the vows of chastity and obedience. Martin, on the other hand, is enthusiastic in his admiration of Gotz, and his knightly career: ' When you return back laden with spoils, and say, such a one I struck from his horse ere he could dis- charge his piece ; such another I overthrew, horse and man ; and then returning to your castle, you find your wife.' . . . Here Martin wipes his eyes and pledges the wife of Gcitz. Not so — not with such thoughts did Luther begin, but with quite another rehgious conviction ! " " In a similar style," Hegel continues, " Basedow's pedagogy is introduced. Children, it was said, learn much that is foolish and unintelligible to them; and the real method was to make them learn objects, not names. Karl thus speaks to his father just as he would have spoken in Goethe's time from parrot-mem- ory : ' Jaxt-hausen is a village and castle upon the Jaxt, which has been the property and heritage for two hundred years of the Lords of Berlichingen.' ' Do you know the Lord of Berlichingen ? ' asks Gotz ; the child stares at him, and from pure erudition knows not his own father. Gotz declares that he knew every pass, pathway, and ford about the place, before he knew the name of the village, castle, or river." ^ Considered with reference to the age in which it 1 Hegel's " Vorlesungen iiber die ^sthetik," i. p. 382. i6o LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE was produced, " Gcitz von Berlichingen " is a marvel- lous work : a work of daring power, of vigour, of origi- nality ; a work to form an epoch in the annals of letters. Those who now read it as the work of the great Goethe may he somewhat disappointed ; but at the time of its appearance no such " magnificent monster " had startled the pedantries and proprieties of the schools ; — "a piece," said the critic in the Teutsche Alcrcur of the day, " wherein the three unities are shamefully out- raged, and which is neither a tragedy nor a comedy, and is, notwithstanding, the most beautiful, the most captivating monstrosity." The breathless rapidity of movement renders a first reading too hurried for proper enjoyment ; but on recur- ring to the briefly indicated scenes, we are amazed at their fulness of life. How marvellous, for example, is that opening scene of the fifth act (removed from the second version), where Adelheid is in the gipsies' tent ! Amid the falling snow sliines the lurid gleam of the gipsy tire, around which move dusky figures ; and this magnificent creature stands shuddering as she finds herself in the company of an old crone who tells her fortune, while a wild-eyed boy gazes ardently on her and alarms her with his terrible admiration ; the whole scene lives, yet the touches wliich call it into life are briefer than in any other work I can remember. CHAPTER III. WETZLAR. In the spring of 1772 he arrived at Wetzlar with " Gotz " in his portfolio, and in his head many wild, unruly thoughts. A passage in the Autobiography amusingly illustrates his conception of the task he had undertaken in choosing to inform the world of his early history. Remember that at Wetzlar he fell in love with Charlotte, and lived through the experience which was fused into " Werther," and you will smile as you hear him say : " What occurred to me at Wetzlar is of no great importance, but it may receive a higher inter- est if the reader will allow me to give a cursory glance at the history of the Imperial Chamber, in order to present to his mind the unfavourable moment at which I arrived." This it is to write autobiography when one has outlived almost the memories of youth, and lost sympathy with many of its agitations. At the time he was in Wetzlar he would have looked strangely on any one who ventured to tell him that the history of the Imperial Chamber was worth a smile from Charlotte ; but at the time of writing his meagre account of Wetzlar, he had, perhaps, some difficulty in remembering what Charlotte's smiles were hke. The biographer has a difficult task to make any coherent story out of this episode.^ 1 Fortunately, during the very months Iti which I was writing this worlc, there appeared an invaluable record in the shape of the correspondence between Goethe and Kestner, so often alluded to i6i 1 62 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE Wetzlar is a picturesque town, the effect of which is striking as oue approaches it through the avenue of hme-trees on the banks of the Fulda ; its ancient church, of a reddish hue, rearmg over the gray roofs of the houses, has a fine effect, especially when a dechning sun lights up the ruined castle on the sum- mit of the bold hill, the Kalsmunt which fronts the town. One finds oneself in the old German world on entering its quiet humpbacked streets, through which the river meanders ; and naturally one's first visit is to the now dilapidated, but deeply interesting, teutsche Haus, at the extremity of the town, lured there by the image of Werther's Lotte even more than by any his- torical curiosity, though this also has its attraction. Das teutsche Haus was one of the remnants of the ancient institution of the Teutsche Hitter, or Teutonic Order of Knighthood, celebrated in German medieval history. The student is familiar with the black armour and white mantles of these warrior-priests, who fought with the zeal of missionaries and the terrible valour of knights, conquering for themselves a large territory, and still greater influence. But it fared with them as with the knights of other Orders. Their strength lay in their zeal ; their zeal abated with success. Years brought them increasing wealth, but the spiritual wealth and glory of their cause departed. They be- came what all corporations inevitably become ; and at the time now written of they were reduced to a level with the Knights of Malta. The Order still possessed property in various parts of Germany, and in certain towns there was a sort of steward's house, where rents by literary liistorians, but so imperfectly known ("Goethe und Werther. Briefe Goetlie's nieistens aus seiner Juirendzcit." Ile- rau.sffeRebeu von A. Kestner : 1854). This book, which is very much in need of an editor, is one of the richest sources to which access lia.s been had for a rii,'ht understanding of Goethe's youth ; and it completes the series of corroborative evidence by which to control the Autobiography. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 163 were collected and the business of the Order transacted ; this was uniformly styled das teutsche Haus. On Goethe's arrival at Wetzlar, das teutsche Haus had for its Amtmann, or superintendent, one Herr Buff, whose daughter Charlotte was to inspire a pas- sion which has immortalised the family.^ On her account, and not on account of the old Eitterthum, the house is still preserved ; and pilgrims visit it to see her room, and its relics of her, the drawing-book of pat- terns for embroidery, the old clock and three glasses (one minus its stem), and her harpsichord, with its black keys. Very memorable to me is one summer afternoon when George Eliot sat at that harpsichord, and Hghtly touched its plaintive jingling keys, which sounded like the quavering of an old woman's voice ; never did the duet from Gr^try's " Pdchard Cceur-de- lion " seem more touching ! Beside this remnant of the ancient Eitterthum, Goethe, on his arrival, found a burlesque parody, in the shape of a Eound Table and its Knights, bearing such names as St. Amand the Opinionative, Eustace the Prudent, Lubormirsky the Combative, and so forth. It was founded by August Friedrich von Gou^, Secretary to the Brunswick Embassy, of whom we shall hear more: a wild and whimsical fellow, not without a streak of genius, who drank himself to death. He bore the title of Eitter Coucy, and christened Goethe " Gotz von Berlichingen der Redliclie — Gotz the Hon- est." In an imitation of " Werther " which Gou^ wrote,^ a scene introduces this Eound Table at one of its banquets at the Tavern ; a knight sings a French song, whereupon Gotz exclaims, " Thou a German Eitter, and singest foreign songs ! " Another knight asks ^The celebrated living physicist, Professor Buff, is a descendant of the Amtmann. 2 " Masureu, oder der junge Werther. Ein Trauerspiel aus dem lllyrischeu." 1775. 1 64 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE Gotz, " How far have you advanced with the monu- ment which you are to erect to your ancestor ? " Gtitz rephes, " It goes quietly forward. Methinks it will be a slap in the face to pedants and the public." ^ Of this Round Table and its buffooneries, Goethe has merely told us that he entered heartily into the fun at first, but soon wearying of it, relapsed into his melan- choly fits. " I have made many acquaintances," says Werther, " but have found no society. I know not what there is about me so attractive that people seek my company with so much ardour. They hang about me, though I cannot walk two steps iu their path." A description of him, written by Kestner at this period, is very interesting, as it gives us faithfully the impres- sion he produced on his acquaintances before celebrity had thrown its halo round his head, and dazzled the perceptions of his admirers : " In the spring there came here a certain Goethe, by trade 2 a Doctor Juris, twenty-three years old, only son of a very rich father ; in order — this was his father's intention — that he might get some experience in pra.ci, but according to his own intention, that he might study Homer, Pindar, etc., and whatever else his genius, his manner of tliinking, and his heart might suggest to him. " At the very first the heaux csprits here announced him to the public as a colleague, and as a collaborator iu the new Frankfort Gclchrtc Zcitung, parenthetically also as a philosopher, and gave themselves trouble to become intimate with liiui. As I do not belong to this class of people, or rather am not so much in general society, I did not know Goethe until later, and quite i"Kiii Stuck das Mcisier uutl Gesellen auf's Maiil schliigl.'" Cited by Appell ; " Werther nnd seine Zeil," p. 38. ^Seiner Ifnndthierunfi narfi. Tlio word is old German, and now fallen out of u.se, altliough the verb handthicrcn i.s still occasion- ally used. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 165 by accident. One of the most distinguished of our beaux esprits, the secretary of legation, Gotter, per- suaded me one day to go with him to the \illage of Garbeuheim — a common walk. There I found him on the grass, under a tree, lying on his back, while he talked to some persons standing around him — an epicurean philosopher (Von Gou6, a gi-eat genius), a stoic philosopher (Von Ivielmansegge), and a hybrid between the two (Doctor Konig) — and thoroughly enjoyed himself. He was afterward glad that I had made his acquaintance under such circumstances. Many things were talked of — some of them very in- teresting. This time, however, I formed no other judg- ment concerning him than that he was no ordinary man. You know that I do not judge hastily. I found at once that he had genius and a lively imagination ; but this was not enough to make me estimate him highly. " Before I proceed further, I must attempt a descrip- tion of him, as I have since learned to know him better. He has a great deal of talent, is a true genius and a man of character ; possesses an extraordinarily vivid imagina- tion, and hence generally expresses himself in images and similes. He often says, himself, that he always speaks figuratively, and can never express himself liter- ally ; but that when he is older he hopes to think and say the thought itself as it really is. He is ardent in all his affections, and yet has often great power over himself. His manner of thinking is noble : he is so free from prejudices that he acts as it seems good to him, vtdthout troubling himself whether it will please others, whether it is the fashion, whether convention- alism allows it. All constraint is odious to him. " He is fond of children, and can occupy himself with them very much. He is hizarre, and there are several things in his manner and outward bearing which might make him disagreeable. But with chil- 1 66 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE dren, womeu, and many others, he is nevertheless a favourite. He has a great respect for the female sex. In principiis he is not yet fixed, and is still striving after a sure system. To say something of this, he has a high opinion of Kousseau, but is not a bhnd worship- per of him. He is not what is called orthodox. Still this is not out of pride or caprice, or for the sake of making himself a role. On certain important subjects he opens himself to few, and does not willingly disturb the contentment of others in their own ideas. It is true he hates skepticism, strives after truth and after conviction on certain main points, and even believes that he is already convinced as to the weightiest ; but as far as I have observed, he is not yet so. He does not go to church or to the sacrament, and prays seldom. For, says he, I am not hypocrite enough for that. Some- times he seems in repose with regard to certain sub- jects, sometimes just the contrary. He venerates the Christian rehgion, but not in the form in which it is presented by our theologians. He believes in a future life, in a better state of existence. He strives after truth, yet values the feeling of truth more than the demonstration. He has already done much, and has many acquirements, much reading ; but he has thought and reasoned still more. He has occupied himself chiefly %vith the hcllcs lettres and the fine arts, or rather wath "all sorts of knowledge, except that which wins bread." On the margin of the rough draught, Kestner adds : " T wished to describe him, but it would be too long a business, for there is much to be said about him. In one wf)rd, he is a very rnnnrhahle man." Further on: "I should never have done, if I attempted to describe him fully." The Gotter referred to at the opening of this letter was a young man of considerable culture, with whom Ooethe became intimate over renewed discussions on LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 167 art and criticism. " The opinions of the ancients," he says, " on these important topics I had studied by fits and starts for some years. Aristotle, Cicero, Quin- tilian, Longinus — none were neglected, but they did not help me, for they presupposed an experience which I needed. They introduced me to a world infinitely rich in works of art ; they unfolded the merits of great poets and orators, and convinced me that a vast ahin- dance of objects rmist lie he fore us ere we can think upon them — that we must accomplish something, nay fail in something, before we can learn our own capacities and those of others. My knowledge of much that was good in ancient hterature was merely that of a schoolboy, and by no means vi\id. The most splendid orators, it was apparent, had formed themselves in life, and we could never speak of them as artists without at the same time mentioning their personal peculiarities. With the poets this was perhaps less the case : but everywhere nature and art came in contact only through life. And thus the result of all my investigations was my old resolution to study Nature, and to allow her to guide me in loving imitation." Properly to appreciate this passage we must recall the almost universal tendency of the Germans to con- struct poems in conformity with definite rules, making the poet but a development of the critic. Lessing nobly avowed that he owed all his success to his critical sagacity ; Schiller, it is notorious, hampered his genius by fixing on his Pegasus the leaden wings of Kant's philosophy ; and Klopstock himself erred in too much criticism. Goethe was the last man to disdain the rich experience of centuries, the last man to imagine that ignorance was an advantageous basis for a poet to stand upon, but he was too thoroughly an artist not to per- ceive the insufficiency of abstract theories in the pro- duction of a work of art which should be the expression of real experience. In conjunction with Gotter he i6S LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE translated Goldsmith's "Deserted Village," though he speaks slightingly of his share in it. Through Gotter's representations he was also persuaded to publish some little poems in Boie's Annual. "I thus ^ came into contact with those," he says, " who, united by youth and talent, afterward effected so much in various ways. Biirger, Voss, Hdlty, the two Counts Stolberg, and sev- eral others grouped round Klopstock ; and in this poet- ical circle, which extended itself more and more, there was developed a tendency which 1 know not exactly how to name. One might call it that need of inde- pendence which always arises in times of peace — that is to say, precisely when, properly speaking, one is not dependent. In war we bear restraints of force as well as we can ; we are physically, but not morally wounded ; the restraint disgraces no one ; it is no shame to serve the time ; we grow accustomed to suffering both from foes and friends ; we have wishes rather than definite views. On the contrary, in times of peace our love of freedom becomes more and more prominent, and the greater our freedom, the more we wish for it ; we will tolerate nothing above us ; we will not be restrained ; no one shall be restrained ! This tender, sometimes morbid, feeling assumes in noble souls the form of jus- tice : such a spirit then manifested itself everywhere ; and because but few were oppresed, it was wished to free these from occasional oppression. And thus arose a certain moral contest between individuals and the government, which, however laudable its origin, led to unhappy results. Voltaire, reverenced for his conduct in tlie affair of Calais, had excited great attention : and in Germany Lavater's proceedings against the Landvogt (sheriff of the province) had perhaps been 1 Duntzor in his "Studion" has thrown doubts on this con- nection with the Gottinj;cn school havinj; originated in Wctzlar. But the point is of no importance, and Goethe's own version is left undi.sturbed in the text. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 169 even more striking. The time was approaching when dramatists and novelists sought their villains among ministers and othcial persons ; hence arose a world, half real, half imaginary, of action and reaction, in which the most violent accusations and instigations were made by wTiters of periodical journals, under the garb of justice, who produced the more powerful effect because they made the public imagine that it was itself the tribunal — a foolish notion, as no puhlic has an executive power ; and in Germany, dismembered as it was, pubhc opinion neither benefited nor injured any one." It was a period of deep unrest in Europe : the travail of the French Eevolution. In Germany the spirit of the revolution issued from the study and the lecture- hall ; it was a literary and philosophic insurrection, with Lessing, Klopstock, Kant, Herder, and Goethe for leaders. Authority was everywhere attacked, because everywhere it had shown itself feeble or tyrannous. The majestic peruke of Louis XIV. was lifted by an audacious hand, which thus revealed the baldness so long concealed. No one now believed in that Grand Monarque ; least of all Goethe, who had " Gotz von Berlichingen " in his portfoho, and to whom Homer and Shakespeare were idols. " Send me no more books," writes Werther, " I will no longer be led, incited, spurred by them. There is storm enough in this breast. I want a cradle-melody, and that I have in all its fulness in Homer. How often do I lull with it my raging blood to rest ! " The Kestner correspondence proves, what before was known, that " Werther " is full of autobi- ography, and that Goethe was then troubled with fits of depression following upon days of the wildest ani- mal spirits. He was fond of solitude ; and the lonely hours passed in reading, or making sketches of the landscape in his rough, imperfect style. " A marvellous serenity has descended on my spirit," lyo LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE writes Werther, " to be compared only to the sweet mornings of spring which so charm my heart. I am alone, and here life seems delicious in this spot formed for natures hke mine. I am so happy, so filled with the calm feeling of existence, that my art suffers. I cannot sketch, yet never was I a greater painter than at this moment ! When the dear valley clothes itself in vapour, and the sun shines on the top of my impen- etrable forest and only a few gleams steal into its sanc- tuary, while I he stretched iu the tall grass by the cas- cade, curiously examine the many grasses and weeds, and contemplate the little world of insects with their innumerable forms and colours, and feel within me the presence of the Almighty who formed us after his own image, the breath of the All-loving who sustains us in endless bhss, — my friend, when my eyes are fixed on all these objects, and the world images itself in my soul hke the form of a beloved, then I yearn and say : Ah ! couldst thou but express that which lives within thee, that it sliould be tlie mirror of thy soul, as thy soul is the mirror of the Infinite God!" The image of Frederika pursued him. It could only be banished by the presence of another. " When I was a boy," he prettily says, in a letter to Salzmann, " I planted a cherry-tree, and watched its growth with delight. Spring frost killed the blossoms, and I had to wait another year before the cherries were ripe — then the birds ate them ; another year the caterpillars — then a greedy neighbour — then the blight. Never- theless, when I have a garden again, I shall again plant a cherry-tree ! " He did so : " And from Beauty passed to Beauty, Constant to a constant change." ^ The image which was to supplant that of Frederika was none otlier than that of the Cliarlotte Buff before ^Lord Houghton. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 171 mentioned. Two years before his arrival, her mother had died. The care of the house and children devolved upon her ; she was only sixteen, yet good sense, house- wifely aptitude, and patient courage carried her suc- cessfully through this task. She had for two years been betrothed to Kestuer, secretary to the Hanoverian Legation, then aged four and twenty: a quiet, orderly, formal, rational, cultivated man, possessing great mag- nanimity, as the correspondence proves, and a dignity which is in nowise represented in the Albert of " Wer- ther," from whom we must be careful to distinguish him, in spite of the obvious identity of position. How Goethe came to know Kestner has already been seen ; how he came to know Lotte may now be told.^ The reader with " Werther " in hand may compare the nar- rative there given with this extract from Kestner' s let- ter to a friend. " It happened that Goethe was at a ball in the country where my maiden and I also were. I could only come late, and was forced to ride after them. My maiden, therefore, drove there in other society. In the can-iage was Doctor Goethe, who here first saw Lottchen. He has great knowledge, and has made Nature in her physical and moral aspects his principal study, and has sought the true beauty of both. No woman here had pleased him. Lottchen at once fixed his attention. She is young, and although not regularly beautiful, has a very attractive face. Her glance is as bright as a spring morning, and especially it was so that day, for she loves dancing. She was gay, and in quite a simple dress. He noticed her feeling for the beauty of Nature, and her unforced wit, — rather humour than wit. He did not know she was betrothed. I came a few hours later ; and it is not our custom in public to testify any- thing beyond friendship to each other. He was exces- 1 Lotte and Lottchen, it is perhaps not altogether superfluous to add, are the favourite diminutives of Charlotte. 172 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE sively gay (this he often is, though at other times melaucholy) ; Lottcheu quite fascinated him, the more so because she took no trouble about it, but gave her- self wholly to the pleasure of the moment. The next day, of course, Goethe called to inquire after her. He had seen her as a lively girl, fond of dancing and pleas- ure ; he now saw her under another and a better aspect, — in her domestic quality." To judge from her portraits, both in youth and old age, Lotte must, in her way, have been a charming creature : not intellectually cultivated, not poetical, — above all, not the sentimental girl described by Wer- ther; but a serene, calm, joyous, open-hearted German maiden, an excellent housewife, and a priceless man- ager. Goethe at once fell in love with her. An ex- tract from Kestner's account will tell us more. After describing his engagement to Lotte, he adds : " She is not strictly a brilliant beauty, according to the com- mon opinion ; to me she is one : she is, notwithstand- ing, the fascinating maiden who might have hosts of admirers, old and young, grave and gay, clever and stupid, etc. But she knows how to comdnce them quickly that their only safety must be sought in flight or in friendship. One of these, as the most remarkable, I will mention, because he retains an influence over us. A youth in years (twenty-three), but in knowledge, and in the development of his mental powers and character, already a man, an extraordinary genius, and a man of cliaracter, was here, — as his family believed, for the sake of studying the law, but in fact to track the foot- steps of Nature and Truth, and to study Homer and Pindar. He had no need to study for the sake of a maintenance. Quite by chance, after he had been here some time, he became acquainted with Lottchen, and saw in her his ideal : he saw her in her joyous aspect, but was soon aware that this was not her best side ; he learned to know her also in her domestic position. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 173 and, in a word, became her adorer. It could not long remain unknown to him that she could give him noth- ing but friendship ; and her conduct toward him was admirable. Our coincidence of taste, and a closer ac- quaintance with each other, formed between him and me the closest bond of friendship. Meanwhile, although he was forced to renounce all hope in relation to Lott- chen, and did renounce it, yet he could not, with all his philosophy and natural pride, so far master himself as completely to repress his inclination. And he has quahties which might make him dangerous to a woman, especially to one of susceptibility and taste. But Lott- chen knew how to treat him so as not to encourage vain hope, and yet make him admire her manner toward him. His peace of mind suffered : there were many remarkable scenes, in which Lottchen's behaviour heightened my regard for her ; and he also became more precious to me as a friend ; but I was often inwardly astonished that love can make such strange creatures even of the strongest and otherwise the most self-sustained men. I pitied him, and had many inward struggles ; for, on the one hand, I thought that I might not be in a position to make Lottchen so happy as he would make her ; but, on the other hand, I could not endure the thought of losing her. The latter feel- ing conquered, and in Lottchen I have never once been able to perceive a shadow of the same conflict." Another extract will place this conflict iu its true light : " I am under no further engagement to Lottchen than that under which an honourable man stands when he gives a young woman the preference above all others, makes known that he desires the like feeling from her, and when she gives it, receives from her not only this but a complete acquiescence. This I con- sider quite enough to bind an honourable man, espe- cially when such a relation lasts several years. But in my case there is this in addition, that Lottchen and 174 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE I have expressly declared ourselves, and still do so with pleasure, without any oaths and asseverations." This absence of any legal tie between them must have made Kestner's position far more trying. It gives a higher idea both of his generous forbearance and of the fasci- nation exercised by Goethe : for what a position ! and how much nobility on all sides was necessary to pre- vent petty jealousies ending in a violent rupture ! Cer- tain it is that the greatest intimacy and the most affectionate feelings were kept up without disturbance. Confident in the honour of his friend and the truth of his mistress, Kestner never spoiled the relation by a hint of jealousy. Goethe was constantly in Lotte's house, where his arrival was a jubilee to the children, who seized hold of him, as children always take loving possession of those who are indulgent to them, and forced him to tell them stories. It is a pleasant sight to see Goethe with cliildren ; he always shows such hearty fondness for them ; and these brothers and sisters of Lotte were doubly endeared to him because they belonged to her. One other figure in this Wetzlar set arrests our atten- tion : it is that of a handsome blonde youth, with soft blue eyes and a settled melancholy expression. His name is Jerusalem, and he is the son of the venerable Abbot of Riddagshausen.^ He is here attached as secretary to the Brunswick Legation, a colleague, therefore, of Von Gou6. He is deeply read in Eng- lish literature, and has had the honour of Lessing's friendship ; a friendship subsequently expressed in the following terms, when Lessing, acting as his editor, wrote the preface to his Philosophical Essays : " When he came to Wolfenbiittel he gave me his friendship. I did not enjoy it long, but I cannot easily name one *No Catholic, as this title might seem to imply, but a Protes- tant ; his abbey, secularised two ceuturies before, yielded him only a title and revenues. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 175 who in so short a space of time excited in me more affection. It is true I only learned to know one side of his nature, but it was the side which explains all the rest. It was the desire for clear knowledge ; the talent to follow truth to its last consequences ; the spirit of cold observation ; but an ardent spirit not to be intimidated by truth. . . . How sensitive, how warm, how active this young inquirer was, how true a man among men, is better known to more intimate friends." Tlie Essays which these words introduce are five in number ; the titles are given below.^ The melancholy of his disposition led him to think much of suicide, which he defended on speculative grounds. And this melancholy, and these meditations, were deepened by an unhappy passion for the wife of one of his friends. The issue of that passion we shall have to narrate in a future chapter. For the present it is enough to indicate the presence of this youth among the circle of Goethe's acquaintances. They saw- but little of each other, owing to the retiring sensitive- ness of Jerusalem ; probably the same cause had kept them asunder years before in Leipsic, where they were fellow students ; but their acquaintance furnished Goethe with materials which he was afterward to use in his novel. Jerusalem's unhappy passion and Goethe's unhappy passion, one would think, must have been a bond of union between them ; but in truth Goethe's passion can scarcely have been called " unhappy " — it was rather a delicious uneasiness. Love in the profound, absorbing sense it was not. It was an imagiiiative passion, in which the poet was more implicated than the man. Lotte excited his imagination ; her beauty, 1 1. Dass die Sprache dem ersten Menschen dnrch Wunder nicht mitgetheilt sein kann. II. Ueber die Natur luid den IJrspruug der allgemeiiien und abstrakten Beirriffe. III. Ueber die Freiheit. IV. Ueber die Mendelssohn'sche Theoric vom sinnlichen Verguii- gen. V. Ueber die vermischten Einpfindungen. 176 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE her serene gaiety, her affectionate manners, charmed him ; the romance of his position heightened the charm, hy giving an unconscious security to his feel- inn's. I am persuaded that if Lotte had been free, he would have lied from her as he lied from Frederika. In saying this, however, I do not mean that the impos- sibility of obtaining her gave him any comfort. He was restless, impatient, and, in a certain sense, un- happy. He believed himself to be desperately in love with her, when in truth he was only in love with the indulgence of the emotions he excited ; a paradox which will be no mystery to those acquainted with the poetic temperament. Thus passed the summer. In August he made a ht- tle excursion to Giessen, to see Professor Hopfner, one of the active writers in the Franlxfurter Gelehrten Anzeigen. Characteristically he calls on the professor incognito, presenting himself as a shy, awkward stu- dent ; which, as Hopfner only knows him through cor- respondence, is facile enough. The comic scene ends by his jumping into the professor's arms, exclaiming, " I am Goethe ! " In Giessen he found Merck. He persuaded him to return to Wetzlar, to be introduced to Lotte. Merck came ; but so far from undervaluing her, as the very inaccurate account in the Autobiography would have us understand, Merck wrote to a friend : " J'ai trouv6 aussi I'amie de Goethe, cette fille dont il parle avec tant d'enthousiasme dans toutes ses lettres. Elle m^rite rdellement tout ce qu'il pourra dire du bien sur son compte." ^ He exasperated Goethe by prefer- ring the " Juno form " of one of her friends, and point- ing her out as the more worthy of attention, because she was disengaged. That Goethe should have been offended, was in the order of things ; but in the retro- spective glance which he gave to this period in his old » " Briefe aus dem Freundeskreise von Goethe, Herder, Merck," p. 59. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 177 age, he ought to have detected the really friendly spirit animating Merck ; he ought not to have likened him to Mephistopheles ; the more so as Merck's representations veere really effectual, and hastened the denouement. Every day made Goethe's position less tenable. At last he consented to tear himself away, and accom- pany Merck in a trip down the Rhine. It was time. Whatever factitious element there may have been in his romance, the situation was full of danger ; indul- gence in such emotions would have created at last a real and desperate passion ; there was safety but in flight. Merck left Wetzlar, having arranged that Goethe should join him at Coblentz. The following extracts from Kestner's Diary will remind the reader of Goethe's departure from Leipsic without saying adieu to Kath- chen. His dishke of " scenes " made Mm shrink from those emotions of leave-taking usually so eagerly sought by lovers. "Sept. 10, 1772. To-day Doctor Goethe dmed with me in the garden ; I did not know that it was the last time. In the evening Doctor Goethe came to the teutsche Haus. He, Lottchen, and I, had a remarkable conversation about the future state ; about going away and returning, etc., which was not begun by him, but by Lottchen. We agreed that the one who died first should, if he could, give information to the living, about the conditions of the other life. Goethe was quite cast down, for he knew that the next morning he was to go." " Sejpt. 11, 1772. This morning at seven o'clock Goethe set off without taking leave. He sent me a note with some books. He had long said that about this time he would make a journey to Coblentz, where the paymaster of the forces, Merck, awaited him, and that he would say no good-byes, but set off suddenly. So I had expected it. But that I was, notwithstanding, unprepared for it, I have felt — felt deep in my soul. 178 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE In the morniug I came home. ' Herr Doctor Goethe sent this at ten o'clock.' I saw the books and the note, and thought what this said to nie — 'He is gone ! ' — and was quite dejected. Soon after, Hans ^ came to ask me if he were really gone ? The Gchcime Bathin Langen had sent to say by a maid servant : ' It was very ill-mannered of Doctor Goethe to set off in this way, without taking leave.' Lottchen sent word in reply : ' Why had she not taught her nephew better ? ' Lottchen, in order to be certain, sent a box which she had of Goethe's to his house. He was no longer there. In the middle of the day the Gchewie RcitMn Langen sent word again : ' She w^ould, however, let Doctor Goethe's mother know how he had conducted himself.' Every one of the children in the teutsche Haus was saying : ' Doctor Goethe is gone ! ' In the middle of the day I talked with Herr von Born, who had accom- panied him, on horseback, as far as Brunnfells. Goethe had told him of our evening's conversation. Goethe had set out in very low spirits. In the afternoon I took Goethe's note to Lottchen. She was sorry about his departure ; the tears came into her eyes while reading. Yet it was a satisfaction to her that he was gone, since she could not give him the affection he desired. We spoke only of him ; indeed, I could think of nothing else, and defended the manner of his leaving, wliich was blamed by a silly person ; I did it with much warmth. Afterward I wrote him word what had haiipened since his departure." How grapliically do these simple touches set the whole situation before us : the sorrow of the two lovers at the departure of their friend, and the conster- nation of the cliildren on hearing that Doctor Goethe is gone ! One needs such a picture to reassure us that the episode, with all its strange romance, and with all its danger, was not really a tit of morbid sentimen- 1 One of Lotte's brothers. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 179 talism. Indeed, had Goethe been the sentimental Wer- ther he has represented, he would never have had the strength of will to tear himself from such a position. He would have blown his brains out, as Werther did. On the other hand, note what a worthy figure is this of Kestner, compared with the cold Albert of the novel. A less generous nature would have rejoiced in the absence of a rival, and forgotten, in its joy, the loss of a friend. But Kestner, who knew that his friend was his rival, — and such a rival that doubts crossed him whether this magnificent youth were not really more capable of rendering Lotte happy than he himself was, — grieved for the absence of his friend ! Here is Goethe's letter, referred to in the passage just quoted from the Diary : " He is gone, Kestner ; when you get this note, he is gone ! Give Lottchen the enclosed. I am quite composed, but your conversation has torn me to pieces. At this moment I can say nothing to you but farewell. If I had remained a moment longer with you I could not have restrained myself. Now I am alone, and to-morrow I go. Oh, my poor head ! " This was the enclosure, addressed to Lotte : " I certainly hope to come agaia, but God knows when ! Lotte, what did my heart feel while you were talking, knowing, as I did, that it was the last time I should see you ? Not the last time, and yet to-morrow I go away. He is gone ! What spirit led you to that conversation ? Wlien I was expected to say all I felt, alas ! what I cared about was here below, was your hand, which I kissed for the last time. The room which I shall not enter again, and the dear father who saw me to the door for the last time. I am now alone, and may weep ; I leave you happy, and shall remain in your heart. And shall see you again ; hut not to-morrow is never ! Tell my boys. He is gone. I can say no more." CHAPTEE IV. PREPARATIONS FOR WERTHER. Having sent his luggage to the house of Frau von La Eoche, where he was to meet Merck, he made the journey down the Lahn on foot. A dehcious sadness subdued his thoughts as he wandered dreamily along the river banks ; and the lovely scenes which met his eye sohcited his pencil, awakening once more the ineffectual desire (which from time to time haunted him) of becoming a painter. He had really no faculty in this direction, yet the desire, often suppressed, now rose up in such a serious shape, that he resolved to settle for ever whether he should devote himself to the art or not. The test was curious. The river glided beneath, now flashing in the sunlight, now partially concealed by willows. Taking a knife from his pocket, he flung it with his left hand into the river, having previously resolved that if he saw it fall he was to become an artist ; but if the sinking knife were con- cealed by the willows, he was to abandon the idea. No ancient oracle was ever more ambiguous than the answer now given him. The willows concealed the sinking knife, but the water splashed up like a fountain, and was distinctly visible. So indefinite an answer left him in doubt.^ iThis mode of interrojratinp; fate recalls that strange passage ia Rousseau's " Confessions " (Livre vi.) where he throws a stone at a tree : if he hits, it is a sign of salvation ; if he misses, of dam- nation ! Fortunately he hits : " Ce qui, v^ritablement, n'^tait pas difficile, car j'avais eu le soiu de le choisir fort gros et fort 1 80 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 18 1 He wandered pleasantly on the banks till he reached Ems, and then journeyed down the river in a boat. The old Ehine opened upon him ; and he mentions with peculiar delight the magnificent situation of Oberlahnstein, and, above all, the majesty of the castle of Ehrenbreitstein. On arriving at the house of Geheimrath von La Eoche, where he had been an- nounced by Merck, he was most kindly received by this excellent family. His literary tendencies bound him to the mother; his joyousness and strong sense, to the father ; his youth and poetry, to the daughters. The Frau von La Eoche, Wieland's earliest love, had written a novel in the Eichardson style, "Die Geschichte des Fraulein von Sternheim ; " and Schafer remarks that she probably gathered Merck, Goethe, and others into her house with a view to favourable criticisms of this novel. If this were her design, she succeeded with Goethe, who reviewed her book in the Frankfurter Gelehrteni Anzeigen. Whether this compliance was extorted by herself, or by the charms of her daughter Maximiliane, history saith not : certain it is that the dark eyes of the daughter made an impression on the heart of the young reviewer. She is the Mile. B. introduced in " Werther ; " but she is even still more interesting to us as the future mother of Bettina. They seemed to have looked into each other's eyes, flirted and sentimentalised, as if no Lotte had been left in Wetzlar. Nor will this surprise those who have considered the mobile nature of our poet. He is miserable at moments, but the fulness of abounding life, the strength of victorious will, and the sensibility to new impressions, keep his ever-active nature from prfes ; depuis lors je n'ai plus dout6 de mon salut." Had Goethe read this passage ? The " Confessions" appeared in 1768, that is, four years before this journey down the Lahn. Yet from a pas- sage in one of his letters to the Frau von Stein, it seems as if he then, 1782, first read the "Confessions." i82 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE the despondency which killed Werther. He is not always drooping because Charlotte is another's. He is open to every new impression, serious or gay. Thus, among other indications, we find him throwing off in " Pater Brey " and " Satyros," sarcasm and humour which are curious as products of the " Werther " period, although of no absolute worth ; and we follow him up the Rhine, in company with Merck, and his family, leisurely enjoying Rheiufels, St. Goar, Bacharach, Bin- gen, Elfeld, and Biberich, — " Tlie blending of all beauties ; streams and dells, Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, corn-field, mountain, vine, And chiefless castles, breathing stern farewells From gray but leafy walls where Ruin greenly dwells " — sketcliing as if life were a leisure summer day. He returned to Frankfort, and busied himself with law, literature, and painting. Wandering Italians, then rare, brought casts of antique statues to Frankfort ; and with delighted eagerness he purchased a complete set, thus to revive as much as possible the grand impression he received at Mannheim. Among his art- studies must be noted the attention bestowed on the Dutch painters. He began to copy some still-life pictures ; one of these he mentions ^vith pride ; and what, think you, this one was ? — a copy of a tortoise- shell knife-handle inlaid with silver ! He has " GJitz von Berlichingen " in his portfolio, and delights in copy- ing the copy of a knife-handle ! To law he devoted himself with greater assiduity than ever. His father, dehghted at going tlirough the papers with him, was peculiarly gratified at this honourable diligence, and in his delight was wilhng to overlook the other occupations of this " singular crea- ture," as he rightly named him. Goethe's literary jilans were numerous, and the Frnnlfort Journal gave him constant opportunities for expressing himself on poetry. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 183 theology, and even politics. Very significant is the following passage from one of these articles, in reply to the complaint that the Germans had no Fatherland, no Patriotism. " When we have a place in the world where we can repose with our property, a field to nourish us, and a house to cover us, have we not there our Fatherland ? and have not thousands upon thou- sands in every city got this ? and do they not live happy in their limited sphere ? Wherefore, then, this vain striving for a sentiment we neither have nor can have, a sentiment which only in certain nations, and in certain periods, is the result of many concurrent circumstances ? Eoman patriotism ! God defend us from it, as from a giant! we could not find the stool upon which to sit, nor the bed on which to lie in such patriotism ! " He was also rewriting " Gotz von Berlich- ingen." He found on re-reading the manuscript, that, beside the unities of time and place, he had sinned against the higher unity of composition. He says : " In abandoning myself to my imagination, I had not deviated much in the beginning, and the first acts were pretty much as had been intended. In the following acts, however, and especially toward the end, I was unconsciously led away by a singular passion. In making Adelheid so lovable, I had fallen in love with her myself, — my pen was unconsciously devoted to her alone, — the interest in her fate gained the preponderance ; and as, moreover, Gotz, toward the end, has little to do, and afterward only returns to an unhappy participation in the Peasant War, nothing was more natural than that a charming woman should supplant him in the mind of the author, who, casting off the fetters of art, thought to open a new field. I was soon sensible of this defect, or rather this culpable superfluity, since my poetical nature always impelled me to unity. Instead of the biography of Gotz and German antiquities, I now confined my attention to I $4 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE my own work, to give it more and more historical and national substance, and to cancel that which was fabu- lous or passionate. In this I indeed sacrificed much, as the inclination of the man had to yield to the con- viction of the artist. Thus, for instance, I had placed Adelheid in a terrific nocturnal gipsy scene, where she produced a great effect by her beautiful presence. A nearer examination banished her ; and the love-affair between Franz and his gracious lady, which was very circumstantially carried on in the fourth and fifth acts, was much condensed, and only the chief points indicated. " Without altering the manuscript, which I still possess in its original shape, I determined to rewrite the whole, and did this with such activity, that in a few weeks I produced an entirely new version. It had never been my intention to have the second poem printed, as I looked upon this likewise as no more than a preparatory exercise, the foundation of a new work, to be accomplished with greater industry and deliberation. " AVhen I suggested my plans to Merck, he laughed at me, and asked what was the meaning of this perpetual writing and rewriting ? The work, he said, by this means, only becomes different, and seldom better ; you must see what effect one thing produces, and then try some- thing new. ' Be in time at the hedge, if you would dry your linen,' he exclaimed, in the words of the proverb : hesitation and delay only make uncertain men. On the other hand, I pointed out how unpleas- ant it would be to offer a bookseller a work on which I had bestowed so much affection, and perhaps have it refused ; for how would they judge of so young, name- less, and audacious an author ? As my dread of the press gradually vanished, I wished to see printed my comedy ' Die Mitschuldigen,' upon which I set some value, but I found no pubUsher inclined to undertake it. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 185 " Here the mercantile taste of my friend was at once excited. He proposed that we should piibhsh at our own expense this siugular and striking work, from which we should derive large profit. Like many others, he used often to reckon up the bookseller's profit, which with many works was certainly great, especially if what was lost by other writings and com- mercial affairs was left out of the calculation. We settled that I should procure the paper, and that he should answer for the printing. To work we went, and I was pleased to see my wild dramatic sketch in clean proof-sheets ; it looked really better than I myself expected. We completed the work, and it was sent off in several parcels. It was not long before the attention it excited became universal. But as, with our limited means, the copies could not be forwarded, a pirated edition suddenly made its appearance. As, moreover, there could be no immediate return, espe- cially in ready money, for the copies sent out, and as my treasury was not very flourishing at the time when much attention and applause was bestowed upon me, I was extremely perplexed how to pay for the paper by means of which I had made the world acquainted with my talent. On the other hand, Merck, who knew better how to help himself, was certain that all would soon come right again ; but I never perceived that to be the case." There is some inaccuracy in the foregoing, which a comparison of the first and second versions of the work will rectify. The changes he effected were very shght, and mainly consist in the striking out of the two scenes in which Adelheid plays so conspicuous a part. A greater inaccuracy, amounting to injustice, is con- tained in the passage about Herder, as we now learn from the " Posthumous Papers " of the latter, from which it is clear that he did greatly admire " Gcitz," i86 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE and wrote warmly of it to his betrothed, saying, " You will have some heavenly hours of delight when you read it, for there is in it uncommon German strength, depth, and truth, although here and there it is rather schemed than artistically wrought {nur gcdacht)." Prob- ably in writing to Goethe he was more critical, and as usual with him, somewhat pedagogic ; but it is also probable that he was loud in praise, since the poet replies, " Your letter was a consolation. I already rank the work much lower thau you do. Your sentence that Shakespeare has quite spoiled me, I admit to the full The work must be fused anew, freed from its dross, and with newer, better metal cast again. Then it shall appear before you." He seems to have been nettled (not unnaturally) at the sentence, " All is rather schemed than artistically wrought," which, he says, is true of " Emilia Galotti," and prevents his altogether liking it, although a masterpiece. Judging from a tol- erably extensive acquaintance with authors in relation to criticism, I should think it highly probable that the longer Goethe pondered on Herder's letter the fainter became his pleasure in the praise, and the stronger his irritation at the blame. I have known a feeling of positive gratitude for a criticism slowly to change into an uneasy and almost indignant impression of injustice having been done. That Goethe did not, on reflection, so entirely concur with the objections he was at first ready to admit, appears from the fact that he did not recast his work. When " Giitz " appeared, the effect on the public was instantaneous, startling. Its bold expression of the spirit of Freedom, its defiance of French criticism, and the originality no less than the power of the writing, carried it trium])hant over Germany. It was pro- nounced a masterpiece in all the salons and in all the beer-liouses of that uneasy time. Imitations followed with amazing rapidity ; the stage was noisy with the LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 187 clang of chivalry, and the book-shelves creaked beneath the weight of resuscitated Feudal Times. An amusing example of " the trade " is mentioned by Goethe. A bookseller paid him a visit, and, with the air of a man well satisfied with his proposal, offered to give an order for a dozen plays in the style of " Gotz," for which a handsome honorarium should be paid. His offer was the more generous, because such was the state of literature at this period, that, in spite of the success Gotz achieved, it brought no money to its author — pirated editions circulating everywhere, and robbing him of his reward. Moreover, what the book- seller proposed was what the pubhc expected. When once a writer has achieved success in any direction, he must continue in that direction, or peril his reputation. An opinion has been formed of him ; he has been classed ; and the public will not have its classification disturbed. Nevertheless, if he repeat himself, this unreasoning public declaims against his " poverty." No man ever repeated himself less than Goethe. He did not model a statue, and then amuse himself with tak- ing casts of it in different materials. He lived, thought, and suffered ; and because he had lived, thought, and suffered, he wrote. When he had once expressed his experience in a work, he never recurred to it. The true artist, hke the snake, casts his skin, but never resumes it. He w^orks according to the impulse from within, not according to the demand from without. And Goethe was a genuine artist, never exhausting a lucky discovery, never working an impoverished vein. Every poem came fresh from life, coined from the mint of his experience. "Gcitz" is the greatest product of the Sturm und Drang movement. As we before hinted, this period is not simply one of vague wild hopes and retrospec- tions of old German life, it is also one of unhealthy sentimentalism. Goethe, the great representative poet i8S LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE of his day — the secretary of his age — gives us mas- terpieces which characterise both these tendencies. Beside the insurgent Gotz stands the dreamy Werther. And yet, accurately as these two works represent two active tendencies of the time, they are both far re- moved above the perishing extravagances of that time ; they are both ideal expressions of the age, and as free from the disease which corrupted it as Goethe himself was free from the weakness of his contemporaries. Wilkes used to say that he had never been a Wilkite. Goethe was never a Werther. To appreciate the dis- tance which separated him and his works from his sentimental contemporaries and their works, we must study the characters of such men as Jacobi, Kliuger, Wagner, and Lenz, or we must read such works as " Woldemar." It will then be plain why Goethe turned with aversion from such works, his own included, when a few years had cleared his insight, and settled his aims. Then also will be seen the differ- ence between genius which ideahses the spirit of the age, and talent which panders to it.^ It was, indeed, a strange epoch ; the unrest was the unrest of disease, and its extravagances were morbid symptoms. In the letters, memoirs, and novels, which still remain to testify to the follies of the age, may be read a self-questioning and sentimental introspection, enough to create in healthy minds a distaste both for sentiment and self-questioning. A factitious air is carried even by the most respectable sentiments ; and many not respectable array themselves in rose-pink. Nature is seldom spoken of but in hysterical entliu- siasm. Tears and caresses are prodigally scattered, and upon the slightest provocations. In Coburg an Order of Mercy and Expiation is instituted by sensi- 1 As Karl Grun epifrrammatically says of Goethe and his con- temporaries, " He was at once patient and physician ; they were patients and nothing else." LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 189 tive noodles. Leuchsenring, whom Goethe satirised in " Pater Brey " as a professional sentimentalist, gets up a secret society and calls it the Order of Sentiment, to which tender soids think it a privilege to belong. Friendship is fantastically deified ; brotherly love draws trembling souls together, not on the solid grounds of affection and mutual service, but on entirely imaginary grounds of " spiritual communion ; " whence arose as Jean Paul wittily says, " an universal love for all men and beasts — except reviewers." It was a skep- tical epoch, in which everything estabhshed came into question. Marriage, of course, came badly off among a set of men who made the first commandment of genius to consist in loving your neighbour and your neigh- bour's wife. These were symptoms of disease ; the social organ- isation was out of order ; a crisis, evidently imminent, was heralded by extravagances in literature, as else- where. The cause of the disease was want of faith. In religion, in philosophy, in politics, in morals, this eighteenth century was ostentatious of its disquiet and disbelief. The old faith, w^hich for so long had made European life an organic unity, and which in its tottering weakness had received a mortal blow from Luther, was no longer universal, living, active, domi- nant ; its place of universal directing power was vacant ; a new faith had not arisen. The French Revolution was another crisis of that organic disturbance which had previously shown itself in another order of ideas, — in the Reformation. Besides this awful crisis, other minor crises are noticeable. Everywhere the same Protestant spirit breaks through traditions, in morals, in literature, and in education. Whatever is established, whatever rests on tradition, is questioned. The classics are no longer believed in ; men begin to maintain the doctrine of progress, and proclaim the superiority of the moderns. Art is pronounced to be 190 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE in its uature progressive. Education is no longer per- mitted to pursue its broad traditional path ; the methods whicli were excellent for the past, no longer suffice for the present ; everywhere new methods rise up to ameliorate the old. The divine right of institu- tions ceases to gain credence. The individual claims and proclaims his freedom : freedom of thought and freedom of act. Freedom is the watchword of the eighteenth century. Enough has been said to indicate the temper of those times, and to show why " Werther " was a part expres- sion of that temper. Turning to the novel itself, we find it so bound up with the life of its author, that the history of his life at this epoch is the record of the materials from which it was created ; we nnist, there- fore, retrace our steps again to the point where Goethe left Wetzlar, and, by the aid of his letters to Kestner, follow the development of this strange romance. " Giitz " was published in the summer of 1773. It was in the autumn of 1772 that Goethe left Wetzlar, and returned home. His letters to Kestner and Charlotte are full of passionate avowals and tender reminiscences. The capricious orthogiaphy and grammar to be noticed in them belong to a period when it was thought un- worthy of a genius to conform to detaOs so fastidious as correct spelling and good grammar ; but the affec- tionate nature which warms these letters, the abun- dant love the writer felt and inspired, these belong to him, and not to his age. If a proof were wanted of Goethe's loving disposition, we might refer to these letters, especially those addressed to the y»)ung brother of Charlotte. The reader of tliis biogi-aphy, however, will need no such proof, and we may there- fore confine ourselves to the relation of Goethe to the Kestners. " God bless you, dear Kestner," runs one of tlie early letters, " and tell Lotte tliat 1 often believe I can forget her ; but then I have a relapse, and it is LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 191 worse with me than ever." He longs once more to be sitting at her feet, letting the children clamber over him. He writes in a strain of melancholv, which is as much poetry as sorrow : when a thought of suicide arises, it is only one among the many thoughts which hurry through his mind. There is a very significant passage in the Autobiography, which aptly describes his real state of mind : " I had a large collection of weapons, and among them a very handsome dagger. This I placed by my bedside every night, and before extinguishing my candle I made various attempts to pierce the sharp point a couple of inches into my breast ; but not being able to do it, I laughed myself out of the notion, threw aside all hypochondriacal fancies, and resolved to live." He played with suicidal thoughts, because he was restless, and suicide was a fashionable speculation of the day ; but whoever sup- poses these thoughts of suicide were serious has greatly misunderstood him. He had them not, even at this period ; and when he wrote " Werther " he had long thrown off even the faint temptation of poetic longings for death. In October, 1772, the report reaches him that his Wetzlar friend Gone has shot himself : " Write to me at once about Gone," he says to Kestner ; " I honour such an act, and pity manlcind, and let all the Philisters make their tobacco-smoke comments on it and say : There, you see ! Nevertheless, I hope never to make my friends unhappy by such an act, myself." He was too full of life to do more than coquet with the idea of death. Here is a confession : " I went to Homburg, and there gained new love of life, seeing how much pleasure the appearance of a miserable thing like me can give such excellent people." On the 7th of November he suddenly appeared in VVet/lar with Schlosser, and stayed there till the 10th, in a feverish, but dehcious, enthusiasm. He writes to Kest- ner on reaching home : " It was assuredly high time 192 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE for me to go. Yesterday evening I had thoroughly criminal thoughts as I lay on the sofa. . . . And when I think how above all my hopes your greeting of me was, I am very calm. I confess I came with some anxiety. I came with a pure, w^arm, full heart, dear Kestner, and it is a hell-pain when one is not received in the same spirit as one brings. But so — God give you a whole life such as those two days were to me ! " The report of Gout's suicide, before alluded to, turned out to be false ; but the suicide of Jerusalem was a melancholy fact. Goethe immediately writes to Kestner : " Unhappy Jerusalem ! The news was shocking, and unexpected ; it was horrible to have this news as an accompaniment to the pleasantest gift of love. The unfortunate man ! But the devil, that is, the infamous men who enjoy nothing but the chaff of vanity, and have the lust of idolatry in their hearts, and preach idolatry, and cramp healthy nature, and overstrain and ruin the faculties, are guilty of this misery, of our misery. If the cursed parson is not guilty, God for- give me that I wish he may break his neck like Eh. The poor young man ! When I came back from a walk, and he met me in the moonlight, I said to my- self, he is in love. Lotte must still remember that I laughed about it. God knows, loneliness undermined his heart, and for seven years ^ his form has been familiar to me. I have talked little with him. When I came away, I brought with me a book of his ; I will keep that and the remembrance of liim as long as I Hve." Among the many inaccuracies of the Autobiog- raphy, there is one of consequence on the subject of " Werther," namely, the assertion that it was the news of Jerusalem's suicide which suddenly set him to work. 'Tlii.s "seven years" refers to the first sight of Jerusalem at Leipsic. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 193 The news reached him in October, 1772, and in November Kestner sent him the narrative of Jeru- salem's last days. Not until the middle and end of 1773 did he write " Werther." In fact, the state of his mind at this period is by no means such as the Autobiography describes. Read this letter written in December : " That is wonderful ! I was about to ask if Lenchen ^ had arrived, and you write to tell me she is. If I were only there I would nullify your dis- course, and astonish all the tailors ; I tliink I should be fonder of her than of Lotte. From the portrait she must be an amiable girl, much better than Lotte, if not precisely the . . . And I am free and thirsting for love. I must try and come ; yet that would not help me. Here am I once more in Frankfort, and carry plans and fancies about with me, which I should not do if I had but a maiden." In January he seems to have found a maiden, for he writes : " Tell Lotte there is a certain maiden here whom I love heartily, and whom I would choose before all others if I had any thought of marriage, and she also was born on the 1 1 til January.2 It would be pretty : such a pair ! Who knows what God's will is ? " I agree with Vie- hoff against Diintzer, that this alludes to Anna Antoi- nette Gerock, a relation of Schlosser's, who is known to have loved him passionately, and to have furnished some traits for Mignon. Clear it is that he is not very melancholy. " Yesterday I skated from sunrise to sunset. And I have other sources of joy which I can't relate. Be comforted that I am almost as happy as people who love, like you two, that I am as full of hope, and that I have lately felt some poems. My sister greets you, my maiden also greets you, my gods greet you." Thus we see that, although Lotte's picture hangs by his bedside, although her image hovers cou- 1 A sister of Charlotte's. 2 Lotte's birthday. 194 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE stantly before him, and the teutscke Haus is the centre of many yearning thoughts, he is not pining despond- ently for Charlotte. He has rewritten " Gotz," and allowed Merck to carry it to the printer's. He is living in a very merry circle, one figure in which is Antoinette Gerock, as we gather from a letter written in February, 1773, a mouth after that in which he refers to his " maiden." Here is the passage : " At Easter I will send you a quite adventurous novelty.^ My maiden gi'eets Lotte. In character she has much of Lenchen, and my sister says resembles her portrait. If we were but as much in love as you two — mean- while I will call her my ' dear little wife,' for recently she fell to me in a lottery as my wife." She was then only fifteen ; their relation to each other will be described in Chapter VI. And now the day approaches when Lotte is to be married and leave Wetzlar. Goethe writes to her brother Hans, begging him, when Lotte departs, to write at least once a week, that the connection with the teutscke Haus may not be broken, although its jewel is carried away. He writes to Kestner to be allowed to get the wedding-ring. " I am wholly yours, but from henceforth care not to see you nor Lotte. Her portrait too shall away from my bedroom the day of her marriage, and shall not be restored till I hear she is a mother : and from that moment a new epoch begins, in which I shall not love her, but her children, a little indeed on her account, but that's nothing to do with it ; and if you ask me to be godfather, my spirit shall rest upon the boy, and he sliall make a fool of himself for a maiden like his mother." Enclosed was this note to Lotte : " May my memory with this ring for ever remain with you in your happiness. Dear Lotte, some time hence we shall see each other again, you with this ring on your finger, and I as always i"Gotz." LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 195 thine. I know no name or bye-name to sign this with. You know me." When the marriage takes place he writes to Kestner : " God bless you ; you have sur- prised me. I had meant to make a holy sepulchre on Good Friday, and bury Lotte's portrait. But it hangs still by my bed and shall remain there till I die. Be happy. Greet for me your angel, and Lenchen ; she shall be the second Lotte, and it shall be as well with her. I wander in the desert where no water is, my hair is my shade, and my blood my spring." The bridesmaid brings him the bridal bouquet, a flower of which he sticks in his hat, as he w^alks to Darmstadt, in a melancholy mood ; but to show that his passion for Charlotte was after all only a poetic passion, here is a passage in the letter he sent to Kestner immedi- ately after the marriage : " Kestner, when have I envied you Lotte in the human sense ? for not to envy you her in the spiritual sense I must be an angel with- out luniks and hver. Nevertheless I must disclose a secret to you. That you may know and behold. When I attached myself to Lotte, and you know that I was attached to her from my heart. Born talked to me about it, as people are ivont to talk. ' If I were K. I should not like it. How can it end ? You quite cut him out ! ' and the like. Then I said to him in these very words, in his room, it was in the morning : * The fact is, I am fool enough to think the girl something remarkable ; if she deceived me, and turned out to be as girls usually are, and used K. as capital in order to make the most of her charms, the first moment which discovered that to me, the first moment which brought her nearer to me, would be the last of our acquaint- ance,' and this I protested and swore. And between ourselves, without boasting, I understand the girl somewhat, and you know how I have felt for her and for everything she has seen and touched, and wherever she has been, and shall continue to feel to the end of 196 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE the world. And now see how far I am envious, and must be so. For either I am a fool, which is difficult to believe, or she is the subtlest deceiver, or then — Lotte, the very Lotte of whom we are speaking." A few days afterward he writes : " My poor existence is petrified to barren rock. This summer I lose all. Merck goes. My sister too. And I am alone." The marriage of Cornelia, his much-loved sister, was to him a very serious matter, and her loss was not easily supplied. It came, too, at a time when other losses pained him. Lotte was married, Merck was away, and a dear friend had just died. Nevertheless, he seems to have been active in plans. Among them was most probably that of a drama on •' Mahomet," which he erroneously places at a later period, after the journeys with Lavater and Basedow, but which Scliiifer, very properly, restores to the year 1773, as Boie's " Annual " for 1774 contains " Mahomet's Song." Goethe has narrated in full the conception of this piece, which is very grand. He tells us the idea arose within him of illustrating the sad fact, noticeable in the biographies of genius, that every man who attempts to realise a great idea comes in contact with the lower world, and must place himself on its level in order to influence it, and thus compromise his higher aims, and finally forfeit them. He chose Mahomet as the illus- tration, never having regarded him as an impostor. He had carefully studied the Koran and Mahomet's life, in preparation. " The piece," he says, " opened with a hymn sung by Mahomet alone under the open sky. He first adores the innumerable stars as so many gods ; but as the star god (Jupiter) rises, he offers to him, as the king of the stars, exclusive adoration. Soon after, the moon ascends the horizon, and claims the eye and heart of the worshipper, who, refreshed and strengthened by the dawning sun, is afterward stimu- lated to new praises. lUit these changes, however LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 197 delightful, are still unsatisfactory, and the mind feels that it must rise still higher, and mounts therefore to God, the One Eternal, Infinite, to whom all these splendid but finite creatures owe their existence. I composed this hymn with great delight ; it is now lost, but might easily be restored as a cantata, and is adapted for music by the variety of its expression. Tt would, however, be necessary to imagine it sung according to the original plan, by the leader of a caravan with his family and tribe ; and thus the alter- nation of the voices and the strength of the chorus would be secure. " Mahomet, converted, imparts these feelings and sentiments to his friends ; his wife and Ali become unconditional disciples. In the second act, he attempts to propagate this faith in the tribe ; Ali still more zealously. Assent and opposition display themselves according to the variety of character. The contest begins, the strife becomes violent, and Mahomet flies. In the third act, he defeats his enemies, makes his religion the public one, and purifies the Kaaba from idols ; but this being impracticable by force, he is obliged to resort to cunning. What in his character is earthly increases and develojjs itself; the divine retires and is obscured. In the fourth act, Mahomet pursues his conquests, his doctrine becomes a means rather than an end, all kinds of practices are employed, nor are horrors wanting. A woman, whose husband has been condemned by Mahomet, poisons him. In the fifth act he feels that he is poisoned. His great calmness, the return to himself and to his better nature, make him worthy of admiration. He purifies his doctrine, establishes his kingdom, and dies. " This sketch long occupied my mind ; for, according to my custom, I was obliged to let the conception perfect itself before I commenced the execution. All that genius, through character and intellect, can exer- 198 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE cise over mankind, was therein to be represented, and what it gains and loses in the process. Several of the songs to be introduced in the drama vi^ere rapidly com- posed ; the only one remaining of them, however, is ' Mahomet's Gesang.' This was to be sung by Ali, in honour of his master, at the apex of his success, just before the change resulting from the poison." Of all his unrealised schemes, this causes me the greatest regret. In grandeur, depth, and in the oppor- tunities for subtle psychological unravelment of the mysteries of our nature, it was a scheme pecuharly suited to his genius. How many " Clavigos " and " Stel- las " would one not have given for such a poem ? Maximiliane Laroche had recently married Brentano, a Frankfort merchant, a widower, many years her senior, with five children. Goethe became intimate at their house ; and, as Merck writes, " il joue avec les enfans et accompagne le clavecin de madame avec la basse. M. Brentano, quoique assez jaloux pour un Italien, I'aime et veut absolument qu'il fr^queute la maison." The husband wanted his presence, often as an umpire in the disputes with his wife ; and the wife, also, chose him umpire in her disputes with lier husband ; nay, Merck hints, "il a la petite madame Brentano a consoler sur I'odeur de I'huile, du fromage, et des manieres de son mari." So passed autumn and winter, in a tender relation, such as in those days was thought blameless enough, but such as modern writers cannot believe to have been so blameless. For my part, I cannot disbelieve his own word on this matter, when he says, " My former relation to the young wife, which was, properly speaking, only that of a brother to a sister, was resumed after marriage. Being of her own age, I was the only one in whom she heard an echo of those voices to which she had been accustomed in her youth. We Hved in childish confidence ; and, although there ivas nothing passionate in our inter- LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 199 course^ it was painful, because she was unable to recon- cile herself to her new condition." If not passionate, the relation was certainly sentimental and dangerous. Hear how he writes to Frau Jacobi : " It goes well with me, dear lady, and thanks for your double, triple letter. The last three weeks there has been nothing but excitement, and now we are as contented and happy as possible. I say we, for since the 15th of January not a branch of my existence has been soli- tary. And Fate, which I have so often vituperated, is now courteously entitled beautiful, wise Fate, for since my sister left me, this is the first gift that can be called an equivalent. The Max is still the same augel whose simple and darling quahties draw all hearts toward her, and the feeling I have for her — wherein her husband would find cause for jealousy — now makes the joy of my existence. Brentano is a worthy fellow, with a frank, strong character, and not without sense. The children are lively and good." An anecdote, related by his mother to Bettina, gives us an amusing picture of him parading before Max. The morning was bright and frosty. " Wolfgang burst into the room where his mother was seated with some friends : ' Mother, you have never seen me skate, and the weather is so beautiful to-day.' I put on my crimson fur cloak, which had a long train, and was closed in front by golden clasps, and we drove out. There skated my son, like an arrow among the groups. The wind had reddened his cheeks, and blown the powder out of his brown hair. When he saw my crimson cloak he came toward our carriage and smiled coaxingly at me. ' Well,' said I, ' what do you want ? ' ' Come, mother, you can't be cold in the carriage, give me your cloak.' ' You won't put it on, will you ? ' ' Certainly.' I took it off, he put it on, threw the train over his arm, and away he went over the ice like a son of the gods. Oh, Bettina, if you could have 2 00 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE seen him! Anything so beautiful is not to be seen now! I clapped my hands for joy. Never shall I forget him, as he darted out from under one arch of the bridge and in again under the other, the wind carrying the train behind him as he flew ! Your mother, Bettina, was on the ice, and all this was to please her." No thought of suicide in that breast ! Quite in keeping with this anecdote is the spirit of the satirical farce, " Gotter, Helden und Wieland," which is alluded to in this passage of a letter to Kestner, May, 1774, and must therefore have been written some time before : " My rough joke against Wieland makes more noise than I thought. He behaves very well in the matter, as I hear, so that I am in the wrong." The origin of this farce was a strong feeling in the circle of Goethe's friends, that Wieland had modern- ised, misrepresented, and traduced the Grecian gods and heroes. One Sunday afternoon "the rage for dramatising everything" seized him, and with a bottle of Burgundy by his side he wrote off the piece just as it stands. The friends were in raptures with it. He sent it to Lenz, then at Strasburg, who insisted on its at once being printed. After some demurring, con- sent was given, and at Strasburg the work saw the light. In reading it, the public, unacquainted with the circumstances and the mood to which it owed its origin, unacquainted also with the fact of its never having been designed for publication, felt somewhat scandalised at its fierceness of sarcasm. But in truth there was no mahce in it. Flushed with the insolence and pride of wit, he attacked a poet whom, on the whole, lie gi'eatly loved ; and Wieland took no offence at it, but reviewed it in the Tcvtfickc Mcrcur, recom- mending it to all lovers of pas(|uinade, pcrdjlagc, and sarcastic wit. This reminds one of Socrates standing up in the theatre, when he was lampooned by Aris- LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 201 tophanes, that the spectators might behold the origi- nal of the sophist they were hooting ou the stage. " Gotter, Helden und Wieland " is really amusing, and under the mask of its buffoonery contains some sound and acute criticism.^ The peculiarity of it, however, consists in its attacking Wieland for treating heroes unheroically, at a time when, from various parts of Germany, loud voices were raised against Wieland, as an immoral, an unchristian, nay, even an atheistical writer. Lavater called upon Christians to pray for this sinner ; theologians forbade their followers to read his works; pulpits were loud against him. In 1773 the whole Klopstock school rose against him ^ in moral indignation, and burned his works on Klopstock's birth- day. Very different w^as Goethe's ire. He saw that the gods and heroes were represented in perruques and satin breeches, that their cheeks were rouged, their thews and sinews shrunk to those of a petit-maitre ; and against such a conception of the old Pagan life he raised his voice. " I cannot blame you," he writes to Kestner, " for living in the world and making acquaintances amongst men of rank and influence. Intercourse with the great is always advantageous to him who knows properly how to use it. I honour gunpowder if only for its power of bringing me a bird down out of the air. . . . So in God's name continue, and don't trouble yourself about the opinions of others, shut your heart to antag- onists as to flatterers. ... Kestner, I am in excel- lent spirits, and if I have not you by my side, yet all the dear ones are ever before me. The circle of noble natures is the highest happiness I have yet achieved. And now, my dear ' Gcitz,' I trust in his strong nature, lit called forth a retort, ''Thiere, Menschen und Goethe," which has not fallen in my way. Critics speak of it as personal, but worthless. ^Gervinus, iv. p. 285. 202 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE he will endure. He is a human offspring with many sins, and nevertheless one of the best. Many will object to his clothing and rough angles ; yet I have so much applause that it astonishes me. I don't think I shall soon write anything which will again find its public. Meanwhile I work on, in the hope that some- thing striking in the whirl of things may be laid hold of." On Christmas Day, 1773, in answer to Kestner's wish that he should come to Hanover and play a part there, he writes this noticeable sentence : " My father would not object to my entering foreign service, and no hope or desire of an office detains me here — but, dear Kestner, the talents and "powers whicli I have, I need too much for my own aims ; I am accustomed to act according to my instinct, and therewith can no prince he served." In less than two years he was to accept service under a prince ; but we shall see that he did so with full consciousness of what was required, and of what he could afford to give. The mention of that prince leads me to make an important correction in the date of the first acquaint- ance with him, erroneously placed in the December of 1774 by Goethe. It is useless to inquire how Goethe's memory could have so deceived him as to bring this important event in conjunction with his first acquaint- ance with Lili ; the dates of the Kuebel correspondence are beyond question. On the 11th February, Knebel paid him a visit, and informed him that the two princes, Karl August and Constantino, were desirous of seeing him. He went, and was received with flattering kind- ness, especially by Karl August, who had just read " Gcitz." He dined with lii.s royal hosts in a quiet way, and left them, having received and produced an agree- able impression. They were going to Mainz, whither he promised to follow them. His fatlier, hke a sturdy old burgher who held aloof from princes, shook his LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 203 skeptical head at the idea of this visit. To Mainz, however, the poet went a day or two afterward, and spent several days with the young princes, as their guest. This was his first contact with men of liigh rank. In the following May he liears with joy that Lotte is a mother, and that her boy is to be caUed Wolfgang after him ; and on the 16th of June he writes to Lotte : " I will soon send you a friend who has much resem- blance to me, and hope you will receive him well ; he is named Werther, and is and was — but that he nmst himself explain." Whoever has followed the history thus far, moving on the secure ground of contemporary document, will see how vague and inaccurate is the account of the compositicn of " Werther " given by its author, in his retrospective narrative. It was not originated by grow- ing despair at the loss of Charlotte. It was not origi- nated by tormenting thoughts of self-destruction. It was not to free himself from suicide that he wrote this story of suicide. All these several threads were woven into its woof ; but the rigour of dates forces us to the conviction that " Werther," although taken from his experience, was not written while that experience was being undergone. Indeed, the true pliilosophy of art would, a jyriori, lead us to the conviction that, although he cleared his " bosom of the perilous stuff " by mould- ing this perilous stuff into a work of art, he must have essentially outlived the storm before he painted it, — conquered his passion, and subdued the rebellious thoughts, before he made them plastic to his purpose. The poet cannot see to write when his eyes are full of tears ; cannot sing when his breast is swollen with sighs, and sobs choke utterance. He must rise supe- rior to his grief before he can sublimate his grief in song. The artist is a master, not a slave ; he wields his passion, he is not hurried along by it ; he possesses, and is not possessed. Art enshrines the great sadness 204 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE of the world, but is itself uot sad. The storm of pas- sion weeps itself away, and the heavy clouds roll off iu quiet masses, to make room for the suu, which, iu shiu- iug through, touches them to beauty with its rays. While paiu is iu its newness, it is pain and nothing else; it is not Art, but Feeling. Goethe could not write "Werther" before he had outlived Wertherism. It may have been, as he says, a " general confession," and a confession which brought him certain rehef ; but we do not confess until we have repented, and we do repent until we have outlived the error. " Werther " was written rapidly. " I completely isolated myself," he says ; " nay, prohibited the \isits of my friends, and put aside everything that did not immediately belong to the subject. Under such cir- cumstances, and under so many preparations in secret, I wi'ote it in four weeks, without any scheme of the whole, or treatment of any part, being previously put on paper." It is of this seclusion Merck writes : " Le grand succes que son drame a eu lui tourne un peu la tete. II se detache de tons ses amis, et n'existe que dans les compositions qu'il prepare pour le public." It is a matter of some interest to ascertain the exact truth respecting the date of the composition of " Wer- ther." As before stated, his own account is manifestly inaccurate ; and the only thing which renders it dith- cult to assign the date with tolerable precision, is his statement that it was written in four weeks without any scheme of the whole or treatment of any part hav- ing been previously put on paper. If we consent to believe that his memory in this case deceived him, the correspondence of the period furnishes hmts from whi(^h we may conclude that in 1772, on the arrival of the news about Jerusalem's suicide, he made a gen- eral sketch, either in his mind or on paper ; and that during the following year he worked at it from time to time. In June, 1773, he writes to Kestner: "And LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 205 thus I dream and ramble through life, •writing plays and novels, and the hke." In July he writes : " I am working my own situation into art for the consolation of gods and men. I know what Lotte will say when she sees it, and I know what I shall answer her." The word in the original is Schauspicl — play, drama; Yiehoff suggests that he does not mean drama, but a work which will bring his situation zur Schau — before the public eye. In September of the same year, he WTites : " You are always by me when I write. At present, I am working at a novel, but it gets on slowly." In November Frau Jacobi writes to him, acknowledg- ing the receipt of a novel, in manuscript no doubt, which delights her. In February, 1774, Merck writes of him : " Je prevois qu'un roman, qui paraitra de lui a paques, sera aussi bieu regu que son drame." As we have nowhere a hint of any other novel, besides " "\Yerther," at this epoch, it is difficult to resist the e\-idence of these dates ; and we must, therefore, con- clude that the assertion in the Autobiography is wholly inexact. In September, 1774, he wrote to Lotte, sending her a copy of " Werther : " " Lotte, how dear this little book is to me thou wilt feel in reading it, and this copy is as dear to me as if it were the only one in the world. Thou must have it, Lotte ; I have kissed it a hundred times ; have kept it locked up that no one might touch it. O Lotte! And I beg thee let no one except Meyers see it yet ; it will be published at the Leipsic fair. I wish each to read it alone ; thou alone, — Kestner alone, — and each to write me a Httle word about it. Lotte, adieu, Lotte ! " Let us now take a glance at this work, which startled Europe, and which for a long while was all that Europe knew of Goethe.^ 1 Scott, in prefacing his translation of "Gotz," says : "It was WTitten by tlie elegant author of the " Sorrows of "Werther." CHAPTEE Y. WERTHER. Aujourd'hui lliovvmc desire immensement, mais il veut faihkment : in these words Guizot has written an epigraph for "Werther;" a book composed out of a double history, the history of its author's experience, and the history of one of his friends. The story of Jerusalem, whom he met in the Wetz- lar circle, furnished Goethe with the machinery by which to introduce his own experience. He took many of the details from Kestner's long letter, sent shortly after the catastrophe : the letter may therefore be here abridged, as an introduction to the novel Jerusalem, melancholy, by temperament, was unhappy during the whole of his Wetzlar residence. He had been denied admittance into the high diplomatic society to which his position gave him claims; he had been in unpleasant relations with his ambassador, whose secretary he was; and he had fallen in love with the wife of his friend. Thus oppressed, he shunned company, was fond of long moonhght walks, and once lost himself in the wood, wandering about the whole night. But lie was sohtary, even in his grief, told none of his friends the causes of his melau- cboly, and solaced himself with novels — the wretched novels of that day. To these he added all the tragedies he could get hold of; Enghsh writers, especially the gloomy writers ; and various philosopliical works. He wrote also essays, one on suicide, a subject which 206 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 207 greatly occupied him. Mendelssohn's " Phaedon " was his favourite work.^ Wlien the rumour reached Wetz- lar of Goue's suicide, he said that Go\i6 was not a fit man for such a deed, but defended the act. A few days before his own unhappy end he was talking with Schleimitz about suicide, and said, " It would be a bad look out, however, if the shot were not to take effect ! " The rest of the narrative must be told in Kestner's own words, the simple circumstantial style best fitting such a history. " Last Tuesday he comes with a discontented look to Kielmansegge, who was ill. The latter asks how he is. ' Better than I like to be.' He also that day talked a good deal about love, which he had never done before ; and then about the Frankfurter Zeitung, which had for some time pleased him more than usual. In the afternoon (Tuesday) he goes to Secretary H.'s. Until eight o'clock in the evening they play tarock together. Annchen Brandt was also there ; Jerusalem accompanied her home. As they walk, Jerusalem often strikes his forehead, gloomily and repeatedly says : ' If one were but dead — if one were but in heaven ! ' Annchen joked liim about it; he bargains for a place by her side in heaven, and at parting he says : ' It is agreed, then, that I shall have a place by you in heaven.' " On Wednesday, as there were great doings at the * Crown Prince,' and everybody invited everybody, he went there to dinner, though he generally dined at home, and he brought Secretary H. with him. He did not behave there otherwise than usual ; if any- thing, he was more cheerful. After dinner. Secretary H. takes him home with him to see his wife. They take coffee ; Jerusalem says to Mrs. H. : ' Dear Mrs. H., this is the last coffee I shall drink with you.' She 1 Goethe, it will be remembered, in Strasburg, made an analysis of this work, contrasting it with Plato's. 2o8 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE thinks it a joke, and answers in that tone. The same afternoon (Wednesday) Jerusalem was alone at H.'s : what took place there is unknown ; perhaps herein lies the cause of what followed. In the evening, just as it was dark, Jerusalem comes to Garbenheim, into the usual inn, asks whether any one is in the room above. On the answer, No, he goes up, soon comes down again, goes out into the yard, toward the left, comes hack after a little while, goes into the garden ; it gets quite dark ; he remains there a long time, the hostess makes her remarks upon this, he comes out of the garden, goes past her with hasty steps, all without saying a word, into the yard, hurrying straight away from it. " In the meantime, or still later, something passed between H. and his wife, concerning which H. confides to a female friend that they quarrelled a little about Jerusalem ; and liis wife at last desired that he would forbid him the house, whereupon he did so the follow- ing day, in a note. "[It is said^ that Secretary II. has given secret information that on the Wednesday before Jerusalem's death, when he was with H. and his wife taking coffee, the husband w^as obliged to go to the ambassador. When he returns, he observes an extraordinary serious- ness in his wife, and a silence in Jerusalem, which appear strange to him, especially as he finds them so nuich changed after his return. Jerusalem goes away. Secretary H. makes his observations on the above- mentioned circumstances: he suspects that something injurious to him may have happened in liis absence ; for lie is very suspicious and jealous. Nevertheless, he puts on a composed and cheerful air, and deter- mines to put his wife to the test. He says: Jerusalem has often invited him to dinner ; what does she think * Tlie pa.ssage in brackets occurs in a subsequent letter ; it is inaerted hero to give tbe story continuity. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 209 of their asking Jerusalem for once to dine with them ? She, the wife, answers : No ; and she must entirely break oil' intercourse with Jerusalem ; he begins to behave in such a way that she must altogether avoid his society. And she held herself bound to tell him, her husband, what had passed in liis absence. Jerusa- lem had thro^vn himself at her feet, and had wanted to make a formal declaration of love to her. She was naturally indignant at this, and had uttered many reproaches to him, etc. She now desired that her husband would forbid him, Jerusalem, the house, for she could and would neither see nor hear anything more of him. " Hereupon, it is said, H. the next morning wrote the note to Jerusalem, etc.] " In the night of Wednesday-Thursday he got up at two o'clock, awakened the servant, said he could not sleep, he was not well, has a fire lighted, tea made, yet is afterward, to all appearance, very well. " Thursday morning, Secretary H. sends Jerusalem a note. The maid will not wait for an answer, and goes away. Jerusalem has just been shaved. At eleven o'clock Jerusalem sends a note to Secretary H., who does not take it from the servant, but says he requires no answer : he cannot enter into any corre- spondence, and besides they see each other every day at the office. Wlien the servant brings back the note unopened, Jerusalem throws it on the table and says : Very good. (Perhaps to make tlie servant believe that it related to some iudiri'erent matter.) " In the middle of the day he dines at home, but takes little — some soup. At one o'clock he sends a note to me, and at the same time one to his ambas- sador, in which he begs the latter to send him his money for this (or the following) month. The servant comes to me. I am not at home, nor is my servant. Jerusalem in the meantime is gone out, comes home 2IO LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE about a quarter-past three, the servant gives him the note again. Jerusalem asks him why he did not leave it at my house with some maid servant ? He replies, because it was open and unsealed. Jerusalem : That was of no consequence, every one might read it ; he must take it again. The servant thinks himself hereby warranted to read it also, reads it, and then sends it by a boy who waits in the house. I, in the meantime, had come home ; it might be half-past three when I received the following note : ' Might I beg of you to lend me your pistols for a journey which I am about to take ? — J.' ^ As I knew nothing of all this that I have told you, or of his principles, having never had any particular intercourse with him, I had not the least hesitation in sending him the pistols. " The servant had read in the note that his master intended to make a journey, and indeed the latter had himself told him so, also had ordered everything for his journey the next morning at six o'clock, even the friscur, without his (the servant's) knowing whither, or with whom, or in what way. But as Jerusalem always kept his engagements secret from him, this did not arouse his suspicion. Nevertheless he thought to himself : ' Is master perhaps going secretly to liruns- wick, leaving me here alone ? ' etc. He had to take the pistols to a gunmaker's to get them loaded. " The whole afternoon Jerusalem was busy alone ; rummaged among his papers, wrote, walked, as the people below in the house heard, rapidly up and down the room. He also wont out several times, and paid his small debts ; he had taken a pair of ruiUes, he said to the servant ; they did not satisfy him, he must return them to the tradesman ; if he did not like to v ' ' ' Diirfe ich Ew. Wohlgeb. wohl zu einer vorhabenden Reise um Hire I'lstnlcn gchorsavmt ersurhen f '' The Geriuau epistolary forms of civility aro uot translatable. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 211 take them again, there was the money for them, which- ever in fact the tradesman preferred. "About seven o'clock the Italian master came to him. He found him restless and out of humour. He complained that he had his hypochondria again strongly, and complained about various things ; said, also, that the best he could do would be to take himself out of the world. The Italian urged upon him very seriously that such passions must be repressed by philosophy, etc. Jerusalem : That is not so easily done ; he would rather be alone to-day, he might leave him, etc. The Italian : He must go into society, amuse himself, etc. Jerusalem : Well, he was going out again. The Italian seeing the pistols on the table, is anxious about the result, goes away at eight o'clock, and calls on Kielmansegge, to whom he talks of nothing but Jerusalem, his restlessness and discon- tent, without, however, mentioning his anxiety, because he beheved that he might be laughed at for it. "The servant went to Jerusalem to take off his boots. But he said he was going out again ; as he really did, before the Silberthor on the Starke Weide and elsewhere in the streets, where, with his hat pressed over his eyes, he rushed by several persons, with rapid steps, without seeing any one. He was also seen about this time standing by the river, in a position as if he meant to throw himself in (so they say). " Before nine o'clock he comes home, says to the servant that there must be more fuel put in the stove, because he shall not go to bed yet, also tells him to get everything ready for six o'clock in the morning, and has a pint of wine brought to him. The servant, that he may be ready very early, because his master was always very punctual, goes to bed in his clothes. " As soon as Jerusalem was alone, he seems to have prepared everything for the dreadful deed. He tore up his correspondence and threw it under the table, as 2 12 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE I have myself seen. He wrote two letters, one to his relations, the other to H. ; it is thought also that he wrote one to the ambassador Hoffler, which the latter perhaps suppresses. They lay on the writing-table. The first, which the medical man saw the next morn- ing, contained in substance only what follows, as Doctor Held, who read it, related to me : " ' Dear father, dear mother, dear sisters and brother- in-law, forgive your unhappy son and brother ; God, God bless you ! ' *' In the second, he entreated H. for forgiveness that he had disturbed the peace and happiness of his mar- ried life, and created dissension between this dear couple, etc. At first his inclination for H.'s wife had been only virtuous, etc. It is said to have been three sheets long, and to have ended thus : ' One o'clock. In the other life we shall see each other again.' (In all probabihty he shot himself immediately on finishing this letter.) " The sensation produced in Wetzlar by this suicide was immense. People who had scarcely seen Jerusa- lem were unable to quiet their agitation ; many could not sleep ; the women especially felt the deepest interest in the fate of this unhappy youth ; and " Werther " found a public ready for it. With these materials in hand, let us take up the novel to see how Goethe employs them. Werther is a man who, not having yet learned self-mastery, imagines that his immense desires are proofs of im- mense superiority : one of those of whom it has been wittily said that they fancy themselves great painters because they paint with a big brush. He laughs at all rules, whether they be rules of Art, or rules which Convention builds like walls around our daily life. He hates order — in speech, in writing, in costume, in office. In a word, he liates all control. Gervinus remarks that he turns from men to children because LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 213 they do not pain him, and from them to Nature because she does not contradict him ; from truth to poetry, and in poetry from the clear world of Homer to the formless world of Ossian. Very characteristic of the epoch is the boundless enthusiasm inspired by Ossian, whose rhetorical trash the Germans hailed as the finest expression of Nature's poetry. Old Samuel Johnson's stern, clear sense saw into the very heart of this subject when he said, " Sir, a man might write such stuff for ever if he would but abandon his mind to it." It is abandonment, throwing the reins on the horse's neck, which makes such writing possible ; and it was precisely this abandonment to impulse, this disregard of the grave remonstrances of reason and good sense, which distinguished the Werther epoch. Werther is not Goethe. Werther perishes because he is wretched, and is wretched because he is so weak. Goethe was " king over himself." He saw the danger, and evaded it ; tore himself away from the woman he loved, instead of continuing in a dangerous position. Yet, although Werther is not Goethe, there is one part of Goethe li\'ing in Werther. This is visible in the incidents and language as well as in the character. It is the part we see reappearing under the various masks of Weislingen, Clavigo, Faust, Fernando, Edward, Meister, and Tasso, which no critic will call the same lay figure variously draped, but which every critic must see belong to one and the same genus : men of strong desires and w^eak volitions, wavering, impres- sionable natures unable to attain self-mastery. Goethe was one of those who are wavering because impres- sionable, but whose wavering is not weakness ; they oscillate, but they return into the direct path which their wills have prescribed. He was tender as well as impressionable. He could not be stern, but he could be resolute. He had only therefore, in imagiuation, to keep in abeyance the native force of resolution 214 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE which gave him mastery, and under that abeyance a weak, wavering character stood before him, the original of which was himself. When a man dehneates himself, he always shrinks from a complete confession. Our moral nature has its modesty. Strong as the impulse may be to drag into ho-ht that which lies hidden in the recesses of the soul, pleased as we may be to create images of our- selves, we involuntarily keep back something, and refuse to identify ourselves with the creation. There are few things more irritating than the pretension of another to completely understand us. Hence authors never thoroughly portray themselves. Byron, utterly without self-command, is fond of heroes proud and self-sustaining. Goethe, the strongest of men, makes heroes the footballs of circumstance. But he also draws from his other half the calm, self-sustaining characters. Thus we have the antithesis of Gcitz and Weislingen — Albert and Werther — Carlos and Cla- vigo — Jarno and Meister — Antonio and Tasso — the Captain and Edward ; and, deepened in colouring, Mephistopheles and Faust. "Werther" is not much read nowadays, especially in England, where it labours under the double disad- vantage of a bad name and an execrable translation. Yet it is well worth readiug in the original, where it will be found very unlike the notion of it current among us. I remember many years ago reading it in the English version with astonishment and contempt ; this contempt remained, until, accidentally falling in with a Spanish translation, the exquisite beauty of the pictures changed my feeling into admiration, and Goethe's own wonderful prose afterward fixed that admiration for ever. It is a masterpiece of style ; we may look through German literature in vain for such clear, sunny pictures, fulness of life, and delicately managed simplicity. Its style is one continuous strain LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 215 of music, which, restrained within the limits of prose, fulfils all the conditions of poetry ; dulcet as the sound of falhug water, and as full of sweet melancholy as an autumnal eve. Nothing can be simpler than the structure of this book, wherein, as M. Marmier well remarks,^ every detail is so arranged as to lay bare the sufiferings of a diseased spirit. Werther arrives at his chosen retreat, believing himself cured, and anticipating perfect happi- ness. He is painter and poet. The fresh spring morn- ings, the sweet cool evenings, soothe and strengthen him. He selects a place under the limes to read and dream away the hours. There he brings his pencil and his Homer. Everything interests him — the old woman who brings his coffee, the children who play around him, the story of a poor family. In this serene convalescence he meets with Charlotte, and a new passion agitates his soul. His simple uniform exist- ence becomes changed. He endeavours by bodily activity to charm away his desires. The days no longer resemble each other: now ecstatic with hope, now crushed vdth despair. Winter comes : cold, sad, gloomy. He must away. He departs, and mingles with the world, but the world disgusts him. The monotony and emptiness of official life are intolerable to his pretensions ; the parchment pride of the noblesse is insulting to his sense of superiority. He returns to the peaceful scene of his former contentment, and finds indeed Charlotte, the children, his favourite woods and walks, but not the calmness which he seeks. The hopelessness of his position overwhelms him. Dis- gusted with the world — unsatisfied in his cravings — he dies by his own hand. Eoseukrantz — in the true spirit of that criticism which seeks everywhere for meanings more recondite than the author dreamt of — thinks that Goethe ex- r 1 " Etudes sur Goethe," p. 11. 2i6 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE hibits great art in making "Werther a diplomatist, because a diplomatist is a man of shams (Scheinthuer) ; but the truth is, Goethe made him precisely what he found him. His art is truth. He is so great an artist that the simplest realities have to him significance^ Charlotte cutting bread and butter for the children — the scene of the ball — the children clinging round "Werther for sugar, and pictures of that kind, betray- so little inventive power, that they have excited the ridicule of some English critics to whom poetry is a thing of pomp, not the beautiful vesture of reality. The beauty and art of " Werther " is not in the inci- dents (a Dumas would shrug despairing shoulders over such invention), but in the representation. What is Art but Kepresentation ? ^ The effect of " Werther " was prodigious. " That nameless unrest," says Carlyle, " the bhnd struggle of a soul in bondage, that high, sad, longing discontent which was agitating every bosom, had driven Goethe almost to despair. All felt it ; he alone could give it voice. And here lies the secret of his popularity ; in his deep, susceptive heart he felt a thousand times more keenly what every one was feeling; with the creative gift which belonged to him as a poet, he bodied it forth into visible shape, gave it a local habi- tation and a name ; and so made himself the spokes- man of his generation. ' Werther ' is but the cry of that dim, rooted pain under which all thoughtful men of a certain age were languishing : it paints the misery, it passionately utters the complaint ; and heart and voice all over Europe loudly and at once respond to it. True, it prescribes no remedy ; for that was a far differ- ent, far harder enterprise, to which other years and a ^ "Z'art n'est qu'une forme,'" says George Sand, with a truth few critics liave penetrated ; let me add Goethe's own opinion — surely of weight in such matters : " None will comprcliend the simple truth that the highest, the only operation of art is form- giving" {Gestaltung). LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 217 higher culture were required ; but even this utterance of pain, even this little, for the present is grasped at, ancl with eager sympathy appropriated in every bosom. If Byron's life-weariness, his moody melancholy, and mad, stormful indignation, borne on the tones of a wild and quite artless melody, could pierce so deep into many a British heart, now that the whole matter is no longer new — is indeed old and trite — we may judge with what vehement acceptance this ' Werther ' must have been welcomed, coming, as it did, hke a voice from the unknown regions : the first thrilling peal of that impassioned dirge which, in country after country, men's ears have listened to till they were deaf to all else. For ' Werther,' infusing itself into the core and whole spirit of literature, gave birth to a race of sentimentahsts who have raged and wailed in every part of the world, till the better light dawned on them, or, at worst, exhausted nature laid herself to sleep, and it was discovered that lamenting was unpro- ductive labour. These funereal choristers, in Germany, a loud, haggard, tumultuous, as well as tearful class, were named the Kraftmiinncr, or Powermen ; but have long since, like sick children, cried themselves to rest." 1 Perhaps there never was a fiction which so startled and enraptured the world. Men of all kinds and classes were moved by it. It was the companion of Napoleon, when in Egypt ; it penetrated into China. To convey in a sentence its wondrous popularity, we may state that in Germany it became a people's book, hawked about the streets, printed on miserable paper, like an ancient ballad ; and in the Chinese empire, Charlotte and Werther were modelled in porcelain.'^ 1 " Miscellanies," vol. i. p. 272. 2 While in Italy, he received a letter from a young Frenchman, who said : " Oui, Monsieiu", je vous dois la meilleure action de ma vie, par consequent, la racine de plusieurs autres. et pour moi votre livre est bon. Si j'avais le bonheur d'habiter le meme pays 2i8 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE Objectors of course there were. Lessing, for ex- ample, who neither suffered from the disease of the epoch, nor tolerated any approach to sentimentality, thought so fiery a production ought to have a cold epilogue to counteract it. " Do you believe," he wrote, "that any Roman or Grecian youth would thus and therefore have committed suicide? Certainly not. They knew how to guard themselves from the ex- travagances of love, and in the days of Socrates such an e| IpwTos KaTO)(r] whoni TL ToX/xav Traph. v(rLv impelled, would scarcely be pardoned even by a girl. Such little- gi-eat questionable originals only suit our Christian culture, which knows so well how to transform a cor- que vous, j'irais vous embrasser, et vous dire mou secret ; mais malheureusement j'en habite ua ou persoiiiie ue croirait au motif qui vient de me determiner k cette d^oiarclie. Soyez satisfait, Monsieur, d'avoir pu k trois cents lieues de votre demeure ramener le coQur d'un jeune liomme k Phonnetet^ et k la vertu, toute une famiilo va etre tranquiile, et mon coeur jouit d'une bonne action." Let me not forget the visit of bis English admirer, who ac- costed him on the stairs with " You must be the author of ' Werther ' ! " adding that he could not wait a moment longer, all he wanted to say was this, " I will not repeat what you must have heard from thousands, for indeed your work has not affected me so much as it has others ; but when I think what it required to write such a book, 1 am lost in astonishment." Having eased his mind of this weight, he wished Goethe a hearty farewell, and ran down-stairs. A similar story is told by Schiller in a letter to Korner. " A shrivelled figure entered my room and asked me if I was not Councillor Schiller. I replied in the affirmative. ' I heard that you were here, and could not restrain myself from seeing the author of "Don Carlos."' ' Gehorsamer Diener ! your most obedient servant,' said I; 'whom have I the honour of address- ing?' 'I have not the happiness of being known to you. My na'rae is Vulpius.' ' I am indebted to you for your politeness ; unluckily, I have an engagement.' 'Oh, sir, I beg you won't mention it. I am quite satisfied with having seen you.'" — Brie/wechsel, i. p. 105. At the risk of .swelling this note to unreasonable dimensions, I mu.st quote a passage from Pliny's "Letters," which records a similar anecdote : " Nunquamne legistiGaditanum quemdam Titi Livii nomine gloria(iue commotum ad vi.sendum eum ab ultimo tcrraruin orbc venisse, statimque ut viderat abiisse ? " — Lib. ii. Ep. iii. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 219 poreal necessity into a spiritual perfection. So, worthy Goethe, let us have a concluding chapter ; and the more cynical the better." ^ This is a misstatement of the wliole question. It is not the extravagance of love which causes Werther's suicide : it is his own diseased moral nature which makes life insupportable, and which makes unhappy love the spark that fires the train. Moreover, one reads with surprise this reference to Greek and Eoman life, coming from so admirable a scholar as Lessing. He forgot that Sophocles, in the " Antigone," makes an unhappy lover commit suicide because his mistress is lost to him. He forgot, also, that the Stoics introduced the " fashion " of suicide into Rome ; and in Alexandria the Epicureans established a " society for the suppression of life " — the (rvvairoOavovfjievoi — where, having exhausted every pleasure, the members assembled at a feast, the wine-cup went freely round, and in the midst of this orgie they quietly put an end to their contemptible existences : — a new vari- ation of the conversazione, at which, instead of music and aesthetic tea, the guests were invited to supper and suicide. The Berlin Aristarchus — Nicolai — an upright, but narrow-minded man, and a great enemy of all Schwdr- mcrci, wrote, by way of criticism, a parody called the " Joys of Young Werther," in which sentimentalism is ridiculed : — Werther shoots himself with chicken's blood only, and marries Charlotte, " and lives happy all the rest of his hfe." Goethe's answer to this was " a burlesque poem called ' Nicolai at Werther's Grave,' which, however, cannot be communicated." This poem has been re- 1 Lessing : "Werke," x, 225, Letter to Eschenberg. It is surmised that Lessing's objections to "Werther" were sharpened by his dislike at recognising his young friend Jeru- salem, thus brought into a fiction. A letter from Weisse to Garve, quoted by Appell, "Werther und seine Zeit," p. 60, con- firms this. 220 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE covered and printed by Boas. ^ It is exceedingly- coarse, and not very humourous. The admirers of " Werther," of course, are greatly incensed against Nicolai ; but they forget that Nicolai never denied the talent of the work, he only echoed Lessing's objec- tion to its tendency. His criticism, moreover, was but a feather in the scale against the praise which poured in from all sides. AVhile the public was reading the tragic story of "Werther" through fast-flowing tears, a painful sense of indignation rose in the breasts of Kestner and Charlotte at seeing themselves thus dragged into pub- licity, their story falsified. The narrative was in many respects too close to reality not to be very offensive in its deviations from reality. The figures were unmis- takable ; and yet they were not the real figures. The eager public soon found out who were the principal personages, and that a real history was at the bottom of the romance : but as the whole truth could not be known, the Kestners found themselves in a very false light. They were hurt by this indiscretion of their friend ; more hurt perhaps than they chose to confess ; and we may read, in the following fragment of the sketch of the letter sent by Kestner on receipt of the book, the accents of an offended friend whose pride restrains the full expression of his anger : "Your 'Werther' might have given me great pleas- ure, since it could have reminded me of many interest- ing scenes and incidents. But as it is, it has in certain respects given me little edification. You know I like to speak my mind. " It is true, you have woven something new into each person, or have fused several persons into one. So far good. But if in this interweaving and fusing you had taken counsel of your heart, you would not 1 " Nachtrage zu Goethe's Werke : " Lief. i. p. 12. 3vi*il ajjioai) V' \e in the t PoriraH oj uociiic I fi'unjravuic after the painting l)y George l)arve LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 221 have so prostituted the real persons whose features you borrow. You wished tu draw from nature, that your picture might be truthful ; and yet you have com- bined so much that is contradictory, that you have missed the very mark at which you aimed. The dis- tinguished author will revolt agamst this judgment, but I appeal to reahty and truth itself when I pro- nounce that the artist has failed. The real Lotte would, in many instances, be grieved if she were like the Lotte you have there painted. I know well that it is said to be a character compounded of two, but the Mrs. H. whom you have partly inwoven was also incapable of what you attribute to your heroine. But this expenditure of fiction was not at all necessary to your end, to nature and truth, for it was without any such behaviour on the part of a woman — a behaviour which must ever be dishonourable even to a more than ordinary woman — that Jerusalem sliot himself. " The real Lotte, whose friend you nevertheless wish to be, is in your picture, which contains too much of her not to suggest her strongly : is, I say — but no, I will not say it, it pains me already too much only to think it. And Lotto's husband — you called him your friend, and God knows that he was so — is with her. " The miserable creature of an Albert ! In spite of its being an alleged fancy picture and not a portrait, it also has such traits of an original (only external traits, it is true, thank God, only external), that it is easy to guess the real person. And if you wanted to have him act so, need you have made him such a blockhead ? that forthwith you might step forward and say, see what a fine fellow I am ! " Kestner here touches on a point of morality in liter- ature worth consideration. While emphatically de- claring that the artist must take his materials from reality, must employ his own experience, and draw 22 2 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE the characters he has really known, we must as emphatically declare that he is bound to represent his experience in forms sufficiently dilferent from the reahty to prevent the public reading actual histories beneath liis invention, and recognising the persons he has employed as lay figures, whenever those persons are assigned parts which they would reject. There is, of course, great difficulty in keeping to truth while avoiding the betrayal of actual occurrences ; but it is a difficulty which is commanded by morality. Goethe was evidently astounded at the effect his book had produced on his friends : " I must at once write to you, my dear and angry friends, and free my heart. The thing is done ; the book is out ; forgive me if you can. I will hear nothing till the event has proved how exaggerated your anxiety is, and till you have more truly felt, in the book itself, the innocent mingling of fiction and truth. Thou hast, dear Kest- ner, exhausted everything, cut away all the ground of my excuse, and left me nothing to say ; yet I know not, my heart has still more to say, although I cannot express it. I am silent, but the sweet presentiment I must still retain, and I hope eternal Fate has that in store for me which will bind us yet closer one to the otlier. Yes, dear ones, I who am so bound to you by love must still remain debtor to you and your children for the uncomfortable hours which my — name it as you will — has given you. . . . And now, my dear ones, when anger rises within you, think, oh, think only that your old Goethe, ever and ever, and now more than ever, is your own." Their anger fell. They saw that he had committed an indiscretion, but liad done no more. They WTote forgiveness, as we gather from this letter Goethe sent on the 21st of November : " Here I have thy letter, Kestner ! On a strange desk, in a painter's studio, for yesterday I began to LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 223 paint in oil, I have thy letter, and must give thee my thanks ! Thanks, dear friend ! Thou art ever the same good soul ! Oh, that I could spring on thy neck, throw myself at Lotte's feet, one, one minute, and all, all that should be done away with, explained, which I could not make clear with quires of paper ! O ye unbelieving ones ! I could exclaim. Ye of little faith ! Could you feel the thousandth part of what Werther is to a thousand hearts, you would not reckon the sacrifice you have made toward it ! Here is a letter, read it, and send me word quickly what thou thinkest of it, what impression it makes on thee. Thou sendest me Henniugs's letter ; he does not condemn me ; he excuses me. Dear Brother Kestner ! if you will wait, you shall be contented. I would not, to save my own life, call back Werther, and, believe me, believe m me, thy anxieties, thy gravami7ia will vanish hke phantoms of the night if thou hast patience ; and then, between this and a year, I promise you in the most affectionate, peculiar, fervent manner, to disperse, as if it were a mere north-wind fog and mist, whatever may remain of suspicion, misinterpretation, etc., in the gos- siping public, though it is a herd of swine. Werther must — must be ! You do not feel him, you only feel me and yourselves ; and that which you call stucJc on, and in spite of you and others, is interwoven. If I live, it is thee I have to thank for it ; thus thou art not Albert. And thus — " Give Lotte a warm greeting for me, and say to her : 'To know that your name is uttered by a thousand hallowed hps with reverence, is surely an equivalent for anxieties which would scarcely, apart from any- thing else, vex a person long in common life, where one is at the mercy of every tattler.' " If you are generous and do not worry me, I will send you letters, cries, sighs after Werther, and if you have faith, believe that all will be well, and gossip is 224 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE nothing, and weigh well your philosopher's letter which I have kissed. " Oh, then ! — hast not felt how the man embraces thee, consoles thee, and in thy — in Lotte's worth, finds consolation enough under the wretchedness which has terrified you even in the fiction. Lotte, farewell, — Kestner, love me, and do not worry me." The pride of the author in his darling breaks out in this letter, now his friends have forgiven him. We must admit that Kestner had reason to be annoyed ; the more so as his friends, identifying him with the story, wrote sympathetically about it. He had to reply to Hennings on the subject, and in telling him the true story, begged him to correct the false reports. He says : " In the first part of ' Werther,' Werther is Goethe himself. In Lotte and Albert he has bor- rowed traits from us, my wife and myself. Many of the scenes are quite true, and yet partly altered ; others are, at least in our history, unreal. For the sake of the second part, and in order to prepare for the death of Werther, he has introduced various things into the first part which do not at all belong to us. For example, Lotte has never either with Goethe or mth any one else stood in the intimate relation which is there de- scribed ; in this we have certainly great reason to be olfended with him, for several accessory circumstances are too true and too well known for people not to point to us. He regrets it now, but of what use is that to us ? It is true he has a great regard for my wife ; but he ought to have depicted her more faithfully in this point, that she was too wise and delicate ever to let him go so far as is represented in the first part. She behaved to him in sucli way as to make her far dearer to me than before, if this had been possible. Moreover, our engagement was never made public, though not, it is true, kept a secret : still slie was too bashful ever to confess it to any one. And there was LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 225 no engagement between us but that of hearts. It was not till shortly before my departure (when Goethe had already been a year away from Wetzlar at Frankfort, and the disguised Werther had been dead half a year) that we were married. After the lapse of a year, since our residence here, we have become father and mother. The dear boy hves still, and gives us, thank God, much joy. For the rest, there is in Werther much of Goethe's character and manner of thinking. Lotte's portrait is completely that of my wife. Albert might have been made a little more ardent. The second part of ' Wer- ther ' has nothing whatever to do with us. . . . When Goethe had printed his book, he sent us an early copy, and thought we should fall into raptures with what he had done. But we at once saw what would be the effect, and your letter confirms our fears. I wrote very angrily to him. He then for the first time saw what he had done ; but the book was printed, and he hoped our fears were idle." In another letter to the same, Kest- ner says : " You have no idea what a man he is. But when his great fire has somewhat burnt itself out, then we shall all have the greatest joy in him." We have thus brought to a close the history of " Werther," its composition and effect : a history so important in the biography of its author, that we might have been excused for having devoted so much space to it, even if the letters, which have furnished the evidence, did not throw so strong a light upon a period very inadequately represented in the " Wahrheit und Dichtung." On the 28th August, 1849, the hundredth anni- versary of the great poet's birth, when all Germany joined in a jubilee, a small marble monument was erected in the well-known Wertherplatz without the Wetzlar gates, where Goethe was wont to sit and muse ; three lime-trees are planted round it, bearing this inscription: 226 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE RUHEPLATZ DE8 DICHTERS GOETHE ZU SEINEM ANDENKEN FRISCH BEPFLANZT BEI DER JUBELFEIER AM 28. AUG. 1849. The visitor may still see the Brunnen, also Jerusa- lem's grave in the quaint old cemetery, where Catholic and Protestant lie side by side. The grave has no tombstone, because of the suicide; but an old acacia marks the spot. CHAPTER VI. THE LITERAEY LION. Goethe was now at the perilous juncture in an author's career when, having just achieved a splendid success, he is in danger either of again snatching at laurels in presumptuous haste, or of suffering himself to repose upon the laurels he has won ; talking of greatness, instead of learning to be great. Both perils he avoided. He neither traded on his renown, nor conceived that his education was complete. Wisely- refraining from completing fresh important works, he kept up the practice of his art by trifles, and the edu- cation of his genius by serious studies. Among these trifles are " Clavigo," the " Jahrmarkts- fest zu Plundersweilen," and the " Prolog zu Bahrdt's Neuesten Offenbarungen." For the composition of " Clavigo " we must retrace our steps a little, and once more see him in the Frankfort circle during 1773, that is, before the publication of " Werther," which was delayed till October. In his sister's pleasant circle we have already noticed Antoinette Gerock, who was fascinating enough to fix his attentions. They were accustomed to meet once a week, in picnics and pleas- ure parties ; at one of these it was agreed to institute a marriage lottery. He thus speaks of it : " Every week lots were drawn to determine the couples who should be symbolically wedded ; for it was supposed that every one knew well enough how lovers should conduct themselves, but few had any proper conceptions 227 228 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE of the requisite demeanour between man and wife. General rules were laid down to the effect that these wedded couples should preserve a polite indifference, not sitting near each other, nor speaking to each other too often, much less indulging in anything like caresses. At the same time, side by side with this polite indif- ference, this well-bred calm, anytliing like discord or suspicion was to be sedulously avoided ; and whoever succeeded in gaining the affections of his wife without usmg the importunities of a lover was supposed to have achieved their ideal. Much sportive confusion and agreeable pleasantry of course arose from this scheme." Strangely enough, to him it fell thrice to have the same girl appointed by hazard to fill the place of his wife. When fate had brought them together for the third time, it was resolved unanimously that they should be no longer separated, that Heaven had spoken, and that hereafter they were to consider themselves as man and wife, and not to draw lots as the others did. At these reunions something new was generally read aloud by one of the party. One evening Goethe brought with him as a novelty the "M^moire" of Beaumarchais. During the conversation which ensued, Goethe's part- ner said to him : "If I were thy liege lady, and not thy wife, I would command thee to change this memoir into a play, to which it seems well suited." He an- swered : " That thou mayst see, my love, that liege lady and wife are one, I here undertake that this day week I will read a play on this very matter." So bold a prom- ise excited astonishment, but he resolved on fulfilling it. " What, in such cases," he says, " is termed inven- tion, was with me spontaneous. Wliile escorting my titulary wife home I was silent ; and on her inquiring the cause I told her that I was thinking out the play, and had already got into the middle of it — intending to show her how gladly I would do anytliing to please her. Upon which she pressed my hand, and I snatched LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 229 a kiss. ' Thou must not step out of thy character,' she exclaimed ; ' they say it is not proper for married folks to be loving,' ' Let them say what they please,' I rephed, ' we will have it our own way.' " He confesses that before reading the memoir aloud, the subject had appeared to him eminently dramatic ; though, without such a stimulus as he had received, this piece, like so many others, would have remained among the number of possible creations. The only novelty in it was his mode of treating the villain. He was weary of those characters so frequently represented, who, from revenge, or from hate, or from trivial motives, ruin a noble nature ; and he wished in Carlos to show the working of clear good sense, against pas- sion and inclination. Justified by the precedent of Shakespeare, he translated, word for word, such por- tions of the memoir as were dramatic ; borrowing the denouement from an English ballad.^ He was ready before the week expired, and read the piece to a de- lighted audience. This is his ow^n account. That it is inexact has been pointed out by Godeke, who remarks that the letter to Kestner proves the incident of lot-drawing to have occurred in 1773 ; whereas Beau- marchais's " M^moire " did not appear till the beginning of 1774. A few words on this memoir may be useful. Beau- marchais had two sisters living in Madrid, one married to an architect, the other, Marie, engaged to Clavijo, a young author without fortune. No sooner had Clavijo obtained the office he had long solicited, than he refused to fulfil his promise. Beaumarchais hurried to :Madrid ; his object was twofold : to save the repu- tation of his sister, and to put a little speculation of his own on foot. He sought Clavijo, and by his sang- 1 So he says ; but his memory deceived him. The ballad was an old German ballad, "Das Lied von Herrn und der Magd." See Herder's "Naclilass," i. 159. 230 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE froid and courage extorted from him a %vTitteii avowal of his contemptible conduct. No sooner is this settled, than Clavijo, alarmed at the consequences, solicits a reconciliation with Marie, offering to marry her. Beau- marchais consents, but just as the marriage is about to take place, he learns that Clavijo is secretly con- spiring against him, accusing him of having extorted the marriage by force, in consequence of which he has procured an order from the government to expel Beau- marchais from Madrid. Irritated at such villainy, Beaumarchais goes to the ministers, reaches the king, and avenges himself by getting Clavijo dismissed from his post. This is, in brief, the substance of the "Memoire" which appeared in February, 1774. The adventure occurred in 1764, so that Clavijo, who sub- sequently became a distinguished writer, might have seen himself not only held up to odium in the sparkhng pages of Beaumarchais, but represented on the stage of every German theatre. He died in 1806, vice-president of the Natural History Society in Madrid, having previously translated Buffon, and edited the Merciirio historico y politico de Madrid. We must suppose that Goethe knew nothing of the existence of Clavijo when he wrote the drama. With Beaumarchais in our hands it is curious to read " Clavigo," which is as close a reproduction as the dramatic form admits ; and is an evidence that Goethe did wisely in not at once proceeding to complete " Faust " (fragments of which were written) or " Ciesar." He would infallibly have repeated himself. He has repeated himself in "Clavigo:" the external circum- stances are changed, but the experience is the same. Clavigo is another Weislingen, and was meant to be so: "T have written a tragedy," Goethe writes to Sclionborn, " ' Clavigo,' a modern anecdote, dramatised with tlie greatest simplicity and heartfelt truth. My hero is an irresolute, half-great, half-little man, the LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 231 pendant to Weisliugen, or rather Weislingen himself as the chief person." He has well portrayed the weak, ambitious nature of one who hopes to rise still higher in the world, but feels his career obstructed by a pas- sion which made him happy in the obscure days of penniless youth. The popular author and court favour- ite aspires to some woman of rank; an aspiration in which he is encouraged by his friend Carlos, who mockingly strips off the garlands with which the poet's imagination had decked his mistress. Marie is a weak, sensitive creature, without much individuality, and is perhaps the poorest sketch Goethe has given of a woman. There is, however, one Httle touch which shows the poet; it is a sentence which escapes Marie, when Clavigo turns repentant to her feet, appealing to her affection : she throws herself on his neck, exclaiming, " Ah, sister, whence knows he that I love him so — wolier weiss er dass ich ilin so Hebe ? " Marie is overjoyed at Clavigo's return, but her joy is brief. The demon of ambition, aided by the cold sarcasms of Carlos (in whom we see the germ of Meph- istopheles), once more troubles Clavigo, and turns him from a marriage so ill suited to his hopes. Carlos bit- terly, but truly, says to him, " There is nothing in the world so pitiable as an undecided man, who wavers between two feelings, hoping to reconcile them." He suggests that Beaumarchais should be assassinated. " He who orders the assassination of the brother, pan- tomimically intimates that he will have nothing to do with the sister," adds Carlos, quite in the Mephisto- phelic tone. They determine on a contemptible plan. Beaumarchais is to be imprisoned for having insulted and threatened Clavigo under his own roof. The order for arrest arrives, and Marie dies broken-hearted at the treachery of her lover. Up to this point — short at least of the death of Marie — Beaumarchais's "M^moire" has been faith- 232 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE fully followed ; a fifth act is added, with a denouement to fit it for the stage. Powerful as this scene is in theatrical effect, one cannot but admit that aesthetically it is poor and al- most commonplace. The clumsiness by which the meeting is contrived has been noticed by Eoseukranz.i Clavigo is seeking Carlos ; he orders the servant who lights the way, not to pass through the street where the Beaumarchais family resides, yet the servant actu- ally leads him there because it is the shorter route. The whole tone of this fifth act is not in harmony with what precedes. The act is grafted on — it does not groio out of — the subject. As a stage play the interest is great : the situations are effective ; the dramatic collision perfect ; the plot is clearly and rapidly evolved ; the language vigorous, passionate, and pointed. But it must not be tried by any high standard. Merck, anxious about his friend's reputation, would not consent to judge the play accord- ing to the theatre standard, but exclaimed, " Such trash as this you must not write again ; others can do that ! " Goethe says, that in this Merck was wrong, and for the first time did him an injury. " We should not in all things transcend the notions which men have already formed ; it is right that much should be done in accord- ance with the common way of thinking. Had I written a dozen such pieces (and it would have been easy to do so with a little stimulus) three or four of them would perhaps have kept their place upon the stage." This can scarcely be accepted as conclusive reason- ing. Merck might have replied, " Perhaps so ; but you have genius fit for higher things than stage plays." Nevertheless, as before hinted, I think Goethe was right in his course, althougli the reasons he alleges are unsatisfactory. " Clavigo," like the other trifles he composed at this period, must be regarded as the 1 " Goethe imd Seine Werke," p. 185. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 233 sketches with which an artist fills his portfolio, not the works which are to brighten galleries. The im- pulse to create was imperious ; if trifles were demanded, he created trifles. His immense activity was forced to expend itself on minor works, because he dimly felt himself unripe for greater works. He was beginning to feel himself a man of conse- quence ; the notable men of the day eagerly sought his acquaintance. Among these men we must note Klopstock, Lavater, Basedow, Jacobi, and the Stol- bergs. Correspondence led to personal intercourse. Klopstock arrived in Frankfort in this October, 1774, just before " Werther " appeared. Goethe saw him, read the fragments of " Faust " to him, and discussed skating with him. But the great rehgious poet was too far removed from the strivings of his young rival to conceive that attachment for him which he felt for men hke the Stolbergs, or to inspire Goethe with any keen sympathy. In June, Lavater also came to Frankfort. Tliis was a few mouths before Klopstock's \dsit. He had com- menced a correspondence with Goethe on the occasion of the " Briefe des Pastors." Those were great days of correspondence. Letters were written to be read in circles, and were shown about like the last new poem, Lavater pestered his friends for their portraits, and for ideal portraits (according to their conception) of our Saviour, all of which were destined for the work on " Physiognomy " on which he was then engaged. The artist who took Goethe's portrait sent Lavater the por- trait of Bahrdt instead, to see what he would make of it ; the physiognomist was not taken in ; he stoutly denied the possibility of such a resemblance. Yet when he saw the actual Goethe he was not satisfied. He gazed in astonishment, exclaiming " Bist's ? Art thou he ? " " Ich bin's. I am he," was the answer ; and the two embraced each other. Still the physiognomist was 234 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE dissatisfied. " I answered him with my native and acquired reahsm, that, as God had willed to make me what I was, he, Lavater, must even so accept me." The first surprise over, they began to converse on the weightiest topics. Their sympathy was much greater than appears in Goethe's narrative, written many years after the characters of both had developed them- selves ; Goethe's into what we shall subsequently see ; Lavater's into that superstitious dogmatism and priestly sophistication which exasperated and alienated many of his friends. Lavater forms a curious figure in the history of those days : a compound of the intolerant priest and the fac- titious sentimentalist. He had fine talents and a streak of genius, but he was ruined by vanity. In his autobi- ographic sketch ^ he has represented himself indi- cating as a child the part he was to play as a man. Like many other children, he formed for himself a peculiar and intimate relation ^vith God, which made him look upon his playfellows with scorn and pity, because they did not share his " need and use of God." He prayed for w^onders, and the wonders came. God corrected his school exercises. God concealed his many faults, and brought to hght his virtuous deeds. Li fact, Lavater was said to have been " from the beginning the friend of Lies, who stooped to the basest flatteries to gain influence." To this flattering, cringing softness he united the spirit of priestly domination. His first works made a great sensation. In 1769 he translated Bonnet's " Paling^u(;sie," adding notes in a strain of religious sentimentalism then very acceptable. At a time wlien the critics were rehabilitating Homer and the early singers, it was natural that the religious world should attempt a restoration of the early Apos- tolic spirit. At a time when belief in poetic inspiration was a first article of the creed, belief in prophetic ^ See Gessner's " Uiographie Lavaters." LIFE AND WORKS OF. GOETHE 235 inspiration found eager followers. I have already touched. on the sentimental extravagance of the time. The lovely Countess Branconi writes to him : " toi, ch^ri pour la vie, I'ame de mon ame ! Ton mouchoir, tes cheveux, sout pour moi ce que mes jarretieres sont pour toi ! " etc., which is surpassed by what he allowed to be addressed to him by another admirer : " Oh, that I could lie on thy breast in Sabbath holy evening still- ness — oh, thou angel ! " This kind of rhodomontade went all round. They wept, and were wept on. At the time of his arrival in Frankfort, Lavater was in the first flush of renown. Goethe was peculiarly attracted to him, not only by the singularity of his character, but by a certain community of religious sen- timent. Community of creed there was not, and could not be. "vVhat Goethe felt we may gather from his attachment to Fraulein voli Klettenberg ; what he thought may be seen in such letters as this to Pfen- ninger, a friend of Lavater's : " Believe me, dear brother, the time will come when we shall understand each other. You talk to me as a skeptic who wishes to understand — to have all demonstrated — who has had no experience. The contrary of all this is the fact. Am I not more resigned in matters of Understanding and Demonstration than you are ? I am, perhaps, a fool to express myself in your language to please you. I ought, by a purely experimental psychology, to place my inmost being before you to show that I am a man, and hence can only feel as other men feel, and that all which appears contradiction between us is only dispute about words, arising from my inability to feel things under other combinations than those actually felt by me, and hence, in expressing their relation to me, I name them differently, which has been the eternal source of con- troversy, and will for ever remain so. And yet you always want to oppress me with evidences. Where- fore ? Do I need evidence of my own existence ? 236 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE Evidence that I feel ? I only treasure love, and demand evidences which convince me that thousands (or even one) have felt before me that which strength- ens and invigorates me. And thus to me the word of man becomes like unto the word of God. With my whole soul, I throw myself upon the neck of my brother : Moses, Prophet, Evangelist, Apostle, Spinoza, or Machiavelli ! To each, however, I would say : Dear friend, it is with you as it is with me. Certain details you apprehend clearly and powerfully, but the whole can no more be conceived by you than by me." He names Spinoza in this very remarkable passage ; and the whole letter seems like a reproduction of the passage in the " Ethics," where that great thinker, antici- pating modern psychology, shows " that each person judges of things according to the disposition of his brain, or rather accepts the affections of his imagi- nation as real things. It is no wonder therefore (as we may note in passing) that so many controversies have arisen among men, and that these controversies have at last given birth to skepticism. For although human bodies are alike in many things, there are more in which they differ, and thus what to one appears good, to another appears evil ; what to one appears order, to another appears confusion ; what to one is pleasant, to another is unpleasant." ^ It is imnecessary to interrupt the narrative here by more closely scrutinising his studies of Spinoza ; enougli if the foregoing citation has made present to 1 " Qufe omnia satis ostendunt, unumquemque pro dispositione cerebri de rebus Judicasse, vel poLiu.s iina,i,nnationis affectioues pro rebus accepisse. Quare non mirum est (ut hoc etiain obiter notemus) quorl inter lioinines tot, quot experinuxr, controversipe ortae sint ex quibus tandem Scepticismus. Nam quamvis humana corpora in multus conveniunt, in jiluriniis tamen discrepant, et ideo id quod uni bonum alteri malum vidrtur ; (juod uui ordina- tuin, alteri confusum ; (|uod uni gratum, alteri iugratum est." — Ethices : Pars i. Append. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 237 our minds the probable parentage of Goethe's opinions. The contrast between Lavater's Christianity and the Christianity of Friiulein von Klettenberg interested him, and gave him matter for thought. He agreed somewhat with both, but he agi-eed perfectly with neither. The difference between Faith and Knowledge he thus reconciled : " In Faith everything depends on the fact of believing ; what we believe is quite second- ary. Faith is a profound sense of security, springing from confidence in the All-powerful, Inscrutable Being. The strength of this confidence is the main point. But ivhat we think of this Being depends on other faculties, or even on other circumstances, and is alto- gether indifferent. Faith is a holy vessel, into which every man may pour his feehngs, his understanding, and his imagination, as entirely as he can. Knowledge is the autipode of faith. Therein the point is not whether we know, but ivhat we know, hoiv much we know, and hoio well we know it. Hence men may dispute about knowledge, because it can be widened, corrected ; but not about Faith." So strong was the attraction of Lavater's society, that Goethe accompanied him to Ems. The journey was charming; beautiful summer weather, and Lava- ter's cheerful gaiety formed pleasant accompaniments to their religious discussions. On returning to Frank- fort, another and very different celebrity was there to dis- tract his attention — Basedow, the education reformer. No greater contrast to Lavater could have been picked out of the celebrities of that day. Lavater was hand- some, clean, cheerful, flattering, insinuating, devout ; Basedow ugly, dirty among the dirty, sarcastic, domi- neering, and aggressively heterodox. One tried to restore Apostolic Christianity ; the other could not restrain the most insolent sarcasms on the Bible, the Trinity, and every form of Christian creed. One set up as a Prophet, the other as a Pedagogue. 238 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE Basedow (born 1723) was early in indicating his fu- ture part. At school the wild and dirty boy manifested rebellious energy against all system and all method ; studied in a desultory, omnivorous manner, as if to tit himself for everything; ran away from home, and became a lackey in a nobleman's house ; caught up Kousseau's doctrine about a state of nature, which he applied to Education ; wi'ote endless works, or rather incessant repetitions of one work ; shouted with such lusty lungs that men could not but liear him ; appealed to the nation for support in his philanthropic schemes ; collected "a rent" from philanthropists and dupes; attacked established institutions, and parenthetically all Christian tenets ; and proved himself a man of restless energy, and of vast and comprehensive ignorance. He made considerable noise in the world ; and in private lived somewhat the life of a restless hog who has taken to philanthropy and freethinking. Much as such a character was opposed to his own, Goethe, eager and inquiring, felt an attraction toward it, as toward a character to study. Like many other studies, this had its drawbacks. He was forced to endure the incessant smoking, and incessant sarcasms of the dirty educationist. The stench he endured with firmness; the anti-Christian tirades he answered with paradoxes wilder than any he opposed. " Such a splen- did opportunity of exercising, if not of elevating, my mind," he says, " was not to be thrown away ; so, pre- vailing on my father and friends to undertake my law business, I once more set o(T for the Khine in Basedow's company." Basedow tilled the carriage with smoke, and killed the time with discussions. On the way they fell in with Lavater, and the three visited several chateaux, especially those of noble ladies, everywhere anxious to receive the hterary Lions. Goethe, we may parenthetically note, is in error when he says that he was on this voyage greatly pestered by the women LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 239 wanting to know all about the truth of " Werther ; " the fact being that " Werther " did not appear until the following October ; for although the exigencies of my narrative have caused a certain anticipation in chro- nology, this journey with Lavater and Basedow, here made to follow the publication of " Werther," came hefore it in Goethe's life. If we are not to believe that the women crowded round him with questions about Lotte, we can readily believe that children crowded round him, begging him to tell them stories. Wild and " genius-like " was his demeanour. " Base- dow and I," he says, " seemed to be ambitious of prov- ing who could behave the most outrageously." Very characteristic is the glimpse we catch of him quitting the ballroom, after a heating dance, and rushing up to Basedow's room. The Philanthropist did not go to bed. He threw himself in his clothes upon the bed, and there, in a room full of tobacco smoke and bad air, dictated to his scribe. When fatigue overcame him, he slept awhile, his scribe remaining there, pen in hand, awaiting the awakening of the Philanthropist, who, on opening his eyes, at once resumed the flow of his dicta- tion. Into such a room sprang the dance-heated youth, began a fierce discussion on some problem previously mooted between them, hurried off again to look into the eyes of some charming partner, and before the door closed heard Basedow recommence dictating. This union of philosophy with anmsement, of restless theorising with animal spirits, indicates the tone of his mind. " I am contented," he said to Lavater, " I am happy. That I feel ; and yet the whole centre of my joy is an overflowing yearning toward something which I have not, something which my soul perceives dimly." He could reach that " something " neither through the pious preaching of Lavater, nor through the aggressive preaching of Basedow. Very graphic and ludicrous is the picture he gives of his sitting like a citizen of the 240 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE world between a prophet on the right and a prophet on the left hand — " Prophete rechts, Prophete links, Das Welt-Kind in der Mitten " — quietly eating a chicken while Lavater explains to a country parson the mystery of the Eevelatious, and Basedow astonishes a dancing-master with a scornful exposure of the inutility of baptism.^ Nor could he find this " something " in Jacobi, with whom he now came into sentimental intimacy. He could to some extent sympathise with Jacobi's senti- mental cravings and philosophic, religious aspirations, for he was bitten with the Wertherism of the epoch. He could gaze with him in uneasy ecstasy upon the moonhght quivering on the silent Ehine, and pour forth the songs which were murmuring within his breast. He could form a friendship, believing it to rest upon an eternal basis of perfect sympathy ; but the inward goad which drove him onwards and on- wards, was not to be eradicated until fresh experience had brought about fresh metamorphoses in his develop- ment. It is the Youth we have before us here, the Youth in his struggles and many wandering aims, not the Man gi-own into clearness. Jacobi thought that in Goethe he had at length found the man his heart needed, whose influence could sustain and direct him. " The more I consider it," he wrote to Wieland, " the more intensely do I feel how impossible it is for one who has not seen and heard Goethe to write a word about this extraordinary crea- tion of God's. One needs to be with him but an hour to see that it is utterly absurd to expect him to think and act otherwise tliau as he does. I do not mean that there is no possibility of an improvement in him ; but notliing else is possible with his nature, which devel- 1 See the poem " Din6 zu Coblentz." LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 241 ops itself as the flower does, as the seed ripens, as the tree grows into the air and crowns itself." Goethe's wonderful 2^^'^^onality seems almost every- where to produce a similar impression. Heinse, the author of " Ardinghello," writes of him at this period to Gleim : " Goethe was with us, a beautiful youth of five and twenty, who is all genius and strength from head to foot, his heart full of feeling, his soul full of fire and eagle-winged ; I know no man in the whole History of Literature who at such an age can be com- pared to him in fulness and completeness of genius." Those, and they are the mass, who think of him as the calm and stately minister, the old Jupiter throned in Weimar, will feel some difficulty perhaps in recognis- ing the young Apollo of this period. But it must be remembered that not only was he young, impetuous, bursting into Hfe, and trying his eagle wings with wanton confidence of strength ; he was, moreover, a Ehinelander, with the gay blood of that race, stimu- lated by the light and generous wine of the Ehine — not a Northern muddled with beer. WTien I contrast young Goethe with a Herder, for example, it is always as if a flask of Ehenish glittered beside a seidel of Bavarian beer. Such answer to his aspirations as the youth could at this period receive, he found in Spinoza. In his father's library there was a little book written against Spinoza, one of the many fooHsh refutations which that grand old Hebrew's misunderstood system called forth. " It made little impression on me, for I hated controversies, and always wanted to know lohat a thinker thought, and not what another conceived he oiight to have thought." It made him, however, once more read the article Spinoza, in " Bayle's Dictionary," which he found pitiable — as indeed it is. If a philosophy is to be judged by its fruits, the philosophy which guided so great and so \'irtuous a life as that of Spinoza could 242 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE not, Goethe thought, deserve the howls of execration which followed Spiuozism. He procured the " Opera Posthuma" and studied them; with what fruit let the following confession indicate. He is speaking of his new friendship with Jacobi : " The thoughts which Jacobi imparted to me flowed immediately from his heart. How deeply was I moved when in unlimited confidence he revealed to me the deepest wants and aspirations of his soul. From so amazing a combina- tion of mental wants, passion, and ideas, I could only gather presentiment of what might, perhaps, hereafter grow clearer to me. Fortunately, my mind had already been prepared, if not thoroughly cultivated in this direc- tion, having in some degree appropriated the results and style of thought of an extraordinary man, and though my study had been incomplete and hasty, I was yet already conscious of important influences derived from this source. This man, who had wrought so powerfully on me, and who was destined to affect so deeply my entire mode of thinking, was Spinoza- After looking around the world in vain for the means of developing my strange nature, I met with the ' Ethics ' of that philosopher. Of what I read in the work, and of what I read into it, I can give no account, but I found in it a sedative for my passions, and it seemed to unveil a clear, broad view over the material and moral world. But what especially riveted me to him, was the boundless disinterestedness which slione forth in every sentence. That wonderful sentiment, ' He who truly loves God must Tiot require God to love him in return^ together with all the preliminary prop- ositions on which it rests, and all the consequences deduced from it, filled my mind.* To be disinterested in everything, but most of all in love and friendship, 1 The propo.sition to wliich Goethe refers i.s doubtless the xix. of Book V. : " Qui Deum atnat, conari non potest, ut Deus ipsum contra amef'' LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 243 was my highest desire, my maxim, my practice, so that that saucy speech of Fhilinc's, ' If I love thee, what is that to thee ? ' was spoken right out of my heart. Moreover, it must not be forgotten here that the clos- est unions rest on contrasts. The all-equalising calm- ness of Spinoza was in strildng contrast with my all-disturbing activity ; his mathematical method was the direct opposite of my poetic style of thought and feeling, and that very precision which was thought ill adapted to moral subjects made me his enthusiastic disciple, his most decided worshipper. Mind and heart, understanding and sense, sought each other with eager affinity, binding together the most different natures. But now all within was fermenting and seething in action and reaction. Fritz Jacobi, the first whom I suffered to look into the chaos, and whose nature was also toihng in its own unfathomable depths, heart- ily responded to my confidence, and endeavoured to convert me to his own opinions. He, too, felt an unspeakable spiritual want ; he, too, would not have it appeased by outward aid, but aimed at development and illumination from ivithin. I could not comprehend what he communicated to me of the state of his mind ; the less, indeed, as I could form no adequate concep- tion of my own. Still, being far in advance of me in philosophical thought, and even in the study of Spinoza, he was able to guide and enlighten my efforts." Although he studied Spinoza much and reverently, he never studied him systematically. The mathemati- cal form into which that thinker casts his granite blocks of thought, was an almost insuperable hindrance to systematic study on the part of one so impatient, so desultory, and so unmathematical as Goethe. But a study may be very fruitful which is by no means systematic ; a phrase may fructify, when falling on a proper soil. It has doubtless happened to the reader in his youth to meet with some entirely novel and 244 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE profoundly suggestive idea, casually cited from an ancient author ; if so, he will remember the over- mastering influence it exercised, the longing it awakened for a nearer acquaintance with that author. The casual citation of a passage from Spinoza made my youth restless, and to this day I remember the aspect of the page where it appeared, and the revolution in thought wliich it effected. A few ideas determined the direction of Goethe's mind. Although he did not study the system of Spinoza with any view of adopt- ing it as a system, he studied it to draw therefrom food which his own mind could assimilate and work into new forms. Spinoza was to him what Kant was to Schiller ; but with characteristic difference, Schil- ler studied systematically, and tried systematically to reproduce what he had studied. Side by side with Spinozism, we have to note his struggles to gain clearness respecting Christianity. The influence of Fraulein von Klettenberg attracted him to the iMoravians, who seemed to realise early Chris- tianity ; with his usual impressionability he studied their history and their doctrines, and gave them some hopes that he would become a convert ; but his enthu- siasm cooled down when he discovered the wide chasm that separated him from them. " That which separated me from this brotherhood," he says, " as well as from many other worthy Christians, was the very point which has more than once torn the Church with dis- sent. One party maintained that by the Fall human nature had been so corrupted to its inmost core that not a trace of good could be found in it ; and that, therefore, man must renounce all trust in his own powers, and look only to the effect of grace. The oppo- site party, admitting the hereditary imperfections of man, ascribed to nature a certain internal germ of good which, animated by divine gi-ace, was capable of grow- ing up into a joyous tree of spiritual happiness. This LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 245 latter con^4ctioIl penetrated to the depths of my soul all the time that I was, with tongu3 and pen, maintaining the opposite doctrine. But I had so dawdled along without thinking (ic/t dammcrtc so hin) that I had never clearly stated the dilemma to myself." In spite of all his differences, however, with this sect or that sect, nothing, as he says, could rob him of liis love for the Holy Scriptures and for the Founder of Christianity. He therefore wrought out for his own private use a Christianity of his own ; and as every- thing which took possession of his soul always assumed a poetic form, he now conceived the idea of treating epicaUy the history of the " Wandering Jew." " The legend ran that in Jerusalem there was a shoemaker named Ahazuerus. The shoemaker whom 1 had known in Dresden supplied me with the main features of his character ; and I animated them with the spirit and humour of an artisan of the school of Hans Sachs, ennobling him by a great love for Christ. In his open workshop he talked with the passers-by, and jested with them after the Socratic fashion; so that the people took pleasure in lingering at his booth. Even the Pharisees and Sadducees spoke to liim ; and our Saviour himself, and his disciples, often stopped before his door. The shoemaker, whose thoughts were alto- gether worldly, I nevertheless depicted as feehng a special affection for our Lord, which chiefly showed itself in a desire to convert this great man, whose mind he did not comprehend, to his own way of thinking. He therefore gravely incited Christ to abandon con- templation, to cease wandering through the country with such idlers, and drawing the people away from their work into the desert ; because an assembled mul- titude, he said, was always excitable, and no good would come of such a life. Our Lord endeavoured by parables to instruct hira in his higher views, but they were all thrown away on the rough shoemaker. As 246 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE Christ grew into greater importance, and became a public character, the well-meaning workman pro- nounced his opinion still more sharply and angrily, declaring that nothing but disorder and tumult could result from such proceedings, and that Christ would at length be compelled to place himself at the head of a party, which certainly was not his design. And now when these consequences had ensued, Christ having been seized and condemned, Ahazuerus gives full vent to his indignation, as Judas, who in appearance had betrayed our Lord, enters the workshop in despair, with loud lamentations, telHng of the frustration of his plan. He had been, no less than the shrewdest of the other disciples, thoroughly persuaded that Christ would declare himself Eegent and Chief of the people, and thought by this violence to compel him, whose hesita- tion had hitherto been invincible, to hasten the declara- tion .^ In this persuasion he had roused the priestliood to an act from which they had hitlierto shrunk. The disciples, on their side, were not unarmed ; and prob- ably all would have gone well, had not our Lord give-n himself up, and left them in the most helpless condi- tion. Ahazuerus, by no means propitiated 'by this nar- rative, embitters the state of the wretched ex-apostle, who has no resource left but to hang himself. As our Saviour is led past the workshop of the shoemaker, on his road to execution, the well-known scene of the legend occurs. The sufferer faints under the burden of the cross, which Simon of Cyrene untlertakes to carry. At this moment Ahazuerus steps forward ; and, in the style of those harsh common-sense people who, seeing a man miserable through his own fault, feel uo com- iThis now U^hl thrown upon that strange history, though adverse from all tradition, is in strict accordance with our knowledge of human nature. It has been adopted by Archbisiiop Whately, to whom, iiidood, it is generally attributed ; and has furnished the subject of a miracle-play to R. II. Home. Sec iiis "Judas Iscariot," LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 247 passion, but rather, iu their ill-timed justice, make the matter worse by reproaches, repeats all his former waruiugs, which he uow turns into vehement accusa- tions, springing, as it were, from his very love for the sufferer. Our Saviour answers not, but at that instant Veronica covers his face with a napkin, and there, as she removes it and raises it aloft, Ahazuerus sees depicted the features of our Lord, not in their present agony, but radiant with celestial life. Astounded at the sight, he turns away his eyes, and hears the words, ' Over the earth shalt thou wander till thou shalt once more see me in this form.' Overwhelmed by the sentence, he is some time before he recovers himself ; he then finds that every one has gone to the place of exe- cution, and that the streets of Jerusalem are empty. Unrest and yearnings drive him forth, and his wan- derings begin." This legendary conception he never executed. It lived within him for a long while, and during his travels in Italy he again thought of taking it up ; but Uke so many other plans, it remained a mere scheme, from the want of some external stimulus urging him to give it a shape. Another subject also worthy of elaborate treatment is thus mentioned by him : " The common burthen of humanity which we have all to bear falls most heavily on those whose intellectual powers expand early. We may grow up under the protection of parents, we may lean for awhile upon our brothers and friends, be amused by acquaintances, rendered happy by those we love, but in the end man is always driven back upon himself ; and it seems as if the Divinity had so placed himself in relation to man as not always to respond to his reverence, trust, and love, at least not in the ter- rible moment of need. Early and often enough had I learned that the call to us is ' Physician, heal thyself ; ' and how frequently had I been compelled to exclaim 248 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE in my pain, ' I tread the wine-press alone ! ' So now, looking round for support to my self-dependence, I felt that the surest basis on which to build was my own productive activity. For many years I had never known it fail me. What I had seen by day often shaped itself into magnificent dreams at night. My time for writing was early in the morning ; but in the evening, or deep in the night, when wine and social intercourse had elevated my spirits, you might demand whatever you wanted ; only let a subject with some character in it be proposed, and I was at once prepared and ready. In reflecting on this natural gift, I saw that it belonged to me as rmj oivn, and could neither be fostered nor hindered by any external circumstances; so I sought to make it the basis of my whole existence. This notion transformed itself into an image. The old mythological figure of Prometheus occurred to me; who, severed from the gods, peopled the world from his own workshop. I clearly felt that nothing important could be produced without self-isolation. My produc- tions had been the children of solitude; and since I had formed wider relations with the world there had been no want of power or of pleasure of invention, but the execution halted, because I had neither in prose nor in verse what could properly be called a style of my own, and thus with every new work had to begin at the beginning, and make experiments. As in this I had to exclude all aid from men, so, after the fashion of Prometheus, I separated myself from the gods also ; and this the more naturally as, with my mode of thinking, one tendency always swallowed up and repelled every other. "The fable of Prometheus lived within me. The old Titan web I cut up according to my own stature, and began to write a play expressing the incongruous relation in which Prometheus stood with respect to Jupiter and the later gods, in consequence of his LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 249 making men with his own hand, giving them life by the aid of Minerva, and thus founding a third dynasty. To this strange composition belongs the monologue which has become famous in German literature, be- cause it called forth a declaration from Lessing against Jacobi on certain important matters of doctrine." ^ Of this " Prometheus " we possess but a fragment, but the fragment is of such excellence as to make us regret that it never was completed. It lies there among his works, like the torso of the Theseus, enough to prove the greatness of the artist, if not enough to satisfy the spectator. Grand in conception, simple in style, luminous with great thoughts, it would have been an exemplar of the adaptation of an antique symbol to modern meanings, not the idle imitation of a bygone creed. Nothing can be more unhke ^schylus. The Greek Titan glories in his audacity : " 'EKcbv, iKuv TjixapTov, ouK dpv)}(ro/nat." " Willingly, willingly I did it, never will I deny the deed ! " but, while glorying, he coinplaiiis : the injus- tice of the tyrant wrings from him cries of pain, cries of physical and cries of moral agony. The whole tragedy is one wild outburst of sorrow. The first words he utters fling his clamorous sorrow on the air, call on the Divine Ether and the swift-wmged Winds, on the Sea Springs and the multitudinous laughter of the waves, on the Universal Mother, the Earth — and on the all-seeing Eye, the Sun, to witness what he, a god, must suffer. These are his opening words ; the closing words carry the same burden. He wails over the pangs that are and are to be : 1 lie alludes to the discussion on Spinoza between Jacobi and Lessing, which gave rise to Jacobi's book, " Ueber die Lehre des Spiuozas." This feeble book made a great noise iu its day. 250 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE " Ai, at TO Trapop t6 r' €irfp\bfievov This is antique. The Titau in Goethe utters no com- plaint. There is no bravado in his defiance ; the defi- ance is uncompromising and sublime. His contempt for Zeus is founded on his knowledge of the subordina- tion of Zeus to a higher power — Destiny. " Away," he exclaims, " I serve no slave." " Geh ! Ich diene nicht Vasallen ! " In this he resembles the Titan drawn by Shelley, in the " Prometheus Unbound," who, to Mercury's warn- ing of the years of coming torture, calmly and grandly answers : " ' Perchance no thought can count them — yet they pass ! ' " On this conviction rests his self-reliance. He knows the reign of tyranny must end, and he awaits that end. In vEschylus, also, the Titan knows that Zeus must fall ; he foresees his own release, and foreseeing it, resolves to bear his fate as well as he can, " for it is vain to struggle against fate" (v. 105). Nevertheless, the knowledge of an end, and the philosophy which preaches acquiescence, does not prevent him from com- plaininff. And this is very Greek. Homer makes even Mars, when wounded, howl with pain ; and Sophocles has filled the " Pliiloctetes " with cries of physical pain. The Greeks had none of our modern notions respecting the effeminacy of complaint. It may be objected perhaps to the foregoing view of the Titan, that ./Eschylus has in the first scene made him impertur])ably silent, disdaining to answer the taunts of Power and the pity of Vulcan, as they l)ind him to the rock. These draw from him no groan, no word, no gesture ; he has no defiance for the one, nor LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 251 friendly gratitude for the other. It is not until he is left alone that he appeals to Earth, Air, and Ocean. This silence, followed by this passion, produces a sub- hme effect. But the subhmity was not the poet's intention ; it is an accidental effect. The silence was simply a stage necessity, as I have elsewhere shown. Whether owing to some eurhythmic tendency in the construction of Greek plays, as Gruppe,i ^^(i ^fter him Bode 2 have maintained; or, more probably from motives of economy with respect to the actors, as Geppert asserts ;3 certain it is that in the plays of ^schylus more than two speakers were never together on the stage, with one trivial exception in the " Choe- phorie," where Pylades says a few words. Hence scholars have been puzzled to account for the distribu- tion of the "Prometheus" into parts. In the first scene the protagonist would take Power and the deuteragonist Vulcan. Prometheus therefore must be silent, for there is no one to speak for him. Here comes the difficulty: if Prometheus is necessarily silent during the prologue, how does he become elo- quent immediately on bemg left alone? Welcker* supposes that Prometheus was represented by a pic- ture, and the protagonist at the close of the prologue got behind it, and spoke through it; an explanation accepted by Hermann,^ but shown by Schomann ^ to be full of difdculties. Let that point be settled as it may, the fact remains that the silence of Prometheus was forced by stage necessities, and was not meant as an indication of his self-reliance ; the further proof of which is to be seen in his wailings and writhings throughout the play — notably in the scene with 1 " Ariadne : oder die tragische Kunst der Griechen," p. 143. 2 " Geschiclite der Ilellen. Dichtkunst," iii. p. 233. 8" Alt-Griechische Buhne," p. 58. 4"0piisc." ii. p. 140. 6 " Trilogie," p. 30. 6 " Prometheus, " p. 85. 252 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE Mercury (v. 905), where Prometheus is scurrilously fluent. Shelley never makes his Titan flinch. He stands there as the subhme of endurance : " To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite ; To forgive wrongs darker than death or night ; To defy power which seems omnipotent ; To love and bear ; to hope till Hope creates From its own wreck the thing it contemplates ; Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent." This is grand ; but grander far the conception of Goethe, whose Titan knows that he is a god, and that if he be true to himself no power can trouble or des- troy his heritage of life and activity : "Das was ich habe konnen sie nicht rauben, Und was sie haben mogen sie beschiitzen ; Hier Mein und Dein, Und so sind wir geschieden. EPIMETHEUS. Wie vieles ist denn Dein ? PROMETHEUS. Der Kreis den meine Wirksamkeit erfiillt." ^ This is a profound truth strikingly brought out. God- like energy is seen only in creation ; what we can do iThat which I have they cannot rob me of ; that which they have, let them guard. Here mine, here thine ; and thus are we distinjrui.shed. EPIMETHECS What, then, is thine ? PROM ETH Ens. The circle my activity doth fill ! LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 253 we arc; our strength is measured by our plastic power. Thus the contempt of Prometheus for the idleness, the uncreativeness of the gods, is both deep and constant. " Curtain thy heavens, Zeus, With clouds, with mist ! And, like a boy that crushes thistle-tops. Loosen thy rage on oaks and mountain ridges. Yet must thou leave Me my earth standing ; My hut, which myself built ; My hearth, with its bright flame. Which thou dost envy. I know nought so pitiful Under the sun as ye gods ! Scantily nourishing With the forced offerings Of tremulous prayer Your divinity ! Children and beggars. And fools hope-deluded, Keep ye from starving ! Who gave me succour From the tierce Titans ? Who rescued me From slavery ? Thou ! thou, my soul, glowing With holiest fire I Yet didst thou, credulous, Poiu: forth thy thanks to him Who slumbers above ! I reverence thee ? Wherefore ? Hast lightened the woes Of the heavily laden V Hast thou dried the tears Of the troubled in spirit ? Who fashioned me man ? Was it not almighty Time — And Fate eternal, Thy lords and mine ? Here I sit and shape Man in my image : A race like myself, 254 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE That will suffer and weep, Will rejoice and enjoy, And scorn thee. As I !" Even in this rough plaster-cast of translation, does not the grandeur and beauty of the original shine through ? CHAPTEE VII. LILI. " I MUST tell you something which makes me happy ; and that is the visit of many excellent men of all grades, and from all parts, who, among unimportant and intolerable visitors, call on me often, and stay some time. We first know that we exist, when we recognise ourselves in others (man weiss erst dass man ist, wenn man sich in andcrn wiederfindet)." It is thus he writes to the Countess Augusta von Stolberg, with whom he had formed, through correspondence, one of those romantic friendships which celebrated men, some- time in their lives, are generally led to form. This correspondence is among the most characteristic evi- dences we have of his mental condition, and should be read by every one who wishes to correct the tone of the Autobiography. Above all, it is the repository of his fluctuating feelings respecting Lili, the woman whom, according to his statement to Eckermann, he loved more than any other. " She was the first, and I can also add she is the last, I truly loved ; for all the inclinations which have since agitated my heart were superficial and trivial in comparison." ^ There is no statement he has made respecting a matter of feeling, to which one may oppose a flatter contradiction. Indeed we find it difficult to believe he uttered such a sentence, unless we remember how carelessly in con- versation such retrospective statements are made, and i"Ge8prache," iii. p. 299. 255 256 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE how, at his very advanced age, the memory of youthful feehngs must have come back upon him with peculiar tenderness. Whatever caused him to make that state- ment, the statement is very questionable. I do not think that he loved T.ib" more than Frederika ; and we shall hereafter have positive evidence that his love for the Frau von Stein, and for his wife, was of a much deeper and more enduring nature. " My love for Lili," he said to Eckermann, " had something so peculiar and delicate, that even now it has influenced my style in the narrative of that painfully happy epoch. "When you read the fourth volume of my Autobiography, you will see that my love was something quite different from love in novels." "Well, the fourth volume is now open to every one, and he must have peculiar powers of divination who can read any profound passion in the narrative. A colder love-liistory was never written by a poet. There is no emotion warming the narrative ; there is little of a loving recollection, gathering all details into one continuous story ; it is, indeed, with great difficulty one unravels the story at all. He seems to seize every excuse to interrupt the narrative by general reflections, or by sketches of other poeple. He speaks of himself as " the youth of whom we now write 1 " He speaks of her, and her circle, in the vaguest manner ; and the feelings which agitated him we must " read between the lines." It is very true, however, that the love there de- picted is unlike the love depicted in novels. In novels, whatever may be the amount of foolishness with which the writers adumbrate their ideal of the passion, this truth, at least, is everywhere set forth, that to love we must render up body and soul, heart and mind, all interests and all desires, all prudences and all ambitions, identifying our being with that of another, in union to become elevated. To love is for LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 257 the soul to choose a companion, and travel with it along the perilous defiles and winding ways of life ; mutually sustaining, when the path is terrible with dangers, mutually exhorting, when it is rugged with obstructions, and mutually rejoicing, when rich broad plains and sunny slopes make the journey a delight, showing in the quiet distance the resting-place we all seek in this world. It was not such companionship he sought with Lih ; it was not such self-devotion which made him rest- lessly happy in her love. This child of sixteen, in all the merciless grace of maidenhood, proudly conscious of her power, ensnared his roving heart through the lures of passionate desire, but she never touched his soul ; as the story we have to tell will sufficiently prove. Anna Elizabeth Schonemanu, immortalised as Lili, was the daughter of a great banker in Frankfort, and a Frenchwoman of birth, now a widow living in splendid style. She was sixteen when Goethe first fell in love with her. The age is significant. It was somewhat the age of Frederika, Lotte, Antoinette, and Maximil- iane. An age when girlhood has charms of grace and person, of beauty and freshness, which even those will not deny who profoundly feel the superiority of a developed woman. There is poetry in this age ; but there is no depth, no fulness of character. Imagine the wide-sweeping mind of the author of " Gotz," " Faust," " Prometheus," " The Wandering Jew" " Ma- homet," in companionship with the mind of a girl of sixteen ! Young, graceful, and charming, she was confessedly a coquette. Early in their acquaintance, in one of those pleasant hours of overflowing egotism wherein lovers take pride in the confession of faults (not with- out intimation of nobler quaUties), Lili told him the story of her Life ; told him what a flirt she had been ; 258 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE told him, moreover, that she had tried her spells on him, and was punished by being herself ensnared. Armida found herself spellbound by Einaldo ; but this Rinaldo followed her into the enchanted gardens more out of adventurous curiosity than love. There was considerable difference in their stations ; and the elegant society he met in the house of the banker's widow was every way discordant to the wild youth, whose thoughts were of Nature, and uncon- strained freedom. The balls and concerts to which he followed her were little to his taste. " If," he writes to Augusta von Stolberg, " if you can imagine a Goethe in braided coat, from head to foot in the gallantest costume, amid the glare of chandeliers, fastened to the card-table by a pair of bright eyes, surrounded by all sorts of people, driven in endless dissipation from concert to ball, and with frivolous interest making love to a pretty blonde, then will you have a picture of the present Carnival-Goethe." In the following poem he expresses Lili's fascination and his uneasiness (the translation aims at accuracy of meaning rather than poetry, because the meaning is here the motive for my citing the poem) : " Wherefore so resistlessly dost draw me Into scenes so bright? Had I not enough to soothe and charm me In the lonely night? »< Homely in my little room secluded, While the moon's bright beams In a shimmering light fell softly on me, As I lay in dreams. " Dreaming thro' the golden hours of rapture Soothed my heart to rest. As I felt thy image sweetly living Deep within my breast. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 259 " Can it be 1 sit at yonder table, Gay with cards and lights, Forced to meet intolerable people. Because 'tis she invites ? " Alas ! the gentle bloom of spring no longer Cheereth my poor heart, There is only spring, and love, and nature, Angel, where thou art ! " The real Goethe is thus drawn in contrast by him- self in his letter to Augusta : " But there is another, who in gray beaver coat, with boots, and a brown silk neckerchief, who, ever living in himself, working and striving, now throwing the innocent feelings of youth into little poems, now the strong spices of life into dramas, sketching his friends in chalk, asking neither riglit nor left what will be thought of his doings, be- cause he always rises through work a step higher, because he springs at no ideal, but lets his nature develop itself fighting and playing." Here the true chord vibrates. Born for poetry, and not to pass his life in ballrooms danghng after a pretty blonde who coquetted with him and with others, he feels that his passion is a folly. Now when a man feels that — " Cupid may have tapped him on the shoulder, but I warrant him heart whole." Eead this poem, and read in it the struggle : " Heart, my heart, what is this feeling, That doth weigh on thee so sore? What new life art thou revealing, That I know myself no more ? Gone is all that once was dearest, Gone the care that once was nearest ; Gone the labour, gone the bliss. Ah! whence comes such change as this? Ai't thou spellbound by the beauty Of a sweetly blooming face ; 26o LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE Beauteous shape, and look so truthful, And an all-resistless grace? When the bonds I strive to sever, Man myself to flee for ever, Vain are all my efforts, vain ! And but lead me back again. " With such magic-web she binds me, To burst through I have no skill ; All-absorbing passion blinds me. Paralyses my poor will. In her cliarmed sphere delaying, I must live, her will obeying : Great, oh ! great to me the change ! Love, oh ! free me ! let me range ! " ^ Lili coquetted, and her coquetry seems to have cooled his passion for awhile, though she knew how to rekindle it. Not only had he to suffer from her thoughtlessness, but also from the thoughtlessness of parents on both sides. It was not a marriage acceptable to either house. The banker's daughter, it was thought, should marry into some rich or noble family. A poet, who belonged to a well-to-do yet comparatively unimportant family, was not exactly the bridegroom most desired. On the other hand, the proud, stiff old Eath did not greatly rejoice in the prospect of having a fine lady for his daughter-in-law. Cornelia, who knew her father, and knew his pedantic ways, wrote strongly against the marriage. Merck, Crespel, Horn, and other friends, were all decidedly opposed to so incom- patible a match. But of course the lovers were only thrown closer together by these attempts to separate them. A certain Demoiselle Delf managed to overcome 1 No one can be more sensible than I am of the inadequacy of this translation, but the Knijlish reader would rather liave a poor translation than an oriii;inai he could not understand ; and tlie (Jorinan reader has only to turn to the original if it does not linger in his memory. LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 261 objections, and gain the consent of both families. " How she commenced it, how she got over the ditii- culties, I know not, but one evening she came to us bringing the consent. ' Take each other's liands,' she cried, in a half-pathetic, half-imperious manner : I advanced to Lih and held out my hand : in it she placed hers, not indeed reluctantly, yet slowly. With a deep sigh we sank into each other's arms, greatly agitated." No formal bethrothal seems to have taken place. Indeed, the consent which was obtained seems in nowise to have altered the feeling of friends and relatives. The nearer marriage seemed, the more impracticable it appeared. To Goethe, after the first flush of joy had subsided, the idea of marriage was in itself enough to make him uneasy, and to sharpen his sense of the disparity in station. The arrival of the two Counts Stolberg, and their proposal that he should accompany them in a tour through Switzerland, gave an excuse for freeing himself from Lih, "as an experiment to try whether he could renounce her." Before accompanying him on his journey, it is neces- sary to cast a retrospective glance at some biographical details, omitted while the story of Lili was narrated. The mornings were devoted to poetry, the middle of the day to jurisprudence. Poetry was the breathing- room of his heart. In it he souglit to escape from tlie burden of intolerable doubts. " If I did not write dramas I should be lost," he tells Augusta von Stol- berg. Among these dramas we must place " Stella," for which, as we learn from a letter to Merck, the publisher offered twenty dollars — that is to say, three pounds sterling. What an insight this gives into the state of Literature ; the author of two immensely popular works is offered three pounds for a drama in five acts! Poor Schiller, subsequently, was glad 262 LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE to wTite histories and translate memoirs for fifteen or eighteen shilhngs a sheet of sixteen pages. In " Stella " I can trace no biographical element, and perhaps the absence of this element makes the weakness of the drama. A poorer production was never owned by a great poet ; although there have not been wanting critics to see in this also the broad han- dling of a master. It is the old story of the Count von Gleichen and his two wives. Fernando has deserted his wife, and formed an attachment to Stella ; but the peculiarity of the situation is, that he quitted Cecilia, his wife, from no assignable cause, without even having outlived his love for her. He has indeed every reason to respect and cherish her as the mother of his child, and as a high-principled, virtuous woman ; but he flies from her hke a coward, flies to one more passionate, because she gives him the transports of passion in exchange for his wife's calm affection. The two women meet, and discover their love for the same man. Here is a fine dramatic colhsion. On the one side Fernando sees Duty in the shape of a noble, suffering wife, and an engaging daughter ; on the other, Passion in the shape of a fascinating mistress. But with this suggestive subject Goethe has done little. He shows us the contemptible weakness of the wavering Fer- nando, but the subject he has not powerfully wrought out. As I cannot recommend any one to read this play, the two masterly touches it contains may here be cited. The following is delicately observed : " We women believe in men ! In the ardour of passion they deceive themselves, how then can we help being deceived by them ? " This also is charming : Fernando returns to Stella after a long absence, and in their endearments she says : LIFE AND WORKS OF GOETHE 263 " Stella. How we love you ! We do not think of the grief you cause us ! Fernando (strokinff her hair). And has the grief made your hair gray? It is fortunate your hair is so golden . . . nay, none seems to have fallen out ! ( Takes the comb from her hair, which falls on her shoulders. He then twines the hair round his arm, exclaiminy :) Rinaldo once more in the ancient chains ! " Artists complain of the dearth of subjects ; will no one try his hand at that ? Originally the d