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CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 
 
CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE 
 
 VTITH 
 
 ECKEEMANN AND SOEET. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 
 
 By JOHN OXENFORD. 
 
 REVISED EDITION. 
 
 LONDON: GEORGE BELL & SONS, YORK STF 
 COVENT GARDEN. 
 
 1883. 
 
LONDON : 
 PRINTED BT WILLIAM CLOWES AM) SONS, LIMITED, 
 STAMFORD STREET AND CHASING CRi 
 
FT 2021 
 
 C*Oe 
 
 3 
 
 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 Any introduction referring to the subject of thi3 book would 
 be superfluous. It records the opinions, on the most varied 
 topics, of one of the greatest literary geniuses of the present 
 century, during the last ten years of a very long life. Goethe 
 was born in August, 1749, and died in March, 1832, so that his 
 age is seventy-three when the Conversations begin, and eighty- 
 two when they terminate. 
 
 However, the form in which this translation is presented to 
 the EnglislTpublic requires, a short explanation. 
 
 In.l83G, John Peter Eckermann, who gives a full account of 
 himself in the " Introduction," published, in two volumes, his 
 "Conversations with Goethe." In 1848, he published a third 
 volume, containing additional Conversations, which he com- 
 piled from his own notes, and from that of another friend of 
 Goethe's, M. Soret, of whom there is a short account in the 
 ' ' Preface to the Third or Supplemental Volume. " Both these 
 works are dedicated to Her Imperial Highness Maria Paulouna, 
 Grand Duchess of Saxe- Weimar and Eisenach. 
 
 Had I followed the order of German publication, I should 
 have placed the whole of the Supplementary Volume after the 
 contents of the first two ; however, as the Conversations in that 
 volume are not of a later date than the others (which, indeed, 
 terminate with the death of Goethe), but merely supply gaps, I 
 deemed it more conducive to the reader's convenience to re- 
 arrange in chronological order the whole of the Conversations, 
 as if the Supplement had not been published separately. 
 
 Still, to preserve a distinction between the Conversations of 
 the First Book and those of the Supplement, I have marked the 
 latter with the abbreviation " Sup.," adding an asterisk (thus, 
 Sup.*) when a Conversation has been furnished, not by Ecker- 
 maim, but by Soret. 
 
 a 3 
 
71 TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. 
 
 I feel bound to state that, while translating the First Book, 
 I have had before me the translation by Mrs. Fuller, published 
 in America. The great merit of this version I willingly ac- 
 knowledge, though the frequent omissions render it almost an 
 abridgement. The contents of the Supplementary Volume are 
 now, I believe, published for the first time in the English 
 language. 
 
 J. O. 
 
 [1850.] 
 
 AUTHOK'S PBEFACE 
 TO THE FIEST TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 This collection of Conversations with Goethe took its rise 
 chiefly from an impulse, natural to my mind, to appropriate to 
 myself by writing any part of my experience which strikes me 
 as valuable or remarkable. 
 
 Moreover, I felt constantly the need of instruction, not only 
 when I first met with that extraordinary man, but also after I 
 had lived with him for years ; and I loved to seize on the im- 
 port of his words, and to note it down, that I might possess 
 them for the rest of my life. 
 
 When I think how rich and full were the communications by 
 which he made me so happy for a period of nine years, and now 
 observe how small a part I have retained in writing, I seem to 
 myself like a child who, endeavouring to catch the refreshing 
 spring shower with open hands, finds that the greater part of it 
 runs through his fingers. 
 
 But, as the saying is that books have their destiny, and as 
 this applies no less to the origin of a book than to its subsequent 
 appearance in the broad wide world, so we may use it with 
 regard to the origin of this present book. Whole months often 
 passed away, while the stars were unpropitious, and ill health, 
 business, or various toils needful to daily existence, prevented 
 me from writing a single line ; but then again kindly stars arose, 
 and health, leisure, and the desire to write, combined to help 
 me a good step forwards. And then, where persons are long 
 domesticated together, where will there not be intervals of in- 
 
AUTHOR S PREFACE. Vll 
 
 difference ; and where is he who knows always how to prize the 
 present at its due rate ? 
 
 I mention these things to excuse the frequent and important 
 gaps which the reader will find, if he is inclined to read the 
 hook in chronological order. To such gaps belong much that is 
 good, but is now lo3t, especially many favourable words spoken 
 by Goethe of his widely scattered friends, as well as of the 
 works of various living German authors, while other remarks of 
 a similar kind have been noted down. But, as I said before, 
 books have their destinies even at the time of their origin. 
 
 For the rest, I consider that which I have succeeded in making 
 my own in these two volumes, and which I have some title to 
 regard as the ornament of my own ^existence, with deep-felt 
 gratitude as the gift of Providence, and I have a certain 
 confidence that the world with winch I share it will also feel 
 gratitude towards me. 
 
 I think that these conversations not only contain many 
 valuable explanations and instructions on science, art, and prac- 
 tical life, but that these sketches of Goethe, taken directly from 
 life, will be especially serviceable in completing the portrait 
 which each reader may have formed of Goethe from his manifold 
 works. 
 
 Still, I am far from imagining that the whole internal Goethe 
 is here adequately portrayed. We may, with propriety, com- 
 pare this extraordinary mind and man to a many-sided diamond, 
 which in each direction shines with a different hue. And as, 
 under different circumstances and with different persons, he 
 became another being, so I, too, can only say, in a very modest 
 sense, this is my Goetha. 
 
 And this applies not merely to his manner of presenting him- 
 self to me, but to my capacity for apprehending and re-producing 
 him. In such cases a reflection * takes place, as in a mirror ; 
 and it is very seldom that, in passing through another individu- 
 ality, nothing of the original is lost, and nothing foreign is 
 blended. The representations of the person of Goethe by 
 Rauch, Dawe, Stieler, and David have all a high degree 
 of truth, and yet each bears more or less the stamp of the 
 individuality which produced it. If this can be said of 
 bodily things, how much more does it apply to the fleeting, 
 intangible objects of the mind ! However it may be in my 
 case, I trust that all those who, from mental power or personal 
 acquaintance with Goethe, are fitted to judge, will not misin- 
 terpret my exertions to attain the greatest possible fidelity. 
 
 * In the German " Spiegelung," but "refraction" furnishes a 
 more adequate image. — Trans. 
 
vm AUTHOR S PREFACE. 
 
 Having given these explanations as to the manner of appre- 
 hending my subject, I have still something to add as to the 
 import of the work. 
 
 That which we call the True, even in relation to a single 
 object, is by no means something small, narrow, limited ; 
 rather is it, even if something simple, at the same time 
 something comprehensive, which like the various manifestations 
 of a deep and widely reaching natural law, cannot easily be 
 expressed. It cannot be disposed of by a sentence, or by 
 sentence upon sentence, or by sentence opposed to sentence, but, 
 through all these, one attains just an approximation, not the 
 goal itself. So, to give a single instance, Goethe's detached 
 remarks on poetry often have an appearance of one-sidedness, 
 and indeed often of manifest contradiction. Sometimes he lays 
 all the stress on the material which the world affords ; sometimes 
 upon the internal nature of the poet; sometimes the only impor- 
 tant point is the subject ; sometimes the mode of treating it ; 
 sometimes all is made to depend on perfection of form ; some- 
 times upon the spirit, with a neglect of all form. 
 
 But all these contradictions are single sides of the True, and, 
 taken together, denote the essence of truth itself, and lead to 
 an approximation to it. I have, therefore, been careful, in 
 these and similar cases, not to omit these seeming contra- 
 dictions, as they were elicited by different occasions, in the 
 course of dissimilar years and hours. I rely on the insight and 
 comprehensive spirit of the cultivated reader, who will not be 
 led astray by any isolated part, but will keep his eye on the 
 whole, and properly arrange and combine each particular. 
 
 Perhaps, too, the reader will find much here which at first 
 sight seems unimportant. But if, on looking deeper, he perceive 
 that such trifles often lead to something important, or serve as 
 a foundation to something which comes afterwards, or con- 
 tribute some slight touch to a delineation of character, these 
 may be, if not sanctified, at least excused, as a sort of necessity. 
 
 And now I bid a loving farewell to my so long cherished book 
 on its entrance into the world, wishing it the fortune of being 
 agreeable, and of exciting and propagating much that is good. 
 
 Weimar, 31st October, 1835. 
 
PEEFACE TO 
 THIED OE SUPPLEMENTAL VOLUME, 
 
 Now, I at last see before me this long promised third part of 
 my Conversations with Goethe : I enjoy the pleasant sensation 
 of having overcome great obstacles. 
 
 My case was very difficult ; it was like that of a mariner who 
 cannot sail with the wind that blows to-day, but must often 
 patiently wait whole weeks and months for a favourable gale, 
 such as has blown years ago. When I was so happy as to write 
 my first two parts, I could sail with a fair wind, because the 
 freshly-spoken words were then still ringing in my ears, and 
 the living intercourse with that wonderful man sustained me in 
 an element of inspiration, through which I felt borne, as if on 
 wings, to my goal. 
 
 But now when that voice has been hushed for many years, 
 and the happiness of those personal interviews lies so far 
 behind me, I could attain the needful inspiration only in those 
 hours in which it was granted me to enter into my own interior, 
 and, in undisturbed reverie, to give a fresh colouring to the 
 past, where it began to revive within me, and I saw great 
 thoughts, and great characteristic traits before me, like moun- 
 tains ; distant indeed, but nevertheless plainly discernible, 
 and illumined as by the sun of the actual day. 
 
 Thus did my inspiration arise from my delight in that great 
 man ; the details of thought and of oral expression were again 
 fresh, as if I had experienced them yesterday. The living 
 Goethe was again there : I again heard the peculiarly charming 
 Bound of his voice, to which no other can compare. I saw him 
 again in the evening, with his black frock and star, jesting, 
 laughing, and cheerfully conversing amid the social circle in his 
 well-lighted room. Another day, when the weather was line, 
 he was with me in the carriage in his brown surtout, and blue 
 cloth cap, with his light grey cloak laid over his knees ; there 
 he was, with his countenance brown and healthy as the fresh 
 
X AUTHOR S PREFACE. 
 
 air ; his words freely flowing forth, and sounding above the 
 noise of the wheels. Or I saw myself in the evening by the 
 quiet taper light again transported into his study, where he sat 
 opposite to me at his table, in his white flannel dressing-gown, 
 mild as the impression of a well spent day. We talked about 
 tilings good and great : he set before me the noblest part of his 
 own nature, and his mind kindled my own — the most perfect 
 harmony existed between us. He extended his hand to me 
 across the table, and I pressed it : I then took a full glass 
 which stood by me, and which I drank to him without uttering 
 a word, my glances being directed into his eyes across the wine. 
 
 Thus was I again associated with him as in actual life, and 
 his words again sounded to me as of old. 
 
 But as it is generally the case in life, that, although we can 
 think of a dear departed one, our thoughts for weeks and 
 months can be but transient, on account of the claims of the 
 actual day ; and that the quiet moments of such a reverie, in 
 which we believe that we once more possess, in all its living 
 freshness, a beloved object that we have lost, belong to a few 
 happy hours — so was it with me with respect to Goethe. 
 
 Months often passed when my soul, engrossed by the contac 
 of ordinary life, was dead to Goethe, and he uttered not a word 
 to my mind. And again came other weeks and months, during 
 winch I was in a barren mood, so that nothing would bud or 
 blossom within me. I was forced, with great patience, to let 
 these periods of inanity pass unemployed, for anything written 
 under such circumstances would have been worthless. I was 
 compelled to wait for my good fortune to bestow a return of 
 those hours when the past would stand before me in all its 
 liveliness, and my soul would be elevated to such a degree of 
 mental strength and sensible ease, as to be a worthy receptacle 
 for the thoughts and feelings of Goethe ; for I had to do with 
 a hero whom I must not allow to sink. To be truly delineated 
 he. must appear in all the mildness of his disposition ; in the 
 full clearness and power of his mind ; and in the accustomed 
 dignity of his august personality — and this was no trifling 
 requisition. 
 
 My relation to him was peculiar, and of a very intimate 
 kind : it was that of the scholar to the master ; of the son to 
 the father ; of the poor in culture to the rich in culture. He 
 drew me into his own circle, and let me participate in the 
 mental and bodily enjoyments of a higher state of existence. 
 Sometimes I saw him but once a week, when I visited him in 
 the evening ; sometimes every day, when I had the happiness 
 to dine with him either alone or in company. His conversation 
 was as varied as his works. He was always the same, and 
 
AUTHOR S PREFACE. XI 
 
 always different. Now lie was occupied by some great idea, 
 and his words flowed forth rich and inexhaustible ; they were 
 often like a garden in spring where all is in blossom, and where 
 one is so dazzled by the general brilliancy that one does not 
 think of gathering a nosegay. At other times, on the contrary, 
 he was taciturn and laconic, as if a cloud pressed upon his soul ; 
 nay, there were days when it seemed as if he were filled with 
 icy coldness, and a keen wind was sweeping over plains of frost 
 and snow. When one saw him again he was again like a 
 smiling summer's day, when all the warblers of the wood 
 joyously greet us from hedges and bushes, when the cuckoo's 
 voice resounds through the blue sky, and the brook ripples 
 through flowery meadows. Then it was a pleasure to hear him ; 
 his presence then had a beneficial influence, and the heart 
 expanded at his words. 
 
 Winter and summer, age and youth, seemed with him to be 
 engaged in a perpetual strife and change ; nevertheless, it was 
 admirable in him, when from seventy to eighty years old, that 
 youth always recovered the ascendancy ; those autumnal and 
 wintry days I have indicated were only rare exceptions. 
 
 His self-control was great — nay, it formed a prominent 
 peculiarity in his character. It was akin to that lofty delibera- 
 tion (Besonnenheit) through which he always succeeded in 
 mastering his material, and giving his single works that 
 artistical finish which we admire in them. Through the same 
 quality he was often concise and circumspect, not only in many 
 of his writings, but also in his oral expressions. When, how- 
 ever, in happy moments, a more powerful demon* was actiw 
 within him, and that self-control abandoned him, his discourse 
 rolled forth with j^outhful impetuosity, like a mountain cataract. 
 In such moments he expressed what was best and greatest in 
 his abundant nature, and such moments are to be understood 
 when his earlier friends say of him, that his spoken words were 
 better than those which he wrote and printed. Thus Marmontel 
 said of Diderot, that whoever knew him from his writing* 
 only knew him but half ; 'but that as soon as he became animated 
 in actual conversation he was incomparable, and irresistibly 
 carried his hearers along. 
 
 If, on the one hand, I may now hope that I have succeeded 
 in preserving in these conversations much that belonged to 
 those happy moments, it is, perhaps, on the other hand, no less 
 advantage to this book that it contains two reflections of 
 
 * It is almost needless to observe that the word " demon " is hero* 
 nsed in reference to its Greek origin, a:id implies nothing evil. — 
 Trans. 
 
Xll AUTHOR S PREFACE. 
 
 Goethe's personality, one towards myself, the other towards a 
 young friend. 
 
 M. Soret, of Geneva, a liberal republican, called to Weimar 
 in the year 1822, to superintend the education of the hereditary 
 Grand Duke, remained, from that year to Goethe's death, in very 
 close connection with him. He was a constant guest at Goethe's 
 table, and a frequent and welcome visitor at the evening parties ; 
 moreover, his attainments in natural science offered many 
 points of contact on which to base a lasting intercourse. As 
 a profound mineralogist he arranged Goethe's crystals, while 
 his knowledge of botany enabled him to translate Goethe's 
 " Metamorphosis of the Plants " into French, and thus to give 
 a wider circulation to that important work. His position at 
 court likewise brought him frequently into Goethe's presence, 
 as he sometimes accompanied the prince to Goethe's house, 
 while sometimes commissions to Goethe, from His Royal High- 
 ness the Archduke, and Her Imperial Highness the Archduchess, 
 gave him occasion for visits. 
 
 These personal interviews were often recorded by M. Soret 
 in his journals ; and some years ago he was kind enough to 
 give me a small manuscript compiled from this source, in 
 order that I might, if I pleased, take what was best and most 
 interesting, ami introduce it into my third volume in chrono- 
 logical order. 
 
 These notes, which were written in French, were sometimes 
 complete, but sometimes cursory and defective, accordingly as 
 the author found time to make them in his hurried and often 
 greatly occupied days. Since, however, no subject appears in 
 his manuscript which was not repeatedly and thoroughly dis- 
 cussed by Goethe and myself, my own journals were perfectly 
 adapted to complete the notes of Soret, to supply his deficiencies, 
 and to develop sufficiently what he often had only indicated. 
 All the conversations which are based on Soret's manuscript, or 
 for which that manuscript has been much used, as is particu- 
 larly the case in the first two years, are marked with an 
 asterisk (*) placed against the date, to distinguish them from 
 those which are by me alone, and which, with a few exceptions, 
 make up the years from 1824 to 1829 (inclusive), and a great 
 part of 1830, 1831, and 1832. 
 
 I have now nothing further to add, but the wish that this 
 third volume, which I have so long and so fondly kept by me, 
 will meet with that kind reception which was so abundantly 
 accorded to the first two. 
 
 Weimae, 21st December, 1847. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The Author gives an account of Himself and his Parents, 
 and of the origin of his connection with goethe. 
 
 At Winsen on the Luhe, a little town between Ltineburg and 
 Hamburg, on the border of the marsh and heathlands, I was 
 born, at the beginning of the nineties, in nothing better than a 
 hut, as we may well call a small house which had only one room 
 capable of being heated, and no stairs, and in which they 
 mounted at once to the hayloft by a ladder, which reached to 
 the house-door. 
 
 As the youngest born of a second marriage, I, properly speak- 
 ing, did not know my parents till they had reached an advanced 
 age ; and, to a certain extent, I grew up with them alone. Two 
 sons of my father's first marriage were still alive. One of them, 
 after several voyages as a sailor, had been taken prisoner in 
 foreign parts, and had not since been heard of ; while the other, 
 after being several times engaged in the whale and seal fisheries 
 in Greenland, had returned to Hamburg, and there lived in 
 moderate circumstances. Two sisters of my father's second 
 marriage had grown up before me. When I had attained my 
 twelfth year they had already left the parental hut, and were 
 in service in our town and in Hamburg. 
 
 The principal means of supporting our little family was a cow, 
 which not only supplied us with milk for our daily wants, but 
 gave us every year a calf for fattening, and sometimes milk 
 enough to sell for a few groschen. We had besides a piece of 
 land, which supplied us with vegetables for the wants of the 
 year. Corn for bread, and flour for the kitchen, we were, how- 
 ever, obliged to buy. 
 
 My mother was particularly expert at spinning wool ; she also 
 gave much satisfaction by the caps she made for the women of 
 the village, and in both ways earned some money. 
 
 My father's business consisted ">f a small traffic, which varied 
 according to the seasons, and obliged him to be often absent from 
 home, and to travel on foot about the country. In summer 
 
 b 
 
■: 9 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 he was seen with a light wooden box on his back, going in the? 
 heath-country from village to village, hawking ribbons, thread . 
 and silk. At the samejtime he purchased here woollen stocking s 
 and Beydenvand* (a cloth woven out of the wool of the sheep 
 on the heaths, and linen yarn), which he again disposed of in 
 the Vierlande on the other side the Elbe, where he likewise went 
 hawking. In the winter he carried on a trade in rough quills 
 and unbleached linen, which he bought up in the villages of 
 the hut and marsh country, and took to Hamburg when a ship 
 offered. But in all cases his gains must have been very small, 
 as we always lived in some degree of poverty. 
 
 If now I am to speak of my employments in childhood, these 
 varied according to the season. When spring commenced, and 
 the waters of the Elbe had receded after their customary over- 
 How, I went daily to collect the sedges which had been thrown 
 upon the dykes and other places, and to heap them up as litter 
 for our cow. But when the first green was springing over the 
 'broad meadows, I, with other boys, passed long days in watch- 
 ing the cows. In summer I was actively employed on our field, 
 and brought dry wood from the thickets scarce a mile (German) 
 off, to serve for firing throughout the year. In harvest time 
 I passed weeks in the field as a gleaner, and when the autumn 
 winds shook the trees I gathered acorns, which I sold by the 
 peck to persons of opulence, to feed their geese. When I was 
 old enough, I went with my father on his travels from hamlet 
 to hamlet, and helped to carry his bundle. This time affords 
 some of the fairest remembrances of my youth. 
 
 Under such influences, and busied in such employments,, 
 during which, at certain periods, I attended a school, and barely 
 learned to read and write, I reached my fourteenth year ; and 
 every one will confess, that from this situation to an intimate 
 connection with Goethe there was a great step, and one that 
 seemed scarcely probable. I knew not that there were in the 
 world such things as Poetry or the Fine Arts ; and, fortunately, 
 there was not within me even so much as a blind longing and 
 striving after them. 
 
 It has been said that animals are instructed by their very 
 organization ; and so may it be said of man, that, by something 
 which he does quite accidentally, he is often taught the higher 
 powers which slumber within him. Something of the sort hap- 
 pened to me, which, though insignificant in itself, gave a new 
 turn to my life, and is therefore stamped indelibly on my 
 memory. 
 
 I •', Linsey-woolsey. — Trans. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XV 
 
 I sat one evening with both my parents at tabic by the light 
 oi a lamp. My father had just returned from Hamburg, and 
 was talking about his business there. As he loved smoking, h 
 had brought back with him a packet of tobacco, which laj 
 before him on the table, and had for the crest a horse. This 
 horse seemed to me a very good picture, and, as I had by me 
 pen, ink, and a piece of paper, I was seized with an irresistible 
 inclination to copy it. My father continued talking about 
 Hamburg, and I, being quite unobserved, became wholly 
 engaged tn drawing the horse. When finished, it seemed to me 
 :i perfect likeness of the original, and I experienced a delight 
 before unknown. I showed my parents what I had done, and 
 they could not avoid praising me and expressing admiration. 1 
 passed the night in happy excitement, and almost sleepless ; I 
 thought constantly of the horse I had drawn, and longed im- 
 patiently for morning, that I might have it again before my 
 eyes, and delight myself with beholding it. 
 
 From this time the once-excited propensity for visible imita- 
 tion was never forgotten. And as I found no other help of an v 
 sort in our place, I deemed myself most happy when our neigh- 
 bour, who was a potter, lent me some outlines, which served hmi 
 as models for painting his plates and dishes. 
 
 These outlines I copied very carefully with pen and ink, and 
 thus arose two books of drawings, which soon passed from hand 
 to hand, and at last came under the eye of the upper Ba. 
 (Oberamtmann), Meyer, the first man of the place. He sent 
 for me, made me a present, and praised me in the kindest 
 manner. He asked me if I should like to become a painter, for 
 if so, he would, when I was confirmed, send me to a proper 
 master at Hamburg. I said that I should like it very much, 
 and would talk of it with my parents. They, however, who be- 
 longed to the peasant class, and lived in a place where scarce any 
 occupations were followed except tilling and grazing, thought of a 
 painter only as one who paints doors and houses. They, there- 
 fore, advised me earnestly against it, saying it was not only a 
 very dirty, but a very dangerous trade, at which one might break- 
 one's legs or neck, as was indeed often the case, especially in 
 Hamburg, where the houses are seven stories high. As my own 
 ideas of a painter were not more elevated, I abandoned my fancy 
 for this trade, and put quite out of my head the offer of the 
 good Bailiff. 
 
 However, the attention of higher persons having been once 
 bestowed on me, I was kept in sight, and efforts were made to aid 
 me in various ways. I was permitted to take private lessons with 
 the few children of that rank ; I learned French, and a little Latin 
 and music : I was also provided with better clothing, and the 
 
 " b 2 
 
XVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 worthy superintendent, Parisius, did not disdain to give me a 
 seat at his own table. 
 
 Henceforth, I loved school very much. I sought to make this 
 pleasant state of things last as long as possible, and my parents 
 readily consented that I should not be confirmed before my 
 sixteenth year. 
 
 But now arose the question, what was to be done with me ? 
 Could I have followed my wishes, I should have been sent to 
 pursue learned studies at a gymnasium ; but this was out of the 
 question, as I was not only destitute of means, but felt myself 
 imperiously called upon by my circumstances to get into some 
 situation as soon as possible, where I could not only take care 
 of myself, but in some measure help my poor old parents. 
 
 Such a situation presented itself immediately after my con- 
 firmation, for a judicial functionary (Justizbeamter) of the place 
 offered to take me to do copying and other little services for 
 him, and I joyfully consented. I had, during the last year and 
 a half of my schooling, acquired not only a good hand, but 
 practised a [great deal in composition, so that I might consider 
 myself very well qualified for such a post. I also carried on 
 some of the minor parts of an advocate's business, frequently 
 drawing up both judgment and petition, according to prescribed 
 forms : this lasted two years, viz. till 1810, when the Hanoverian 
 office, at Winsen on the Luhe, was broken up, and the place 
 being taken into the department of Lower Elbe, was incorpo- 
 rated with the French empire. 
 
 I then received an appointment in the office of direct taxes at 
 Luneburg, and when this was also broken up in the following- 
 year, I entered the office of the under prefect in Uelzen. Here 
 I worked till near the end of the year 1812, when the prefect, 
 Herr von During, patronized me, and made me secretary of the 
 mayoralty at Bevensen. This post I held till the spring of 
 1813, when the approach of the Cossacks gave us hopes of being 
 freed from the French yoke. 
 
 T now took my leave and returned home, with no other inten- 
 tion than that of joining the ranks of those patriotic warriors 
 who began secretly to form themselves in various places. 
 
 This plan I carried out. Towards the end of the summer I 
 joined as a volunteer, with rifle and holster, the Kielmannsegge 
 Jager corps, and in Captain Knop's company made the campaign 
 of the winter of 1813-14, through Mecklenburg, Holstein, and 
 before Hamburg, against Marshal Davoust. Afterwards we 
 crossed the Rhine against General Maison, and in the summer 
 marched about a great deal in the fertile provinces of Flanders 
 and Brabant. 
 
 Here, at the sight of the great pictures of the Netherlands, a 
 
INTRODUCTION. XVl£ 
 
 new world opened to me ; I passed whole days in churches and 
 museums. These were, in fact, the iirst pictures I ever saw in 
 my life. I understood now what was meant by being a painter. 
 I saw the honoured happy progress of the scholars, and I could 
 have wept that I was not permitted to pursue a similar path. 
 However, I took my resolution at once. I made the acquaint- 
 ance of a young artist at Tournay; I obtained black crayons and 
 a sheet of drawing-paper of the largest size, and sat down at 
 once before a picture to copy it. My enthusiasm somewhat 
 supplied my deficiencies in practice and instruction, and thus I 
 succeeded in the outlines of the figures. I had also begun to 
 shade the whole from the left side, when marching orders broke 
 up my happy employment. I hastened to indicate the grada- 
 tions of light and shade in the still unfinished parts with single 
 letters, hoping that thus I might yet complete my work in some 
 tranquil hour. I then rolled up my picture, and put it in a 
 case, which I carried at my back with my gun, all the long 
 march from Tournay to Hameln. 
 
 Here, in the autumn of 1814, the Jager corps was disbanded. 
 I went home ; my father was dead ; my mother was still alive, 
 and resided with my elder sister, who had married, and had 
 taken possession of the paternal house. I began now to con- 
 tinue my drawing. I completed first the picture I had brought 
 from Brabant ; and then, as I had no proper models, I stuck to 
 some little engravings of Bamberg's, of which I made enlarged 
 copies in black chalk. But here I felt the want of proper 
 knowledge and preparation. I had no idea of the anatomy 
 either of men or animals ; I knew as little how to treat properly 
 the various kinds of trees and grounds ; and it cost me unspeak- 
 able toil to make anything look decently well by my own mode 
 of proceeding. 
 
 Thus I soon saw that, if I wished to become an artist, I must 
 set to work in a way somewhat different, and that more of this 
 groping about in my own way would only be lost labour. Now 
 my plan was to find a suitable master, and begin from the very 
 beginning. 
 
 The master whom I had in my eye was no other than Bam- 
 berg, of Hanover, and it seemed to me the more possible to stop 
 in that city, as a beloved friend of my earlier days lived there in 
 easy circumstances. On his friendship I could rely for my sup- 
 port, and he was constantly inviting me. 
 
 Without further delay, therefore, I tied up my bundle, and 
 took, in the midst of the winter of 1815, a walk of almost forty 
 leagues, quite alone, over the heath and through the deep snow. 
 I arrived at Hanover in a few days, without accident. 
 
 I went immediately to Bamberg, and told him my wishes, 
 
xvni INTRODUCTION. 
 
 After looking at what I laid before him, he seemed not to doubt 
 my talent, yet he remarked that I must have bread first ; that 
 the mastery of the technical part of art demanded much time, 
 and that the prospect of earning a subsistence by art lay at a 
 great distance. Meanwhile, he showed himself willing to help 
 me as much as he could ; he looked up immediately, from the 
 mass of his drawings, some suitable sheets with parts of the 
 human body, and gave them to me to copy. 
 
 So I lived with my friend, and drew after Kamberg. I made 
 good progress, for the drawings which he gave me were more and 
 more advanced. I drew the whole anatomy of the human 
 frame, and was never weary of repeating difficult hands and 
 feet. So passed some happy months. When we came to May, 
 however, my health began to give way ; and on the approach of 
 June my hands trembled so much that I could no longer hold a 
 pencil. 
 
 We consulted a skilful physician, and he found my situation 
 dangerous. He said that in consequence of the campaign, per- 
 spiration was checked, that my internals were attacked by a 
 consuming heat, and that, if I continued a fortnight in this 
 condition, I should inevitably be a corpse. He prescribed 
 warm baths, and similar remedies to restore the action of the 
 skin ; cheering signs of improvement very soon appeared, but 
 the continuation of my artistic studies was not to be thought of. 
 
 My friend had hitherto paid me the kindest care and atten- 
 tion ; there was not the least thought or hint that I was, or 
 could afterwards become, a burden to him. I, however, thought 
 of it, and as the uneasiness which I had long harboured on this 
 head had probably hastened the breaking out of my dormant 
 illness, so did it now come forward in all its force, as I saw 
 heavy expenses before me on account of my recovery. 
 
 At such a time of external and internal embarrassment, the 
 prospect opened to me of an appointment, with a commission, 
 which had for its object the clothing of the Hanoverian army, 
 and hence it was not surprising that, renouncing the artistical 
 path, I yielded to the pressure of circumstances, solicited the 
 appointment, and was delighted to obtain it. 
 
 My recovery was soon complete, and a state of health and 
 cheerfulness returned which I had not enjoyed for a long time. 
 I found myself able, in some measure, to requite the kindness 
 my friend had generously shown me. The novelty of the ser- 
 vices into which I was now to be initiated gave occupation to my 
 mind. My superiors seemed to me men of the noblest views, 
 and with my colleagues, some of whom had made the campaign 
 in the same corps with me, I was soon on a footing of cordial 
 intimacy. 
 
JNTRODUCTK N. 2 : 
 
 Being now fairly settled, 1 began with some freedom to look 
 about the city, which contained much that was worth observa- 
 tion, and, in leisure hours, I was never weary of rambling, over 
 and over again, about its beautiful environs. With a pupil of 
 Ramberg's, a promising young artist, I formed a close intimacy, 
 and he was my constant companion in my rambles. And since 
 I was forced to give up the practice of Art on account of my 
 health and other circumstances, it was a great solace that I 
 •ould, at least, daily converse about it with him. I took in- 
 terest in his compositions, which he showed me in sketches, and 
 about which we conversed. He introduced me to many instruc- 
 tive works; I read Winckelmann and Mengs; but, never having 
 had before me the objects which they discuss, I could only 
 imbibe generalities from their works, and received, indeed, but 
 little benefit. 
 
 My friend, who had been born and brought up in the city, 
 was in advance of me in every kind of mental culture, and had, 
 what I entirely wanted, considerable acquaintance with the 
 i idles lettres. At that time Theodore Korner was the venerated 
 hero of the day. My friend brought me the " Lyre and Sword," 
 which did not fail to make a deep impression en me, as we 
 -others, and to excite my admiration. 
 
 Much has been said of the artistical effect of poems, and many 
 have ranked it very high ; but it seems to me that the subj i 
 matter is, after all, the chief point. Unconsciously, I made this 
 experience in reading the " Lyre and Sword." For that I, like 
 Korner, had fostered in my bosom an abhorrence of those - 
 had been our oppressors for so many years ; that I, like him, 
 had fought for our freedom, and, like him, had been famil 
 with all those circumstances of tedious marches, nightly 
 bivouacs, outpost service, and skirmishes, and amid them all 
 had been filled with thoughts and feelings similar to his : this it 
 was which gave to these poems so deep and powerful an echo in 
 my heart. 
 
 Since nothing of import could have an effect upon me without 
 moving me deeply and rendering me j>roductive, so it was Avith 
 these poems of Theodore Korner. I bethought me that I to»» 
 had, in childhood and the years immediately following, written 
 little poems from time to time, without caring any more about 
 them, because at the time I attached no great value to tilings s<> 
 easily produced, and because a certain mental ripeness is re- 
 quired for appreciation of poetical talent. This talent now in 
 Korner appeared to me as something enviable and noble, and I 
 felt a great desire to try if I could succeed, by foil owing him 
 in some degree. 
 
 The return of oui patriotic wai from France afforded me 
 
XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 a, good opportunity, and, as I had fresh in my memory all the 
 unspeakable hardships which the soldier must undergo in the 
 held, while often no inconvenience is endured by the citizen in 
 his comfortable home, I thought it would be good to set forth 
 this contrast in a poem, and, by working on the feelings, to pre- 
 pare for the returning troops a more cordial reception. 
 
 I had several hundred copies of this poem printed at my own 
 expense, and distributed through the town. The effect pro- 
 duced was favourable beyond my expectations. It procured me 
 a throng of very pleasant acquaintances ; people sympathized 
 with the views and feelings I had uttered, encouraged me to 
 make similar attempts, and were generally of opinion that I had 
 given proof of a talent which deserved further cultivation. The 
 poem was copied into periodicals, printed, and sold separately 
 in various places ; I even had the pleasure of seeing it set to 
 music by a very favourite composer, though, in fact, it was ill 
 adapted for singing, on account of its length and rhetorical style. 
 
 Not a week passed now in which I was not happy enough to* 
 produce some new poem. I was now in my four-and-twentieth 
 year : within me, a world of feelings, impulses, and good-will, 
 was in full action ; but I was entirely deficient in information 
 and mental culture. The study of our great poets was recom- 
 mended to me, especially of Schiller and Klopstock. I pro- 
 cured their works — I read, I admired them, without receiving 
 much assistance from them ; the path of these geniuses, though 
 I was not aware of it at the time, being too far from the natural 
 tendency of my own mind. 
 
 At tins time, I first heard the name of Goethe, and obtained 
 a volume of his poems. I read his songs again and again, and 
 enjoyed a happiness which no words can express. I seemed as 
 if I had not till now begun to wake, and attain real conscious- 
 ness ; it appeared to me that my own inmost soul, till then un- 
 known even to myself, was reflected in these songs. Nowhere 
 did I meet any learned or foreign matter beyond the reach of 
 my own uncultivated thoughts and feelings ; nowhere any 
 names of outlandish and obsolete divinities, which to me said 
 nothing ; but, on the contrary, I found the human heart, with 
 its desires, joys, and sorrows — I found a German nature, clear 
 as the bright actual day — pure reality in the light of a mild 
 glorification. 
 
 I lived whole weeks and months absorbed in these songs. 
 Then I succeeded in obtaining "Wilhelm Meister," then 
 "Goethe's Life," then his dramas. " Faust," from whose 
 abysses of human nature and perdition I at first, shuddering, 
 drew back, but whose profound enigmatical character ever at- 
 tracted me again, I read always in holidays. My admiration 
 
1NTH0DUCTI0N. xxt 
 
 and love increased daily ; for a long time I completely lived in 
 these works, and thought and talked of nothing but Goethe. 
 
 The advantage which we derive from studying the works of a 
 great author may be of different kinds ; but the chief benefit 
 probably consists in this, that we become more clearly conscious, 
 not only of our own internal nature, but also of the varied 
 world without us. Such an effect was produced on me by the 
 works of Goethe. I was also impelled by them to a better 
 observation and apprehension of sensible objects and characters ; 
 I came gradually to understand the unity or internal harmony 
 of an individual with itself, and thus the enigma of the great 
 variety in phenomena, both of nature and art, was solved to me 
 more and more. 
 
 After I had in some measure grounded myself in Goethe's 
 writings, and had also made many practical attempts in poetry,. 
 I turned to some of the best writers of other countries and 
 earlier times, and read in the best translations, not only the 
 principal pieces of Shakspeare, but also Sophocles and Homer. 
 
 Here, however, I soon perceived that in these sublime works 
 I could only appreciate the generally Human (das Allgemein- 
 menschliche), and that the understanding of the details, both 
 of language and history, presupposed an amount of knowledge 
 and an education that is commonly acquired only in schools and 
 universities. 
 
 Moreover, it was shown to me, from many sides, that I was 
 toiling in vain by thus following my own way, and that, without 
 what is called a classical education, a poet can never succeed 
 either in writing his own language with elegance and expression, 
 or, indeed, performing anything excellent even as to its import. 
 When, too, I read many biographies of distinguished men to see 
 what educational path they had adopted to attain to anything 
 good, and perceived how they all went through the routine of 
 schools and colleges, I resolved, in spite of my advanced age and 
 the many obstacles winch surrounded me, to do the same. 
 
 I forthwith applied to an eminent philologian, who had been 
 appointed teacher in the gymnasium at Hanover, and took 
 private instruction, not only in Latin, but also in Greek, on which 
 studies I spent all the time which the hours (at least six a day) 
 claimed from me by my office would afford me. 
 
 Thus I passed a year. I made good progress, but with my 
 excessive ardour it seemed to me that I went on too slowly, and 
 must devise some other plan. I thought that if I could pass 
 four or five hours daily in the gymnasium, and thus live 
 altogether in a learned atmosphere, I should progress in quite 
 another fashion, and attain my end infinitely sooner. 
 
 In this opinion I was confirmed by the advice of competent 
 
XXU INTRODUCTION. 
 
 persons ; I therefore resolved to carry out my scheme, and 
 easily obtained the consent of my superiors ; for the hours of 
 the gymnasium chiefly fell in a part of the day when I was dis- 
 engaged. 
 
 I therefore applied for admission ; and, accompanied by my 
 teacher, went on a Sunday forenoon to the worthy director to go 
 through the requisite probation. He examined me with all 
 possible kindness ; but as I was not prepared for the traditional 
 school questions, and with all my industry lacked the proper 
 routine, I did not stand so well as I really ought to have done. 
 However, on the assurance of my teacher that I knew more than 
 appep.red from my examination, and, in consideration of my 
 uncommon ardour, the director placed me in the second class. 
 
 I need hardly say that a man of nearly twenty-five, and one 
 already employed in the king's service, made but an odd figure 
 among scholars who were, for the most part, mere boys, and 
 that my situation was at first rather strange and unpleasant ; 
 but my great thirst for knowledge enabled ine to overlook and 
 endure everything. And, on the whole, I had no cause for 
 complaint. The tutors esteemed me ; the elder and better 
 scholars of the class treated me in the most friendly manner, 
 and even the most mischievous had forbearance enough not to 
 play their tricks on me. 
 
 1 was thus, on the whole, very happy in the attainment of my 
 object, and proceeded with great zeal in this new path. I woke 
 at five in the morning, and soon set about preparing my lessons. 
 About eight I went to the school, and stayed till ten. Thence I 
 hastened to my office, where my attendance was required till 
 one. I then flew home, swallowed a little dinner, and 
 was again at school soon after one. The hours then lasted till 
 four, after which I was occupied in my office till seven, and de- 
 voted the remainder of the evening to preparation and private 
 instruction. 
 
 Thus I lived some months ; but my strength was unequal to 
 such exertion, and the ancient saying, " ]STo man can serve two 
 masters," was confirmed. Want of free air and exercise, and 
 of time and quiet for eating, drinking, and sleep, gradually 
 reduced me to an unhealthy state ; I found myself paralyzed 
 both in body and mind, and saw that I must, as a matter of 
 necessity, give up either the school or my office. As my sub- 
 sistence depended on the latter, I had only the former alterna- 
 tive, and again left the school in the beginning of the spring 
 of 1817. As I saw it was my destiny to make many trials, I did 
 not repent that I had also made trial of a learned school. 
 
 Indeed, I had advanced a good step ; and as I still had the 
 "University in view, there was no course left me but to go on 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXJll 
 
 •"with my private instruction, which I did with the greatest 
 ardour. 
 
 After getting rid of the burden of the winter, I the more 
 cheerfully enjoyed the spring and summer. I was much in the 
 open country, which this year spoke with peculiar sympathy to 
 my heart, and many poems were produced ; Goethe's juvenile 
 songs were floating as a high example before my eyes. 
 
 On the commencement of winter, I began seriously to think 
 how it would be possible to enter the University, at least within 
 a year. I was so far advanced in Latin as to write metrical 
 translations of such parts as especially struck me in Horace's 
 Odes, Virgil's Eclogues, and Ovid's Metamorphoses, and could 
 read with some facility Cicero's Orations and Ccesar's Commen- 
 taries. With this I could by no means look upon myself as 
 suitably prepared for academical studies, but I thought that I 
 might advance considerably within a year, and then make good 
 all deficiencies in the University myself. 
 
 Among the higher persons in the city, I had gained many 
 patrons ; they promised me their aid, on condition, however, I 
 would choose what is called a Bread study.* But as this did 
 not belong to the tendency of my nature, and as T lived in the 
 firm conviction that man must only cultivate that to which he is 
 directed by a constant internal impulse, I adhered to my own 
 plans, and my friends refused their assistance, granting nothing 
 beyond a free board. 
 
 I had now only to carry out my scheme with my own re- 
 sources, and to set about a literary production of some 
 importance. 
 
 Milliner's "Schuld" (Crime) and Grillparzer's " Ahnfrau " 
 (the Ancestress) t were then the order of the day, and attracted 
 much attention. To my natural feeling these artificial works 
 were repugnant, and still less could I reconcile myself to the 
 ideas of destiny which they contained, and which I thought 
 would have a demoralizing effect on the public ; I therefore re- 
 solved to appear against them, and to show that destiny de- 
 pends on character. However, I intended to fight not by words, 
 but in act. A piece was to be produced which should utter the 
 truth, that man in the present sows seeds for the future, which 
 bring forth good or evil fruit according to his sowing. Being 
 unacquainted with the history of the world, I had to invent the 
 character and the course of the action. I carried it in my head 
 
 * That is a course of study for the express purpose of gaining a 
 subsistence, as distinguished from that study which seeks learning 
 for its own sake. — Trans. 
 
 f T w o pi ay s . — Tra ns. 
 
XXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 for a full year, and imagined the single scenes and acts down to 
 the minutest details, till at last I wrote it, in the winter of 1820, 
 in the morning hours of a few weeks. I was supremely happy 
 in doing this, for the whole flowed forth easily and naturally. 
 But, in opposition to the above-named poets, I had my eye too 
 steadily fixed on real life, and never thought of the theatre. 
 Thus it was more a quiet delineation of situations than a 
 rapidly progressive action, and only poetical and rythmical 
 where characters and situations required it. Subordinate 
 persons had too much room, and the whole piece too much 
 breadth. 
 
 I showed it to my most intimate friends and acquaintance, 
 but it was not received as I wished : they objected that some 
 scenes belonged to comedy, and, further, that I had read too 
 little. As I had expected a better reception, I was at first 
 quietly offended, but I gradually came to the conviction that my 
 friends were not so very wrong, and that my piece, even if the 
 characters were correctly drawn, and the whole was well 
 designed, and produced with some degree of care and facility, 
 was of far too small merit to be fit for public representation, 
 with respect to the views of life which it developed. 
 
 When I consider my origin, and the little I had studied, this 
 was not to be wondered at. I determined to remodel the piece, 
 and arrange it for the theatre ; but first to progress in my 
 studies, that I might be capable to give everything a higher 
 character. My anxiety to go to the University, where I hoped 
 to attain all I wanted, and through which I expected to improve 
 my position in life, became a positive passion. I resolved to 
 publish my poems, as a chance of obtaining my wishes. As I 
 had not that established reputation which would lead me to 
 expect a handsome sum from a publisher, I chose the way of 
 subscription as more suitable to my position. 
 
 This was conducted by my friends, and had the happiest 
 result. I again went before my superiors with my views as to 
 Gottingen, and asked for my dismissal. As they were convinced 
 that I was really .in earnest, and would not give way, they 
 favoured my designs. On the representation of my chief. 
 Colonel von Berger, the war-office (Kriegs-Canzlei) granted 
 me my dismissal, and also a hundred and fifty dollars yearly 
 for two years, to aid me in the prosecution of my studies. 
 
 I was now happy in the realization of the schemes I had 
 cherished for years. I had the poems printed and sent oil 
 as quickly as possible, and derived from them, after deducting 
 all expenses, a clear profit of one hundred and fifty dollars. 
 
 In May, 1821, 1 went to Gottingen, leaving one behind me I 
 dearly loved. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXV 
 
 My first attempt to reach the University had failed, because I 
 obstinately refused any " Bread study," as it is called. Now, 
 however, grown wiser by experience, and only too well aware of 
 the unspeakable struggles which then awaited me, both on the 
 side of my nearest acquaintance and on that of higher persons 
 of influence, I was prudent enough to submit to the views of a 
 too-potent world, and to declare that I would choose a " Bread 
 study," and devote myself to jurisprudence. 
 
 My powerful patrons, and all who set their heart on my 
 worldly advancement, while they had no notion of the urgency 
 of my wants, found my plan very rational. All opposition was 
 now at an end. I found everywhere kind advances, and a 
 ready furtherance of my views. To confirm me in such good 
 intentions, they did not fail to allege that the juridical studies 
 were by no means of such a kind as to preclude higher mental 
 adi r antages. They said that I should thus gain an insight into 
 civil and social relations, such as I could attain in no other way ; 
 that this study was by no means so extensive as to hinder my 
 pursuing many so-called higher studies ; and they told me of 
 various celebrated persons, who had studied all the departments 
 of law, and also attained the highest proficiency in other ways. 
 
 However, both my friends and myself overlooked the fact 
 that such men not only came to the University well stored with 
 school-learning, but had, besides, a much longer time to expend 
 on their studies than the imperious necessity of my circum- 
 stances would permit to me. 
 
 Suffice it to say, that, as I deceived others, 1 gradually 
 deceived myself also, and really fancied that I might seriously 
 study law, and, at the same time, attain my own peculiar ends. 
 
 Under this delusion, of seeking that which 1 had no wish to 
 possess and apply, I began with jurisprudence as soon as I 
 reached the University. I found the science by no means of a 
 repulsive kind, but rather such that, if my head had not been 
 already too full of other plans and wishes, I could willingly 
 have given myself up to it. But I was like a maiden, who finds 
 abundant reasons for objecting to a proposed marriage, merely 
 because she unfortunately has a secret love in her heart. 
 
 At the lectures on the Institutes and Pandects, I was often 
 absorbed in inventing dramatic scenes and acts. I zealously 
 tried to fix my mind on the matter delivered by the lecturer, 
 but it always wandered. I really thought of nothing but poetry 
 and heart, and the higher human culture to attain which I had 
 for years passionately endeavoured to reach the University. 
 
 Heeren was the person who most assisted me in my im- 
 mediate objects daring this first year at the University. His 
 ethnography and history laid the best foundation for further 
 
XXTL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 studies of the same kind, while the clearness and closeness of 
 his style was of important advantage to me in other respects. 
 I attended every lecture with delight, and never left one without 
 being penetrated with the highest veneration and affection for 
 that eminent man. 
 
 I judiciously began my second academic year by setting aside 
 entirely the study of jurisprudence, which was, indeed, much 
 too important to be made subordinate to others, and which was 
 too great a hindrance with regard to my principal object. I 
 devoted myself to philology, and was now as much indebted t 
 Dissen as I had been the fi?St year to Heeren. For not only 
 because his lectures gave my studies the food most needed and 
 desired, did I find myself daily enlightened and advanced, 
 and receive safe directions for my future works, but I had also 
 the happiness of becoming personally acquainted with this ex- 
 cellent man, and of receiving from him guidance and encourage- 
 ment in my studies. 
 
 My daily intercourse with the best minds among the students,, 
 and the conversations on the noblest subjects during our walks 
 and often till late at night, were to me invaluable, and exercised 
 a most favourable influence on the development of my 
 faculties. 
 
 In the mean while, the end of my pecuniary means drew 
 near. On the other hand, during the past year and a half, I 
 had accumulated daily new treasures of knowledge ; and to 
 heap more together, without any practical application, would 
 not have suited my natural disposition and my course of life. 
 Hence, my passionate desire now was, by some literary under- 
 taking, to make myself once more free, and sharpen my appetite 
 for further study. 
 
 I intended to complete my dramatic work, which still inte* 
 rested me, as far as the subject was concerned, but which was to 
 be elevated both in form and import, and also to bring forward 
 some ideas relating to the principles of poetry, which had de- 
 veloped themselves in opposition to the views then prevalent. 
 These two labours were to be undertaken in succession. 
 
 I, therefore, left the University in the autumn of 1822, and 
 took lodgings in the country near Hanover. I first wrote my 
 theoretical essays, which I hoped might aid youthful talents, 
 not only in production, but in criticising poetical works, and 
 ^ave them the title of "Beytrage zur Poesie." * 
 
 In May, 1823, I had completed this work. As I needed not 
 only a good publisher, but also a handsome remuneration, I 
 took the resolution at once to send my work to Goethe, and 
 
 * Contributions to Poetry. 
 
INTRODUCriOX. XXVU 
 
 a.sk him to say some words of recommendation to Heir von 
 Cotta. 
 
 Goethe was still, as formerly, the poet to whom I daily 
 looked up to as my infallible polar star ; whose utterance har- 
 monized witli my thought, and led me constantly to a higher 
 and higher point of view ; whose high art in treating the most 
 varied subjects I was ever striving to fathom and imitate ; and 
 towards whom my love and veneration had almost the nature 
 of a passion. 
 
 Soon after my arrival in Gottingen, I had sent him a copy of 
 my poems, accompanied by a light sketch of the progress of my 
 life and culture, and had the great joy, not only to receive some 
 lines written by his own hand, but to hear from travellers that 
 he had a good opinion of me, and proposed to make mention of 
 me in the numbers of " Kunst und Alterthum." * 
 
 In my situation, at that time, the knowledge of this fact was 
 of great importance, and gave me courage to show him the 
 manuscript I had just completed. 
 
 I had no other desire at present than to see him personally 
 for some moments, to attain which object I set off, about the 
 end of May, and went on foot over Gottingen and the Werrathal, 
 to Weimar. 
 
 During this journey, which the heat of the weather often made 
 fatiguing, I frequently felt within me the consolatory belief that 
 I was under the especial guidance of kindly powers, and that 
 this journey would be of great importance to my success in life. 
 
 % * Art and Antiquity, 
 
CONVEKSATIONS OF GOETHE. 
 
 1822. 
 
 (Sup.*) Sat, Sept. 21.— This evening at Goethe's, with 
 Counsellor (Ho/rath) Meyer. The conversation turned 
 principally upon mineralogy, chemistry, and natural 
 science (plmjsik~). The phenomena of the polarization 
 of light appeared to interest him particularly. He showed 
 me various preparations, chiefly after his own designs, 
 and expressed a wish to make some experiments with me. 
 
 In the course of our conversation, Goethe became more 
 and more free and communicative. I remained more than 
 an hour, and at my departure he said many kind things to 
 me. 
 
 His figure is still to be called handsome ; his forehead 
 and eyes are extremely majestic. He is tall and well built, 
 and so vigorous in appearance that one can scarcely com- 
 prehend how he has been able for some years to declare 
 himself too old to enter into society, and to go to court. 
 
 (Sup.*) Tues., Sept. 24 — The evening spent at Goethe's, 
 with Meyer, Goethe's son, Frau von Goethe, and his 
 physician, Counsellor (Hofratli) Rehbein. To-day, Goethe 
 was particularly lively. He showed me some splendid 
 lithographs from Stuttgard, the most perfect things of 
 the kind I had ever seen. After that we conversed on 
 scientific subjects, especially on the advancement of 
 chemistry. Iodine and chlorine occupied him particu- 
 larly ; he spoke about these substances as if the new dis- 
 coveries in chemistry had quite taken him by surprise. He 
 had some iodine brought in, and volatilized it, before our 
 
 B 
 
2 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1822. 
 
 eyes, in the flame of a taper ; by which means he did not 
 fail to make 11s admire the violet-vapour as a pleasing con- 
 firmation of a law in his theory of colours. 
 
 (Sup.*) Thiers., Oct. 1. — To an evening party at Goethe's. 
 I found amongst the assembled guests, Chancellor von 
 Jliiller, President Peucer, Dr. Stephan Schiitze, and 
 Counsellor (Regierungsrath) Schmidt, which last played 
 some sonatas of Beethoven's with rare perfection. I 
 also derived great enjoyment from the conversations of 
 Goethe and his daughter-in-law, who had all the cheerful- 
 ness of youth, and in whom an amiable disposition was 
 united with infinite intelligence. 
 
 (Sup.*) Thurs., Oct. 10. — To an evening party at 
 Goethe's, with the renowned Blumenbach from Gottin- 
 gen. Blumenbach is old, but with an animated and 
 cheerful expression. He has contrived to preserve the 
 whole activity of youth. His deportment is such, that no 
 one would know that a learned man stood before him. 
 His cordiality is frank and jovial ; he is quite uncere- 
 monious, and one is soon upon an easy looting with 
 him. His acquaintance was to me as interesting as 
 agreeable. 
 
 (Sup.*) Tues., Nov. 5. — An evening party at Goethe's. 
 Amongst the assembled guests was the artist Kolbe. We 
 were shown a beautifully executed painting by him — a 
 copy of Titian's Yenus, from the Dresden Gallery. 
 
 This evening, I also found with Goethe, Herr von Esch- 
 wege, and the celebrated Hummel. Hummel improvised 
 for nearly an hour upon the piano, with a force and a 
 talent of which it is impossible to form a conception unless 
 one has heard him. I found his conversation simple and 
 natural, and himself, for a virtuoso of such celebrity, sur- 
 prisingly modest. 
 
 (Sup.*) Tues., Bee. 3. — At an evening party at Goethe's. 
 Herren Riemer, Coudray, and Meyer, Goethe's son, and 
 Frau von Goethe, were amongst those assembled. 
 
 The students at Jena are in an uproar, and a company 
 of artillery has been sent to quiet them. Riemer read a 
 collection of songs, which were prohibited, and which had 
 thus given occasion or pretext to the revolt. All these 
 songs, being read aloud, received decisive applause, on 
 
tS2 2.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 3 
 
 account of the great talent they elf splayed. Goethe him- 
 self thought well of them, and promised me a private 
 inspection of them. 
 
 After -we had spent some time in examining copper- plates 
 md valuable books, Goethe, to our great delight, read to 
 as the poem of " Charon." I could not but admire the 
 clear, distinct, and energetic manner in which Goethe read 
 the poem. I have never heard so beautiful a declamation. 
 What fire ! what a glance ! and what a voice ! Alternately 
 like thunder, and then soft and mild. Perhaps, in some 
 parts, he displayed too much force for the small room in 
 which we were assembled ; but yet there was nothing in 
 his delivery which we could wish otherwise. Goethe after- 
 wards conversed upon literature, and upon his works, also 
 upon Madame de Stael, and kindred subjects. He is at 
 present occupied with the translation and arrangement of 
 the fragments of the "Phaeton" of Euripides. He began 
 this work about a year ago, and has lately resumed it. 
 
 (Sup.*) Thurs., Dec. 5. — This evening, at Goethe's, I 
 heard the rehearsal of the first act of. an opera which will 
 shortly be produced, " The Count of Gleichen," by Eber- 
 wein. Since Goethe resigned the direction of the theatre, 
 this is the first time, I have been told, that he has had at 
 his house so great an operatic company. Herr Eberweiu 
 directed the singing. Some ladies of Goethe's acquaintance 
 joined in the choruses, whilst the solo parts were sung by 
 members of the operatic company. Some pieces appeared 
 to me very 1 emarkable, especially a canon for four voices. 
 
 (Sup.*) f j?ues., Dec. 17. — In the evening at Goethe's. He 
 was very cheerful, and treated with rauch spirit the theme 
 that the follies of fathers are lost for their children. 
 
 The investigations which are now being made touching 
 Ihe discovery of salt springs evidently interested him. He 
 inveigled against the stupidity of certain projectors, wlio 
 totally disregard the outward signs, and the position and 
 order of the strata under which rock-salt lies, and through 
 which the auger must pass, and who, without knowing or 
 seeking to discover the right spot, obstinately continue to 
 work at random at the same shaft and in the same place. 
 
 v, -2 
 
4 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [^23 
 
 1823. 
 
 (Sup.*) Mon., Feb. 9. — This evening at Goethe's, whom 
 I found alone, in conversation with Meyer. I perused an 
 album belonging to bygone times, containing the hand- 
 writing of several renowned men, such as Luther, Erasmus. 
 Mosheim, and others. The last-mentioned has written, in 
 Latin, the following remarkable words : " Renown is a 
 source of toil and sorrow ; obscurity is a source of happiness." 
 
 (Sup.*) Hon., Feb. 23. — Goethe has been for some days 
 dangerously ill ; yesterday he lay in a hopeless condition. 
 To-day, however, a crisis has arrived, by which he appears 
 to be saved. Still, this morning he said that he considered 
 himself lost ; later, at noon, he seemed to hope that he might 
 recover ; and again, in the evening, he said that, if he 
 escaped, it must be allowed that, for an old man, he had 
 played too high a game. 
 
 (Sup.*) Tues., Feb. 24. — This day has been an anxious 
 one on account of Groethe, because there was not at noon 
 the same improvement in him which was observable yester- 
 day. In a paroxysm of weakness he said to his daughter- 
 in-law, " I feel that the moment is come in which the 
 struggle between life and death begins within me." Still , 
 in the evening the invalid retained his full intellectual con- 
 sciousness, and even displayed a playful levity. " You are 
 too timid with your remedies," said he to Rehbein ; " you 
 spare me too much : when one has a patient like me to deal 
 with, one must set to work a little in the Napoleon fashion.' 7 
 Thereupon he drank off a cup of decoction of arnica, which, 
 employed by Huschke at the most dangerous moment 
 yesterday, had brought on the favourable crisis. Goethe 
 gave a beautiful description of this plant, and extolled its 
 powerful effect to the skies. He was told that the physicians 
 would not allow the grand- duke to see him: "Were I the 
 grand-duke," exclaimed Goethe, "I would have asked a 
 great deal, and troubled myself a great deal about you.** 
 At a moment when he felt better, and when his chest 
 appeared less oppressed, he spoke with facility and clear 
 intelligence whereupon Rehbein whispered in the ear of a 
 bystander, " A better respiration generally brings with it a 
 
1823.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 5 
 
 better inspiration." Goethe, who heard this, immediately 
 exclaimed, very pleasantly, " I knew that long ago ; but 
 this truth does not apply to you, you rogue." 
 
 Goethe sat upright in his bed, facing the open door of his 
 workroom, where his nearest friends were assembled without 
 his knowledge. His features appeared to me little altered ; 
 his voice was clear and distinct, still there was a solemnity 
 in its tone like that of a dying man. " You seem to believe," 
 said he to his children, "that I am better, but you deceive 
 yourselves." We endeavoured playfully to reason him out 
 •of his apprehensions, and he appeared to take it in good 
 part. More persons were constantly entering the chamber, 
 which appeared to me by no means desirable, for the pre- 
 sence of so many people would needlessly deteriorate tho 
 air, and hinder the attendants on the patient. I could not 
 forbear to speak of it, and went down into the lower 
 room, whence I issued my bulletins to her imperial 
 highness. 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., Feb. 25. — Goethe has caused an account 
 to be given of the treatment which has been employed 
 towards him up to the present time ; he has also read a list 
 of the persons who have made inquiries concerning the state 
 of his health, of whom the number daily was very great. 
 He afterwards received the grand-duke, and did not appear 
 fatigued by his visit. I found fewer persons in his work - 
 room to-day ; whereupon I observed, to my joy, that my 
 remark yesterday had been productive of some good. Now 
 that the disease is removed, people seem to dread the con- 
 sequences. His left hand is swollen, and there appear 
 threatening precursors of the dropsy. We shall not know 
 for some days what will be the final result of the illness. 
 To-day, for the first time, Goethe has inquired after one of 
 his friends ; namely, his oldest friend Meyer. He wished to 
 show him a scarce medal which he has received from 
 Bohemia, and with which he is enraptured. 
 
 I came at twelve o'clock ; and when Goethe heard that 
 I had arrived, he had me called to his side. He gave me 
 Ins hand, saying, "You see in me one risen from the 
 dead." He then commissioned me to thank her imperial 
 highness for the sympathy which she had shown him 
 during Ins illness. " My recovery will be very slow," he 
 
6 CONYESSATIONS OF goethe. C 1 Sh- 
 
 ackled ; " but to the physicians, notwithstanding, belongs 
 the honour of having worked a little miracle upon rue." 
 
 After a few minutes I withdrew. His colour is good ; only 
 he has much fallen away, and still breathes with some pain. 
 It appeared to me that he spoke with greater difficulty than 
 yesterday. The swelling of the left arm is very cou'jpicuous. 
 He keeps his eyes closed, and only opens their, when he 
 speaks. 
 
 (Sup.*) Mon., Mar. 2. — This evening at Goethe's, whom 
 I had not seen for several days. He sat in his arm-chair 7 
 and had with him his daughter and Hienier. He was 
 strikingly better. His voice had recovered its natural tone : 
 his breathing was free ; his hand was no lor ger swollen ; 
 his appearance again was what it had been in a state of 
 health ; and his conversation was easy. 1 le rose and 
 walked, without effort, into his sleeping-room and back. 
 We took tea with him ; and as this was the first time, I 
 playfully reproached Fran von Goethe with having forgotten 
 to place a nosegay on the tea-tray. Frau von Goethe 
 directly took a coloured ribbon from her hat, and bound it 
 on the tea-urn. This joke appeared to give Goethe much 
 pleasure. 
 
 We afterwards examined a collection of imitated jewels, 
 which the grand- duke had received from Paris. 
 
 (Sup.*) Sat, Mar. 22. — To-day, in celebration of 
 Goethe's recovery, his Tasso was represented at the theatre, 
 with a prologue by Riemer, spoken by Frau von Heigen- 
 dorf. His bust was adorned with a crown of laurel, amidst 
 the loud exclamations of the excited spectators. After the 
 performance was over, Frau von Heigendorf went to 
 Goethe's. She was still in the costume of Leonora, and 
 presented to Goethe the crown of Tasso ; which he took, to 
 adorn with it the bust of the Grand-Duchess Alexandra. 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., Apr. 1. — I brought Goethe, from her 
 imperial highness, a number of the French " Journal des 
 Modes," in which a translation of his works was discussed. 
 On this occasion we conversed on " Rameau's JSTeffe ' 7 
 (Ranieau's Nephew), the original of which has long been 
 lost. Many Germans believe that the original never 
 existed, and that it is all Goethe's own invention. Goethe, 
 however, affirms that it would have been impossible for him 
 
1823.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 7 
 
 to imitate Diderot's spirited style and manner, and that the 
 German Rameau is nothing but a very faithful translation. 
 
 (Sup.*) FrL, Apr. 3. — A portion of this evening was 
 passed at Goethe's, in company with Herr Coudray, the 
 government architect. We talked about the theatre, and 
 the improvements which have taken place in it lately. " I 
 have remarked it without going there," said Goethe, 
 laughing. "Two months ago my children always came 
 home in an ill-humour ; they were never satisfied with the 
 entertainment which had been provided. But now they 
 have turned over a new leaf ; they come with joyful 
 countenances, because for once and aivay they can have a 
 good cry. Yesterday, they owed this ' pleasure in weep- 
 ing ' f to a drama by Kotzebue." 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., Apr., 13. — This evening alone with 
 Goethe. We talked about literature, Lord Byron, his 
 Sardanapalus and Werner. We then came to Faust, a 
 subject on which Goethe frequently and willingly speaks. 
 He wished that it might be translated into French, in the 
 style of Marot's period. He considers it as the source 
 whence Byron derived the tone of his " Manfred." Goethe 
 thinks that Byron has made decided progress in his two 
 last tragedies ; because in these he appears less gloomy and 
 misanthropical. We afterwards spoke about the text of 
 " Zauberflote," to which Goethe has written a sequel ; but 
 he has not yet found a composer to treat the subject 
 properly. He admits that the well-known first part is full 
 of improbabilities and jests which every one cannot 
 understand and appreciate ; still we must at all events 
 allow that the author understood, to a high degree, the art 
 of producing great theatrical effects by means of contrast*. 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., Apr. 15. — This evening at Goethe's, 
 with the Countess Caroline Egioffstein. Goethe joked 
 about the German almanacs, and some other periodical 
 publications ; all pervaded *y a ridiculous sentimentality, 
 which appears to be the order of the day. The Countess 
 remarked that German novelists had made the beginning, 
 by spoiling the taste of their numerous readers ; and that 
 
 t These words " Wonne der Thranen " are put in inverted commas, 
 probably with reference to " Wonne der Wehmuth," the title of a 
 lirtle poem by Goethe. — Trans. 
 
8 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1823. 
 
 now the readers spoil the novelists, because, in order to find 
 a publisher for their manuscripts, they must suit the 
 prevailing bad taste of the public. 
 
 (Sup.*) Sun., Apr. 26. — I found Coudray and Meyer 
 at Goethe's. We conversed on various subjects. " The 
 library of the grand-duke," said Goethe, among other 
 things, " contains a globe, which was made by a Spaniard 
 in the reign of Charles V. There are some remarkable 
 inscriptions upon it, as, for example, 'the Chinese are 
 a people bearing a strong resemblance to the Germans.' " 
 
 "In former times," continued Goethe, "the African 
 deserts were depicted on the maps, with representations of 
 the wild beasts. In the present day, this custom is 
 abandoned ; the geographers prefer to leave us carte 
 blanche." 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., May 6. — This evening at Goethe's. He 
 endeavoured to give me an idea of his theory of colours. 
 "Light," said he, "is by no means a compound of different 
 colours ; neither can light alone produce any colour ; for 
 that requires a certain modification and blending of light 
 and shade." 
 
 (Sup.*) Tues., May 13. — I found Goethe occupied 
 with collecting his little poems and short addresses 
 (Bldttchen) to persons. " In earlier times," said he, "when 
 I was more careless with my things, and neglected to make 
 copies, I lost hundreds of such verses." 
 
 (Sup.*) Mon., June 2. — The chancellor, Biemer, and 
 Meyer were with Goethe. We discussed B Granger's 
 poems ; and Goethe commented upon, and paraphrased 
 some of them, with great originality and good humour. 
 
 The conversation then turned on natural science (physiJi) 
 and meteorology. Goethe is on the point of working out 
 a theory of the weather, in which he will ascribe the rise 
 and fall of the barometer entirely to the action of the 
 earth, and to her attraction and repulsion of the atmosphere. 
 
 " The scientific men, and especially the mathematicians," 
 continued Goethe, "will not fail to consider my ideas 
 perfectly ridiculous ; or else they will do still better : they 
 will totally ignore them in a most stately manner. But do 
 you know why ? Because they say that I am not one of 
 the craft." 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 9 
 
 "The caste spirit of the learned by profession," I 
 replied, " is very pardonable. When errors have crept into 
 their theories, and have been borne along with them, we 
 must seek for the cause in this : that such errors were 
 handed down to them as dogmas, at a time when they 
 themselves were still seated on their school-benches." 
 
 "That is true," exclaimed Groethe; "your learned men 
 act like the bookbinders of Weimar. The masterpiece 
 that is required of them to be admitted into the corporation 
 is not a pretty binding, in the newest style. No ; far from 
 that. There must always be supplied a thick folio bible, 
 just in the fashion of two or three hundred years ago, with 
 clumsy covers, and in strong leather. The task is an 
 absurdity. But it would go hard with the poor workman 
 if he were to affirm that his examiners were blockheads." 
 
 f Weimar, June 10. — I arrived here a few days ago, but 
 did not see Groethe till to-day. He received me with great 
 cordiality ; and the impression he made on me was such, 
 that I consider this day as one of the happiest in my life. 
 
 Yesterday, when I called to inquire, he fixed to-day at 
 twelve o'clock as the time when he would be glad to see 
 me. I went at the appointed time, and found a servant 
 waiting for me, preparing to conduct me to him. 
 
 The interior of the house made a very pleasant impression 
 upon me ; without being showy, everything was extremely 
 simple and noble ; even the casts from antique statues, 
 placed upon the stairs, indicated Groethe's especial partiality 
 for plastic art, and for Grecian antiquity. I saw several 
 ladies moving busily about in the lower part of the house, 
 and one of Ottilie's beautiful boys, who came familiarly up 
 to me, and looked fixedly in my face. 
 
 After I had cast a glance around, I ascended the stairs, 
 with the very talkative servant, to the first floor. He 
 opened a room, on the threshold of which the motto Salve 
 was stepped over as a good omen of a friendly welcome. 
 He led me through this apartment and opened another, 
 somewhat more spacious, where he requested me to wait, 
 while he went to announce me to his master. The air here 
 
 f This is the first day in Eckermaim's first book, and the first 
 time in which he speaks in this book, as distinguished from Soret. 
 — Trans. 
 
10 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1823. 
 
 was most cool and refreshing* ; on the floor was spread a 
 carpet : the room was furnished with a crimson sofa and 
 chairs, which gave a cheerful aspect ; on one side stood a 
 piano ; and the walls were adorned with many pictures 
 and drawings, of various sorts and sizes. 
 
 Through an open door opposite, one looked into a farther 
 room, also hung with pictures, through which the servant 
 had gone to announce me. 
 
 It was not long before Groetke came in, dressed in a blue 
 frock-coat, and with shoes. What a sublime form ! The 
 impression upon me was surprising. But he soon dispelled 
 all uneasiness by the kindest words. We sat down on the 
 sofa. I felt in a happy perplexity, through his look and 
 his presence, and could say little or nothing. 
 
 He began by speaking of my manuscript. " I have just 
 come from you" said he ; "I have been reading your 
 writing; all the rnornins: ; it needs no recommendation — it 
 recommends itself." He praised the clearness of the style, 
 the flow of the thought, and the peculiarity, that all rested 
 on a solid basis, and had been thoroughly considered. " I 
 will soon forward it," said he ; " to-day I shall write to Cotta 
 by post, and send him the parcel to-morrow." I thanked 
 him with words and looks. 
 
 We then talked of my proposed excursion. I told him 
 that my design was to go into the Rhineland, where I 
 intended to stay at a suitable place, and write something 
 new. First, however, I would go to Jena, and there await 
 Herr von Cotta' s answer. 
 
 Goethe asked whether I had acquaintance in Jena. I 
 replied that I hoped to come in contact with Herr von 
 Knebel ; on which he promised me a letter which would 
 insure me a more favourable reception. "And, indeed," 
 said he, "while you are in Jena, we shall be near neigh, 
 bours, and can see or write to one another as often as 
 we please." 
 
 We sat a long while together, in a tranquil, affectionate 
 mood. I was close to him ; I forgot to speak for looking 
 at him — I could not look enough. His face is so powerful 
 and brown ! full of wrinkles, and each wrinkle full of ex- 
 pression ! And everywhere there is such nobleness and 
 firmness, such repose and greatness ! He spoke in a slow, 
 
1823.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 11 
 
 composed manner, such as you would expect from an aged 
 monarch. You perceive by his air that he reposes upon 
 himself, and is elevated far above both praise and blame. 
 I was extremely happy near him ; I felt becalmed like one 
 who, after many toils and tedious expectations, finally sees 
 his dearest wishes gratified. 
 
 He then spoke of my letter, and remarked that I was 
 perfectly right, and that, if one can treat one matter with 
 clearness, one is fitted for many things besides. 
 
 " No one can tell what turn this may take," said he ; "I 
 have many good friends in Berlin, and have lately thought 
 of you in that quarter." Here he smiled pleasantly to 
 himself. He then pointed out to me what I ought now to 
 see in Weimar, and said he would desire secretary Krauter 
 to be my cicerone. Above all, I must not fail to visit the 
 theatre. He asked me where 1 lodged, saying that he 
 should like to see me once more, and would send for me at 
 a suitable time. 
 
 We bade each other an affectionate farewell ; I was 
 supremely happy ; for every word of his spoke kindness, 
 and I felt that he was thoroughly well-intentioned to- 
 wards me. 
 
 Wed., June 11. — This morning I received a card from 
 Goethe, written by his own hand, desiring me to come to 
 liim. I went and staid an hour. He seemed quite a 
 different man from that of yesterday, and had the im- 
 petuous and decided manner of a youth. 
 
 He entered, bringing two thick books. " It is not well," 
 said he, ''that you should go from us so soon ; let us be- 
 come better acquainted. I wish more ample opportunity 
 to see and talk with you. But, as the field of generalities 
 is so wide, I have thought of something in particular, which 
 may serve as a ground-work for intercourse. These 
 two volumes contain the ' Frankfurter Grelehrte Anzeigen ' 
 (Frankfort Literary Notices) of the years 1772 and 1773, 
 among which are almost all my little critiques written at 
 that time. These are not marked ; but, as you are familiar 
 with my style and tone of thought, you will easily dis- 
 tinguish them from the others. I would have you examine 
 somewhat more closely these youthful productions, and tell 
 me what you think of them. I wish to know whether 
 
12 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [iS^S- 
 
 they deserve a place in a future edition of my works. 
 From my present self these things stand so far, that I have 
 no judgment about them. But you younger people can 
 tell whether they are to you of any value, and how far they 
 suit our present literary point of view. I have already had 
 copies taken of them, which you can have by-and-by to 
 compare with the originals. Afterwards, by a careful 
 survey, we might ascertain whether here and there some 
 trifle might not be left out, or touched up with advantage, 
 •and without injuring the general character of the whole." 
 
 I replied that I would gladly make the attempt, and that 
 nothing could gratify me more than to proceed according to 
 his intention. 
 
 "You will find yourself perfectly competent," said he, 
 " when you have once entered on the employment ; it will 
 come quite naturally to you." 
 
 He then told me that he intended to set off for Marien- 
 bad in a week, and that he should be glad if I could remain 
 at Weimar till then ; that we might see one another in the 
 mean time, and become better acquainted. 
 
 " I wish, too," said he, " that you would not merely pass 
 a few days or weeks in Jena, but would live there all the 
 -summer, till I return from Marienbad towards the autumn. 
 Already I have written about a lodging for you, and other 
 things of the kind necessary to make your stay convenient 
 and pleasant. 
 
 " You will find there the most various resources and 
 means for further studies, and a very cultivated social 
 circle ; besides, the country presents so many aspects, that 
 you may take fifty walks, each different from the others, 
 each pleasant, and almost all suited for undisturbed medi- 
 tation. You will find there plenty of leisure and oppor- 
 tunity to write many new things for yourself, and also to 
 accomplish my designs." 
 
 I could make no objection to such good proposals, and 
 consented joyfully to them all. When I departed he was 
 especially amiable, and he fixed another hour the day after 
 to-morrow for further converse. 
 
 Mon., June 16. — I have lately been frequently with 
 Goethe. To-day, we talked principally of business. I 
 declared my opinion also of his Frankfort criticisms, 
 
1823.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 13 
 
 calling them echoes of his academic years, an expression 
 which seemed to please him, as marking the point 01 \'w\\ 
 from which these youthful productions should be regarded. 
 
 He then gave me the first eleven numbers of " Kunst 
 und Alterthum,"* that I might take them with me to Jena, 
 together with the Frankfort critiques as a second task. 
 
 " It is my wish," said he, "that you should study care- 
 fully these numbers, and not only make a general index of 
 contents, but also set down what subjects are not to be 
 looked upon as concluded, that I may thus see at once what 
 threads I have to take up again and spin longer. This 
 will be a great assistance to me, and so far an advantage to 
 you, that, in this practical way, you will more keenly ob- 
 serve and apprehend the import of each particular treatise, 
 than by common perusal, regulated solely by inclination." 
 
 I found these remarks judicious, and said that I would 
 willingly undertake this labour also. 
 
 TJmrs., June 19. — I was to have gone to Jena to-day ; 
 but Goethe yesterday requested earnestly that I would stay 
 till Sunday, and then go by the post. He gave me yester- 
 day the letters of recommendation, and also one for the 
 family of Fronimann. "You will enjoy their circle," said 
 he ; "I have passed many delightful evenings there. Jean 
 Paul, Tieck, the Schlegels, and all the other distinguished 
 men of Germany, have visited there, and always with 
 delight ; and even now it is the union-point of many 
 learned men, artistes, and other persons of note. In a 
 few weeks, write to me at Marienbad, that I may know 
 how you are going on, and how you are pleased with Jena. 
 I have requested my son to visit you there during my 
 absence." 
 
 I felt very grateful to Goethe for so much care, and was 
 very happy to see that he regarded me as one of his own, 
 and wished me to be so considered. 
 
 Saturday, the 21st June, I bade farewell to Goethe, and 
 on the following day went to Jena, where I established 
 myself in a rural dwelling, with very good, respectable 
 people. In the families of von Knebel and Frommann, 1 
 found, on Goethe's recommendation, a cordial reception 
 * Art and Antiquity. 
 
14 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1823. 
 
 and very instructive society. I made the best possible 
 progress with, the work I had taken with me, and had, 
 besides, the pleasure of receiving a letter from Herr von 
 Cotta, in which he not only declared himself ready to pub- 
 lish my manuscript which had been sent him, but promised 
 me a handsome remuneration, adding that I myself should 
 superintend the printing at Jena. 
 
 Thus my subsistence was secured for at least a year, and 
 I felt the liveliest desire to produce something new at this 
 time, and so to found my future prosperity as an author. 
 I hoped that I had already, in my "Beitrage zur Poesie," 
 come to an end with theory and criticism ; I had in them 
 endeavoured to get clear views as to the principal laws of 
 art, and my whole inner nature now urged me to a practical 
 application. I had plans for innumerable poems, both long 
 and short, also for dramas of various sorts ; and I had now, 
 as I thought, only to think which way I should turn, to 
 produce one after the other, with some degree of conveni- 
 ence to myself. 
 
 I was not long content in Jena ; my life there was too 
 quiet and uniform. I longed for a great city, where there 
 was not only a good theatre, but where a popular life was 
 developed on a great scale, that I might seize upon im- 
 portant elements of life, and advance my own mental 
 culture as rapidly as possible. In such a town, too, I 
 hoped to live quite unobserved, and to be free always to 
 isolate nryself for completely undisturbed production. 
 
 Meanwhile, I had sketched the index which Goethe 
 wished for the first four volumes of " Kunst und Alter- 
 thum," and sent it to Marienbad with a letter, in which I 
 openly expressed my plans and wishes. I received in 
 answer the following lines : — 
 
 " The index arrived just at the right time, and corres- 
 ponds precisely with my wishes and intentions. Let me, 
 when I return, find the Frankfort criticisms arranged in a 
 like manner, and receive my best thanks, which I already 
 silently pay beforehand, by carrying about with me your 
 views, situation, wishes, aims, and plans, so that, on my 
 return, I may be able to discuss more solidly your future 
 welfare. To-day I will say no more. My departure from 
 Marienbad gives me much to think of and to do, while my 
 
1 82;.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 15 
 
 stay, all too brief, with, persons of interest, occasions pain- 
 ful feelings. 
 
 " May I find yon in that state of tranquil activity, from 
 which, after all, views of the world and experiences are 
 evolved in the surest and purest manner. Farewell. Re- 
 joice with me in the anticipation of a prolonged and more 
 intimate acquaintance. — Goethe. — Marienbad, Aug. 14, 
 1823." 
 
 By these lines of Goethe's, the reception of which made 
 me extremely happy, I felt tranquillized as to the future. 
 They determined me to take no step for myself, but to be 
 wholly resigned to his will and counsel. Meanwhile, I 
 wrote some little poems, finished arranging the Frankfort 
 criticisms, and expressed my opinion of them in a short 
 treatise, intended for Goethe. I looked forward with eager- 
 ness to his return from Marienbad ; for my " Beitrage zur 
 Poesie " was almost through the press, and I wished, at all 
 events, to refresh myself this autumn, by going for a few 
 weeks to the Rhine. 
 
 Jena, Sept. 15. — Goethe is returned safe from Marienbad, 
 but, as his country-house in this place is not so convenient 
 as he requires, he will only stay here a few days. He is 
 well and active, so that he can take walks several miles long, 
 and it is truly deHghtful to see him. 
 
 After an interchange of joyful greetings, Goethe com- 
 menced speaking on the subject of my affairs : — 
 
 "To speak out plainly," he began, " it is my wish that 
 you should pass this winter with me in Weimar." These 
 were his first words. Approaching closer to me, he con- 
 tinued thus : — " "With respect to poetry and criticism, you 
 are in the best possible condition. You have a natural foun- 
 dation for them. They are your profession, to which you 
 must adhere, and which will soon bring you a good livelihood. 
 But yet there is much, not strictly appertaining to this de- 
 partment, which you ought to know. It is, however, a 
 great point that you should not expend much time upon 
 this, but get over it quickly. This you shall do with us 
 this winter in Weimar, and you will wonder to find what 
 progress you have made by Easter. You shall have the 
 best of everything ; because the best means are in my hands. 
 Thus you will have laid a firm foundation for life. You will 
 
1G CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [l 823. 
 
 have attained a feeling of comfort, and will be able to appear 
 anywhere with confidence." 
 
 I was much pleased by this proposal, and replied, that I 
 would regulate myself entirely by his views and wishes. 
 
 " With a home in my neighbourhood," continued Goethe, 
 " I will provide you ; you shall pass no unprofitable moment 
 during the whole winter. Much that is good is brought 
 together in Weimar, and you will gradually find, in the 
 higher circles, a society equal to the best in any of the great 
 cities. Besides, many eminent men are personally connected 
 with me. With them you will gradually make acquaintance, 
 and you will find their conversation in the highest degree 
 useful and instructive." 
 
 Goethe then mentioned many distinguished men, in- 
 dicating, in a few words, the peculiar merits of each. 
 
 "Where else," he continued, "would you find so much 
 good in such a narrow space ? We also possess an excellent 
 library, and a theatre which, in the chief requisites, does 
 not yield to the best in other German towns. Therefore, — 
 I repeat it, — stay with us, and not only this winter, but 
 make Weimar your home. From thence proceed high- 
 ways to all quarters of the globe. In summer you can 
 travel, and see, by degrees, what you wish. I have lived 
 there fifty years ; and where have I not been ? But I was 
 always glad to return to Weimar." 
 
 I was very happy in being again with Goethe, and hear- 
 ing him talk, and I felt that my whole soul was devoted to 
 him. If I could only have thee, thought I, all else will 
 go well with me. So I repeated to him the assurance 
 that I was ready to do whatever he, after weighing the 
 circumstances of my peculiar situation, should think 
 right. 
 
 Jena, Thurs., Sept. 18. — Yesterday morning, before 
 Goethe's return to Weimar, I had the happiness of another 
 interview with him. What he said at that time was quite 
 important ; to me it was quite invaluable, and will have a 
 beneficial influence on all my life. All the young poets 
 of Germany should know it, as it may be of great profit to 
 them. 
 
 He introduced the conversation by asking me whether 1 
 had written any poems this summer. I replied that 1 had 
 
a82.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE, 17 
 
 indeed written some, bnt that on the whole 1 lacked tho 
 feeling of ease requisite for production. 
 
 "Beware," said he, "of attempting a large work, it is 
 exactly that which injures our best minds, even those dis- 
 tinguished by the finest talents and the most earnest efforts. 
 I have suffered from this cause, and know how much it 
 injured me. What have I not let fall into the well? If I 
 had written all that I well might, a hundred volumes would 
 not contain it. 
 
 " The Present will have its rights ; the thoughts and 
 feelings which daily press upon the poet will and should bo 
 expressed. But, if you have a great work in your head, 
 nothing else thrives near it, all other thoughts are repelled, 
 and the pleasantness of life itself is for the time lost. What 
 exertion and expenditure of mental force are required to 
 arrange and round off a great whole, and then what powers, 
 and what a tranquil, undisturbed situation in life, to express 
 it with the proper fluency. If you have erred as to the 
 whole, all your toil is lost ; and further, if, in treating so 
 extensive a subject, you are not perfectly master of your 
 material in the details, the whole will be defective, and cen- 
 sure will be incurred. Thus, for all his toil and sacrifice, 
 the poet gets, instead of reward and pleasure, nothing but 
 discomfort and a paralysis of his powers. But if he daily 
 seizes the present, and always treats with a freshness of 
 feeling what is offered him, he always makes sure of some- 
 thing good, and if he sometimes does not succeed, has, at 
 least, lost nothing. 
 
 " There is August Hagen, in Konigsberg, a splendid 
 talent : have you ever read his ' Olfried and Lisena ? ' 
 There you may find passages which could not be better ; 
 the situations on the Baltic, and the other particulars of 
 that locality, are all masterly. But these are only fine 
 passages ; as a whole, it pleases nobody. And what labour 
 and power he has lavished upon it ; indeed, he has almost 
 exhausted himself. Now, he has been writing a tragedy." 
 Here Goethe smiled, and paused for a moment. I took up 
 the discourse, and said that, if I was not mistaken, he had 
 advised Hagen (in ' Kunst und Alterthum') to treat only 
 small subjects. " I did so, indeed," he replied ; " but do 
 people conform to the instructions of us old ones ? Each 
 
 
 
IS CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 thinks he must know best about himself, and thus many 
 are lost entirely, and many for a long time go astray. Now 
 it is no more the time to blunder about — that belonged to 
 us old ones ; and what was the use of all our seeking 
 and blundering, if you young people choose to go the very 
 same way over again. In this way we can never get on at 
 all. Our errors were endured because we found no beaten 
 path ; but from him who comes later into the world more 
 is required ; he must not be seeking an( a blundering, but 
 should use the instructions of the old ones to proceed at 
 once on the right path. It is not enough to take steps 
 which may some day lead to a goal ; each step must be 
 itself a goal and a step likewise. 
 
 " Carry these words about with you, and see how you 
 can apply them to yourself. Not that I really feel uneasy 
 about you, but perhaps by my advice I help you quickly 
 over a period which is not suitable to your present situation. 
 If you treat, at present, only small subjects, fleshly dashing 
 off what every day offers you, you will generally produce 
 something good, and each day will bring you pleasure. 
 Give what you do to the pocket-books and periodicals, but 
 never submit yourself to the requisition of others ; always 
 follow your own sense. 
 
 " The world is so great and rich, and life so full of 
 variety, that you can never want occasions for poems. But 
 they must all be occasional * poems ; that is to say, reality 
 must give both impulse and material for their production. 
 A particular case becomes universal and poetic by the very 
 circumstance that it is treated by a poet. All my poems 
 are occasional poems, suggested by real life, and having 
 therein a firm foundation. I attach no value to poems 
 snatched out of the air. 
 
 " Let no one say that reality wants poetical interest ; for 
 m this the poet proves his vocation, that he has the art to 
 
 * The word " Gelegenheitsgedicht " (occasional poem) properlv 
 applies to poems written for special occasions, snch as birthdays, 
 weddings, &c, but Goethe here extends the meaning, as he himself 
 explains. As the English word "occasional" often implies no more 
 than " occurrence now and then," the phrase "occasional poem" is 
 not very happy, and is only used for want of a better. The reader 
 must conceive the word in the limited sense, produced on some special 
 event." — Trans. 
 
1825.] CONyEESATIONS OF GOETHE. 10 
 
 win from a common subject an interesting side. Reality 
 must give the motive, the points to be expressed, the; 
 kernel, as I may say ; but to work out of it a beautiful, 
 animated whole, belongs to the poet. You know Fiirnstom. 
 called the Poet of Nature ; he has written the prettiest 
 poem possible, on the cultivation of hops. I have now 
 proposed to him to make songs for the different crafts of 
 working-men, particularly a weaver's song, and I am sure 
 he will do it well, for he has lived among such people from 
 his youth ; he understands the subject thoroughly, and is 
 therefore master of his material. That is exactly the ad- 
 vantage of small works ; you need only choose those sub- 
 jects of which you are master. With a great poem, this 
 cannot be : no part can be evaded ; all which belongs t< > 
 the animation of the whole, and is interwoven into the; 
 plan, must be represented with precision. In youth, how- 
 ever, the knowledge of things is only one-sided. A great 
 work requires many-sidedness, and on that rock the youn;.:' 
 author splits." 
 
 I told Goethe that I had contemplated writing a great 
 poem upon the seasons, in which I might interweave the 
 employments and amusements of all classes. " Here is the 
 very case in point," replied Goethe; "you may succeed in 
 many parts, but fail in others which refer to what you have 
 not duly investigated. Perhaps you would do the fisher- 
 man well, and the huntsman ill ; and if you fail anywhere, 
 the whole is a failure, however good single parts may be, 
 and you have not produced a perfect work. Give separately 
 the single parts to which you are equal, and you make sure 
 of something s:ood. 
 
 ' ; I especially warn you against great inventions of your 
 own ; for then you would try to give a view of things, and 
 for that purpose youth is seldom ripe. Further, character 
 and views detach themselves as sides from the poet's mind, 
 and deprive him of the fulness requisite for future pro- 
 ductions. And, finally, how much time is lost in invention, 
 internal arrangement, and combination, for which nobody 
 thanks us, even supposing our work is happily accom- 
 plished. 
 
 " With a given material, on the other hand, all goes easier 
 and better. Facts and characters being provided, the poet 
 
 c2 
 
20 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. f 1 823. 
 
 has only the task of animating the whole. He preserves 
 his own fnlness, for he needs to part with but little of 
 himself, and there is much less loss of time and power, 
 since he has only the trouble of execution. Indeed, I would 
 advise the choice of subjects which have been worked 
 before. How many Iphigenias have been written ! yet 
 they are all different, for each writer considers and arranges 
 the subject differently ; namely, after his own fashion. 
 
 "But, for the present, you had better lay aside all great 
 undertakings. You have striven long enough ; it is time 
 that you should enter into the cheerful period of life, and 
 for the attainment of this, the working out of small subjects 
 is the best expedient." 
 
 During this conversation, we had been walking up and 
 down the room. I could do nothing but assent, for I felt 
 the truth of each word through my whole being. At each 
 step I felt lighter and happier, for I must confess that 
 various grand schemes, of which I had not as yet been abla 
 to take a clear view, had been no little burden to me. 1 
 have now thrown them aside, and shall let them rest till 1 
 can take up and sketch off one subject and one part aftei 
 another in cheerfulness, as by study of the world I grad- 
 ually become master of the several parts of the material. 
 
 I feel, through these words of Goethe's, several years 
 wiser, and perceive, in the very depths of my soul, the 
 good fortune of meeting with a true master. The 
 advantage is incalculable. 
 
 What shall I not learn from him this winter ! what shall 
 I not gain merely from intercourse with him, even in times 
 when he does not speak what is so very important ! His 
 personality, his mere presence, seems to educate me, even 
 when he does not speak a word. 
 
 Weimar, Thurs., Oct. 2. — I came here yesterday from 
 Jena, favoured by very agreeable weather. Immediately 
 after my arrival, Goethe, by way of welcoming me to 
 Weimar, sent me a season-ticket for the theatre. I passed 
 yesterday in making my domestic arrangements ; and the 
 rather, as they were very busy at Goethe's ; for the French 
 Ambassador from Frankfort, Count Reinhard, and the 
 Prussian State Councillor (Staatsratli) Scliultz, from 
 Berlin, had come to visit him. 
 
1823.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 21 
 
 This forenoon I was again at Goethe's. He was rejoiced 
 to see me, and was in every way kind and amiable. As I 
 was about to take my leave, he said he would first make me 
 acquainted with the State Councillor, Schultz. He took 
 me into the next room, where I found that gentleman busy 
 in looking at the works of art, introduced me, and then left 
 us together for further disccurse. 
 
 " I am very glad," said Schultz, "that you are to stay 
 in Weimar, and assist Goethe in arranging his unpublished 
 works. He has been telling me how much advantage he 
 promises himself from your assistance, and that he now 
 hopes to complete many new plans." 
 
 I replied that I had no other aim in life than to aid 
 German literature ; and that, in the hope of being useful 
 here, I had willingly laid aside, for the present, my own 
 literary designs. I added, that a practical intercourse with 
 Goethe would have a most favourable effect on my own 
 culture. I hoped, by this means, to gain a certain maturity 
 in some years, and thus, in the end, better to perform 
 those tasks for which I was at present less perfectly 
 prepared. 
 
 " Certainly," replied Schultz, "the personal influence of 
 so extraordinary a man and a master as Goethe is quite 
 invaluable. I, too, have come hither to refresh myself once 
 more from his great mind." 
 
 He then inquired about the printing of my book, 
 concerning which Goethe had -written to him last summer. 
 I said that I hoped, in a few days, to receive the first copies 
 from Jena, and would not fail to present him with one, and 
 to send it to Berlin, if he should not be here. 
 
 We separated with a cordial shake of the hand. 
 
 Tues., Oct. 14. — This evening, I Avent for the first time to 
 a large tea-party at Goethe's. I arrived first, and enjoyed 
 the view of the brilliantly lighted apartments, which, 
 through open doors, led one into the other. In one of the 
 furthest, I found Goethe, who came to meet me, with a 
 cheerful air. He was dressed in black, and wore his star, 
 which became him so well. We were for a while alone, 
 and went into the so-called " covered room " (Deckenzvmmer), 
 where the picture of the Aldobrandine Marriage, which was 
 hung above a red couch, especially attracted my attention. 
 
22 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1823. 
 
 On the green curtains being drawn aside, the picture was 
 before my eyes in a broad light, and I was delighted to 
 contemplate it quietly. 
 
 "Yes," said Goethe, "the ancients had not only great 
 intentions, but they carried them into effect. On the 
 contrary, we moderns have also great intentions, but are 
 seldom able to bring them out with such power and 
 freshness as we have thought them." 
 
 Now came Riemer, Meyer, Chancellor von Muller, and 
 many other distinguished gentlemen and ladies of the 
 court. Goethe's son and Frau von Groethe, with whom I 
 was now for the first time made acquainted, also entered. 
 The rooms filled gradually, and there was life and cheer- 
 fulness in them all. Some pretty youthful foreigners were 
 present, with whom Groethe spoke French. 
 
 The society pleased me, all were so free and unconstrained ; 
 each stood or sat, laughed and talked with this person 
 and that, just as he pleased. I had a lively conversation 
 with young Goethe about Houwald's "Bild "(picture), * 
 which was given a few days since. We had the 
 same opinion about the piece, and I was greatly pleased to 
 see this young man expound the different points with so 
 much animation and intelligence. 
 
 Goethe himself appeared very amiable in society. He went 
 about from one to another, and seemed to prefer listening, 
 and hearing his guests talk, to talking much himself. Frau 
 von Goethe would often come and lean upon him, and kiss 
 him. I had lately said to him that I enjoyed the theatre 
 highly, and that I felt great pleasure in giving myself up 
 to the impression of the piece, without reflecting much 
 upon it. This to him seemed right, and suited to my 
 present state. 
 
 He came to me with Frau von Goethe. " This is my 
 daughter-in-law," said he ; " do you know each other ? " 
 
 We told him that we had just become acquainted. 
 
 " He is as much a child about a theatre as you, Ottilie ! " 
 said he ; and we exchanged congratulations upon this taste 
 which we had in common. iC ^J daughter," continued he, 
 " never misses an evening." 
 
 " That is all very well," said I, " as long as they give 
 * A drama of s^me celebrity. — Trans. 
 
823.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 
 
 23 
 
 good lively pieces ; but when the pieces are bad, they try 
 the patience." 
 
 "But," said Goethe, "it is a good thing that you cannot 
 ] cave, but are forced to hear and see even what is bad. By this 
 means, you are penetrated with the hatred for the bad, and 
 come to a clearer insight into the good. In reading, it is 
 not so, — you throw aside the book, if it displeases you ; but 
 at the theatre you must endure." I gave my assent, and 
 thought how the old gentleman always said something 
 opportune. 
 
 We now separated, and joined the rest, who were loudly 
 and merrily amusing themselves about us, — now in this 
 room, now in that. Goethe went to the ladies, and I joined 
 Riemer and Meyer, who told us much about Italy. 
 
 Afterwards, Councillor Schmidt seated himself at the 
 piano, and played some of Beethoven's pieces, which 
 seemed to be received with deep sympathy by the company. 
 An intelligent lady then related many interesting particulars 
 respecting Beethoven. Ten o'clock came at last, and thus 
 had passed an extremely pleasant evening. 
 
 Sun., Oct. 19.— To-day, I dined for the first time with 
 Goethe. No one was present except Fran von Goethe, 
 Eraulein Ulrica, and little Walter, and thus we were all 
 very comfortable. Goethe appeared now solely as father 
 of a family, helping to all the dishes, carving the roast 
 fowls with great dexterity, and not forgetting between 
 whiles to fill the glasses. We had much lively chat about 
 the theatre, yo ang English people, and other topics of the 
 day ; Fraulein Ulrica was especially lively and entertaining. 
 Goethe was ge nerally silent, coming out only now and then 
 with some peri inent remark. From time to time he glanced 
 at the newspaper, now and then reading us some passages, 
 especially about the progress of the Greeks. 
 
 They then talked about the necessity of my learning 
 English, and Goethe earnestly advised me to do so, par- 
 ticularly on account of Lord Byron ; saying, that a character 
 of such eminence had never existed before, and probably 
 would never come again. They discussed the merits of tin- 
 different teachers here, but found none with a thoroughly 
 good pronunciation ; on which account they deemed it 
 better to go to some young Englishman. 
 
24 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1823, 
 
 After dinner, Goethe showed me some experiments relat- 
 ing to his theory of colours. The subject was, however, 
 new to me ; I neither understood the phenomena, nor what 
 he said about them. Nevertheless, I hoped that the future- 
 would afford me leisure and opportunity to initiate myself 
 a little into this science. 
 
 Tues., Oct. 21. — I went to see Goethe this evening. We 
 talked of his " Pandora." I asked him whether this poem 
 was to be regarded as a whole, or whether there was any- 
 thing further. He said there was nothing further in exist- 
 ence, and that he had written no more for the very reason 
 that the first part was planned on so large a scale, that he 
 could not afterwards get through with a second. Besides, 
 what was done might be regarded as a whole, so he felt 
 quite easy about the matter. 
 
 I said that I had only penetrated the meaning of this 
 difficult poem by degrees, namely, after I had read it so 
 many times as almost to know it by heart. ^ Goethe smiled, 
 and said, " I can well believe that ; for all its parts arc, as 
 one may say, wedged one within another .^1 
 
 I added, that I could not be perfectly satisfied with Schu- 
 barth's remarks upon this poem, who found there united all 
 tvhich had been said separately in "Werther," " Wilhelm 
 Meister," "Faust," and the "Elective Afiinities," thus 
 making the matter very incomprehensible and difficult. 
 " Schubarth," said Goethe, "often goes a little deep, but 
 he is very clever, and all his words are fraught with deep 
 meaning." 
 
 ^"We spoke of Uhland, and Goethe said, "When I see 
 great effects, I am apt to suppose great causes ; and, with 
 a popularity so extensive as that of Uhland, there must be 
 something superior about him. However, I can scarcely 
 form a judgment as to his poems (" Gedichte.") I took up 
 his book with the best intentions, but fell immediately on so 
 many weak and gloomy poems that I could not proceed. I 
 then tried his ballads, where I really did find distinguished 
 talent, and could plainly see that there was some foundation 
 for his celebrity." 
 
 /* I then asked Goethe his opinion as to the kind of verse 
 proper for German tragedy. " People in Germany," he 
 replied, " will scarcely come to an agreement on that point. 
 
I S23.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 25 
 
 Every one does just as lie likes, and as lie finds somewhat 
 suitable to his subject. The Iambic trimetre would be the 
 most dignified measure, but it is too long for us Germans, 
 who, for want of epithets, generally find five feet quite 
 enough. The English, on account of their many mono- 
 syllables, cannot even get on so far as we do." 
 
 Goethe then showed me some copperplates, and after- 
 wards talked about old German architecture, adding that, 
 by degrees, he would show me a great deal in this Avay. 
 
 " We see in the works of the old German architecture,'* 
 he said, "the flower of an extraordinary state of things. 
 Whoever comes immediately close to such a flower, will 
 only stare at it with astonishment ; but he who sees into 
 the secret inner life of the plant, into the stirring of its 
 powers, and observes how the flower gradually unfolds 
 itself, sees the matter with quite different eyes — he knows 
 what he sees. 
 
 "I will take care that in the course of this winter yow 
 attain more insight into this important subject, that when 
 you visit the Rhine next summer, the sight of the Minster 
 of Strasburg and the Cathedral of Cologne may do you 
 some good." 
 
 (Sup.*) FrL, Oct. 24. — This evening at Goethe's. 
 Madame Szymanowska, whose acquaintance he made 
 this summer, at Marienbad, played a fantasia on the 
 piano. Goethe, absorbed in listening, seemed at times 
 much affected. 
 
 Sat., Oct. 25. — At twilight, I passed half an hour at 
 Goethe's. He sat in a wooden arm-chair before his table. 
 I found him in a singularly gentle mood, as one who is 
 quite filled with celestial peace, or who is recalling a de- 
 licious happiness which he has enjoyed, and which again 
 floats before his soul in all its fulness. Sladelman gave me 
 a seat near him. 
 
 We talked of the theatre, which was one of the topics 
 which chiefly interested me this winter. The " Erden- 
 nacht" (Night on Earth) of Raupach was the last piece I 
 had seen. I gave it as my opinion that the piece was not 
 brought before us as it existed in the mind of the poet ; 
 that the Idea was more predominant than Life ; that it was 
 rather lyric than dramatic ; and that what was spun out 
 
20 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1823. 
 
 through five acts would have been far better in two or 
 three. Goethe added that the idea of the whole which 
 turned upon aristocracy and democracy, was by no mean? 
 of universal interest to humanity. 
 
 I then praised those pieces of Kotzebue's which I had 
 seen — namely, his " Verwandschaf ten " (Affinities), and 
 his "Versohnung" (Reconciliation). I praised in them 
 the quick eye for real life, the dexterity at seizing its in- 
 teresting side, and the genuine and forcible representation 
 of it. Goethe agreed with me. " What has kept its place 
 for twenty years, and enjoys the favour of the people,"'' 
 said he, "must have something in it. When Kotzebue 
 contented himself with his own sphere, and did not go- p 
 beyond his powers, he usually did well. It was the same 
 with him as with Chodowiecky, who always succeeded per- 
 fectly with the scenes of common citizens' life, while if he 
 attempted to paint Greek or Roman heroes it proved a 
 failure." 
 
 He named several other good pieces of Kotzebue's, 
 especially " die beiden Klinsberge" (the two Klingsbergs). 
 "None can deny," said he, "that Kotzebue has looked 
 about a great deal in life, and ever kept his eyes open. 
 
 " Intellect, and some poetry, cannot be denied to our 
 modern tragic poets, but most of them are incapable of 
 an easy, living representation ; they strive after something 
 beyond their powers ; and for that reason I might call them 
 forced talents." 
 
 "I doubt," said I, "whether such poets could write a 
 piece in prose, and am of opinion that this would be the 
 true touchstone of their talent." Goethe agreed with me. 
 adding that versification enhanced, and even called forth 
 poetic feeling. 
 
 We then talked about various works. The conversation 
 turned upon his " Journey through Frankfort and Stuttgard 
 to Switzerland," which he has lying by him in three parts, 
 in sheets, and which he will send me, in order that I may 
 read the details, and plan how they may be formed into a 
 whole. "You will see," said he, "that it was all written 
 off on the impulse of the moment ; there was no thought of 
 plan or artistical rounding : it was like pouring water from 
 a bucket." 
 
1823.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 27 
 
 I was pleased with this simile, which, seeraed very appro- 
 priate, to illustrate a thing utterly without plan. 
 
 More, Oct. 27. — This morning, I was invited to a tea- 
 party and concert, which were to be given at Goethe's 
 house this evening. The servant showed me the list of 
 persons to be invited, from which I saw that the company 
 would be very large and brilliant. He said a young Polish 
 lady had arrived, who would play on the piano. I accepted 
 the invitation gladly. 
 
 Afterwards the bill for the theatre was brought, and I 
 saw that the " Schachmaschine " (Chess-machine) was to 
 be played. I knew nothing of this piece ; but my landlady 
 was so lavish in its praise, that I was seized with a great 
 desire to see it. Besides, I had not been in my best mood 
 all day, and the feeling grew upon me that I was more fit 
 for a merry comedy than for such good society. 
 
 In the evening, an hour before the theatre opened, I 
 went to Goethe. All was already in movement throughout 
 the house. As I passed I heard them tuning the piano, 
 in the great room, as preparation for the musical enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 I found Goethe alone in Ms chamber ; he was already 
 dressed, and I seemed to him to have arrived at the right 
 moment. "You shall stay with me here," he said, "and 
 we will entertain one another till the arrival of the others." 
 I thought, "Now I shall not be able to get away: stop, I 
 must ; and, though it is very pleasant to be with Goethe 
 alone, yet, when a quantity of strange gentlemen and ladies 
 come, I shall feel quite out of my element." 
 
 I walked up and down the room with Goethe. Soon the 
 theatre became the subject of our discourse, and I had an 
 opportunity of repeating that it was to me a source of new 
 delight, especially as I had seen scarce anything in early 
 years, and now almost every piece made quite a fresh 
 impression upon me. " Indeed," added I, " I feel so much 
 about it, that I have had a severe contest with myself, not- 
 withstanding the great attractions of your evening party." 
 
 "Well," said Goethe, stopping short, and looking at me 
 with kindness and dignity, "go then; do not constrain 
 yourself ; if the lively play this evening suits you best, is 
 more suitable to your mood, go there. You have music 
 
28 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [l& 2 5 
 
 here, and that you will often have again." " Then," said I, 
 " I will go ; it will, perhaps, do me good to laugh." " Stay 
 with me, however," said Goethe, " till six o'clock : we shall 
 have time to say a word or two." 
 
 Stadelman brought in two wax lights, which he set on 
 the table. Goethe desired me to sit down, and he would 
 give me something to read. And what should this be but 
 his newest, dearest poem, his " Elegy from Marienbad ! " 
 
 I must here go back a little for a circumstance connected 
 with this poem. Immediately after Goethe's return from 
 Marienbad, the report had been spread that he had there 
 made the acquaintance of a young lady equally charming^ 
 in mind and person, and had been inspired with a passion 
 for her. When her voice was heard in the Brunnen-Allee, 
 he had always seized his hat, and hastened down to join 
 her. He had missed no opportunity of being in her society, 
 and had passed happy days: the parting had been very 
 painful, and he had, in this excited state, written a most 
 beautiful poem, which, however, he looked upon as a sort 
 of consecrated thing, and kept hid from every eye. 
 
 1 believed this story, because it not only perfectly 
 accorded with his bodily vigour, but also with the pro- 
 ductive force of his mind, and the healthy freshness of his 
 heart. I had long had a great desire to see the poem itself, 
 but naturally felt unwilling to ask Goethe. I had, there- 
 fore, to congratulate myself on the fortunate moment 
 which brought it before me. 
 
 He had, with his own hand, written these verses, in 
 Roman characters, on fine vellum paper, and fastened them 
 with a silken cord into a red morocco case ; so that, from 
 the outside, it was obvious that he prized this manuscript 
 above all the rest. 
 
 I read it with great delight, and found that every line 
 confirmed the common report. The first verse, however,, 
 intimated that the acquaintance was not first made, but 
 only renewed, at this time. The poem revolved constantly 
 on its own axis, and seemed always to return to the point 
 whence it began. The close, wonderfully broken off, made 
 quite a- deep and singular impression. 
 
 When I had finished, Goethe came to me again. "Well," 
 said he, " there I have shown you something good. But 
 
1823.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 29 
 
 you shall tell me what you think a few days hence." I 
 was very glad that Goethe, by these words, excused me 
 from passing a judgment at the moment ; for the impres- 
 sion was too new, and too hastily received, to allow me to 
 say anything that was appropriate. 
 
 Goethe promised to let me see it again in some tranquil 
 hour. The time for the theatre had now arrived, and we 
 separated with an affectionate pressure of the hand. 
 
 The "Chess-machine" was, perhaps, a good piece, well- 
 acted, but I saw it not — my thoughts were with Goethe. 
 When the play was over, I passed by his house ; it was all 
 lighted up ; I heard music from within, and regretted that 
 I had not stayed there. 
 
 The next day, I was told that the young Polish lady, 
 Madame Szymanowska, in whose honour the party had 
 been given, had played on the piano in most excellent style 
 to the enchantment of the whole company. I learned, also, 
 that Goethe became acquainted with her last summer at 
 Marienbad, and that she had now come to visit him. 
 
 At noon, Goethe sent me a little manuscript, " Studies by 
 Zauper," in which I found some very apt remarks. I sent 
 him some poems I had written this summer at Jena, and of 
 which I had spoken to him. 
 
 Wed., Oct. 29. — This evening I went to Goethe just as they 
 were lighting the candles. I found him in a very animated 
 state of mind : his eyes sparkled with the reflection of the 
 candlelight ; his whole expression waij one of cheerfulness, 
 youth, and power. 
 
 As he walked up and down with me he began immediately 
 to speak of the poems which I sent him yesterday. 
 
 " I understand now," said he, "why you talked to me at 
 Jena, of writing a poem on the seasons. I now advise you 
 to do so ; begin at once with Winter. You seem to have a 
 special sense and feeling for natural objects. 
 
 " Only two words would I say about your poems. 
 You stand now at that point where you must necessarily 
 break through to the really high and difficult part of art — 
 the apprehension of what is individual. You must do some 
 degree of violence to yourself to get out of the Idea. You 
 have talent, and have got so far; now you must do this. 
 
SO CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1823. 
 
 You have lately been at Tiefurt ; that might now afford a 
 subject for the attempt. You may perhaps go to Tiefurt 
 and look at it three or four times before you win from it the 
 characteristic side, and bring all your means (motive*} 
 together ; but spare not your toil ; study it throughout, and 
 then represent it ; the subject is well worth this trouble. I 
 should have used it long ago, but I could not ; for I have 
 lived through those important circumstances, and my being* 
 is so interwoven with them, that details press upon me 
 with too great fulness. But you come as a stranger ; you 
 let the Castellan tell you the past, and you will see only 
 what is present, prominent, and significant." 
 
 I promised to try, but could not deny that this subject 
 seemed to me very far out of my way, and very difficult. 
 
 "I know well," said he, "that it is difficult; but the 
 apprehension and representation of the individual is the 
 very life of art. Besides, while you content yourself with 
 generalities, every one can imitate you ; but, in the par- 
 ticular, no one can — and why ? because no others have ex- 
 1 perienced exactly the same thing. 
 
 " And you need not fear lest what is peculiar should not 
 meet with sympathy. Each character, however peculiar it 
 may be, and each object which you can represent, from the 
 stone up to man, has generality; for there is repetition every- 
 where, and there is nothing to be found only once in the world. 
 
 " At this step of representing what is individual," con- 
 tinued Goethe, "begins, at the same time, what we call 
 composition." 
 
 This was not at once clear to me, though 1 refrained 
 from questions. " Perhaps," thought I, " he means the 
 blending of the Ideal with the Real, — the union of that 
 which is external with that which is innate. But perhaps 
 he means something else." Groethe continued : 
 
 "And be sure you put to each poem the date at which 
 you wrote it." I looked at him inquiringly, to know why 
 this was so important. "Your poems will thus serve," he 
 said, " as a diary of your progress. I have done it for many 
 years, and can see its use." 
 
 * The word "motive," which is of frequent occurrence in critical 
 disquisition, is exactly defined in Heyse's " Frerndworterbuch," a- 
 means in art calculated to produce an effect. — Trans. 
 
.823.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE 31 
 
 It was now time for the theatre. " So you are going to 
 Finland?" called he, jestingly, after me; for the pieci 
 was "Johann von Finland" (John of Finland), by Fran 
 von Weissenthurn. 
 
 The piece did not lack effective situations, but it was so 
 overloaded with pathos, and the design was so obvious in 
 every part, that, on the whole, it did not impress me favour- 
 ably. The last act, however, pleased me much, and recon- 
 ciled me to the rest. 
 
 This piece suggested to me the following remark : 
 Characters which have been but indifferently drawn by the 
 poet gain on the stage, because the actors, as living men, 
 make them living beings, and impart to them some sort of 
 individuality. But the finely drawn characters of the great 
 poet, which already stand out with a sharply marked indi- 
 viduality, must lose on the stage, because actors are not often 
 perfectly fitted for such parts, and very few can completely 
 lay aside their own individualities. If the actor be not the 
 counterpart of the character, or if he do not possess the 
 power of utterly laying aside his own personality, a mixture 
 ensues, and the character loses its purity. Therefore, the 
 play of a really great poet only appears in single figures, 
 just as it was originally intended. 
 
 Mon., Nov. 3. — I went to Goethe at five o'clock. I heard 
 them, as I came upstairs, laughing very loud, and talking 
 in the great room. The servant said that the Polish lady 
 dined there to-day, and that the company had not yet left 
 the table. I was going away, but he said he had orders to 
 announce me, and that perhaps his master would be glad of 
 my arrival, as it was now late. I let him have his way, and 
 waited a while, after which Goethe came out in a very 
 cheerful mood, and took me to the opposite room. My visit 
 seemed to please him. He had a bottle of wine brought at 
 once, and filled for me and occasionally for himself. 
 
 " Before I forget it," said he, looking about the table for 
 something, "let me give you a concert-ticket. Madame 
 Szymanowska gives, to-morrow evening, a public concert 
 at the Stadthaus, and you must not fail to be there." I 
 replied that I certainly should not repeat my late folly. 
 " They say she plays very well," I added. "Admirably," 
 said Goethe. "As well as Hummel?" asked I. "You 
 
32 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [i 823. 
 
 must remember," said Goethe, "that she is not only a great 
 performer, but a beautiful woman ; and this lends a charm 
 to all she does. Her execution is masterly, — astonishing, 
 indeed." " And has she also great power ? " said I, "Yes," 
 said he, " great power ; and that is what is most remarkable 
 in her, because we do not often find it in ladies." I said 
 that I was delighted with the prospect of hearing her at 
 last. 
 
 Secretary Krauter came in to consult about the library. 
 Goethe, when he left us, praised his talent and integrity in 
 'business. 
 
 I then turned the conversation to the " Journey through 
 Frankfort and Stuttgard into Switzerland, in 1797," the 
 manuscript of which he had lately given me, and which I 
 had already diligently studied. I spoke of his and Meyer's 
 reflections on the subjects of plastic art. 
 
 " Ay," said Goethe, " what can be more important than 
 the subject, and what is all the science of art without it ? 
 All talent is wasted if the subject is unsuitable. Tt is 
 because modern artists have no worthy subjects, that people 
 are so hampered in all the art of modern times. From this 
 cause we all suffer. I myself have not been able to 
 renounce my modernness. 
 
 " Very few artists," he continued, "are clear on this point, 
 or know what will really be satisfactory. For instance, 
 they paint my ' Fisherman ' as the subject of a picture, and 
 do not think that it cannot be painted. In this ballad, 
 nothing is expressed but the charm in water which tempts 
 us to bathe in summer ; there is nothing else in it : and 
 how can that be painted ? " 
 
 I mentioned how pleased I was to see how, in that journey, 
 he had taken an interest in everything, and apprehended 
 ■everything ; shape and situation of mountains, with their 
 species of stones ; soil, rivers, clouds, air, wind, and weather ; 
 then cities, with their origin and growth, architecture, 
 painting, theatres, municipal regulations and police, trade, 
 economy, laying out of streets, varieties of human race, 
 manner of living, peculiarities ; then again, politics, martial 
 affairs, and a hundred things beside. 
 
 He answered, "But you find no word upon music, 
 because that was not within my sphere. Each traveller 
 
1823.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 33 
 
 should know what he has to see, and what properly belongs 
 to him, on a journey." 
 
 The Chancellor came in. He talked a little with Goethe, 
 and then spoke to me very kindly, and with much acuteness, 
 about a little paper which he had lately read. He soon 
 returned to the ladies, among whom I heard Hie sound of 
 a piano. 
 
 When he had left us, Goethe spoke highly of him, and 
 said, "All these excellent men, with whom you are now 
 placed in so pleasant a relation, make what I call a home, 
 to which one is always willing to return." 
 
 I said that I already began to perceive the beneficial effect 
 of my present situation, and that I found myself gradually 
 leaving my ideal and theoretic tendencies, and more and 
 more able to appreciate the value of the present moment. 
 
 "It would be a pity," said Goethe, "if it were not 
 so. Only persist in this, and hold fast by the present. 
 Every situation — nay, every moment — is of infinite worth ; 
 for it is the representative of a whole eternity." 
 
 After a short pause, I turned the conversation to 
 Tiefurt, and the mode of treating it. " The subject," said 
 I, " is complex, and it will be difficult to give it proper form. 
 It would be most convenient to me to treat it in prose." 
 
 "For that," said Goethe, "the subject is not sufficiently 
 significant. The so-called didactic, descriptive form would, 
 on the whole, be eligible ; but even that is not perfectly 
 appropriate. The best method will be to treat the subject 
 in ten or twelve separate little poems, in rhyme, but in 
 various measures and forms, such as the various sides and 
 views demand, by which means light will be given to the 
 whole." This advice I at once adopted as judicious. 
 " Why, indeed," continued he, " should you not for once 
 use dramatic means, and write a conversation or so with 
 the gardener? By this fragmentary method you make 
 your task easy, and can better bring out the various 
 characteristic sides of the subject. A great, comprehensive 
 whole, on the other hand, is always difficult ; and he who 
 attempts it seldom produces anything complete." 
 
 Wed., Nov. 10. — Goethe has not been very well for the 
 last few days ; it seems he cannot get rid of a very bad cold. 
 He coughs a great deal, very loud, and with much force ; 
 
 D 
 
31j CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1823. 
 
 but, nevertheless, the cough seems to be painful, for he 
 generally has his hand on his left side. 
 
 I passed half an hour with him this evening before 
 the theatre. He sat in an arm-chair, with his back 
 sunk in a cushion, and seemed to speak with difficulty. 
 After we had talked a little, he wished me to read a poem 
 with which he intended to open a new number of " Kunst und 
 Alterthum." He remained sitting, and showed me where 
 it was kept. I took the light, and sat down at his writing- 
 table to read it, at a little distance from him. 
 
 This poem was singular in its character, and, though I 
 did not fully understand it on the first reading, it affected 
 me in a peculiar manner. The glorification of the 
 Paria was its subject, and it was treated as a Trilogy. The 
 prevailing tone seemed to me that of another world, and 
 the mode of representation such, that I found it very difficult 
 to form a lively notion of the subject. The personal 
 presence of Groethe was also unfavourable to thorough 
 abstraction : now I heard him cough ; now I heard him 
 sigh ; and thus I was, as it were, divided in two — one half 
 read, and the other felt his presence. I was forced to read 
 the poem again and again, only to approximate to it. 
 However, the more I penetrated into it, the more significant 
 in character, and the higher in art, did it seem to be. 
 
 At last I spoke to Groethe, both as to the subject and 
 treatment, and he gave me much new light by some of his 
 remarks. 
 
 "Indeed," said he, "the treatment is very terse, and one 
 must go deep into it to seize upon its meaning. It seems, 
 even to me, like a Damascene blade hammered out of steel 
 wire. I have borne this subject about with me for forty 
 years ; so that it has had time to get clear of everything 
 extraneous." 
 
 "It will produce an effect," said I, "when it comes 
 before the public." 
 
 " Ah, the public ! " sighed Groethe. 
 
 "Would it not be well," said I, "to aid the comprehen- 
 sion, and to add an explanation as we do to pictures, when 
 we endeavour to give life to what is actually present, by 
 describing the preceding circumstances ? " 
 
 "I think not," said he; "with pictures it is another 
 
1S23.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. '.)■> 
 
 matter ; but, as a poem is already expressed in words, one 
 word only cancels another." 
 
 I thought Goethe was here very happy in pointing out 
 the rock on which those who interpret poems are commonly 
 •wrecked. Still it may be questioned whether it be not 
 possible to avoid this rock, and affix some explanatory 
 words to a poem without at all injuring the delicacy of its 
 inner life. 
 
 When I went away, he asked me to take the sheets of 
 " Kunst und Alterthum " home with me, that I might read 
 the poem again, and also the "Roses from the East" 
 (Oestliche Rosen) of Riickert, a poet whom he seems highly 
 to value, and to regard with great expectation. 
 
 (Sup.*) Tugs., Nov. 11. — No evening company at 
 Goethe's, w r ho has again been suffering for some time. 
 His feet were wrapped in a woollen coverlet, which he had 
 taken with him everywhere since the campaign in Cham- 
 pagne. Apropos of this coverlet, he related an anecdote 
 of the year 1806, when the French had occupied Jena, and 
 Jie chaplain of a French regiment required some hangings 
 to adorn his altar. " He vras supplied with a splendid piece 
 of crimson stuff," said Goethe; "but this was not good 
 enough for hirn. He complained of this to me. ' Send 
 me the stuff,' said I ; 'I will see if I can procure something 
 better.' In the mean time, we were just bringing out a 
 new piece at the theatre, and I made use of the magnificent 
 red stuff to decorate my actors. As for my chaplain, he 
 received nothing else ; he was forgotten ; and he must have 
 seen what good he got." 
 
 Wed., Nov. 12. — Towards evening, I went to see Goethe ; 
 but heard, before I went upstairs, that the Prussian 
 minister, von Humboldt, was with him, at which I was 
 pleased, being convinced that this visit of an old friend 
 would cheer him up and do him good. 
 
 I then went to the theatre, where " Die Schwestern von 
 Prag " (the Sisters of Prague), got up to perfection, was 
 done admirably, so that it was impossible to leave off laugh- 
 ing throughout the whole piece. 
 
 Thurs., Nov. 13. — Some days ago, as I was walking one 
 fine afternoon towards Erfurt, I was joined by an elderly 
 man, whom I supposed, from his appearance, to be an 
 
 d2 
 
36 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1823.. 
 
 opulent citizen. We had not talked together long, before 
 the conversation turned upon Goethe. I asked him 
 whether he knew Goethe. " Know him ? " said he, 
 with some delight ; "I was his valet almost twenty 
 years ! " He then launched into the praises of his former 
 master. I begged to hear something of Goethe's youth, 
 and he gladly consented to gratify me. 
 
 " When I first lived with him," said he, " he might have 
 been about twenty-seven years old ; he was thin, nimble, 
 and elegant in his person. I could easily have carried him 
 in my arms." 
 
 I asked whether Goethe, in that early part of his life 
 here, had not been very gay. "Certainly," replied he; 
 " he was always gay with the gay, but never when they 
 passed a certain limit ; in that case he usually became 
 grave. Always working and seeking ; his mind always 
 bent on art and science ; that was generally the way with 
 my master. The duke often visited him in the evening, 
 and then they often talked on learned topics till late at 
 night, so that I got extremely tired, and wondered when 
 the duke would go. Even then he was interested in natural 
 science. 
 
 " One time he rang in the middle of the night, and when 
 I entered his room I found he had rolled his iron bed to the 
 window, and was lying there, looking out upon the heavens. 
 " Have you seen nothing in the sky ? ' asked he ; and when 
 I answered in the negative, he bade me run to the guard- 
 house, and ask the man on duty if he had seen nothing. 
 I went there ; the guard said he had seen nothing, and I 
 returned with this answer to my master, who was still in 
 the same position, lying in his bed, and gazing upon the 
 sky. ' Listen,' said he to me ; ' this is an important 
 moment ; there is now an earthquake, or one is just going 
 to take place ; ' then he made me sit down on the bed, and 
 showed me by what signs he knew this." 
 
 I asked the good old man " what sort of weather it 
 was." 
 
 " It was very cloudy," he replied ; " no air stirring ; very 
 still and sultry." 
 
 I asked if he at once believed there was an earthquake 
 on Goethe's word. 
 
1823.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. (( j o7 
 
 "Yes," said he, " I believed it, for things always 
 happened as he said they would. Next day he related 
 his observations at court, when a lady whispered to her 
 neighbour, ' Only listen, Goethe is dreaming.' But the 
 duke, and all the men present, believed Goethe, and the 
 correctness of his observations was soon confirmed ; for, in 
 a few weeks, the news came that a part of Messina, on that 
 night, had been destroyed by an earthquake." 
 
 Fri., Nov. 14. — Towards evening Goethe sent me an in- 
 vitation to call upon him. Humboldt, he said, was at 
 court, and therefore I should be all the more welcome. I 
 found him, as I did some days ago, sitting in his arm-chair ; 
 he gave me a friendly shake of the hand, and spoke to me 
 with heavenly mildness. The chancellor soon joined us. 
 We sat near Goethe, and carried on a light conversation, 
 that he might only have to listen. The physician, Coun- 
 sellor (HofratJi) rlehbein, soon came also. To use his own 
 expression, he found Goethe's pulse quite lively and easy. 
 At this we were highly pleased, and joked with Goethe on 
 the subject. " If I could only get rid of the pain in my 
 left side ! " he said. Rehbein prescribed a plaster there ; 
 we talked on the good effect of such a remedy, and Goethe 
 consented to it. Rehbein turned the conversation to 
 Marienbad, and this appeared to awaken pleasant remi- 
 niscences in Goethe. Arrangements were made to go there 
 again, it was said that the great duke would join the party, 
 and these prospects put Goethe in the most cheerful mood. 
 They also talked about Madame Szymanowska, and men- 
 tioned the time when she was here, and all the men were 
 solicitous for her favour. 
 
 When Rehbein was gone, the chancellor read the Indian 
 poems, and Goethe, in the mean while, talked to me about 
 the Marienbad Elegy. 
 
 At eight o'clock, the chancellor went, and I was going 
 too, but Goethe bade me stop a little, and I sat down. 
 The conversation turned on the stage, and the fact that 
 " Wallenstein " was to be done to-morrow. This gave 
 occasion to talk about Schiller. 
 
 "I have," said I, "a peculiar feeling towards Schiller. 
 Some scenes of his great dramas I read with genuine iove 
 and admiration ; but presently I meet with something 
 
aS CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. L x ^ 2 3' 
 
 which, violates the truth of nature, and I can go no further. 
 I feel this even in reading ' Wallenstein.' I cannot but 
 think that Schiller's turn for philosophy injured his poetry, 
 because this led him to consider the idea far higher than 
 all nature; indeed, thus to annihilate nature. What he 
 could conceive must happen, whether it were in conformity 
 with nature or not." 
 
 "It was sad," said Goethe, "to see how so highly gifted 
 a man tormented himself with philosophical disquisitions 
 which could in no way profit him. Humboldt has shown 
 me letters which Schiller wrote to him in those unblest 
 days of speculation. There we see how he plagued himself 
 with the design of perfectly separating sentimental from 
 naive poetry. For the former he could find no proper soil, 
 and this brought him into unspeakable perplexity. As if," 
 continued he, smiling, " sentimental poetry could exist at 
 all without the naive ground in which, as it were, it has 
 its root. 
 
 "It was not Schiller's plan," continued Goethe, "to go 
 to work with a certain unconciousness, and as it were 
 instinctively ; he w** i forced, or. the contrary, to reflect on 
 all he did. Hencf it was tha^ he never could leave oft 
 talking about his poetical projects, and thus he discussed 
 with me all his late pieces, scene after scene. 
 
 " On the other hand, it was contrary to my nature to 
 talk over my poetic plans with anybody — even with Schiller. 
 I carried everything about with me in silence, and usually 
 nothing was known to any one till the whole was completed. 
 "When I showed Schiller my ' Hermann and Dorothea ' 
 finished, he was astonished, for I had said not a syllable to 
 him of any such plan. 
 
 "But I am curious to hear what you will say of 'Wal- 
 lenstein ' to-morrow. You will see noble forms, and the 
 piece will make an impression on you such, as you probably 
 do not dream of." 
 
 Sat., Nov. 15. — In the evening I was in the theatre, 
 where I for the first time saw "Wallenstein." Goethe had 
 Qot said too much ; the impression was great, and stirred 
 my inmost soul. The actors, who had almost all belonged 
 to the time when they were under the personal influence 
 of Schiller and Goethe, gave an ensemble of significant 
 
1823.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 39 
 
 personages, such as on a mere reading were not presented 
 to my imagination with all their individuality. On this 
 account the piece had an extraordinary effect upon me, and 
 I could not get it out of my head the whole night. 
 
 Sun., Nov. 16. — In the evening at Goethe's ; he was still 
 sitting in his elbow-chair, and seemed rather weak. His 
 first question was about " Wallenstein." I gave him an 
 account of the impression the piece had made upon me as 
 represented on the stage, and he heard me with visible 
 satisfaction. 
 
 M. Soret came in, led in by Frau von Goethe, and 
 remained about an hour. He brought from the duke some 
 gold medals, and by showing and talking about these 
 seemed to entertain Goethe very pleasantly. 
 
 Frau von Goethe and M. Soret went to court, and I was 
 left alone with Goethe. 
 
 Remembering his promise to show me again his Marien- 
 bad Elegy at a fitting opportunity, Goethe arose, put a 
 light on the table, and gave me the poem. I was delighted 
 to have it once more before me. He quietly seated himself 
 again, and left me to an undisturbed perusal of the piece. 
 
 After I had been reading a while, I turned to say some- 
 thing to him, but he seemed to be asleep. I therefore used 
 the favourable moment, and read the poem again and again 
 with a rare delight. The most youthful glow of love, 
 tempered by the moral elevation of the mind, seemed to me 
 its pervading characteristic. Then I thought that the 
 feelings were more strongly expressed than we are accus- 
 tomed to find in Goethe's other poems, and imputed this to 
 the influence of Byron — which Goethe did not deny. 
 
 "You see the product of a highly impassioned mood," 
 said he. " While I was in it I would not for the world 
 have been without it, and now I would not for any con- 
 sideration fall into it again. 
 
 " I wrote that poem immediately after leaving Marien- 
 bad, while the feeling of all I had experienced there was 
 fresh. At eight in the morning, when we stopped at the 
 first stage, I wrote down the first strophe ; and thus I went 
 on composing in the carriage, and writing down at every 
 stage what I had just composed in my head, so that by the 
 evening the whole was on paper. Thence it has a certain 
 
40 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1823. 
 
 directness, and is, as I may say, poured ont at once, which 
 may be an advantage to it as a whole." 
 
 "It is," said I, " quite peculiar in its kind, and recalls 
 ao other poem of yours." 
 
 " That," said he, " may be, because I staked upon the 
 present moment as a man stakes a considerable sum upon 
 a card, and sought to enhance its value as much as I could 
 without exaggeration." 
 
 These words struck me as very important, inasmuch 
 as they threw a light on Goethe's method so as to 
 explain that many-sidedness which has excited so much 
 admiration. 
 
 It was now near nine o'clock ; Groethe bade me call 
 Stadelmann, which I did. 
 
 He then let Stadelmann put the prescribed plaster on his 
 left side. I turned to the window, but heard him lamenting 
 to Stadelmann that his illness was not lessening, but as- 
 sumed a character of permanence. When the process was 
 over, I sat down by him again for a little while. He now 
 complained to me also that he had not slept for some nights, 
 and had no appetite. " The winter," said he, "thus passes 
 away ; I can put nothing together ; my mind has no 
 force." I tried to soothe him, requesting him not to think 
 so much of his labours at present, and representing that 
 there Avas reason to hope he would soon be better. " Ah," 
 said he, " I am not impatient ; I have lived through too 
 many such situations not to have learned to suffer and to 
 endure." He was in his white flannel gown, and a woollen 
 coverlet was laid on his knees and feet. " I shall not go to 
 bed," he said, "but will pass the night thus in my chair, for 
 I cannot properly sleep." 
 
 In the mean while the time for my departure was come, 
 he extended his dear hand to me, and I left. 
 
 When I went down into the servants' room, to fetch my 
 cloak, I found Stadelmann much agitated. He said he 
 was alarmed about his master, for if he complained, it was 
 a bad sign indeed ! His feet, too, which had lately been a 
 little swollen, had suddenly become thin. He was going to 
 the physician early in the morning, to tell him these bad 
 signs. I endeavoured to pacify him, but he would not be 
 talked out of his fears. 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 41 
 
 (Sup,*) Sun., Nov. 16. — Goethe is not any better. The 
 grand-duchess sent him, this evening, by me, some very 
 beautiful medals, the examination of which might perhaps 
 divert and cheer him. Goethe was manifestly pleased at 
 this delicate attention on the part of the duchess. He com- 
 plained to me that he felt the same pain in the left side, 
 which had preceded his severe illness last winter. " I 
 cannot work," said he, " I cannot read, and even thinking 
 only succeeds with me in my happy moments of alleviation." 
 
 (Sup.*) Mon., Nov. 17. — Humboldt is here. I have 
 spent a few moments with Goethe to-day ; when it appeared 
 to me that Humboldt's presence and conversation had a 
 favourable effect upon him. His disease does not appear to 
 be merely of a physical kind. It seems more likely that the 
 violent affection which he formed for a young lady, at 
 Marienbad, in the summer, and which he is now trying to 
 overcome, may be considered as the principal cause of his 
 present illness. 
 
 Mon., Nov. 17. — When I entered the theatre this eveniner, 
 many persons pressed towards me, asking very anxiously 
 how Goethe was. His illness must have spread rapidly 
 over the town, and perhaps has been exaggerated. Some 
 said he had water on the chest. I felt depressed all the 
 evenino*. 
 
 Wed., Nov. 19. — Yesterday, I walked about in a state of 
 great anxiety. No one besides his family was admitted to 
 see him. 
 
 In the evening I went to his house, and he received me. 
 
 I found him still in his arm-chair ; his outward appear- 
 ance was quite the same as when I left him on Sunday, but 
 he was in good spirits. 
 
 We talked of Zauper, and the widely differing results 
 which proceed from the study of ancient literature. 
 
 Fri., Nov. 21. — Goethe sent for me. To my great joy I 
 found him walking up and down in his chamber. He gave 
 me a little book, the " Ghazels " of Count Platen. " I had 
 intended," said he, " to say something of this in 'Kunst und 
 Alterthum,' for the poems deserve it ; but my present con- 
 dition will not allow me to do anything. Just see if you 
 can fathom the poems and get anything out of them." 
 
 I promised to make the attempt. 
 
42 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1S23, 
 
 "'Ghazels,'" continued he, "have this peculiarity, that 
 they demand great fulness of meaning. The constantly 
 recurring similar rhymes must find ready for them a store 
 of similar thoughts. Therefore it is not every one that 
 succeeds in them ; hut these will please you." The physician 
 came in, and I departed. 
 
 Mon., Nov. 24. — Saturday and Sunday I studied the 
 poems : this morning I wrote down my view of them, and 
 sent it to Goethe ; for I had heard that no one had been 
 admitted to him for some days, the physician having for- 
 bidden him to talk. 
 
 However, he sent for me this evening. When I entered, 
 I found a chair already placed for me near him ; he gave me 
 his hand, [and was extremely affectionate and kind. He 
 began immediately to speak of my little critique. "I was 
 much pleased with it," said he ; "you have a fine talent. I 
 wish now to tell you something," he continued ; " if literary 
 proposals should be made to you from other quarters, refuse 
 them, or at least consult me before deciding upon them ; for 
 since you are now linked with me, I should not like to see 
 you connected with others also." 
 
 I replied that I wished to belong to him alone, and had 
 at present no reason to think of new connections. 
 
 This pleased him, and he said that we should this winter 
 get through much pleasant work together. 
 
 We then talked of the " Ghazels." Goethe expressed his 
 delight at the completeness of these poems, and that our pre- 
 sent literature produced so much that was good. 
 
 " I wish," said he, " to recommend the newest talent to 
 your especial study and observation. I wish you to become 
 •acquainted with whatever our literature brings forth worthy 
 of note, and to place before me whatever is meritorious, that 
 we may discuss it in the numbers of ' Kunst und Alterthum,' 
 and mention what is good, sound, and elevated, with due 
 acknowledgment. For, with the best intentions, I cannot, 
 at my advanced age, and with my manifold duties, do this 
 without aid from others." 
 
 I said I would do this, and was very glad to find that 
 our latest writers and poets were more interesting to Goethe 
 than I had supposed. 
 
1823.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 43: 
 
 He sent me the latest literary periodicals to assist in the 
 proposed task. I did not go to him for several days, nor 
 was I invited. I heard his friend Zelter had come to visit him. 
 
 (Sup.*) Fri., Nov. 28.— The first part of Meyer's 
 " History of Art," which has just appeared, seems to 
 occupy Goethe very agreeably. He spoke of it to-day in 
 terms of the highest praise. 
 
 Mon., Bee. 1. — To-day, I was invited to dine with Goethe. 
 I found Zelter sitting with him when I arrived. Both 
 advanced to meet me, and gave me their hands. " Here," said 
 Goethe, " we have my friend Zelter. In him you make a 
 valuable acquaintance. I shall send you soon to Berlin ; he 
 will take excellent care of you." " Is Berlin a good place ? " 
 said I. " Yes," replied Zelter, laughing ; " a great deal may be 
 learned and unlearned there." 
 
 We sat down and talked on various subjects. I asked 
 after Schubarth. " He visits me at least every week," said 
 Zelter. "He is married now, but has no appointment, 
 because he has offended the philologists in Berlin." 
 
 Zelter asked me then if I knew Immerrnann. I said I 
 had often heard his name, but as yet knew nothing of his 
 writings. " I made his acquaintance at Minister," said 
 Zelter ; " he is a very hopeful young man, and it is a pity 
 that his appointment leaves him no more time for his art." 
 Goethe also praised his talent. "But we must see," said 
 he, " how he comes out ; whether he will submit to purify 
 his taste, and, with respect to form, adopt the acknowledged 
 best models as his standard. His original striving has its 
 merit, but leads astray too easily." 
 
 Little Walter now came jumping in, asking many 
 questions, both of Zelter and his grandfather. "When 
 thou comest, uneasy spirit," said Goethe, " all conversation 
 is spoiled." However, he loves the boy, and was unwearied 
 in satisfying his wishes. 
 
 Frau von Goethe and Fraulein Ulrica now came in, and 
 with thern, young Goethe, in his uniform and sword, ready 
 cot court. We sat down to table. Fraulein Ulrica and 
 Zelter were very gay, and rallied each other in the 
 pleasantest way during the whole of dinner. The jDerson 
 and presence of Zelter had an agreeable effect on me. As a 
 healthy, happy man, he could give himself up wholly to the 
 
44 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1823 
 
 influence of the moment, and always had the word fit for 
 the occasion. Then he was very lively and kindly, and so 
 perfectly unconstrained, that he could speak out whatever 
 was in his mind, sometimes giving a hard hit. He 
 imparted to others his own freedom of spirit, so that all 
 narrowing views were soon dispelled by his presence. I 
 silently thought how much I should like to live with him 
 a while, and I am sure it would do me good. 
 
 Zelter went away soon after dinner. He was invited to 
 visit the grand-duchess that evening. 
 
 TJmrs., Dec. 4. — This morning, Secretary Krauter 
 "brought me an invitation to dine with Goethe ; at the same 
 time, by Goethe's desire, giving me a hint to present Zelter 
 with a copy of my " Beitrage zur Poesie." I took the copy 
 to him at his hotel. Zelter, in return, put Immermann's 
 poems into my hands. " I would willingly make you a 
 present of this copy," said he, " but, you see, the author 
 has dedicated it to me, and I must therefore keep it as a 
 valuable memorial." 
 
 Before dinner, I walked with Zelter through the park 
 towards Upper Weimar. Many spots recalled to him 
 former days, and he told me much of Schiller, Wieland, and 
 Herder, with whom he had been on terms of great intimacy, 
 which he considered had been one of the great benefits of 
 his life. 
 
 He then talked much of musical composition, and recited 
 many of Goethe's songs. " If I am to compose music for a 
 poem," said he, " I first try to penetrate into the meaning 
 of the words, and to bring before me a living picture of the 
 situation. I then read it aloud till I know it by heart, and 
 thus, when I again recite it, the melody comes of its own 
 accord." 
 
 Wind and rain obliged us to return sooner than we 
 wished. I accompanied him to Goethe's house, where he 
 went up to Frau von Goethe to sing with her before dinner. 
 
 About two, I returned there to dinner, and found Goethe 
 and Zelter already engaged in looking at engravings of 
 Italian scenery. Frau von Goethe came in, and we sat 
 down to dinner. Fraulein Ulrica was absent to-day ; and 
 so was young Goethe, who just came in to say Good-day, 
 and then returned to court. 
 
1823.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 45 
 
 The conversation at table was especially varied. Many- 
 very original anecdotes were told both by Zelter and Goethe, 
 all illustrating the peculiarities of their common friend, 
 Friedrich August Wolf, of Berlin. There was a great deal of 
 talk about the " jNibelungen," and then about Lord Byron and 
 his hoped-for visit to Weimar, in which Frau von Goethe 
 took especial interest. The Rochus festival at Bingen was 
 also a very cheerful subject ; and Zelter particularly 
 remembered two beautiful girls, whose amiability had made 
 a deep impression upon him, and the memory of whom 
 seemed still to exhilarate him. Goethe's social soncr, 
 " Kriegsgliick " (Fortune of War), was then gaily talked 
 over. Zelter was inexhaustible in his anecdotes of wounded 
 soldiers and beautiful women, and they all tended to show 
 the truthfulness of the poem. Goethe himself said that he 
 had had no need to go so far for such realities ; he had seen 
 them all at Weimar. Frau von Goethe maintained a lively 
 opposition, saying that she would not admit women were 
 so bad as that " nasty " poem represented them. 
 
 Thus the time at table passed pleasantly enough. 
 
 When, afterwards, I was alone with Goethe, he asked me 
 about Zelter. "Well," said he, "how do you like him? " 
 I described the good effect produced on me by his presence. 
 "On a first acquaintance," said Goethe, "he may appear 
 somewhat blunt, even rough ; but that is only external. I 
 scarcely know any man who is really so tender as Zelter. 
 Besides, we must not forget that he has passed more than 
 half a century in Berlin, where, as I remark generally, 
 there is such an audacious set of men, that one cannot get 
 on well with delicacy, but must have one's eyes wide open, 
 and be a little rough now and then, only to keep one's head 
 above water." 
 
 (Sup.*) FrL, Dec. 5. — I brought Goethe some minerals; 
 amongst them was a piece of clayey ochre, found by Des- 
 champs in Cormayan, which Herr Massot praises very 
 highly. How astonished was Goethe, when he recognised, 
 in this colour, the very same which Angelica Kauffmann 
 used to employ for the fleshy parts of her pictures. " She 
 valued the little that she possessed," said he, "at its weight 
 in gold. However, the place whence it came, and where it 
 is to be found, was unknown to her." Goethe said to his 
 
46 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. \_ I ^ 2 3 
 
 daughter-in-law that I treated him like a sultan, to whom 
 new presents are brought every day. " He treats you much 
 more like a child," said Frau von Goethe ; at which he 
 could not help smiling. 
 
 (Sup.*) Sun., Dec. 7. — I asked Goethe how he felt to- 
 day. " Not quite so bad as Napoleon on his island," was 
 the answer he returned, with a sigh. 
 
 The long protraction of his indisposition seems gradually 
 to produce an effect upon him. 
 
 (Sup.*) Sun., Dec. 21. — Goethe's good humour was again 
 brilliant to-day. We have reached the shortest day ; and 
 the hope that, with each succeeding week, we shall see a 
 considerable increase in the days, appears to have exerted a 
 favourable effect on his spirits. " To-day we celebrate the 
 regeneration of the sun ! " exclaimed he, joyfully, as I 
 entered his room this morning. I hear that it is his custom, 
 every year, to pass the weeks before the shortest day in a 
 most melancholy frame of mind — to sigh them away, in fact. 
 
 Frau von Goethe entered, to inform her papa-in-law that 
 she was on the point of travelling to Berlin, in order to 
 meet her mother, who was just returning. 
 
 When Frau von Goethe was gone, Goethe joked with me 
 on the lively imagination which characterizes youth. " I 
 am too old," said he, "to contradict her, and to make her 
 comprehend that the joy of seeing her mother again, for 
 the first time, would be the same whether here or there. 
 This winter journey is much trouble about nothing, but 
 such a nothing is often of infinite importance in the minds 
 of youth: and in the long run what difference does it 
 make ! One must often undertake some folly only to be 
 able to live on again a little. In my youth I did no better, 
 and still I have escaped with a tolerably whole skin." 
 
 (Sup.*) Tues., Dec. 30. — This evening was spent alone 
 with Goethe in diversified conversation. He told me that 
 he had some intention of including in his works his journey 
 into Switzerland in the year 1797. The conversation then 
 turned upon " Werther," which he had only read once, 
 about ten years after its publication. The same had been 
 the case with his other works. We then talked upon trans- 
 lation, when he told me that he found it very difficult to 
 render English poetry in German verse. " When we try to 
 
1823.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 47 
 
 express a strong English monosyllable by German poly- 
 syllables or compounds, all force and effect are lost at once." 
 He said that he had made the translation of his " Rameau " 
 in four weeks, dictating every word. 
 
 We then talked about the natural sciences, especially 
 about the narrow-mindedness with which learned men con- 
 tend amongst themselves for priority. " There is nothing," 
 said Goethe, "through which I have learned to know man- 
 kind better, than through my philosophical exertions. It 
 has cost me a great deal, and has been attended with great 
 annoyance, but I nevertheless rejoice that I have gained the 
 experience." 
 
 I remarked, that in the sciences, the egotism of men 
 appears to be excited in a peculiar manner ; and when this 
 is once called into action, all infirmities of character very 
 soon appear. 
 
 " Scientific questions," answered Goethe, " are very often 
 questions of existence. A single discovery may make a 
 man renowned, and lay the foundation of his worldly pros- 
 perity. It is for this reason that, in the sciences, there 
 prevails this great severity, this pertinacity, and this 
 jealousy concerning the discovery of another. In the 
 sphere of aesthetics, everything is deemed more venial ; the 
 thoughts are, more or less, an innate property of all man- 
 kind, with respect to which the only point is the treatment 
 and execution — and, naturally enough, little envy is excited. 
 A single idea may give foundation for a hundred epigrams ; 
 and the question is, merely, which poet has been able to 
 embody this idea in the most effective and most beautiful 
 manner. 
 
 "But in science the treatment is nothing, and all the 
 effect lies in the discovery. There is here little that is 
 universal and subjective, for the isolated manifestations of 
 the laws of nature lie without us — all sphynx-like, motion- 
 less, firm, and dumb. Every new phenomenon that is ob- 
 served is a discovery — every discovery a property. Now 
 only let a single person meddle with property, and man will 
 soon be at hand with all his passions." 
 
 "However," continued Goethe, "in the sciences, that 
 also is looked upon as property which has been handed 
 down or taught at the universities. And if any ono 
 
48 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1823, 
 
 advances anything new which contradicts, perhaps threatens 
 to overturn, the creed which we have for years repeated, 
 and have handed down to others, all passions are raised 
 against him, and every effort is made to crush him. People 
 resist with all their might ; they act as if they neither heard 
 nor could comprehend ; they speak of the new view with 
 contempt, as if it were not worth the trouble of even so 
 much as an investigation or a regard, and thus a new truth 
 may wait a long time before it can make its way. A French- 
 man said to a friend of mine, concerning my theory of 
 colours, ' We have worked for fifty years to establish and 
 strengthen the kingdom of Newton, and it will require fifty 
 years more to overthrow it.' The body of mathematicians 
 has endeavoured to make my name so suspected in science 
 that people are afraid of even mentioning it. Some time 
 ago, a pamphlet fell into my hands, in which subjects con- 
 nected with the theory of colours were treated : the author 
 appeared quite imbued with my theory, and had deduced 
 everything from the same fundamental principles. I read 
 the publication with great delight, but, to my no small sur- 
 prise, found that the author did not once mention my name. 
 The enigma was afterwards solved. A mutual friend called 
 on me, and confessed to me that the clever young author 
 had wished to establish his reputation by the pamphlet, 
 and had justly feared to compromise himself with the 
 learned world, if he ventured to support by my name the 
 views he was expounding. The little pamphlet was suc- 
 cessful, and the ingenious young author has since intro- 
 duced himself to me personally, and made his excuses." 
 
 " This circumstance appears to me the more remarkable," 
 said I, " because in everything else people have reason to 
 be proud of you as an authority, and every one esteems 
 himself fortunate who has the powerful protection of your 
 public countenance. With respect to your theory of colours, 
 the misfortune appears to be, that you have to deal not 
 only with the renowned and universally acknowledged 
 Newton, but also with his disciples, who are spread all over 
 the world, who adhere to their master, and whose name is 
 legion. Even supposing that you carry your point at last, 
 you will certainly for a long space of time stand alone with 
 your new theory." 
 
5823.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 49 
 
 " I am accustomed to it, and prepared for it," returned 
 Goethe. "But say yourself," continued he, "have I not 
 had sufficient reason to feel proud, when for twenty years I 
 have been forced to own to myself that the great Newton, 
 and all mathematicians and august calculators with him, 
 have fallen into a decided error respecting the theory of 
 colours; and that I, amongst millions, am the only one 
 who knows the truth on this important subject ? With 
 this feeling of superiority, it was possible for me to bear 
 with the stupid pretensions of my opponents. People 
 endeavoured to attack me and my theory in every way, and 
 to render my ideas ridiculous ; but, nevertheless, I rejoiced 
 exceedingly over my completed work. All the attacks of 
 my adversaries only serve to expose to me the weakness of 
 mankind." 
 
 While Goethe spoke thus, with such a force and a fluency 
 of expression as I have not the power to reproduce with 
 perfect truth, his eyes sparkled with unusual fire ; an ex- 
 pression of triumph was observable in them ; whilst an 
 ironical smile played upon his lips. The features of his 
 line countenance were more imposing than ever. 
 
 (Sup.) Wed., Dec. 31. — Dined at Goethe's ; conversing 
 on various subjects. He showed me a portfolio containing 
 sketches ; amongst which the first attempts of Henry 
 Fiissli * were especially remarkable. 
 
 We then spoke upon religious subjects, and the abuse of 
 the divine name. " People treat it," said Goethe, " as if 
 that incomprehensible and most high Being, who is even 
 beyond the reach of thought, were only their equal. Other- 
 wise, they would not say the Lord God, the dear God,f the 
 good God. This expression becomes to them, especially to 
 the clergy, who have it daily in their mouths, a mere 
 phrase, a barren name, to which no thought is attached 
 whatever. If they were impressed by His greatness they 
 would be dumb, and through veneration unwilling to name 
 Him." 
 
 * That is, Fuseli, as we call him. — Trans. 
 
 t "The dear God" (der liebe Gott) is one of the commonest 
 ( rerman expressions. — Trans. 
 
 E 
 
50 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHB. [1S24. 
 
 1824. 
 
 (Snp.) Fri, Jan. 2. — Dined at Goethe's, and enjoyed 
 some cheerful conversation. Mention was made of a young 
 beauty belonging to the Weimar society, when one of the 
 guests remarked that he was on the point of falling in love 
 with her, although her understanding could not exactly be 
 called brilliant. 
 
 " Pshaw," said Goethe, laughing, "as if love had any- 
 thing to do with the understanding. The things that we 
 love in a young lady are something very different from the 
 understanding. We love in her beauty, youthfulness, play- 
 fulness, trustingness, her character, her faults, her caprices, 
 and God knows what l je ne sais quoi' besides; but we do 
 not love her understanding. We respect her understanding 
 when it is brilliant, and by it the worth of a girl can be 
 infinitely enhanced in our eyes. Understanding may also 
 serve to fix our affections when we already love ; but the 
 understanding is not that which is capable of firing our 
 hearts, and awakening a passion." 
 
 We found much that was true and convincing in Goethe's 
 words, and were very willing to consider the subject in 
 that light. After dinner, and when the rest of the party 
 had departed, I remained sitting with Goethe, and con- 
 versed with him on various interesting topics. 
 
 We discoursed upon English literature, on the greatness 
 of Shakspeare ; and on the unfavourable position held by 
 all English dramatic authors who had appeared after that 
 poetical giant. 
 
 "A dramatic talent of any importance," said Goethe, 
 " could not forbear to notice Shakspeare's works, nay, could 
 not forbear to study them. Having studied them, he must 
 be aware that Shakspeare has already exhausted the whole 
 of human nature in all its tendencies, in all its heights and 
 depths, and that, in fact, there remains for him, the after- 
 comer, nothing more to do. And how could one get 
 courage only to put pen to paper, if one were conscious in 
 an earnest appreciating spirit, that such unfathomable and 
 unattainable excellences were already in existence ! 
 
 "It fared better with me fifty years ago in my own deai 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. i\ 
 
 Germany. I could soon come to an end with all that then 
 existed ; it conld not long awe me, or occupy my attention. 
 I soon left behind me German literature, and the study of 
 it, and turned my thoughts to life and to production. So 
 on and on I went in my own natural development, and 
 on and on I fashioned the productions of epoch after epoch. 
 And at every step of life and development, my standard of 
 excellence was not much higher than what at such step I 
 was able to attain. But had I been born an Englishman, 
 and had all those numerous masterpieces been brought 
 before me in all their power, at my first dawn of youthful 
 consciousness, they would have overpowered me, and I 
 should not have known what to do. I could not have gone 
 on with such fresh light-heartedness, but should have had 
 to bethink myself, and look about for a long time, to find 
 some new outlet." 
 
 I turned the conversation back to Shakspeare. "When 
 one, to some degree, disengages him from English literature," 
 said I, " and considers him transformed into a German, one 
 cannot fail to look upon his gigantic greatness as a miracle. 
 But if one seeks him in his home, transplants oneself to the 
 soil of his country, and to the atmosphere of the century in 
 which he lived ; further, if one studies his contemporaries, 
 and his immediate successors, and inhales the force wafted 
 to us from Ben Jonson, Massinger, Marlow, and Beaumont 
 and Fletcher, Shakspeare still, indeed, appears a being of 
 the most exalted magnitude ; but still, one arrives at the 
 conviction that many of the wonders of his genius are, in 
 some measure, accessible, and that much is due to the power- 
 fully productive atmosphere of his age and time." 
 
 " You are perfectly right," returned Goethe. " It is with 
 Shakspeare as with the mountains of Switzerland. Trans- 
 plant Mont Blanc at once into the large plain of Liineburg 
 Heath, and we should find no words to express our wonder 
 at its magnitude. Seek it, however, in its gigantic home, 
 go to it over its immense neighbours, the Jungfrau, the 
 Einsteraarkorn, the Eiger, the Wetterhorn, St. Gothard, 
 and Monte Rosa; Mont Blanc will, indeed, still remain a 
 giant, but it will no longer produce in us such amaze 
 ment." 
 
 " Besides, let him who will not believe," continued Goethe, 
 
 e 2 
 
52 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 "that much of Shakspeare's greatness appertains to his 
 great vigorous time, only ask himself the question, whether 
 a phenomenon so astounding would be possible in the pre- 
 sent England of 1824, in these evil days of criticising and 
 hair-splitting journals ? 
 
 "That undisturbed, innocent, scminamjmlajory^oduotion, 
 
 by which alone anything great can thrive, is no longer 
 possible. Our talents at present lie before the public. The 
 daily criticisms which appear in fifty different places, and 
 the gossip that is caused by them amongst the public, pre- 
 vent the appearance of any sound production. In the 
 present day, he who does not keep aloof from all this, and 
 isolate himself by main force, is lost. Through the bad, 
 chiefly negative, assthetical and critical tone of the journals, 
 a sort of half culture finds its way into the masses ; but to 
 productive talent it is a noxious mist, a dropping poison, 
 which destroys the tree of creative power, from the orna- 
 mental green leaves, to the deepest pith and the most hidden 
 fibres. 
 
 " And then how tame and weak has life itself become 
 during the last two shabby centuries. Where do we now 
 meet an original nature ? and where is the man who has 
 the strength to be true, and to show himself as he is ? This, 
 however, affects the poet, who must find all within himself, 
 while he is left in the lurch by all without." 
 
 The conversation now turned on " Werther." " That," 
 said Goethe, "is a creation which I, like the pelican, fed 
 with the blood of my own heart. It contains so much from 
 the innermost recesses of my breast — so much feeling and 
 thought, that it might easily be spread into a novel of ten 
 such volumes. Besides, as I have often said, I have only 
 read the book once since its appearance, and have taken 
 good care not to read it again. It is a mass of congreve- 
 rockets. I am uncomfortable when I look at it ; and I 
 dread lest I should once more experience the peculiar 
 mental state from which it was produced." 
 
 I reminded him of his conversation with Napoleon, of 
 which I knew by the sketch amongst his unpublished papers, 
 which I had repeatedly urged him to give more in detail. 
 "Napoleon," said I, "pointed out to you a passage in 
 ' Werther,' which, it appeared to him, would not stand a 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 53 
 
 strict examination ; and this yon allowed. I should much 
 like to know what passage he meant." 
 
 " Guess ! " said Goethe, with a mysterious smile. 
 
 "Now," said I, "I almost think it is where Charlotte 
 sends the pistols to Werther, without saying a word to 
 Albert, and without imparting to him her misgivings and 
 apprehensions. You have given yourself great trouble to 
 find a motive for this silence, but it does not appear to hold 
 good against the urgent necessity where the life of the friend 
 was at stake." 
 
 "Your remark," returned Goethe, "is really not bad; 
 but I do not think it right to reveal whether Napoleon 
 meant this passage or another. However, be that as it may, 
 your observation is quite as correct as his." 
 
 I asked the question, whether the great effect produced 
 by the appearance of "Werther" was really to be attributed 
 to the period. "I cannot," said I, "reconcile to myself 
 this view, though it is so extensively spread. ' Werther ' 
 made an epoch because it appeared — not because it appeared 
 at a certain time. There is in every period so much unex- 
 pressed sorrow — so much secret discontent and disgust for 
 life, and, in single individuals, there are so many disagree- 
 ments with the world — so many conflicts between their 
 natures and civil regulations, that ' Werther ' would make 
 an epoch even if it appeared to-day for the first time." 
 
 " You are quite right," said Goethe ; "it is on that 
 account that the book to this day influences youth of a 
 certain age, as it did formerly. It was scarcely necessary 
 for me to deduce my own youthful dejection from the general 
 influence of my time, and from the reading of a few English 
 authors. Rather was it owing to individual and immediate 
 circumstances which touched me to the quick, and gave me a 
 great deal of trouble, and indeed brought me into that frame 
 of mind which produced ' Werther.' I had lived, loved, and 
 suffered much — that was it. 
 
 "On considering more closely the much-talked-of 'Werther' 
 period, we discover that it does not belong to the course of 
 universal culture, but to the career of life in every indi- 
 vidual, who, with an innate free natural instinct, must accom- 
 modate himself to the narrow limits of an antiquated world. 
 Obstructed fortune, restrained activity, unfulfilled wishes, 
 
•54 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 are not the calamities of any particular time, bnt those 
 of every individual man ; and it would be bad, indeed, 
 if every one had not, once in his life, known a time when 
 'Werther' seemed as if it had been written for him 
 alone." 
 
 (Snp.) Sun., Jan. 4 — To-day, after dinner, Goethe went 
 through a portfolio, containing some works of Raphael, 
 with me. He often busies himself with Raphael, in order to 
 keep np a constant interconrse with that which is best, and 
 to accustom himself to mnse npon the thoughts of a great 
 man. At the same time, it gives him pleasure to introduce 
 me to such things. 
 
 We afterwards spoke about the "Divan"* — especially 
 about the "book of ill-humour," in which much is poured 
 forth that he carried in his heart against his enemies. 
 
 " I have, however," continued he, "been very moderate : 
 if I had uttered all that vexed me or gave me trouble, the 
 few pages would soon have swelled to a volume. 
 
 " People were never thoroughly contented with me, but 
 always wished me otherwise than it has pleased God to 
 make me. They were also seldom contented with my pro- 
 ductions. When I had long exerted my whole soul to 
 favour the world with a new work, it still desired that I 
 should thank it into the bargain for considering the work 
 endurable. If any one praised me, 1 was not allowed, in 
 self- congratulation, to receive it as a well-merited tribute ; 
 but people expected from me some modest expression, 
 humbly setting forth the total unworthiness of my person 
 and my work. However, my nature opposed this ; and I 
 should have been a miserable hypocrite, if I had so tried to 
 lie and dissemble. Since I was strong enough to show 
 myself in my whole truth, just as I felt, I was deemed 
 proud, and am considered so to the present day. 
 
 " In religious, scientific, and political matters, I generally 
 brought trouble upon myself, because I was no hypocrite, 
 and had the courage to express what I felt. 
 
 " I believed in God and in Nature, and in the triumph of 
 good over evil ; but this was not enough for pious souls : I 
 
 * Goethe's " West-ostliche (west-eastern) Divan," one of the 
 twelve divisions of which is entitled " Das Buch des TJnmuths " (The 
 Book of Hl-Humour). — Trans. 
 
1 824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 55 
 
 was also required to believe other points, which, were 
 opposed to the feeling of my soul for truth ; besides, I 
 did not see that these would be of the slightest service 
 to me. 
 
 " It was also prejudicial to me that I discovered Newton's 
 theory of light and colour to be an error, and that I had 
 the courasre to contradict the universal creed. I discovered 
 
 O 
 
 light in its purity and truth, and I considered it my duty 
 to fight for it. The opposite party, however, did their 
 utmost to darken the light ; for they maintained that shade 
 is a part of light. It sounds absurd when I express it ; but 
 so it is : for they said that colours, which are shadow and 
 the result of shade, are light itself, or, which amounts to 
 tjie same thing, are the beams of light, broken now in one 
 way, noiv in another." 
 
 Goethe was silent, whilst an ironical smile spread over 
 his expressive countenance. He continued : — 
 
 " And now for political matters. What trouble I have 
 taken, and what I have suffered, on that account, I cannot 
 tell you. Do you know my ' Aufgeregten ? ' * 
 
 " Yesterday, for the first time," returned I, " I read the 
 piece, in consequence of the new edition of your works ; 
 and I regret from my heart that it remains unfinished. 
 But, even as it is, every right-thinking person must coincide 
 with your sentiments." ^ 
 
 " I wrote it at the time of the French Revolution," con- 
 tinued Croethe, " and it may be regarded, in some measure, 
 as my political confession of faith at that time. I have 
 taken the countess as a type of the nobility ; and, with the 
 words which I put into her mouth, I have expressed how 
 the nob ility really ought to think . The countess has just 
 returned from Paris ; she has there been an eye-witness of 
 the revolutionary events, and has drawn, therefore, for 
 herself, no bad doctrine. She has convinced herself that 
 the people may be ruled, but not oppressed, and that the 
 revolutionary outbreaks of the lower classes are the conse- 
 quence of the injustice of the higher classes. ' I will for 
 the future,' says she, ' strenuously avoid every action that 
 appears to me unjust, and will, both in society and at court. 
 
 * "Die Aufgeregten" (the Agitated, in a political sense) is an 
 unfinished di-ama by Goethe. — Trans. 
 
56 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824, 
 
 loudly express my opinion concerning such actions in others, 
 In no case of injustice will I be silent, even though I should 
 be cried down as a democrat.' 
 
 " I should have thought this sentiment perfectly res- 
 pectable," continued Goethe; "it was mine at that time, 
 and it is so still ; but as a reward for it, I was endowed 
 with all sorts of titles, which I do not care to repeat." 
 
 "One need only read 'Egniont,'" answered I, "to dis- 
 cover what you think. I know no German piece in 
 which the freedom of the people is more advocated than 
 in this." 
 
 "Sometimes," said Goethe, "people do not like to look 
 on me as I am, but turn their glances from everything 
 which could show me in my true light. Schiller, on tlje 
 contrary — who, between ourselves, was much more of 
 an aristocrat than I am, but who considered what he said 
 more than I — had the wonderful fortune to be looked upon 
 as a particular friend of the people. I give it up to him 
 with all my heart, and console myself with the thought 
 that others before me have fared no better. 
 
 "It is true that I could be no friend to the French 
 Revolution ; for its horrors were too near me, and shocked 
 me daily and hourly, whilst its beneficial results were not 
 then to be discovered. Neither could I be indifferent to 
 the fact that the Germans were endeavouring, artificially, 
 to bring about such scenes here, as were, in France, the 
 consequence of a great necessity. 
 
 " But I was as little a friend to arbitrary rule. Indeed, 
 I was perfectly convinced that a great revolution is never a 
 fault of the people, but of the government. Revolutions 
 are utterly impossible as long as governments are constantly 
 just and constantly vigilant, so that they may anticipate 
 them by improvements at the right time, and not hold 
 out until they are forced to yield by the pressure from 
 beneath. 
 
 " Because I hated the Revolution, the name of the ' Friend 
 of the powers that be' was bestowed upon me. That is, 
 however, a very ambiguous title, which I would beg to 
 decline. If the ' powers that be ' were all that is excellent, 
 good, and just, I should have no objection to the title ; but, 
 since with much that is good there is also much that is bad, 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 57 
 
 unjust, and imperfect, a friend of the ' powers that be ' 
 means often little less than the friend of the obsolete and 
 bad.* 
 
 " But time is constantly progressing-, and human affairs 
 wear every fifty years a different aspect ; so that an arrange- 
 ment which, in the year 1800, was perfection, may, perhaps, 
 in the year 1850 be a defect. 
 
 " And, furthermore, nothing is good for a nation but that 
 which arises from its o wn core and its o wn general wan ts 
 "without apish imitation of another ; since what to one raco 
 of people, of a certain age, is a wholesome nutriment, may 
 perhaps prove a poison for another. All endeavours to 
 introduce any foreign innovation, the necessity for which is 
 not rooted in the core of the nation itself, are therefore 
 foolish ; and all premeditated revolutions of the kind are 
 unsuccessful, for they are without God, who Tce&ps aloof from 
 such bungling. If, however, there exists an actual necessity 
 for a great reform amongst a people, Grod is with it, and it 
 prospers. He was visibly with Christ and his first ad- 
 herents ; for the appearance of the new doctrine of love 
 was a necessity to the people. He was also visibly with 
 Luther ; for the purification of the doctrine corrupted by 
 the priests was no less a necessity. Neither of the great 
 powers whom I have named was, however, a friend of the 
 permanent ; much more were both of them convinced that 
 the old leaven must be got rid of, and that it would be 
 impossible to go on and remain in the untrue, unjust, and 
 defective way." 
 
 Taes., Jan. 27. — Groethe talked with me about the con- 
 tinuation of his memoirs, with which he is now busy. He 
 observed that this later period of his life would not be 
 narrated with such minuteness as the youthful epoch of 
 " Dichtung und Wahrheit."t "I must," said he, "treat 
 this later period more in the fashion of annals: my out- 
 ward actions must appear rather than my inward life. 
 
 * The German phrase "Freund des Bestehenden," which, for wain 
 of a better expression, has been rendered above " friend of the powers 
 that be," literally means " friend of the permanent," and was used by 
 the detractors of Goethe to denote the " enemy of the progressive." 
 — Trans. 
 
 t " Poetry and Tmth," the title of Goethe's autobiography. — Tra . 
 
58 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 Altogether, the niost important part of an individual's life 
 is that of development, and mine is concluded in the 
 detailed volumes of "Dicktung nnd Wahrheit." After- 
 wards begins the conflict with the world, and that is 
 interesting only in its results. 
 
 "And then the life of a learned German — what is it? 
 What may have been really good in my case cannot be 
 communicated, and what can be communicated is not worth 
 the trouble. Besides, where are the hearers whom one 
 could entertain with any satisfaction ? 
 
 "When I look back to the earlier and middle periods of 
 my life, and now in my old age think how few are left of 
 those who were young with me, I always think of a summer 
 residence at a bathing-place. When you arrive, you make 
 acquaintance and friends of those who have already been 
 there some time, and who leave in a few weeks. The loss 
 is painful. Then you turn to the second generation, with 
 which you live a good while, and become most intimate. 
 But this goes also, and leaves us alone with the third, which 
 comes just as we are going away, and with which we have, 
 properly, nothing to do. 
 
 " I have ever been esteemed one of Fortune's chief est 
 favourites ; nor will I complain or find fault with the course 
 my life has taken. Yet, truly, there has been nothing but 
 toil and care ; and I may say that, in all my seventy -five 
 years, I have never had a month of genuine comfort. It 
 has been the perpetual rolling of a stone, which I have 
 always had to raise anew. My annals will render clear 
 what I now say. The claims upon my activity, both from 
 within and without, were too numerous. 
 
 " My real happiness was my poetic meditation and pro- 
 duction. But how was this disturbed, limited, and hindered 
 by my external position ! Had I been able to abstain more 
 from public business, and to live more in solitude, I should 
 have been happier, and should have accomplished much 
 more as a poet. But, soon after my ' Groetz ' and ' Wer- 
 ther,' that saying of a sage was verified for me — 'If you 
 do anything for the sake of the world, it will take good 
 care that you shall not do it a second time.' 
 
 "A wide-spread celebrity, an elevated position in life, 
 are good things. But, for all my rank and celebrity, I am 
 
8824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 59 
 
 still obliged to be silent as to tbe opinion of others, that T 
 niay not give offence. This would be bnt poor sport, if by 
 this means I had not the advantage of learning the thoughts 
 of others without their being able to learn mine." 
 
 Sun., Feb. 15. — Goethe invited me to take a walk before 
 dinner to-day. I found him at breakfast when I entered 
 the room : he seemed in excellent spirits. 
 
 " I have had a pleasant visit," said he cheerfully. " A 
 promising young Westphalian, named Meyer, has just been 
 with me. He has written poems which warrant high ex- 
 pectations. He is only eighteen, and has made incredible 
 progress. 
 
 "lam glad," continued he, smiling, "tnat I am not 
 eighteen now. When I was eighteen, Germany was in its 
 teens also, and something could be done ; but now an 
 incredible deal is demanded, and every avenue is barred. 
 
 " Germany itself stands so high in every department, 
 that we can scarcely survey all it has done ; and now we 
 must be Greeks and Latins, and English and French into 
 the bargain. Not content with this, some have the mad- 
 ness of pointing to the East also ; and surely this is enough 
 to confuse a young man's head ! 
 
 " I have, by way of consolation, shown him my colossal 
 Juno, as a token that he had best stick to the Greeks, and 
 find consolation there. He is a fine young man, and, if he 
 takes care not to dissipate his energies, something will be 
 made of him. However, as I said before, I thank Heaven 
 that I am not young in so thoroughly finished a time. I 
 could not stay here. Nay, if I sought refuge in America, 
 I should come too late, for there is now too much light 
 even there." 
 
 Sun., Feb. 22. — Dined with Goethe and his son. The 
 latter related some pleasant stories of the time when he 
 was a student at Heidelberg. He had often been with his 
 friends on an excursion along the Rhine, in his vacations, 
 and especially cherished the remembrance of a landlord, at 
 whose house he and ten other students had once passed the 
 night, and who provided them with wine gratis, merely 
 that he might share the pleasures of a " Commerz." * 
 
 * The academical word for a student's drinking party. — Trans. 
 
60 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824, 
 
 After dinner, Goethe showed us some coloured drawings 
 of Italian scenery, especially that of Northern Italy, with the 
 adjoining Swiss mountains, and the Lago Maggiore. The 
 Borromean Isles were reflected in the water ; near the shore 
 were skiffs and fishing-tackle, which led Goethe to remark 
 that this was the lake in the " Wander jahre." On the 
 north-west, towards Monte Rosa, stood the hills bordering 
 the lake in black-blue heavy masses, as we are wont to see 
 them soon after sunset. 
 
 I remarked that, to me, who had been born in the plains, 
 the gloomy sublimity of these masses produced an un- 
 comfortable feeling, and that I, by no means, desired to 
 explore such wild recesses. 
 
 " That feeling is natural," said Goethe. " Really that 
 state is alone suitable to man, in which, and for which, he 
 was born. He who is not led abroad by great objects is 
 far happier at home. Switzerland, at first, made so great 
 an impression upon me, that it disturbed and confused me. 
 Only after repeated visits — only in after years, when I 
 visited those mountains merely as a mineralogist — could I 
 feel at my ease among them." 
 
 We looked, afterwards, at a long series of copper-plates, 
 from pictures by modern artists, in one of the French 
 galleries. The invention displayed in these pictures was 
 almost uniformly weak, and among forty we barely found 
 four or five good ones. These were a girl dictating a love- 
 letter ; a woman in a house to let, which nobody will take ! 
 " catching fish ; " and musicians before an image of the 
 Madonna. A landscape, in Poussin's manner, was not bad ; 
 on looking at this, Goethe said, " Such artists get a general 
 idea of Poussin's landscapes, and work upon that. We 
 cannot style their pictures good or bad : they are not bad, 
 because, through every part, you catch glimpses of an 
 excellent model. But you cannot call them good, because 
 the artists usually want the great personal peculiarity of 
 Poussin. It is just so among poets, and there are some who, 
 for instance, would make a very poor figure in Shakespeare's 
 grand style." 
 
 We ended by examining, and talking over for a long 
 while, Rauch's model of Goethe's statue, which is designed 
 for Frankfort. 
 
1 824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 61 
 
 Tues., Feb. 24. — I went to Goethe's at one o'clock to-day. 
 He showed me some manuscripts, which he had dictated for 
 the first number of the fifth volume of " Knnst nnd Alter- 
 tlruru." I found that he had written an appendix to my 
 critiqne of the German " Paria," in reference both to the 
 French tragedy and to his own lyrical trilogy, by which 
 this subject was, to a certain extent, completed. " Yon were 
 quite right," said he, " to avail yourself of the occasion of 
 your critique, to become acquainted with Indian matters, 
 since, in the end, we retain from our studies only that 
 which we practically apply." 
 
 I agreed with him, and said that I had made this 
 experience at the university, since, of all that was said in 
 the lectures, I had only retained that, of which I could, 
 through the tendency of my nature, make a practical 
 application ; on the contrary, I had completely forgotten all 
 that I had been unable to reduce to practice. " I have," 
 said I, " heard Heeren's lectures on ancient and modern 
 history, and know now nothing about the matter. But if I 
 studied a period of history for the sake of treating it 
 dramatically, what I learned would be safely secured to me 
 for ever." 
 
 "Altogether," said Goethe, "they teach in academies far 
 too many things, and far too much that is useless. Then 
 the individual professors extend their department too much 
 — far beyond the wants of their hearers. In former days 
 lectures were read in chemistry and botany as belonging to 
 medicine, and the physician could manage them. Now, 
 both these have become so extensive, that each of them re- 
 quires a life ; yet acquaintance with both is expected from 
 the physician. Nothing can come of this ; one thing must 
 be neglected and forgotten for the sake of the other. He 
 who is wise puts aside all claims which may dissipate his 
 attention, confines himself to one branch, and excels in that." 
 
 Goethe then showed me a short critique, which he had 
 written on Byron's " Cain," and which I read with great 
 interest. 
 
 " We see," he said, " how the inadequate dogmas of the 
 church work upon a free mind like Byron's, and how by 
 such a piece he struggles to get rid of a doctrine which has 
 been forced upon him. The English clergy will not thank 
 
62 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 him ; but I shall be surprised if lie does not go on treating 
 biblical subjects of similar import, and if lie lets slip a 
 subject like the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah." 
 
 After these literary observations, Goethe directed my 
 attention to plastic art, by showing me an antique gem, of 
 which he had already expressed his admiration the day 
 before. I was enchanted to observe the naivete of the 
 design. I saw a man who had taken a heavy vessel from 
 his shoulder to give a boy drink. But the boy finds it is 
 not bent down conveniently for him ; the drink will not 
 flow ; and while he has laid both his little hands on the 
 vessel, he looks up to the man, and seems to ask him to 
 incline it a little more towards him. 
 
 "Now, how do you like that?" said Goethe. "We 
 moderns," continued he, " feel well enough the beauty of 
 such a perfectly natural, perfectly naive motive; we have the 
 knowledge and the idea how such a thing is to be brought 
 about, but we cannot do it ; the understanding is always 
 uppermost, and this enchanting grace is always wanting." 
 
 We looked then at a medal by Brandt of Berlin, 
 representing young Theseus taking the arms of his father 
 from under the stone. The attitude had much that was 
 commendable, but we found the limbs not sufficiently 
 strained to lift such a burden. It seemed, too, a mistake 
 for the youth to have the arms in one hand while he lifted 
 the stone with the other ; for, according to the nature of 
 things, he would first roll aside the heavy stone, and then 
 take up the arms. "By way of contrast," said Goethe, " I 
 will show you an antique gem, where the same subject is 
 treated by an ancient." 
 
 He bade Stadelmann bring a box containing several 
 hundred copies of antique gems, which he had brought 
 with him from Rome, on the occasion of his travels in Italy. 
 I then saw the same subject, treated by an old Greek — and 
 how different it was ! The youth was exerting his whole 
 strength upon the stone, and was equal to the task, for the 
 weight was already visibly overcome, and the stone was 
 raised to that point, where it would very soon be cast on 
 one side. All his bodily powers were directed by the young 
 hero against the heavy mass ; only his looks were fixed on 
 the arms which lay beneath. 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 63 
 
 We were pleased with tlie great natural truth of this 
 treatment. 
 
 " Meyer," said Goethe, laughing, " always says, ' If 
 thinking were not so hard.' And the worst is, that all the 
 thinking in the world does not bring us to thought ; we must 
 be right by nature, so that good thoughts may come before 
 us like free children of God, and cry ' Here we are.' " 
 
 Wed., Feb. 25. — To-day, Goethe showed me two very 
 remarkable poems, both highly moral in their tendency, but 
 in their several motives so unreservedly natural and true, 
 that they are of the kind which the world styles immoral. 
 On this account, he keeps them to himself, and does not 
 intend to publish them. 
 
 " Could intellect and high cultivation," said he, "become 
 the property of all, the poet would have fair play ; he could 
 be always thoroughly true, and would not be compelled to 
 fear uttering his best thoughts. But, as it is, he must 
 al ways keep on a certain level ; must remember that his 
 works will fall into the hands of a mixed society; and 
 must, therefore, take care lest by over-great openness he 
 may give offence to the majority of good men. Then, 
 Time is a strange thing. It is a whimsical tyrant, which 
 in every century has a different face for all that one says 
 and does. We cannot, Avith propriety, say things which 
 were permitted to the ancient Greeks ; and the Englishmen 
 of 1820 cannot endure what suited the vigorous contem- 
 poraries of Shakspeare ; so that at the present day, it is 
 found necessary to have a Family Shakspeare." 
 
 "Then," said I, " there is much in the form also. The 
 one of these two poems, which is composed in the style and 
 metre of the ancients, would be far less offensive than the 
 other. Isolated parts would displease, but the treatment 
 throws so much grandeur and dignity over the whole, that 
 we seem to hear a strong ancient, and to be carried back to 
 the age of the Greek heroes. But the other, being in the 
 style and metre of Messer Ariosto, is far more hazardous. 
 It relates an event of our day, in the language of our day, 
 and as it thus comes quite unveiled into our presence, the 
 particular features of boldness seem far more audacious." 
 
 " You are right," said he ; " mysterious and great effects 
 are produced by different poetical forms. If the import of 
 
64 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 my Romish elegies were put into the measure and style of 
 Byron's ' Don Juan,' the whole would be found infamous." 
 The French newspapers were brought. The campaign 
 of the French in Spain under the Duke d'Angouleme, 
 which was just ended, had great interest for Goethe. " I 
 must praise the Bourbons for this measure," said he ; " they 
 had not really gained the throne till they had gained the 
 army, and that is now accomplished. The soldier returns 
 with loyalty to his king ; for he has, from his own victories, 
 and the discomfitures of the many-headed Spanish host, 
 learned the difference between obeying one and many. The 
 army has sustained its ancient fame, and shown that it is 
 brave in itself, and can conquer without Napoleon." 
 
 Goethe then turned his thoughts backward into history, 
 and talked much of the Prussian army in the Seven Years' 
 War, which, accustomed by Frederic the Great to constant 
 victory, grew careless, so that, in after days, it lost many 
 battles from over- confidence. All the minutest details were 
 present to his mind, and I had reason to admire- his ex- 
 cellent memory. 
 
 " I had the great advantage," said he, "of being born at 
 a time when the greatest events which agitated the world 
 occurred, and such have continued to occur during my long- 
 life ; so that I am a living witness of the Seven Years' War, 
 of the separation of America from England, of the French 
 Revolution, and of the whole Napoleon era, with the down- 
 fall of that hero, and the events which followed. Thus I 
 have attained results and insight impossible to those who 
 are born now and must learn all these things from books 
 which they will not understand. 
 
 "What the next years will bring I cannot predict; but 
 I fear we shall not soon have repose. It is not given to 
 the world to be contented ; the great are not such that 
 there will be no abuse of power ; the masses not such that, 
 in hope of gradual improvement, they will be contented 
 with a moderate condition. Could we perfect human 
 nature, we might also expect a perfect state of things ; but, 
 as it is, there will always be a wavering hither and thither ; 
 one part must suffer while the other is at ease, envy and 
 egotism will be always at work like bad demons, and party 
 ■strife will be without end. 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 65 
 
 " The most reasonable way is for every one to follow his 
 own vocation to which he has been born, and which he has 
 learned, and to avoid hindering others from following theirs. 
 Let the shoemaker abide by his last, the peasant by his 
 plough, and let the king know how to govern ; for this is 
 also a business which must be learned, and with which no 
 one should meddle who does not understand it." 
 
 Returning tc the French papers, Goethe said, — " The 
 liberals may speak, for when they are reasonable we like to 
 hear them ; but with the royalists, who have the executive 
 power in their hands, talking comes amiss — they should 
 act. They may march troops, and behead and hang — that 
 is all right ; but attacking opinions, and justifying their 
 measures in public prints, does not become them. If there 
 were a public of kings, they might talk. 
 
 " For myself," he continued, " I have always been a 
 royalist. I have let others babble, and have done as I saw 
 fit. I understood my course, and knew my own object. If 
 I committed a fault as a single individual, I could make it 
 good again ; but if I committed it jointly with three or four 
 others, it would be impossible to make it good, for among 
 many there are many opinions." 
 
 Goethe was in excellent spirits to-day. He showed me 
 Frau von Spiegel's album, in which he had written some 
 very beautiful verses. A place had been left open for him 
 for two years, and he rejoiced at having been able to per- 
 form at last an old promise. After I had read the " Poem 
 to Frau von Spiegel," I turned over the leaves of the book, 
 in which I found many distinguished names. On the very 
 next page was a poem by Tiedge, written in the very spirit 
 and style of his "Urania." "In a saucy mood," said 
 Goethe, " I was on the point of writing some verses beneath 
 those ; but I am glad I did not. It would not have been 
 the first time that, by rash expressions, I had repelled good 
 people, and spoiled the effect of my best works. 
 
 " However," continued Goethe, " I have had to endure 
 not a little from Tiedge's ' Urania ; ' for, at one time, 
 nothing was sung and nothing was declaimed but this same 
 ' Urania.' Wherever you went, you found ' Urania ' on the 
 table. ' Urania ' and immortality were the topics of every 
 conversation. I would by no means dispense with the 
 
 F 
 
06 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 happiness of believing in a future existence, and, indeed, 
 would say, with Lorenzo de Medici, that those are dead 
 even for this life who hope for no other. But such incom- 
 prehensible matters He too far off to be a theme of daily 
 meditation and thought- distracting speculation. Let him 
 who believes in immortality enjoy his happiness in silence, 
 he has no reason to give himself airs about it. The occa- 
 sion of Tiedge's ' Urania ' led me to observe that piety, 
 like nobility, has its aristocracy. I met stupid women, who 
 plumed themselves on believing, with Tiedge, in immor- 
 tality, and I was forced to bear much dark examination on 
 this point. They were vexed by my saying I should be 
 well pleased if, after the close of this life, we were blessed 
 with another, only I hoped I should hereafter meet none of 
 those who had believed in it here. For how should I be 
 tormented ! The pious would throng around me, and say, 
 ' Were we not right ? Did we not predict it ? Has not 
 it happened just as we said ? ' And so there would be 
 ennui without end even in the other world. 
 
 "This occupation with the ideas of immortality," he 
 continued, "is for people of rank, and especially ladies, 
 who have nothing to do. But an able man, who has some- 
 thing regular to do here, and must toil and struggle and 
 produce day by day, leaves the future world to itself, and is 
 active and useful in this. Thoughts about immortality are 
 also good for those who have not been very successful here ; 
 and I would wager that, if the good Tiedge had enjoyed a 
 better lot, he would also have had better thoughts." 
 
 Thurs., Feb. 26. — I dined with Goethe. After the cloth 
 had been removed, he bade Stadelmann bring in some large 
 portfolios of copper-plates. Some dust had collected on 
 the covers, and, as no suitable cloths were at hand to 
 wipe it away, Goethe was much displeased, and scolded 
 Stadelmann. "I tell you for the last time," said he, 
 "if you do not go this very day to buy the cloths for 
 which I have asked so often, I will go myself to-morrow : 
 and you shall see that I will keep my word." Stadelmann 
 went. 
 
 "A similar case occurred to me with Becker, the actor," 
 added Goethe to me, in a lively tone, " when he refused to 
 take the part of a trooper in ' Wallenstein.' I gave hiiii 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 07 
 
 warning that, if lie would not play the part, I would play- 
 it myself. That did the business ; for they knew me at the 
 theatre well enough, and were aware that I did not under- 
 stand jesting in such matters, and also that I was mad 
 enough to keep my word in any case." 
 
 " And would you really have played the part ? " asked I. 
 
 " Yes," said Goethe, " I would have played it, and would 
 have eclipsed Herr Becker, too, for I knew the part better 
 than he did." 
 
 We then opened the portfolios, and proceeded to the 
 examination of the drawings and engravings. Goethe, in 
 such matters, takes great pains on my account, and I see 
 that it is his intention to give me a higher degree of pene- 
 tration in the observation of works of art. He shows me 
 only what is perfect in its kind, and endeavours to make 
 me apprehend the intention and merit of the artist, that I 
 may learn to pursue the thoughts of the best, and feel like 
 the best. " This," said he, "is the way to cultivate what 
 we call taste. Taste is only to be educated by contempla- 
 tion, not of the tolerably good, but of the truly excellent. 
 I, therefore, show you only the best works ; and when you 
 are grounded in these, you will have a standard for the 
 rest, which you will know how to value, without overrating 
 them. And I show you the best in each class, that you 
 may perceive that no class is to be despised, but that each 
 gives delight when a man of genius attains its highest 
 point. I For instance, this piece, by a French artist, is gcdant, 
 to a degree which you see nowhere else, and is therefore a 
 model in its way." 
 
 Goethe handed me the engraving, and I looked at it with 
 delight. There was a beautiful room in a summer resi- 
 dence, with open doors and windows looking into a garden, 
 where one might see the most graceful figures. A hand- 
 some lady, aged about thirty, was sitting with a music 
 book, from which she seemed to have just sung. Sitting 
 by her, a little further back, was a young girl of about 
 fifteen. At the open window behind stood another young 
 lady, holding a lute, which she seemed still to be sounding. 
 At this moment a young gentleman was entering, to whom 
 the eyes of the ladies were directed. He seemed to have 
 interrupted the music ; and his slight bow gave the notion 
 
 f2 
 
68 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 that he was making an apology, which the ladies were 
 gratified to hear. 
 
 " That, I think," said Goethe, "is as galant as any piece 
 of Calderon's ; and yon have now seen the very best thing 
 of this kind. Bnt what say yon to this ? " 
 
 With these words he handed me some etchings by Roos, 
 the famons painter of animals ; they were all of sheep, in 
 every postnre and situation. The simplicity of their 
 conntenances, the ngliness and shagginess of the fleece — 
 all was represented with the ntmost fidelity, as if it were 
 nature itself. 
 
 "I always feel uneasy," said Goethe, "when I look at 
 these beasts. Their state, so limited, dull, gaping, and 
 dreaming, excites in me such sympathy, that I fear I shall 
 become a sheep, and almost think the artist must have been 
 one. At all events, it is most wonderful how Roos has been 
 able to think and feel himself into the very soul of these 
 creatures, so as to make the internal character peer with 
 such force through the outward covering. Here you see 
 what a great talent can do when it keeps steady to subjects 
 which are congenial with its nature." 
 
 "Has not, then," said I, "this artist also painted dogs, 
 cats, and beasts of prey with similar truth ; nay, with this 
 great gift of assuming a mental state foreign to himself, has 
 he not been able to delineate human character with equal 
 fidelity ? " 
 
 "No," said Goethe, "all that lay out of his sphere; but 
 the gentle, grass-eating animals, sheep, goats, cows, and the 
 like, he was never weary of repeating ; this was the peculiar 
 province of his talent, which he did not quit during the 
 whole course of his life. And in this he did well. A sym- 
 pathy with these animals was born with him, a knowledge 
 of their psychological condition was given him, and thus he 
 had so fine an eye for their bodily structure. Other creatures 
 were perhaps not so transparent to him, and therefore he 
 felt neither calling nor impulse to paint them." 
 
 By this remark of Goethe's, much that was analogous 
 was revived within me, and was presented in all its liveliness 
 to my mind. Thus he had said to me, not long before, 
 that knowledge of the world is inborn with the genuine poet, 
 and that he needs not much experience or varied observation 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 69 
 
 to represent it adequately. " I wrote ' Goetz von Ber- 
 lichingen,'" said he, "as a young man of two-and-twenty, 
 and was astonished, ten years after, at the truth of my deli- 
 neation. It is obvious that I had not experienced nor seen 
 anything of the kind, and therefore I must have acquired 
 the knowledge of various human conditions by way of 
 anticipation. 
 
 " Generally, I only took pleasure in painting my inward 
 world before I became acquainted with the outer one. But 
 when I found, in actual life, that the world was really just 
 what I had fancied, it vexed me, and I no more felt delight 
 in representing it. Indeed, I may say that if I had waited 
 till I knew the world before I represented it, my represen- 
 tation would have had the appearance of persiflage. 
 
 " There is in every character," said he, another time, " a 
 certain necessity, a sequence, which, together with this or 
 that leading feature, causes secondary features. Observation 
 teaches this sufficiently ; but with some persons this know- 
 ledge may be innate. Whether with me experience and 
 innate faculty are united, I will not inquire ; but this I 
 know, if I have talked with any man a quarter of an hour, 
 I will let him talk two hours." 
 
 Goethe had likewise said of Lord Byron, that the world 
 to him was transparent, and that he could paint by way of 
 anticipation. I expressed some doubts whether Byron 
 would succeed in painting, for instance, a subordinate 
 animal nature, for his individuality seemed to me to be too 
 powerful for him to give himself up, with any degree of pre- 
 dilection, to such a subject. Goethe admitted this, and 
 replied that the anticipation only went so far as the objects 
 were analogous to the talent ; and we agreed, that in the 
 same proportion as the anticipation is confined or extended, 
 is the representing talent of greater or smaller compass. 
 
 " If your excellency," said I, " maintains that the world 
 is inborn with the poet, you of course mean only the interior 
 world, not the empirical world of appearances and conven- 
 tions ; if the poet is to give a successful representation of 
 this also, an investigation into the actual will surely be 
 requisite." 
 
 " Certainly," replied Goethe, "so it is ; the region of love, 
 hate, hope, despair, or by whatever other names you may 
 
70 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 call tlie moods and passions of the soul, is innate with the 
 poet, and he succeeds in representing it. But it is not born 
 with him to know by instinct how courts are held, or how 
 a parliament or a coronation is managed ; and if he will not 
 offend against truth, while treating such subjects, he must 
 have recourse to experience or tradition. Thus, in 'Faust,' 
 I could, by anticipation, know how to describe my hero's 
 gloomy weariness of life, and the emotions which love 
 excites in the heart of Gretchen ; but the lines, 
 
 Wie traurig steigt die unvollkommne Scheibe 
 Des spaten Monds mit feuchter Glut heran ! 
 
 1 How gloomy does the imperfect disc 
 Of the late moon with humid glow arise ! ' 
 
 required some observation of nature." 
 
 " Yet," said I, " every line of ' Faust ' bears marks, not to 
 be mistaken, of a careful study of life and the world ; nor 
 does one for a moment suppose otherwise than that the 
 whole is only the result of the amplest experience." 
 
 "Perhaps so," replied Groethe ; "yet, had I not the world 
 already in my soul through anticipation, I should have re- 
 mained blind with seeing eyes, and all experience and obser- 
 vation would have been dead, unproductive labour. The 
 light is there, and the colours surround us ; but, if we had 
 no light and no colours in our own eyes, we should not 
 perceive the outward phenomena." 
 
 Sat, Feb. 28. — "There are," said Goethe, "excellent 
 men, who are unable to do anything impromptu, or super- 
 ficially, but whose nature demands that they should quietly 
 and deeply penetrate into every subject they may take in 
 hand. Such minds often make us impatient, for we seldom 
 get from them what we want at the moment ; but in this 
 way alone the noblest tasks are accomplished." 
 
 1 turned the conversation to Ramberg. "He," said 
 Groethe, " is an artist of quite a different stamp, of a most 
 genial talent, and indeed unequalled in his power of im- 
 jDromptu. At Dresden, he once asked me to give him a 
 subject. I gave him Agamemnon, at the moment when, on 
 his return from Troy, he is descending from his chariot, and 
 is seized with a gloomy feeling, on touching the threshold 
 of his house. You will agree that this is a subject of a most 
 
1824.3 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 71 
 
 difficult kind, and, with another artist, would have demanded 
 the most mature deliberation. But the words had scarcely 
 passed my lips, before Raniberg began to draw, and, indeed, 
 I was struck with admiration, to see how correctly he at 
 once apprehended his subject. I cannot deny that I should 
 like to possess some drawings by Ramberg." 
 
 We talked then of other [artists, who set to work in a 
 superficial way, and thus degenerated into mannerism. 
 
 "Mannerism," said Goethe, "is always longing to have 
 done, and has no true enjoyment in work. A genuine, really 
 great talent, on the other hand, finds its greatest happiness 
 in execution. Roos is unwearied in drawing the hair and 
 wool of his goats and sheep, and you see by his infinite 
 details that he enjoyed the purest f elicity in doing his work, 
 and had no wish to bring it to an end. 
 
 " Inferior talents do not enjoy art for its own sake ; 
 while at work they have nothing before their eyes but the 
 profit they hope to make when they have done. With sucV 
 worldly views and tendencies, nothing great was ever 
 yet produced." 
 
 Sun., Feb. 29. — At twelve o'clock, I went to Goethe, who 
 had invited me to take a walk before dinner. I found Mm 
 at breakfast when I entered, and taking my seat opposite 
 to him, turned the conversation upon those productions 
 which occupy us both on account of the new edition of his 
 works. I counselled him to insert both his " Gods, Heroes, 
 and Wieland," and his "Letters of a Pastor," in his new 
 edition. 
 
 " I cannot," said Goethe, " from my present point of 
 view, properly judge the merit of those youthful productions. 
 You younger people may decide, if you will. Yet I will 
 not find fault with those beginnings ; I was, indeed, then 
 in the dark, and struggled on, unconscious of what I was 
 seeking so earnestly ; but I had a feeling of the right, a 
 divining rod, that showed me where gold was to be found." 
 
 I observed' that this must be the case with all great 
 talents, since otherwise, on awaking in a mixed world, they 
 would not seize upon the right and shun the wrong. 
 
 The horses had, in the mean while, been put to, and we 
 rode towards Jena. We conversed on different subjects, 
 and Goethe mentioned the last French newspapers. "The 
 
72 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824, 
 
 constitution of France," said he, "belonging to a people who 
 have within themselves so many elements of corruption, 
 rests upon a very different basis from that of England. 
 Everything may be done in France by bribery ; indeed the 
 whole French revolution was directed by such means." 
 
 He then spoke of the death of Eugene Napoleon (Duke 
 of Leuchtenberg), the news of which had arrived that 
 morning., and which seemed to grieve him much. " He was 
 one of those great characters," said Goethe, "which are 
 becoming more and more rare ; and the world is once more 
 one important man the poorer. I knew him personally ; 
 only last summer I was with him at Marienbad. He was a 
 handsome man, about forty-two, though he looked older, 
 which was not to be wondered at when we call to mind all 
 he went through, and how, through all his life, one cam- 
 paign and one great deed pressed constantly on another. 
 He told me at Marienbad of a plan, on the execution of 
 which he conversed with me much. This was the union of 
 the Rhine with the Danube, by means of a canal — a gigantic 
 enterprise, when you consider the obstacles offered by the 
 locality. But to a man who has served under Napoleon, 
 and with him shaken the world, nothing appears impossible. 
 Charlemagne had the same plan, and even began the work, 
 but it soon came to a standstill. The sand would not hold, 
 the banks were always falling in on both sides." 
 
 Mon., Mar. 22. — To-day, before dinner, I went with Goethe 
 into his garden. The situation of this garden, on the other 
 side of the Ilm, near the park, and on the western declivity 
 of a hill, gives it a very inviting aspect. It is protected 
 from the north and east winds, but open to the cheering 
 influences of the south and west, which makes it a most 
 delightful abode, especially in spring and autumn. 
 
 To the town, which lies north-west, one is so near that 
 one can be there in a few minutes, and yet if one looks 
 round, one does not anywhere see the top of a building, or 
 even a spire, to remind one of such a proximity ; the tall 
 and thickly-planted trees of the park shut out every other 
 object on that side. Under the name of the " Star," they go to 
 the left, towards the north, close to the carriage-way, which 
 leads immediately from the garden. 
 
 Towards the west and south-west, there is a free view over 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 73 
 
 a spacious meadow, through which, at about the distance of 
 a bow-shot, the Ilm winds silently along. On the opposite 
 side of the river, the bank rises like a hill ; on the summit 
 and sides of which spreads the broad park, with the mixed 
 foliage of alders, ash-trees, poplars, and birches, bounding 
 the horizon at an agreeable distance on the south and west. 
 
 This view of the park over the meadow gives a feeling, 
 especially in summer, as if one were near a wood which 
 extended leagues round about. One thinks that every 
 moment there will be deer bounding out upon the meadows. 
 One feels transplanted into the peace of the deepest 
 natural solitude, for the silence is often uninterrupted, 
 except by the solitary notes of the blackbird, or the 
 frequently-suspended song of the wood-thrush. 
 
 Out of this dream of profound solitude, we are, however, 
 awakened by the striking of the tower-clock, the screaming 
 of the peacocks from the park, or the drums and horns of 
 the military from the barracks. And this is not unpleasant ; 
 for such tones comfortably remind one of the neighbour- 
 hood of the friendly city, from which one has fancied 
 oneself distant so many miles. 
 
 At certain seasons, these meadows are the reverse of 
 lonely. One sees sometimes country people going to 
 Weimar to market, or to work, and returning thence ; some- 
 times loungers of all sorts walking along the windings of 
 the Ilm, especially in the direction towards Upper Weimar, 
 which is on certain days much visited. The hay-making 
 season also animates the scene very agreeably. In the back- 
 ground, one sees flocks of sheep grazing, and sometimes 
 the stately Swiss cows of the neighbouring farm. 
 
 To-day, however, there was no trace of these summer 
 phenomena, which are so refreshing to the senses. On the 
 meadows, some streaks of green were scarcely visible ; the 
 trees of the park as yet could boast nothing but brown 
 twigs and buds; yet the note of the finch, with the 
 occasional song of the blackbird and thrush, announced the 
 approach of spring. 
 
 The air was pleasant and sunimerlike ; a very mild south- 
 west wind was blowing. Small, isolated thunder-clouds 
 passed along the clear sky ; high above might be observed 
 the dispersing cirrus-streaks. We accurately observed the 
 
74 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 clouds, and saw that the massive clouds of the lower region 
 were likewise dispersing ; from which Goethe inferred that 
 the barometer must be rising. 
 
 Goethe then spoke much about the rising and falling of 
 the barometer, which he called the affirmative and negative 
 of water. He spoke of the inhaling and exhaling processes 
 of the earth, according to eternal laws ; of a possible deluge, 
 if the "water-affirmative" continued. He said, besides, 
 that, though each place has its proper atmosphere, there is 
 great uniformity in the state of the barometer throughout 
 Europe ; nature, he said, was incommensurable, and with 
 her great irregularities, it was often difficult to find her laws. 
 
 "While he thus instructed me on such high subjects, we 
 were walking up and down the broad gravel-walk of the 
 garden. We came near the house, which he bade the 
 servant to open, that he might show me the interior. 
 Without, the whitewashed walls were covered with rose- 
 bushes, which, trained on espaliers, reached to the roof. 
 I went round the house, and saw with pleasure, on the 
 branches of these rose-bushes, against the wall, a great 
 number of birds' nests of various kinds, which had been 
 there since the preceding summer, and, now that the bushes 
 were bare of leaves, were exposed to the eye. There were 
 especially to be observed the nests of the linnet and of 
 various kinds of hedge-sparrows, built high or low accord- 
 ing to the habits of the birds. 
 
 Goethe then took me inside the house, which I had not 
 seen since last summer. In the lower story, I found only 
 one inhabitable room, on the walls of which were hung 
 some charts and engravings, besides a portrait of Goethe, 
 as large as life, painted by Meyer shortly after the return 
 of both friends from Italy. Goethe here appears in the 
 prime of his powers and his manhood, very brown, and 
 rather stout. The expression of the countenance is not 
 very animated, and is very serious ; one seems to behold a 
 man on whose mind lies the weight of future deeds. 
 
 We ascended the stairs to the upper-rooms. I found 
 three, and one little cabinet ; but all very small, and not 
 ■v-ery convenient. Goethe said that, in former years, he had 
 passed a great deal of his time here with pleasure, and had 
 worked very quietly. 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. P$ 
 
 These rooms were rather cool, and we returned into the 
 open air, which was mild. As we walked up and down the; 
 chief pathway, in the noonday sun, our conversation 
 turned on modern literature, Schelling, and some new plays 
 by Count Platen. 
 
 We soon returned to the natural objects. The crown- 
 imperials and lilies were already far advanced ; the mallows 
 on both sides of the park were already green. 
 
 The upper part of the garden, on the declivity of the 
 hill, is covered with grass, and here and there a few fruit- 
 frees. Paths extend along the summit, and then return to 
 the foot ; which awakened in me a wish to ascend and look 
 about me. Goethe, as he ascended these paths, walked 
 swiftly before me, and I was rejoiced to see how active 
 he was. 
 
 On the hedge above we found a pea-hen, which seemed 
 to have come from the prince's park ; and Goethe remarked 
 that, in summer time, he was accustomed to allure the 
 peacocks, by giving them such food as they loved. 
 
 Descending on the winding path on the other side ot 
 the hill, I found a stone, surrounded by shrubs, on which 
 was carved this line from the well-known poem — 
 
 Hier im stillen gedachte der Liebende seiner Gelicbten ; 
 " Here in silence reflected the lover upon his beloved; " 
 
 and I felt as if I were on classic ground. 
 
 Near this was a thicket of half-grown oaks, firs, birches, 
 and beech- trees. Beneath the firs, I found the sign * of a 
 bird of prey. I showed it to Goethe, who said he had often 
 seen such in this place. Prom this I concluded that these 
 firs were a favourite abode of some owls, which had been 
 frequently seen in this place. 
 
 Passing round this thicket, we found ourselves once 
 more on the principal path near the house. The oaks, 
 firs, birches, and beeches, which we had just gone round, 
 being mingled together, here form a semicircle, overarching 
 like a grotto the inner space, in which we sat down on 
 
 * The -word here rendered by the general- expression " sign " is 
 " Gewolle," a sporting terra, which signifies the hair, feathers, or 
 other indigestible matter swallowed by a bird of prey and afterwards 
 vomited. — Trans. 
 
76 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824, 
 
 little chairs, placed about a round table. The sun was so 
 powerful, that the shade even of these leafless trees was 
 agreeable. " I know," said Goethe, " no better refuge, in 
 the heats of summer, than this spot. I planted all the 
 trees, forty years ago, with my own hand ; I have had the 
 pleasure of watching their growth, and have now for a 
 long time enjoyed their refreshing shade. The foliage of 
 these oaks and beeches is impervious to the most potent 
 sun. In hot summer days, I like to sit here after dinner ; 
 and often over the meadows and the whole park such still- 
 ness reigns, that the ancients would say, ' Pan sleeps.' " 
 
 We now heard the town- clock striking two, and returned 
 to the house. 
 
 Tues., Mar. 30. — This evening I was with Goethe. I 
 was alone with him ; we talked on various subjects, and 
 drank a bottle of wine. We spoke of the French drama, as 
 contrasted with the German. 
 
 "It will be very difficult," said Goethe, " for the German 
 public to come to a kind of right judgment, as they do in 
 Italy and France. We have a special obstacle in the 
 circumstance, that on our stage a medley of all sorts of 
 things is represented. On the same boards where we saw 
 Hamlet yesterday, we see Staberle* to-day; and if to- 
 morrow we are delighted with ' Zauberflote,' the day after 
 we shall be charmed with the oddities of the next lucky 
 wight. Hence the public becomes confused in its judgment, 
 mingling together various species, which it never learns 
 rightly to appreciate and to understand. Furthermore, 
 every one has his own individual demands and personal 
 wishes, and returns to the spot where he finds them realized. 
 On the tree where he has plucked figs to-day, he would 
 pluck them again to-morrow, and would make a long face 
 if sloes had grown in their stead during the night. If any 
 one is a friend to sloes, he goes to the thorns. 
 
 " Schiller had the happy thought of building a house for 
 tragedy alone, and of giving a piece every week for the 
 male sex exclusively. But this notion presupposed a very 
 large city, and could not be realized with our humble 
 
 * A Viennese buffoon. — Trans. 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 77 
 
 We talked about the plays of Iffland and Kotzebuc, 
 which, in their way, Goethe highly commended. " From 
 this very fault," said he, " that people do not perfectly 
 distinguish between hinds in art, the pieces of these men 
 are often unjustly censured. We may wait a long time 
 before a couple of such popular talents come again." 
 
 I praised Iffland's "Hagestolz" (Old Bachelor), with 
 which I had been highly pleased on the stage. " It is un- 
 questionably Iffland's best piece," said Goethe ; "it is the 
 only one in which he goes from prose into the ideal." 
 
 He then told me of a piece, which he and Schiller had 
 made as a continuation to the " Hagestolz " ; that is to say, 
 in conversation, without writing it down: Goethe told me 
 the progress of the action, scene by scene ; it was very 
 pleasant and cheerful, and gave me great delight. 
 
 Goethe then spoke of some new plays by Platen. " In 
 these pieces," said he, "we may see the influence of 
 Calderon. They are very clever, and, in a certain sense, 
 complete ; but they want specific gravity, a certain weight 
 of import. They are not of a kind to excite in the mind 
 of the reader a deep and abiding interest ; on the contrary, 
 the strings of the soul are touched but lightly and tran- 
 siently. They are like cork, which, when it swims on the 
 water, makes no impression, but is easily sustained by the 
 surface. 
 
 " The German requires a certain earnestness, a certain 
 grandeur of thought, and a certain fulness of sentiment. 
 It is on this account that Schiller is so highly esteemed by 
 them all. I do not in the least doubt the abilities of 
 Platen; but those, probably from mistaken views of art, 
 are not manifested here. He shows distinguished culture, 
 intellect, pungent wit, and artistical completeness ; but 
 these, especially in Germany, are not enough. 
 
 " Generally, the personal character of the writer in- 
 fluences the public rather than his talents as an artist. 
 Napoleon said of Corneille, ' SHI vivait,je le ferais prince ; ' 
 yet he never read him. Racine he read, but did not say 
 this of him. Lafontaine, too, is looked upon with a high 
 degree of esteem by the French, not on account of his 
 poetic merits, but of the greatness of character which he 
 manifests in his writings." 
 
78 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 We then talked of the "Elective Affinities" (Wahlver- 
 wandtschaften) ; and Goethe told me of a travelling 
 Englishman, who meant to be separated from his wife 
 when he returned to England. He langhed at such folly, 
 and gave me several examples of persons who had been 
 separated, and afterwards could not let each other alone. 
 
 " The late Reinhard of Dresden," said he, " often won- 
 dered that I had such severe principles with respect to 
 marriage, while I was so tolerant in everything else." 
 
 This expression of Goethe's was remarkable to me, be- 
 cause it clearly showed what he really intended by that 
 often misunderstood work ("Die Wahlverwandtschaften"). 
 
 We then talked about Tieck, and his personal relation to 
 Goethe. 
 
 " I entertain the greatest kindness for Tieck," said 
 Goethe ; " and I think that, on the whole, he is well dis- 
 posed towards me. Still, there is something not as it ought 
 to be in his relation to me. This is neither my fault nor 
 his, but proceeds from causes altogether foreign. 
 
 " When the Schlegels began to make themselves im- 
 portant, I was too strong for them ; and to balance me, 
 they were forced to look about for some man of talent, 
 whom they might set up in opposition. Such a talent they 
 found in Tieck ; and that, when placed in contrast to me, 
 he might appear sufficiently important in the eyes of the 
 public, they were forced to make more of him. than he 
 really was. This injured our mutual relation ; for Tieck, 
 without being properly conscious of it "himself, was thus 
 placed in a false position with respect to me. 
 
 " Tieck is a talent of great importance, and no one can 
 be more sensible than myself to his extraordinary merits ; 
 only when they raise him above himself, and place him. on 
 a level with me, they are in error. I can speak this out 
 plainly ; it matters nothing to me, for I did not make 
 myself. I might just as well compare myself with Shake- 
 speare, who likewise did not make himself, and who is 
 nevertheless a being of a higher order, to whom I must 
 look up with reverence." 
 
 Goethe was this evening full of energy and gaiety. He 
 brought some manuscript poems, which he read aloud. It 
 was quite a peculiar pleasure to hear him, for not only did 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 79 
 
 the original force and freshness of the poems excite me to 
 a high degree, but Goethe, by his manner of reading them, 
 showed himself to me on a side hitherto unknown, but 
 highly important. What variety and force in his voice ! 
 What life and expression in the noble countenance, so full 
 of wrinkles ! And what eyes ! 
 
 Wed., April 14. — I went out walking with Goethe about 
 one. We discussed the styles of various writers. 
 
 " On the whole," said Goethe, "philosophical speculation 
 is an injury to the Germans, as it tends to make their style 
 vague, difficult, and obscure. The stronger their attach- 
 ment to certain philosophical schools, the worse they write. 
 Those Germans who, as men of business and actual life, 
 confine themselves to the practical, write the best. Schiller's 
 style is most noble and impressive whenever he leaves off 
 philosophizing, as I observe every day in his highly inter- 
 esting letters, with which I am now busy. 
 
 " There are likewise among the German women, genial 
 beings who write a really excellent style, and, indeed, in 
 that respect surpass many of our celebrated male writers. 
 
 "The English almost always write well ; being born 
 orators and practical men, with a tendency to the real. 
 
 " The French, in their style, remain true to their general 
 character. They are of a social nature, and therefore never 
 forget the public whom they address ; they strive to be clear, 
 that they may convince their reader — agreeable, that they 
 may please him. 
 
 "Altogether, the style of a writer is a faithful repre- 
 sentative of his mind ; therefore, if any man wish to 
 write a clear style, let him be first clear in his thoughts ; 
 and if any would write in a noble style, let him first possess 
 a noble soul." 
 
 Goethe then spoke of his antagonists as a race which 
 would never become extinct. " Their number," said he, "is 
 legion ; yet they may be in some degree classified. First, 
 there are my antagonists from stupidity — those who do not 
 understand me, and find fault with me without knowing 
 me. This large company has wearied me much in the 
 course of my life ; yet shall they be forgiven, for they knew 
 not what they did. 
 
 " The second large class is composed of those who envy 
 
80 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 me. These grudge me the fortune and the dignified station 
 I have attained through my talents. They pluck at my fame, 
 and would like to destroy me. If I were poor and. miserable, 
 they would assail me no more. 
 
 " There are many who have been my adversaries, because 
 they have failed themselves. In this class are many of fine 
 talent, but they cannot forgive me for casting them into the 
 shade. 
 
 " Fourthly, there are my antagonists from reasons. For, 
 as I am a human being, and as such have human faults and 
 weaknesses, my writings cannot be free from them. Yet, as 
 I was constantly bent on my own improvement, and always 
 striving to ennoble myself, I was in a state of constant pro- 
 gress, and it often happened that they blamed me for faults 
 which I had long since left behind. These good folks have 
 injured me least of any, as they shot at me, when I was 
 already miles distant. Generally when a work was finished, 
 it became uninteresting to me ; I thought of it no more, but 
 busied myself with some new plan. 
 
 " Another large class comprises those who are adversaries, 
 because they differ from me in their views and modes of 
 thought. It is said of the leaves on a tree, that you will 
 scarcely find two perfectly alike, and thus, among a thou- 
 sand men, you will scarce find two, who harmonize entirely 
 in their views and ways of thinking. This being allowed, 
 I ought less to wonder at having so many opponents, than 
 at having so many friends and adherents. My tendencies 
 were opposed to those of my time, which were wholly sub- 
 jective ; while in my objective efforts, I stood quite alone to 
 my own disadvantage. 
 
 " Schiller had, in this respect, great advantage over me. 
 Hence, a certain well-meaning general once gave me plainly 
 to understand that I ought to write like Schiller. I replied 
 by analyzing Schiller's merits, for I knew them better than 
 he. I went quietly on in my own way, not troubling my- 
 self further about success, and taking as little notice as 
 possible of my opponents." 
 
 We returned, and had a very pleasant time at dinner. 
 Frau von Goethe talked much of Berlin, where she had 
 lately been. She spoke with especial warmth of the Duchess 
 of Cumberland, who had shown her much kindness. Goethe 
 
1824.] CONVEKSATIONS OF GOETHE. 81 
 
 remembered this princess, who, when very young, had passed 
 some time with his mother, with particular interest. 
 
 In the evening, I had a musical treat of a high order at 
 Goethe's house, where some fine singers, under the super- 
 intendence of Eberwein, performed part of Handel's Messiah. 
 The Countess Caroline von Egloff stein, Fraulein von Froriep, 
 with Frau von Pogwisch and Frau von Goethe, joined the 
 female singers, and thus kindly gratified a wish which 
 Goethe had entertained long since. 
 
 Goethe, sitting at some distance, wholly absorbed in hear- 
 ing, passed a happy evening, full of admiration at this noble 
 work. 
 
 Mon., April 19. — The greatest philologist of our time, 
 Friedrich August Wolf, from Berlin, is here, on his way 
 towards the south of France. Goethe gave, to-day, on his 
 account, a dinner to his Weimar friends, at which General 
 Superintendent Rdhr, Chancellor von Miiller, Oberbau- 
 director Coudray, Professor Eiemer, and Hofrath Rehbein, 
 and myself, were present. The conversation was very lively. 
 Wolf was full of witty sallies, Goethe being constantly his 
 opponent in the pleasantest way. "I cannot," said Goethe 
 to me afterwards, "get on with Wolf, at all, without assum- 
 ing the character of Mephistophiles. Nothing else brings 
 out his hidden treasures." 
 
 The oon mots at table were too evanescent, and too much 
 the result of the moment, to bear repetition. Wolf was 
 very great in witty turns and repartees, but nevertheless 
 it seemed to me that Goethe always maintained a certain 
 superiority over him. 
 
 The hours at table flew by as if with wings, and six o'clock 
 came before we were aware. I went with young Goethe 
 to the theatre, where "Zauberflote" was played. After- 
 wards I saw Wolf in the box, with the Grand Duke Carl 
 August. 
 
 Wolf remained in Weimar till the 25th, when he set out 
 for the south of France. The state of his health was such 
 that Goethe did not conceal the greatest anxiety about him. 
 
 Sun., May 2. — Goethe reproved me for not having visited 
 a certain family of distinction. "You might," said he, 
 "have passed there, during the winter, many delightful 
 
 O 
 
82 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 evenings, and have made the acqnaintan.ee of many in- 
 teresting strangers ; all which yon have lost from God 
 knows what caprice." 
 
 " With my excitable temperament," I replied, "and with 
 my disposition to a broad sympathy with others, nothing 
 can be more burdensome and hurtful to me than an over- 
 abundance of new impressions. I am neither by education 
 nor habit fitted for general society. My situation in earlier 
 days was such, that I feel as if I had never lived till I came 
 near you. All is new to me. Every evening at the theatre, 
 every conversation with you, makes an era in my existence. 
 Things perfectly indifferent to persons of different education 
 and habits make the deepest impression on me, and as the 
 desire of instructing myself is great, my mind seizes on 
 everything with a certain energy, and draws from it as 
 much nourishment as possible. In this state of mind, I had 
 quite enough in the course of this winter, from the theatre 
 and my connection with you ; and I should not have been 
 able to give myself up to other connections and engagements, 
 without disturbing my mind." 
 
 "You are an odd fellow," said Goethe, laughing. "Well, 
 do as you please ; I will let you have your way." 
 
 " And then," continued I, " I usually carry into society 
 my likes and dislikes, and a certain need of loving and 
 being beloved ; I seek a nature which may harmonize with 
 my own ; I wish to give myself up to this, and to have 
 nothing to do with the others." 
 
 " This natural tendency of yours," replied Goethe, " is 
 indeed not of a social kind ; but what would be the use of 
 culture, if we did not try to control our natural tendencies ? 
 It is a great folly to hope that other men will harmonize 
 with us ; I have never hoped this. I have always regarded 
 each man as an independent individual, whom I endeavoured 
 to study, and to understand with all his peculiarities, but 
 from whom I desired no further sympathy. In this way 
 have I been enabled to converse with every man, and thus 
 alone is produced the knowledge of various characters, and 
 the dexterity necessary for the conduct of life. For it is in 
 a conflict with natures opposed to his own that a man must 
 collect his strength to fight his way through, and thus all 
 our different sides are brought out and developed, so that 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 83 
 
 we soon feci ourselves a match for every foe. You should 
 do the same ; you have more capacity for it than you 
 imagine ; indeed, you must at all events plunge into the 
 great world, whether yon like it or not." 
 
 I took due heed of these good, kind words, and determined 
 to act in accordance with them as much as possible. 
 
 Towards evening, Goethe invited me to take a drive with 
 him. Our road lay over the hills through Upper Weimar, 
 by which we had a view of the park towards the west. 
 The trees were in blossom, the birches already in full leaf, 
 and the meadows were one green carpet, over which the 
 setting sun cast a glow. We sought out picturesque groups, 
 and could not look enough. We remarked that trees full of 
 white blossoms should not be painted, because they make no 
 picture, just as birches with their foliage are unfit for the fore- 
 ground of a 'picture, because the delicate leaf does not suf- 
 ficiently balance the white trunk ; there are no large masses 
 for strong effects of light and shade. "Huysdaei," said 
 Goethe, " never introduced the birch with its foliage into 
 his foregrounds, but only birch trunks broken off, without 
 any leaves. Such a trunk is perfectly suited to a foreground, 
 as its bright form comes out with most powerful effect." 
 
 After some slight discussion of other topics, we came 
 upon the mistake of those artists who made religion art, 
 while for them art should be religion. "Religion," said 
 Goethe, " stands in the same relation to art as any other of 
 the higher interests in life. It is merely to be looked upon 
 as a material, with similar claims to any other vital material. 
 Faith and want of faith are not the organs with which a 
 work of art is to be apprehended. On the contrary, human 
 powers and capacities of a totally different character are 
 required. Art must address itself to those organs with 
 which we apprehend it ; otherwise it misses its effect. A 
 religious material may be a good subject for art, but only 
 in so far as it possesses general human interest. The Virgin 
 with the Child is on this account an excellent subject, and 
 one that may be treated a hundred times, and always seen 
 again with pleasure." 
 
 In the mean while, we had gone round the thicket (the 
 Webicht). and had turned by Tiefurt into the Weimar road , 
 where we had a view of the setting sun. Goethe was for a 
 
 02 
 
84 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 while lost in thought ; he then said to me, in the words of 
 one of the ancients — • 
 
 Untergeliend sogar istfs ir.imer dieselbige Sonne. 
 
 " Still it continues the self-same sun, e'en while it is sinking." 
 
 "At the age of seventy-five," continued he, with much 
 cheerfulness, "one must, of course, think sometimes of 
 death. But this thought never gives me the least uneasiness, 
 for I am fully convinced that our spirit is a being of a 
 nature quite indestructible, and that its activity continues 
 from eternity to eternity. It is like the sun, which seems 
 to set only to our earthly eyes, but which, in reality, never 
 sets, but shines on unceasingly." 
 
 The sun had, in the mean while, sunk behind the 
 Ettersberg ; we felt in the wood the chill of the evening, 
 and drove all the quicker to "Weimar, and to Goethe's house. 
 Goethe urged me to go in with him for a while, and I did 
 so. He was in an extremely engaging, amiable mood. 
 He talked a great deal about his theory of colours, and of 
 his obstinate opponents ; remarking that he was sure that 
 he had done something in this science. 
 
 "To make an epoch in the world," said he, "two con- 
 ditions are notoriously essential — a good head and a great 
 inheritance. Napoleon inherited the French Revolution ; 
 Frederick the Great, the Silesian War ; Luther, the dark- 
 ness of the Popes ; and I, the errors of the Newtonian 
 theory. The present generation has no conception of 
 what I have accomplished in this matter, but posterity will 
 grant that I have by no means come into a bad inheritance ! " 
 
 Goethe had sent me this morning a roll of papers relative 
 to the theatre, among which I had found some detached 
 remarks, containing the rules and studies which he had 
 made with Wolff and Griiner to qualify them for good 
 actors. I found these details important and highly instruc- 
 tive for young actors, and therefore proposed to put them 
 together, and make from them a sort of theatrical catechism. 
 Goethe consented, and wo discussed the matter further. 
 This gave us occasion to speak of some distinguished actors 
 who had been f ormed in his school ; and 1 took the oppor- 
 tunity to ask some questions about Fran von Heigendorf . 
 " I may," said Goethe, " have influenced her, but, properly 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 85 
 
 speaking, she is not my pupil. She was, as it were, born 
 on the boards, and was as decided, ready, and adroit in 
 anything as a duck in the water. She needed not my 
 instruction, but did what was right instinctively, and per- 
 haps without knowing it." 
 
 "We then talked of the many years he had superintended 
 the theatre, and the infinite time which had thus been lost 
 to literary production. "Yes," said he, "I may have 
 missed writing many a good thing, but when I reflect, I am 
 not sorry. I have always regarded all I have done solely 
 as symbolical ; and, in fact, it has been tolerably indifferent 
 to me whether I have made pots or dishes." 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., May 5. — The papers containing the 
 studies which Goethe prosecuted with the actors Wolff 
 and Griiner have occupied me very pleasantly during the 
 last few days ; and I have succeeded in bringing these 
 dismembered notices into a sort of form, so that something 
 has arisen from them which may be regarded as the be- 
 ginning of a catechism for actors. I spoke with Goethe 
 about this work to-day, and we went through the various 
 topics in detail. The remarks concerning pronunciation, 
 and the laying aside of provincialisms, appeared to us par- 
 ticularly important. 
 
 " I have, in my long practice," said Goethe, " become 
 acquainted with beginners from all parts of Germany. 
 The pronunciation of the North German leaves little to be 
 desired : it is pure, and may in many respects be looked 
 upon as a model. On the contrary, I have often had a 
 great deal of trouble with native Suabians, Austrians, and 
 Saxons. The natives of our beloved town, Weimar, have 
 also given me a great d eal to do. Among these have arisen 
 the most ridiculous mistakes ; because in schools here they 
 are not forced to distinguish, by a marked pronunciation, 
 b from p, and d from t. One would scarcely believe that 
 b, p, d, and t are generally considered to be four different 
 letters ; for they only speak of a hard and a soft 5, and of 
 a hard and a soft d, and thus seem tacitly to intimate that 
 p and t do not exist. With such people, Pein (pain) sounds 
 like Bein (leg), Pas (pass) like Bass (bass), and Teckel f like 
 Deckel (cover)." 
 
 f A provincial word for a terrier. 
 
86 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 " An actor of this town," added I, " who did not pro- 
 perly distinguish t from d, lately made a mistake of the 
 kind, which appeared very striking. He was playing a 
 lover, who had been guilty of a little infidelity ; wherenpon 
 the angry yonng lady showered npon him varions violent 
 reproaches. Growing impatient, he had to exclaim, ' 
 cdde ! ' (0 cease !) ; but being nnable to distinguish, the T 
 from the D, he exclaimed, ' ente ! ' (0 duck !) which ex- 
 cited general laughter." 
 
 "The circumstance is very quaint," returned Goethe, 
 " and will do well to mention in our ' Theatrical Cate- 
 chism.' " 
 
 "Lately, a young singer, likewise of this town," con- 
 tinued I, "who could not make, the distinction between the 
 t and the d, had to say, ' Ich will dich den JEingeweihten 
 ilbergehen ' (I will give you up to the initiated) ; but as she 
 pronounced the t as d, it sounded as if she said, ' Ich will 
 dich den Eingeiveiden ubergeben ' (I will give you up to the 
 bowels). 
 
 "Again, an actor of this town," continued I, "who 
 played the part of a servant, had to say to a stranger. 
 ' Mem Herr ist nicht zu "Hans, er sitzt im Bathe ' (my master 
 is not at home, he sits in council) ; but as he could not 
 distinguish the t from the d, it sounded as if he said ' Mein 
 Herr ist nicht zu Haus, er sitzt im Bade ' (my master is not 
 at home, he sits in the wheel)." 
 
 " These incidents," said Goethe, " are not bad, and we 
 will notice them. Thus, if any one who does not dis- 
 tinguish the p from the b, has to call out, ' JPacJce ihn an ! ' 
 (seize him), but, instead of this, exclaims, ' Baclce ihn an ! 9 
 (stick him. on), it is very laughable. 
 
 " In a similar manner," said Goethe, " the u is frequently 
 pronounced like i, which has been the cause of not a few 
 scandalous mistakes. I have frequently heard said, instead 
 of Kilstenbewohner (inhabitant of the coast), Kistenbewohner 
 (inhabitant of the box) ; instead of Thilrstilck (a painting 
 over a door), TJiierstiich (animal-picture) ; instead of Trilbe 
 (gloomy), Triebe (impulses) ; and instead of Ihr mihsst (you 
 must), Ihr misst (you miss) ; — not, however, without a 
 hearty laugh." 
 
 " I lately noticed at the theatre," said I, " a very ludi- 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETIIE. 87 
 
 crous case of the kind, in which a lady, in a critical 
 situation, has to follow a man, whom she had never seen 
 before. She had to say, ' Ich Jcenne Dich zwar nicJd, a 
 icJi seize mein ganzes Vertrauenin denEdelmutJiDeincr Zuge' 
 (I do not know yon, hut I place entire confidence in the 
 nobility of your countenance) ; but as she pronounced the 
 u like i, she said, ' Ich Jcenne Dich zwar nicht, aber ich st 
 mein ganzes Vertrauen in den EdelmutJi Deiner Ziege ' (I do 
 not know you, but I place entire confidence in the nobility 
 of your goat)." This caused great laughter. 
 
 " This anecdote is not bad," returned Goethe, " and we 
 will notice it also. Thus, too," continued he, " g and h arc 
 here frequently confounded ; g being used instead of fe, and 
 Jc instead of g, possibly from uncertainty whether the letter 
 should be hard or soft, a result of the doctrine so much in 
 vogue here. You have probably often heard, or will hear, 
 at some future time, in our theatre, KartenJiaus (card- 
 house) instead of GartenJiaus (garden-house), Kasse (chest) 
 instead of Gasse (lane), Klauben (to pick out) instead of 
 Glauben (to believe), beJcrdnzen (to enwreath) instead of 
 hegrenzen (to bound), and Kunst (art) instead of Gunst 
 (favour)." 
 
 "I have already heard something similar," returned I. 
 " An actor of this town had to say, * Dein Gram geht mlr 
 zu Herzen,' (thy grief touches my heart). But he pro- 
 nounced the g like Jc, and said very distinctly, * Dein K, 
 geht mir zu Herzen ' (thy goods * touch my heart)." 
 
 "Besides," answered Goethe, " we hear this substitution 
 of g for &, not merely amongst actors, but even amongst 
 very learned theologians. I once personally experienced 
 an incident of this sort ; and I will relate it to you. 
 
 "When I, some five years ago, stayed for some time at 
 Jena, and lodged at the ' Fir Tree,' a theological student 
 one morning presented himself to me. After he had con- 
 versed with me very agreeably for some time, he made, as 
 he was just going, a request of a most peculiar kind. He 
 begged me to allow him to preach in my stead on the 
 Sunday. I immediately discovered which way the wind 
 blew, and that the hopeful youth was one of those who 
 
 • Or lumber. — Trans. 
 
88 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 confound g for h. I, therefore, answered him in a friendly 
 manner, that I could not personally assist him in this affair ; 
 but that he would be sure to attain his object, if he would 
 be so good as to apply to Archdeacon Koethe." 
 
 Thurs., May 6. — When I came to Weimar, last summer, 
 it was not, as I have said, my intention to remain here, I 
 only intended to make Goethe's personal acquaintance, and 
 then to visit the Rhine, where I intended to live some time 
 in a suitable place. 
 
 However, I had been detained in Weimar by Goethe's 
 remarkable kindness, and my relation to him had become 
 more and more practical, inasmuch as he drew me more 
 and more into his own interest, and gave me much impor- 
 tant work to do, preparatory to a complete edition of his 
 works. 
 
 Thus in the course of last winter, I collected several 
 divisions of " tame Xenia " (zahme Xenien) from the most 
 confused bundles of paper, arranged a volume of new 
 poems, and the " Theatrical Catechism," and also the out- 
 lines of a treatise on " Dillettantism," in the different arts. 
 
 I had, however, never forgotten my design of seeing the 
 Rhine ; and Goethe himself, that I might not carry within 
 me the sting of an unsatisfied desire, advised me to devote 
 some months of this summer to a visit to that region. 
 
 It was, however, decidedly his wish that I should return 
 to Weimar. He observed that it was not good to break 
 ties scarcely formed, and that everything in life to be of 
 value must have a sequence. He, at t»Iic same time, plainly 
 intimated to me that he had selected me and Rienier, not 
 only to aid him in preparing a new and complete edition of 
 his works, but to take the whole charge of it in case he 
 should be suddenly called away, as might naturally happen 
 at his advanced age. 
 
 He showed me this morning immense packages of letters, 
 laid out in what is called the Chamber of Busts (Busten- 
 Zimmer). " These," said he, " are all letters which I have 
 received since 1780, from the most distinguished men of 
 our country. There lies hoarded in these a rich treasure of 
 thoughts, which it shall some time be your office to impart 
 to the public. I am now having a chest made, in which 
 these letters will be put, together with the rest of my 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 89 
 
 literary remains. I wish you, before you set out on your 
 journey, to put them all in order, that I may feel easy 
 about them, and have a care the less." 
 
 He then told me that he intended to visit Marienbad this 
 summer, but did not intend to go till the end of July, the 
 reasons for which he disclosed to me in confidence. Ho 
 expressed a wish that I should be back before his departure, 
 that he might speak to me. 
 
 A few weeks afterwards, I visited my friends in Hanover, 
 then stopped during the months of June and July on the 
 Rhine, where, especially at Frankfort, Heidelberg, and 
 Bonn, I made many valuable acquaintances among Goethe's 
 friends.* 
 
 (Sup.) Tues., May 18. — This evening at Goethe's, in 
 company with Riemer. 
 
 Goethe talked to us about an English poem, of which 
 geology was the subject. He made, as he went on, an 
 impromptu translation of it, with so much spirit, imagina- 
 tion, and good humour, that every individual object stood 
 before us, with as much life as if it were his own invention 
 at the moment. The hero of the poem, King Goal, was 
 seen, in his brilliant hall of audience, seated upon his 
 throne, his consort Pyrites by his side, waiting for the 
 nobles of the kingdom. Entering according to their rank, 
 they appeared one by one before the king, and were intro- 
 duced as Duke Granite, Marquis Slate, Countess Porphyry, 
 and so on with the rest, who were all characterized by some 
 excellent epithet and joke. Then followed Sir Lorenzo Challc, 
 a man of great possessions, and well received at court. 
 He excuses his mother, the Lady Marble, on the ground 
 that her residence is rather distant. She is a very polished 
 and accomplished lady, and a causo of her non-appearance 
 at court, on this occasion, is, that she is involved in an 
 intrigue with Canova, who likes to flirt with her. Tufa, 
 whose hair is decked with lizards and fishes, appears rather 
 intoxicated. Hans Marl and Jacob Clay do not appear till 
 the end ; the last is a particular favourite of the queen, 
 
 * This short statement, though attached to the conversation of Gth 
 May in the first volume, will be read more properly after 26th May 
 (p. 92), which is taken from the supplemental volume. 
 
90 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 because tie lias promised her a collection of shells. Thus 
 the whole went on for a long time in the most cheerful 
 tone ; but the details were too minute for me to note the 
 further progress of the story. 
 
 "Such a poem," said Goethe, "is quite calculated to 
 amuse people of the world; while at the same time it 
 diffuses a quantity of useful information, which no one 
 ought properly to be without. A taste for science is thus 
 excited amongst the higher circles ; and no one knows how 
 much good may ultimately result from such an entertaining 
 half -joke. Many a clever person may be induced to make 
 observations himself, within his own immediate sphere. 
 And such individual observations, drawn from the natural 
 objects with which we are in contact, are often the more 
 valuable, the less the observer professionally belongs to the 
 particular department of science." 
 
 "You appear, then, to intimate," returned I, "that the 
 more one knows, the worse one observes." 
 
 " Certainly," said Goethe, " when the knowledge which 
 is handed down is combined with errors. As soon as any 
 one belongs to a certain narrow creed in science, every 
 unprejudiced and true perception is gone. The decided 
 Vulcanist always sees through the spectacles of a Vulcanist ; 
 and every Neptunist, and every professor of the newest 
 elevation-theory, through his own. The contemplation of 
 the world, with all these theorists, who are devoted to an 
 exclusive tendency, has lost its innocence, and the objects 
 no longer appear in their natural purity. If these learned 
 men, then, give an account of their observations, we obtain, 
 notwithstanding their love of truth as individuals, no actual 
 truth with reference to the objects themselves ; but we 
 always receive these objects with the taste of a strong, 
 subjective mixture. 
 
 " I am, however, far from maintaining that an unpreju- 
 diced, correct knowledge is a drawback to observation. I 
 am much more inclined to support the old truth, that we, 
 properly speaking, have only eyes and ears for what we 
 know. The musician by profession hears, in an orchestral 
 performance, every instrument and every single tone, 
 whilst one unacquainted with the art is wrapped up in the 
 massive effect of the whole. A man merely bent upon 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 91 
 
 enjoyment sees in a green or flowery meadow only a pleasant 
 plain, while the eye of a botanist discovers an endless detail 
 of the most varied plants and grasses." 
 
 " Still everything has its measure and goal, and as it has 
 been said in my ' Goetz von Berlichingen,' that the son, from 
 jDure learning, does not know his own father, so in science do 
 we find people who can neither see nor hear through sheer 
 learning and hypothesis. Such people look at once within ; 
 they are so occupied by what is revolving in themselves, 
 that they are like a man in a passion, who passes his dearest 
 friends in the street without seeing them. The observation 
 of nature requires a certain purity of mind, which cannot be 
 disturbed or pre-occupied by anything. The beetle on the 
 flower does not escape the child ; he has devoted all his 
 senses to a single, simple interest ; and it never strikes him 
 that, at the same moment, something remarkable may be 
 G:oing: on in the formation of the clouds to distract his 
 glances in that direction." 
 
 " Then," returned I, " children and the child-like would 
 be good hod-men in science." 
 
 "Would to God!" exclaimed Goethe, "we were all 
 nothing more than good hod-men. It is just because we 
 will be more, and carry about with us a great apparatus of 
 philosophy and hypothesis, that we spoil all." 
 
 Then followed a pause in the conversation, which Riemer 
 broke by mentioning Lord Byron and his death. Goethe 
 thereupon gave a brilliant elucidation of his writings, and 
 was full of the highest praise and the purest acknowledg- 
 ment. 
 
 "However," continued he, " although Byron has died so 
 young, literature has not suffered an essential loss, through 
 a hindrance to its further extension. Byron could, in a 
 certain sense, go no further. He had reached the summit 
 of his creative power, and whatever he might have done in 
 the future, he would have been unable to extend the boun- 
 daries of his talent. In the incomprehensible poem, ' The 
 Vision of Judgment,' he has done the utmost of which he 
 was capable." 
 
 The discourse then turned upon the Italian poet, Torqua to 
 Tasso, and his resemblance to Lord Byron, when Goethe 
 could not conceal the superiority of the Englishman, in spirit, 
 
92 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 grasp of the world, and productive power. " One cannot," 
 continued he, " compare these poets with each other, 
 without annihilating one by the other. Byron is the 
 burning thorn-bush which reduces the holy cedar of 
 Lebanon to ashes. The great epic poem of the Italian has 
 maintained its fame for centuries ; but yet, with a single 
 line of ' Don Juan,' one could poison the whole of ' Jerusa- 
 lem delivered.' " 
 
 (Sup.) Wed., May 26. — To-day 1 took leave of Goethe, 
 in order to visit my friends in Hanover, and thence to pro- 
 ceed to the Rhine, according to my long meditated plan. 
 Goethe was very affectionate, and pressed me in his arms. 
 " If at Hanover you should chance to meet, at Rehberg's, 
 Charlotte Kestner, the old friend of my youth, remember 
 me to her kindly. In Frankfort, I commend you to my 
 friends Willemmers, the Count Reinhardt, and the Schlossers. 
 Then both in Heidelberg and Bonn, you will find friends 
 who are truly devoted to me, and from whom you will 
 receive a most hearty welcome. I did intend again to spend 
 some time at Marienbad this summer ; but I shall not go 
 until after your return." 
 
 The parting with Goethe was very trying to me ; though 
 I went away with the firm conviction of seeing him again, 
 safe and sound, at the end of two months. 
 
 Nevertheless, I felt very happy next day when the car- 
 riage conveyed me toward my beloved home in Hanover, to 
 which my heartiest wishes are constantly directed. 
 
 Tues., Aug. 10. — About a week ago, I returned from my 
 tour on the Rhine. Goethe expressed much joy at my 
 arrival ; and I, on my part, was not less pleased to be with 
 him again. He had a great deal to say to me ; so that for 
 the first few days I stirred but little from his side. His 
 design of going to Marienbad he has abandoned, and does 
 not intend to travel this summer. "Now you are again 
 here," he said, " I may have a very pleasant August." 
 
 A few days ago, he put into my hands the commencement 
 of a continuation of " Wahrheit und Dichtung," written 
 on quarto leaves, and scarcely a finger's breadth thick. 
 Part is complete, but the greater part consists of mere 
 indications. However, it is already divided into five books, 
 and the leaves containing the sketch are so arranged that, 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 93 
 
 with, a little trouble, one can take a survey of the general 
 import. 
 
 The portion that is already finished appears to me so 
 excellent, and the import of the sketched portion to be so 
 valuable, that I regret exceedingly to see a work which 
 promises so much instruction and enjoyment come to a 
 standstill, and I shall make every effort to urge Goethe to 
 continue and complete it as soon as possible. 
 
 The plan of the whole has much of the character of a 
 novel. A graceful, tender, passionate love-affair, cheerful 
 in its origin, idyllic in its progress, tragic at the end, through 
 a tacit but mutual renunciation, runs through four books, 
 and combines them to an organized whole. The charm of 
 Lili's character, described in detail, is of a sort to captivate 
 every reader, just as it held the lover himself in such bonds 
 that he could only save himself by repeated flight. 
 
 The epoch of life set forth is of a highly romantic nature, 
 or, at least, becomes so as it is developed in the principal 
 character. But it acquires special significance and impor- 
 tance from the circumstance that, as an epoch preceding the 
 position at Weimar, it is decisive for the whole life. If, 
 therefore, any section of Goethe's life has any interest, and 
 raises a wish for a detailed description, it is precisely this. 
 
 To excite in Goethe a new ardour for this work, which 
 has been interrupted and has lain untouched for years, I 
 have not only talked with him on the subject, but have 
 sent him the following notes, that he may see at once 
 what is finished and what has still to be worked out and 
 arranged.* 
 
 First Book. — This book, which, according to the original 
 intention, may be regarded as complete, contains a sort of 
 exposition, inasmuch as it expresses the wish for a partici- 
 pation in worldly affairs, the fulfilment of which takes place 
 at the end of the whole epoch, through the invitation to 
 Weimar. However, that it may be connected more closely 
 with the whole, I suggest that the relation to Lili, which 
 runs through the four following books, should begin in this 
 first book, and continue as far as the excursion to Offen- 
 
 * The last five books of " Wahrheit und Dichtung" wore afterwards 
 published in Goethe's posthumous works, but Eckermann's arrange- 
 ment was not adopted. — Trans. 
 
94 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 bach. Thus, too, this book would gain in compass and 
 importance, and too great an increase of the second would 
 be prevented. 
 
 Second Book. — The idyllic life at Offenbach would then 
 open this second book, and would go through with the 
 happy love affair, till it, at last, begins to assume a doubt- 
 ful, earnest, and even tragical character. The contempla- 
 tion of serious matters, promised by the sketch in reference 
 to Stilling, is well placed here, and much that is instructive 
 may be anticipated from the design, which is simply indi- 
 cated by a few words. 
 
 Third Book. — The third book, which contains the plan 
 of a continuation of "Faust," is to be regarded as an 
 episode, but is connected with the other books, by the 
 attempt at a separation from Lili, which remains to be 
 carried out. Whether the plan of " Faust " is to be com- 
 municated or kept back is a doubtful point, which cannot 
 be resolved until we examine the fragments now ready, and 
 make up our minds whether the hope of a continuation of 
 " Faust " is to be given up or not. 
 
 Fourth Book. — The third book would terminate with 
 the attempt at a separation from Lili. This fourth book, 
 therefore, very aptly begins with the arrival of the Stol- 
 bergs and of Haugwitz, by which the journey into Switzer- 
 land and the first flight from Lili are brought about. 
 The complete sketch of this book promises the most 
 interesting matter, and excites a wish for the most thorough 
 details. The passion for Lili, which is constantly bursting 
 forth, and which cannot be suppressed, glows through the 
 whole book with the fire of youthful love, and gives a 
 peculiar, pleasant, and magical light to the situation of the 
 traveller. 
 
 Fifth Book. — This beautiful book is likewise nearly 
 finished ; at least the latter part, up to the conclusion, which 
 touches on the unfathomable nature of fate, may be re- 
 garded as quite finished ; and only a little is wanting for 
 the introduction, of which there is already a very clear 
 sketch. The working-out is, however, the more necessarv 
 and desirable, as the first mention is made of the Weimar 
 affairs, and thus our interest for them is first excited. 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 95 
 
 Hon., Aug. 16. — My conversations with Goetlie have 
 lately been very abundant in matter, but I have been s< > 
 much engaged with other things as to render it impossible 
 to write down anything of importance, from the fulness of 
 his discourse. 
 
 Only the following detached sentences are found noted 
 down in my diary ; the connection between them and the 
 occasion that gave rise to them, I have forgotten : — 
 
 Men are swimming pots, which knock against each 
 other. 
 
 In the morning we are shrewdest, but also most anxious ; 
 for even anxiety is a species of shrewdness, though only a 
 passive one. Stupidity is without anxiety. 
 
 We must not take the faults of our youth into our old 
 age ; for old age brings with it its own defects. 
 
 Court life is like music, in which every one must keep 
 time. 
 
 Courtiers would died of ennui, if they could not fill up 
 their time with ceremonies. 
 
 It is not right to counsel a prince to give way, even in 
 the most trivial matter. 
 
 He who would train actors must have infinite patience. 
 
 Tues., Nov. 9. — I passed this evening with Goethe. We 
 talked of Klopstock and Herder ; and I liked to listen to 
 him, as he explained to me the merits of those men. 
 
 "Without those riowerful precursors," said Goethe, " our 
 literature could not have become what it now is. When 
 they appeared, they were before their age, and were obliged, 
 as it were, to drag it after them ; but now the age has far 
 outrun them, and they who were once so necessary and 
 important have now ceased to be means to an end. A 
 young man who would take Klopstock and Herder for his 
 teachers nowadays would be far behindhand." 
 
 We talked over Klopstock's "Messiah" and his Odes, 
 touching on their merits and their defects. We agreed that 
 he had no faculty for observing and apprehending the 
 visible world, or for drawing characters ; and that he there- 
 fore wanted the qualities most essential to the epic and 
 dramatic poet, or, perhaps it might be said, to the pout 
 generally. 
 
96 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 "An ode occurs to me," said Goethe, " where he makes 
 the German Muse run a race with the British ; and, indeed, 
 when one thinks what a picture it is, where the two girls 
 run one against the other, throwing about their legs, and 
 kicking up the dust, one must assume that the good 
 Klopstock did not really have before his eyes such pictures 
 as he wrote, else he could not possibly have made such 
 mistakes." 
 
 I asked how he had felt towards Klopstock in his youth. 
 
 " I venerated him," said Goethe, " with the devotion 
 which was peculiar to me ; I looked upon him as my uncle. 
 I revered whatever he had done, and never thought of 
 reflecting upon it, or finding fault with it. I let his fine 
 qualities work upon me ; for the rest, I went my own way." 
 
 We came back to Herder, and I asked Goethe which of 
 his works he thought the best. " His ' Ideas for the His- 
 tory of Mankind ' " (Ideen zur GescliicMe der Menschlieit), 
 replied Goethe, " are undoubtedly the best. In after days, 
 he took the negative side, and was not so agreeable." 
 
 " Considering the great weight of Herder," said I, " I 
 cannot understand how he had so little judgment on some 
 subjects. For instance, I cannot forgive him, especially at 
 that period of German literature, for sending back the 
 manuscript of ' Goetz von Berhchingen ' without any praise 
 of its merits, and with taunting remarks. He must have 
 utterly wanted organs to perceive some objects." 
 
 " Yes, Herder was unfortunate in this respect," replied 
 Goethe ; "nay," added he, with vivacity,*" if his spirit were 
 present at this conversation, it would not understand us." 
 
 " On the other hand," said I, " I must praise Merck, who 
 urged you to print ' Goetz.' " 
 
 " He was indeed an odd but important man," said Goethe. 
 " ' Print the thing/ quoth he, ' it is worth nothing, but 
 print it.' He did not wish me to make any alteration in 
 it, and he was right ; for it would have been different, but 
 not better." 
 
 Wed., Nov. 24. — I went to see Goethe this evening, 
 before going to the theatre, and found him very well and 
 cheerful. He inquired about the young Englishmen who 
 are here. I told him that I proposed reading with Mr. 
 Doolan a German translation of Plutarch. This led the 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 97 
 
 conversation to Roman and Grecian history ; and Goethe 
 expressed himself as follows : — 
 
 " The Roman history," said he, " is no longer suited to 
 us. We have become too humane for the triumphs of 
 Caesar not to be repugnant to our feelings. Neither arc we 
 much charmed by the history of Greece. When this people 
 turns against a foreign foe, it is, indeed, great and glorious ; 
 but the division of the states, and their eternal wars with 
 one another, where Greek fights against Greek, are insuffer- 
 able. Besides, the history of our own time is thoroughly 
 great and important ; the battles of Leipsic and Waterloo 
 stand out with such prominence, that that of Marathon and 
 others like it are gradually eclipsed. Neither are our 
 individual heroes inferior to theirs ; the French Marshals, 
 Bliicher, and Wellington, vie with any of the heroes of 
 antiquity." 
 
 We then talked of the late French literature, and the 
 daily increasing interest in German works manifested by 
 the French. 
 
 " The French," said Goethe, " do well to study and 
 translate our writers ; for, limited as they are both in form 
 and motives, they can only look without for means. We 
 Germans may be reproached for a certain formlessness ; 
 but in matter we are their superiors. The theatrical pro- 
 ductions of Kotzebue and Inland are so rich in motives 
 that they may pluck them a long time before all is used 
 up. But, especially, our philosophical Ideality is welcome to 
 them ; for every Ideal is serviceable to revolutionary aims. 
 
 " The French have understanding and esprit, but neither 
 a solid basis nor piety. What serves the moment, what 
 helps his party, seems right to the Frenchman. Hence 
 they praise us, never from an acknowledgment of our 
 merits, but only when they can strengthen their party by 
 our views." 
 
 • We then talked about our own literature, and of the 
 obstacles in the way of some of our latest young poets. 
 
 " The majority of our young poets," said Goethe, "have 
 no fault but this, that their subjectivity is not important, 
 and that they cannot find matter in the objective. At best, 
 they only find a material, which is similar to themselves, 
 which corresponds to their own subjectivity ; but as for 
 
 u 
 
98 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 taking the material on its own account, when it is repug- 
 nant to the subjectivity, merely because it is poetical, such 
 a thing is never thought of. 
 
 " Still, as I have said, if we only had important person- 
 ages, formed by great studies and situations in life, it might 
 still go well with us, at least as far as our young lyric poets 
 are concerned." 
 
 Fri., Dec. 3. — A proposal has lately reached me to write 
 for an English periodical, on very favourable terms, monthly 
 notices of the latest productions in German literature. I 
 was much inclined to accept the proposal, but thought it 
 would be good first to talk over the affair with Goethe. 
 
 I went to him this evening. The curtains were down, 
 and he was seated before a table, on which dinner had been 
 served, and on which burned two lights which illuminated 
 at once his own face and a colossal bust which stood before 
 him on the table, and at which he was looking. " Now," 
 said Goethe, pointing at the bust, after greeting me in a 
 friendly manner, " who is this ? " " Apparently, a poet, and 
 an Italian," I replied. " It is Dante," said he : "it is well 
 done ; a fine head, yet not very pleasing. He seems old, 
 bowed down, and peevish ; the features are lax, and drawn 
 down, as if he had just come from hell. I have a medal, 
 which was struck during his life, and there everything 
 appears much better." 
 
 He rose and brought the medal. "Do you see what 
 power there is in the nose and the swell of the upper lip, 
 the energy of the chin, and its fine blending with the cheek 
 bone ? The part about the eyes and the forehead are the 
 same in this bust ; but all the rest is weaker and older. 
 Yet I will not find fault with the new work, which, on the 
 whole, has great merit, and deserves praise." 
 
 Goethe then inquired what I had been doing and thinking 
 about of late. I told him that a proposal had reached me 
 to write for an English periodical, on very advantageous 
 terms, monthly notices of the newest productions of the 
 German prose belles lettres, and that I was much inclined 
 to accept the offer. 
 
 Goethe's face, which had hitherto worn so friendly an 
 expression, clouded over at these words, and I could read 
 in every movement, his disapproval of my project. 
 
1824.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 09 
 
 " I wish," said lie, " your friends would leave you in 
 peace. Why should you trouble yourself with things whirl 1 
 lie quite out of your way, and are contrary to the tendencies 
 of your nature ? We have gold, silver, and paper money, 
 and each has its own value ; but to do justice to each, you 
 must understand the exchange. And so in literature. You 
 understand the metallic, but not the paper currency : you 
 are not equal to this ; your criticisms will be unjust, and do 
 hurt. If you wish to be just, and give everything its 
 proper place, you must first become acquainted with our 
 middle literature, and make up your mind to a study by no 
 means trifling. You must look back and see what the Schle- 
 gels proposed and performed, and then read all our later 
 authors, Franz Horn, Hoffmann, Clauren, &c. Even this is 
 not enough. You must also take in all the journals of the day, 
 from the ' Morgenblatt ' to the 'Abend zeitung,' in order 
 that nothing which comes out may escape you ; and thus 
 you will spoil your best days and hours. Then all new 
 books, which you would criticise with any degree of profun- 
 dity, you must not only skim over, but study. How would 
 you relish that ? And, finally, if you find that what is bad 
 is bad, you must not say so, if you would not run the risk 
 of being at war with all the world. 
 
 "No; as I have said, decline the proposal; it is not in 
 your way. Generally, beware of dissipating your powers, 
 and strive to concentrate them. Had I been so wise thirty 
 years ago, I should have done very differently. How much 
 time I lost with Schiller on his ' Horen ' and ' Musen- 
 Almanachs ! ' Now, when I have just been looking over our 
 correspondence, I feel this most forcibly, and cannot think 
 without chagrin on those undertakings which made the 
 world abuse us, and which were entirely without result for 
 ourselves. Talent thinks it can do whatever it sees others 
 doing ; but this is not the case, and it will have to repent 
 its Faux-frais (idle expenses). What good does it do to 
 curl up your hair for a single night ? You have paper in 
 your hair, that is all ; next night, it is straight again." 
 
 "The great point," he continued, "is to make a capital 
 that will not be exhausted. This you will acquire by the 
 study of the English language and literature, which you 
 have already begun. Keep to that, and continually make 
 
 n2 
 
100 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1824. 
 
 use of the advantages you now possess in the acquaintance 
 of the young Englishmen. You studied the ancient languages 
 but little during your youth ; therefore, seek now a strong- 
 hold in the literature of so able a nation as the English. 
 And, besides, our own literature is chiefly the offspring of 
 theirs ! Whence have we our novels, our tragedies, but 
 from Goldsmith, Fielding, and Shakspeare ? And in our 
 own day, where will you find in Germany three literary 
 heroes, who can be placed on a level with Lord Byron, 
 Moore, and Walter Scott ? Once more, ground yourself in 
 English, concentrate your powers for something good, and 
 give tip everything which can produce no result of conse- 
 quence to you, and is not suited to you." -,. 
 
 I rejoiced that I had thus made Goethe speak. I was 
 perfectly satisfied in my mind, and determined to comply 
 »vith his advice in every respect. 
 
 Chancellor von Muller was now announced, and sat down 
 with us. The conversation turned once more on the bust 
 of Dante, which stood before us, and on his life and works. 
 The obscurity of this author was especially mentioned — 
 how his own countrymen had never understood him, so that 
 it would be impossible for a foreigner to penetrate such 
 darkness. " To you," said Goethe, turning towards me, 
 with a friendly air, "the study of this poet is hereby 
 absolutely forbidden by your father confessor." 
 
 Goethe also remarked that the difficult rhyme is, in a> 
 great measure, the cause of his obscurity. For the rest, he 
 spoke of Dante with extreme reverence ; and I observed 
 that he was not satisfied with the word talent, but called 
 him a nature, as if thus wishing to express something more 
 comprehensive, more full of prescience, of deeper insight, 
 and wider scope. 
 
 Thurs., Dec. 9. — I went this evening to Goethe. He 
 cordially held out his hand, and greeted me with praises of 
 my poem on " Schellhorn's Jubilee." I told him that I had. 
 written to refuse the proposal from England. 
 
 "Thank Heaven! " said he; "then you are free and at 
 peace once more. And now let me warn you against 
 something else. The composers will come and want an 
 opera ; but you must be steadfast and refuse them, for that 
 is a work which leads to nothing, and only loses time." 
 
S 824.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 101 
 
 Goethe then told me that lie had sent the author of the 
 " Paria," who is now at Bonn, the playbill, through Nees of 
 Esenbeck, that the poet might see his piece had been 
 played here. " Life is short," he added ; " we must try to do 
 one another a good turn." 
 
 The Berlin Journals lay before him, and he told me of 
 the great inundation at Petersburg. He gave me the paper 
 to read, and talked about the bad situation of Petersburg, 
 laughing approvingly at an expression of Rousseau's, who 
 said that we could not hinder an earthquake by building a 
 city near a burning mountain. " Nature goes her own 
 way," said he, " and all that to us seems an exception is 
 really according to order." 
 
 We then talked of the great tempests which had raged on 
 every coast, and of other violent outbreaks of nature, 
 mentioned in the journals, and I asked Goethe whether it 
 was known how such things were connected. " That no 
 one knows," replied Goethe; "we have scarcely a suspicion 
 respecting such mysteries, much less can we speak about 
 them." 
 
 Coudray and Professor Eiemer were announced. Both 
 joined us, and the inundation of Petersburg was again 
 discussed. M. Coudray, by drawing the plan of that city, 
 plainly showed as the position of the Neva, and the rest of 
 the locality. 
 
 1825. 
 
 Mon., Jan. 10. — Goethe, consistently with his great 
 interest for the English, has desired me to introduce to him 
 the young Englishmen who are here at present. At five 
 o'clock this afternoon, he expected me with Mr. H., the 
 English engineer officer, of Avhom I had previously been able 
 to say much good to him. We went at the expected hour, 
 and were conducted by the servant to a pleasant, well- 
 warmed apartment, where Goethe usually passes his after- 
 noons and evening's. Three lights were burning on the table, 
 but he was not there ; we heard him talking in the adjoin- 
 ing saloon. 
 
 Mr. H. looked about him for a while, and observed, besides 
 
102 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 the pictures and a large chart of the mountains which 
 adorned the walls, a book-case full of portfolios. These, I 
 told him, contained many drawings from the hands of cele- 
 brated masters, and engravings after the best pictures of 
 all schools, which Goethe had, during a long life, been 
 gradually collecting, and the repeated contemplation of 
 which afforded him entertainment. 
 
 After we had waited a few minutes, Goethe came in, and 
 greeted us cordially. He said to Mr. H., "I presume I may 
 address you in German, as I hear you are already well versed 
 in our language." Mr. H. answered with a few polite words, 
 and Goethe requested us to be seated. 
 
 Mr. H.'s manners and appearance must have made a good 
 impression on Goethe ; for his sweetness and mild serenity 
 were manifested towards the stranger in their real beauty, 
 "You did well," said he, "to come hither to learn German ; 
 for here you will quickly and easily acquire, not only a 
 knowledge of the language, but also of the elements on 
 which it rests, our soil, climate, mode of life, manners, 
 social habits, and constitution, and carry it away with you 
 to England." 
 
 Mr. H. replied, " The interest taken in the German 
 language is now great, so that there is now scarcely a young 
 Enghshman of good family who does not learn German." 
 
 "W« Germans," said Goethe, good-humouredly, "have, 
 however, been half a century before your nation in this respect. 
 Eor fifty years I have been busy with the English language 
 and literature ; so that I am well acquainted with your 
 writers, your ways of living, and the administration of your 
 country. If I went over to England, I should be no stranger- 
 there. 
 
 " But, as I said before, your young men do well to come 
 to us and learn our language ; for, not only does our 
 literature merit attention on its own account, but no one 
 can deny that he who now knows German well can dispense 
 with many other languages. Of the French, I do not speak ; 
 it is the language of conversation, and is indispensable in 
 travelling, because everybody understands it, and in all 
 countries we can get on with it instead of a good interpreter. 
 But as for Greek, Latin, Italian, and Spanish, we can read 
 the best works of those nations in such excellent German 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 103 
 
 translations, that, unless we have some particular object in 
 view, we need not spend much time upon the toilsome study 
 of those languages. It is in the German nature duly to 
 honour after its kind, everything produced by other nations, 
 and to accommodate itself to foreign peculiarities. This, 
 with the great flexibility of our language, makes German 
 translations thoroughly faithful and complete. And it is 
 not to be denied that, in general, you get on very far with 
 a good translation. Frederick the Great did not know 
 Latin, but he read Cicero in the French translation with as 
 much profit as we who read him in the original." 
 
 Then, turning the conversation on the theatre, he asked 
 Mr. H. whether he went frequently thither. " Every even- 
 ing," he replied, "and find that I thus gain much towards 
 the understanding of the language." 
 
 "It is remarkable," said Goethe, "that the ear, and 
 generally the understanding, gets the start of speaking ; so 
 that a man may very soon comprehend all he hears, but by 
 no means express it all." 
 
 "I experience daily," said Mr. H., " the truth of that re- 
 mark. I understand very well whatever I hear or read ; I 
 even feel when an incorrect expression is made use of in 
 German. But when I speak, nothing will flow, and I can- 
 not express myself as I wish. In light conversation at court, 
 jests with the ladies, a chat at balls, and the like, I succeed 
 pretty well. But, if I try to express an opinion on any im- 
 portant topic, to say anything peculiar or luminous, I cannot 
 get on." 
 
 "Be not discouraged by that," said Goethe, " since it is 
 hard enough to express such uncommon matters in one's 
 own mother tongue." 
 
 He then asked what Mr. H. read in German literature. 
 " I have read ' Egmont,' " he replied, " and found so much 
 pleasure in the perusal, that I returned to it three times. 
 ' Torquato >Tasso,' too, has afforded me much enjoyment. 
 Now, I am reading ' Faust,' but find that it is somewhat 
 difficult." 
 
 Goethe laughed at these last words. " Really," said he, 
 " I would not have advised you to undertake ' Faust.' It is 
 mad stuff, and goes quite beyond all ordinary feeling. But 
 since you have done it of your own accord, without asking 
 
104 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [l 825. 
 
 my advice, yon will see how you will get through. Faust is 
 so strange an individual, that only few can sympathize with 
 his [internal condition. Then the character of Mephisto- 
 philes is, on account of his irony, and also because he is a 
 living result of an extensive acquaintance with the world, also 
 very difficult. But you will see what lights open upon you. 
 ' Tasso,' on the other hand, lies far nearer the common 
 feelings of mankind, and the elaboration of its form is 
 favourable to an easy comprehension of it." 
 
 " Yet," said Mr. H., '"Tasso ' is thought difficult in Ger- 
 many, and people have wondered to hear me say that I was 
 reading it." 
 
 "What is chiefly needed for 'Tasso,'" replied Goethe, 
 " is that one should be no longer a child, and should have 
 been in good society. A young man of good family, with 
 sufficient mind and delicacy, and also with enough outward 
 culture, such as will be produced by intercourse with 
 accomplished men of the higher class, will not find ' Tasso ' 
 difficult," 
 
 The conversation turning upon " Egmont," he said, 
 "I wrote 'Egmont' in 1775, — fifty years ago. I ad- 
 hered closely to history, and strove to be as accurate as 
 possible. Ten years afterwards, when I was in Rome, I read 
 in the newspapers that the revolutionary scenes in the 
 Netherlands there described were exactly repeated. I saw 
 from this that the world remains ever the same, and that 
 my picture must have some life in it." 
 
 Amid this and similar conversation, the hour for the 
 theatre had come. We rose, and Goethe dismissed us in a 
 friendly manner. 
 
 As we went homeward, 1 asked Mr. H. how he was 
 pleased with Goethe. "I have never," said he, "seen a 
 man who, with all his attractive gentleness, had so much 
 native dignity. However he may condescend, he is always 
 the great man." 
 
 Tiles., Jan. 18. — I went to Goethe about five o'clock. I 
 had not seen him for some days, and passed a delightful 
 evening. I found him sitting in his working-room, and 
 talking, during the twilight, with his son and Hofrath 
 Rehbein, his physician. I seated myself at the table with 
 them. We talked a while in the dusk ; then lights were 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETUE. 105 
 
 brought in, and I had the happiness to see Goethe looking 
 perfectly fresh and cheerful. 
 
 As usual, he inquired with interest what had happened 
 to me of late, and I replied that I had made the acquaint- 
 ance of a poetess. I was able at the same time, to praise 
 her uncommon talent, and Goethe, who was likewise 
 acquainted with some of her productions, agreed with my 
 commendation. 
 
 " One of her poems," said he, "in which she describes 
 the country near her home, is of a highly peculiar character. 
 She has a good tendancy towards outward objects, and is 
 besides not destitute of valuable internal qualities. We 
 might indeed find much fault with her ; but we will let her 
 alone, and not disturb her in the path which her talent will 
 show her." 
 
 The conversation now turned on poetesses in general ; 
 Hofrath Rehbein remarked that the poetical talent of ladies 
 often seemed to him as a sexual instinct of the intellect. 
 : ' Hear him," said Goethe, laughing, and looking at me ; 
 " sexual instinct, indeed ! how the physician explains it ! " 
 
 " I know not," said Rehbein, " whether I express myself 
 right ; but it is something of the sort. Usually, these beings 
 have not been fortunate in love, and they now seek compen- 
 sation in intellectual pursuits. Had they been married in 
 time, and borne children, they would never have thought of 
 poetical productions." 
 
 "I will not inquire," said Goethe, "how far you are right 
 in this case ; but, as to the talents of ladies in other depart- 
 ments, I have always found that they ceased on marriage. 
 I have known girls who drew finely ; but so soon as they 
 became wives and mothers it was all over : they were busy 
 with their children, and never touched a pencil. 
 
 " But our poetesses," continued he, with much animation, 
 " might write and poetize as they pleased if only oiir men 
 would not write like women. This it is that does not please 
 me. Look at our periodicals and annuals ; see how all 
 becomes weaker and weaker. Were a chapter of Cellini now 
 printed in the ' Morgenblatt,' what a figure it would make ! 
 
 " However," he continued, in a lively manner, " let us 
 forget all that, and rejoice in our brave girl at Halle, who 
 with masculine spirit introduces us into the Servian world. 
 
106 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 These poems are .excellent. There are some among them 
 worthy of a comparison with ' Solomon's Song,.' and that is 
 saying something. I have finished my essay on these 
 poems, and it is already in type." With these words he 
 showed me the first four proof-sheets of a new number of 
 " Kunst nnd Alter thiim," where I fonnd the essay in 
 question. " I have in a few words," said he, " characterized 
 these poems according to their chief subjects, and I think 
 yon will be pleased with the valuable motives. Rehbein, 
 too, is not ignorant of poetry — at least as to its import and 
 material — and he may perhaps like to hear yon read this 
 aloud." 
 
 I read slowly the subjects of the single poems. The 
 situations indicated were so marked and expressive, that at 
 each word [a> whole poem was revealed to my eye. The 
 following appeared to me especially charming : — 
 
 1. Modesty of a Servian girl, who never raises her 
 beautiful eyelashes. 
 
 2. Conflict in the mind of a lover, who, as groomsman, 
 is obliged to conduct his beloved to another. 
 
 3. Being distressed about her lover, the girl will not sing, 
 lest she should seem gay. 
 
 4. Complaint of the corruption of manners ; how youths 
 marry widows, and old men virgins. 
 
 5. Complaint of a youth that a mother gives her daughter 
 too much liberty. 
 
 6. Confidingly joyous talk of a girl with the steed, who 
 betrays to her his master's inclinations and designs. 
 
 7. The maiden will not have him she cannot love. 
 
 8. The fair bar-maid: her lover is not among the 
 guests. 
 
 9. Finding and tender awakening of the beloved. 
 
 10. What trade shall my husband be ? 
 
 11. Joys of love lost by babbling. 
 
 12. The lover comes from abroad, watches her by day 7 
 surprises her at night. 
 
 I remarked that these mere motives excited in me such 
 lively emotions, that I felt as if I were reading the poems 
 themselves, and had no desire for the details. 
 
 "You are quite right," said Goethe, "so it is; and here 
 you see the great importance of motives, which no one will 
 
1825.] CONVEKSATIONS OF GOETHE. 107 
 
 understand. Our women have no notion of it. ' That 
 poem is beautiful,' they say, and by this they mean nothing 
 but the feelings, the words, the verses. No one dreams 
 that the true power of a poem consists in the situation, — in 
 the motives.* And for this very reason, thousands of poems 
 are written, where the motive is nothing at all, and which 
 merely through feeling and sounding verse reflect a sort of 
 existence. Dilettanti, and especially women, have very 
 weak ideas of poetry. They usually think, if they could but 
 get quit of the technical part, they would have the essential, 
 and would be quite accomplished; but they are much 
 mistaken." 
 
 Professor Hiemer was announced, Rehbein took leave, 
 and Riemer sat down with us. The conversation still 
 turned on the motives of the Servian love-poems. Eiemer 
 was acquainted with the topic, and made the remark, that 
 according to the table of contents given above, not only 
 could poems be made, but that the same motives had been 
 already used by the Germans, without any knowledge that 
 they had .been treated in Servia. He mentioned some 
 poems of his own, and I mentioned some poems by Goethe, 
 which had occurred to me during the reading. 
 
 " The world," said Goethe, " remains always the same ; 
 situations are repeated ; one people lives, loves, and feels 
 like another ; why should not one poet write like another ? 
 The situations of life are alike ; why, then, should those of 
 poems be unlike ? " 
 
 " This very similarity in life and sensation," said Biemer, 
 " makes us all able to appreciate the poetry of other 
 nations. If this were not the case, we should never know 
 what foreign poems were about." 
 
 * This "motive" (German, motiv) is a very difficult and unmanage- 
 able word, and like many words of the sort does not seem always to pre- 
 serve the same meaning. According to the definition of lexicographers, 
 the German expression is almost the same as the English one, and a 
 poem is said to be well "motived" (motivirt) when it is well 
 organized as a whole, — that is to say, when there is a sufficient motivo 
 for the different effects produced. But in the passage above, 
 "motive " seems rather to mean "theme" for a poem, and it will 
 be remembered that "motive " has that sense in music. Wherever 
 motiv occurs it will be represented by motive in italics, and the readei 
 will do his best to understand it from the context. — Trans. 
 
108 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [182. 
 
 u 
 
 I am, therefore," said I, "always surprised at the 
 learned, who seem to suppose that poetizing proceeds not 
 from life to the poem, but from the book to the poem. 
 They are always saying, ' He got this here ; he got that 
 there.' If, for instance, they find passages in Shakspeare 
 which are also to be found in the ancients, they say he 
 must have taken them from the ancients. Thus there is a 
 situation in Shakspeare, where, on the sight of a beautiful 
 girl, the parents are congratulated who call her daughter, 
 and the youth who will lead her home as his bride. And 
 because the same thing occurs in Homer, Shakspeare, for- 
 sooth, has taken it from Homer. How odd ! As if one 
 had to go so far for such things, and did not have them 
 before one's eyes, feel them and utter them every day." 
 "Ah, yes," said Groethe, "it is very ridiculous." 
 " Lord Byron, too," said I, " is no wiser, when he takes 
 * Faust' to pieces, and thinks you found one thing here, the 
 other there." 
 
 " The greater part of those fine things cited by Lord 
 Byron," said Goethe, " I have never even read, .much less 
 did I think of them, when I was writing ' Faust.' But 
 Lord Byron is only great as a poet ; as soon as he reflects, 
 he is a child. He knows not how to help himself against 
 the stupid attacks of the same kind made upon him by his 
 own countrymen. He ought to have expressed himself 
 more strongly against them. 'What is there is mine,' he 
 should have said, ' and whether I got it from a book or 
 from life, is of no consequence ; the only point is, whether 
 I have made a right use of it.' Walter Scott used a scene 
 from my ' Egmont,' and he had a right to do so ; and 
 because he did it well, he deserves praise. He has also 
 copied the character of my Mignon in one of his romances ; 
 hut whether with equal judgment, is another question. 
 Lord Byron's transformed Devil* is a continuation of 
 Mephistophiles, and quite right too. If, from the whim, of 
 originality, he had departed from the model, he would cer- 
 tainly have fared worse. Thus, my Mephistophiles sings a 
 
 * This, doubtless, means the " Deformed Transformed," and the 
 fact that this poem was not published till January, 1824, rendering 
 it probable that Goethe had not actually seen it, accounts for the 
 inaccuracy of the expression. — Trans. 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 109 
 
 song from. Shakspoare, and why should ho not? Why 
 should I give niyself the trouble of inventing one of my 
 own, when this said just what was wanted. If, too, the 
 prologue to my ' Faust ' is something like the beginning of 
 Job, that is again quite right, and I am rather to be praised 
 than censured." 
 
 Goethe was in the best humour. He sent for a bottle of: 
 wine, and filled for Biemer and me ; he himself drank 
 Marienbad water. He seemed to have appointed this 
 evening for looking over, with Biemer, the manuscript 
 of the continuation of his autobiography, perhaps in order 
 to improve it here and there, in point of expression. " Let 
 Eckermann stay and hear it too," said Goethe ; which 
 words I was very glad to hear, and he then laid the manu- 
 script before Bierner, who began to read, commencing with 
 the year 1795. 
 
 I had already, in the course of the summer, had the 
 j^leasure of repeatedly reading and reflecting on the still 
 unpublished record of those years, down to the latest time. 
 But now to hear them read aloud in Goethe's presence, 
 afforded quite a new enjoyment. Biemer paid especial 
 attention to the mode of expression ; and I had occasion to 
 admire his great dexterity, and his affluence of words and 
 phrases. But in Goethe's mind the epoch of life described 
 was revived ; he revelled in recollections, and on the 
 mention of single persons and events, filled out the written 
 narrative by the details he orally gave us. That was a 
 precious evening ! The most distinguished of his contem- 
 poraries were talked over ; but the conversation always 
 came back to Schiller, who was so interwoven with this 
 period, from 1795 to 1800. The theatre had been the 
 object of their united efforts, and Goethe's best works 
 belong to this time. " Wilhelm Meister " was completed ; 
 " Hermann unci Dorothea" planned and written ; " Cellini" 
 translated for the "Horen;" the "Xenien" written by 
 both for Schiller's " Musenalmanach ;" — every day brought 
 with it points of contact. Of all this we talked this 
 evening, and Goethe had full opportunity for the most 
 interesting communications. 
 
 '"Hermann und Dorothea,'" said he, "is almost the 
 only one of my larger poems which still satisfies rue ; I can 
 
110 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 never read it without strong interest. I love it best in the 
 Latin translation ; there it seems to nie nobler, and as if it 
 had returned to its original form.." 
 
 "Wilhelm Meister" was often a subject of discourse. 
 " Schiller blamed me for interweaving tragic elements 
 which do not belong to the novel. Yet he was wrong, as 
 we all know. In his letters to me, there are most im- 
 portant views and opinions with respect to ' Wilhelm 
 Meister.' But this work is one of the most incalculable 
 productions ; I myself can scarcely be said to have the key 
 to it. People seek a central point, and that is hard, and 
 not even right. I should think a rich manifold life, brought 
 close to our eyes, would be enough in itself, without any 
 express tendency, which, after all, is only for the intellect. 
 But if anything of the sort is insisted upon, it will perhaps 
 be found in the words which Frederic, at the end, addresses 
 to the hero, when he says, — ' Thou seeru'st to me like Saul, 
 the son of Kish, who went out to seek his father's asses, 
 and found a kingdom.' Keep only to this ; for, in fact, the 
 whole work seems to say nothing more than that man, 
 despite all his follies and errors, being led by a higher 
 hand, reaches some happy goal at last." 
 
 We then talked of the high degree of culture which, 
 during the last fifty years, had become general among the 
 middle classes of Germany, and Goethe ascribed the merit of 
 this not so much to Lessing as to Herder and Wieland. 
 " Lessing," said he, "was of the very highest understanding, 
 and only one equally great could truly learn of him. To a 
 half faculty he was dangerous." He mentioned a jour- 
 nalist who had formed himself on Lessing, and at the 
 end of the last century had played a part indeed, but far 
 from a noble one, because he was so inferior to his great 
 predecessor. 
 
 "All Upper Germany," said he, "is indebted to Wieland 
 for its style. It has learned much from him ; and the 
 capability of expressing itself correctly is not the least." 
 
 On mentioning the "Xenien,"* he especially praised those 
 of Schiller, which he called sharp and biting, while he 
 called his own innocent and trivial. 
 
 * It need scarcely be mentioned that this is the name given to a col- 
 lection of sarcastic epigrams by Goethe and Schiller. — Trans. 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. Ill 
 
 " The ' Tkierkreis' (Zodiac), which is by Schiller," said 
 he, "I always read with admiration. The good effects 
 which the 'Xenien' had upon the German literature of 
 their time are beyond calculation." Many persons against 
 whom the " Xenien" were directed, were mentioned on this 
 occasion, but their names have escaped my memory. 
 
 After we had read and talked over the manuscript to the 
 end of the year 1800, interrupted by these and innumerable 
 other observations from Goethe, he put aside the papers, 
 and had a little supper placed at one end of the table at 
 which we were sitting. We partook of it, but Goethe did 
 not touch a morsel ; indeed, I have never seen him eat in 
 the evening. He sat down with us, filled our glasses, 
 snuffed the candles, and intellectually regaled us with the 
 most agreeable conversation. His remembrance of Schiller 
 was so livery, that the conversation during the latter part of 
 the evening was devoted to him alone. 
 
 Riemer spoke of Schiller's personal appearance. " The 
 build of his limbs, his gait in the street, all his motions," 
 said he, " were proud ; his eyes only were soft." 
 
 " Yes," said Goethe, " everything else about him was 
 proud and majestic, only the eyes were soft. And his talent 
 was like his outward form. He seized boldly on a great 
 subject, and turned it this way and that, and handled it this 
 way and that. But he saw his object, as it were, only in the 
 outside; a quiet development from its interior was not within 
 his province. His talent was desultory. Thus he was never 
 decided — could never have done. He often changed a part 
 just before a rehearsal. 
 
 "And, as he went so boldly to work, he did not take suf- 
 ficient pains about motives. I recollect what trouble I had 
 with him, when he wanted to make Gessler, in ' Tell,' 
 abruptly break an apple from the tree, and have it shot 
 from the boy's head. This was quite against my nature, 
 and I urged him to give at least some motive to this bar- 
 barity, by making the boy boast to Gessler of his father's 
 dexterity, and say that he could shoot an apple from a tree 
 at a hundred paces. Schiller, at first, would have nothing 
 of the sort : but at last he yielded to my arguments and 
 intentions, and did as I advised him. I, on the other hand, 
 by too great attention to motives^ kept my pieces from the 
 
112 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1825, 
 
 theatre. My ' Eugenie ' * is nothing but a chain of motives, 
 and this cannot succeed on the stage. 
 
 " Schiller's genius was really made for the theatre. With 
 every piece he progressed, and became more finished ; but, 
 strange to say, a certain love for the horrible adhered to 
 him from the time of the ' Robbers,' which never quite left 
 liim even in his prime. I still recollect perfectly well, that 
 in the prison scene in my ' Egmont,' where the sentence is 
 read to him, Schiller would have made Alva appear in the 
 background, masked and muffled in a cloak, enjoying the 
 effect which the sentence would produce on Egmont. Thus 
 Alva was to show himself insatiable in revenge and malice. 
 I, however, protested, and prevented the apparition. He 
 was a great, odd man. 
 
 " Every week he became different and more finished; each 
 time that I saw him, he seemed to me to have advanced in 
 learning and judgment. His letters are the fairest me- 
 morials of him which I possess, and they are also among 
 the most excellent of his writings. His last letter I preserve 
 as a sacred relic, among my treasures." He rose and fetched 
 it. " See and read it," said he, giving it to me. 
 
 It was a very fine letter, written in a bold hand. It con- 
 tained an opinion of Goethe's notes to " Rameau's Nephew," 
 which exhibit French literature at that time, and which he 
 had given Schiller to look over. I read the letter aloud 
 to Riemer. "You see," said Goethe, "how apt and con- 
 sistent is his judgment, and that the handwriting nowhere 
 betrays any trace of weakness. He was a splendid man, 
 and went from us in all the fulness of his strength. This 
 letter is dated the 24th of April, 1805. Schiller died on 
 the 9th of May." 
 
 We looked at the letter by turns, and were pleased both 
 with the clear style and the fine handwriting. Goethe 
 bestowed several other words of affectionate reminiscence 
 upon his friend, until it was nearly eleven o'clock, and we 
 departed. 
 
 Thurs., Feb. 24. — "If I were still superintendent of the 
 theatre," said Goethe, this evening, "I would bring out 
 Byron's ' Doge of Venice.' The piece is indeed long, and. 
 
 * " Die Natiirliche Tochter"(the Natural Daughter). — Trams. 
 
J 825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. \\% 
 
 
 would require shortening. Nothing, however, should be cut 
 out, but the import of each scene should be taken, and ex- 
 pressed more concisely. The piece would thus be brought 
 closer together, without being damaged by alterations, 
 and it would gain a powerful effect, without any essential 
 loss of beauty." 
 
 This opinion of Goethe's gave me a new view as to how 
 we might proceed on the stage, in a hundred similar cases, 
 and I was highly pleased with such a maxim, which, how- 
 ever, presupposes a fine intellect — nay, a poet, who under- 
 stands his vocation. 
 
 We talked more about Lord Byron, and I mentioned 
 how, in his conversations with Mcdwin, he had said there 
 was something extremely difficult and unthankful in writing 
 for the theatre. " The great point is," said Goethe, " for 
 the poet to strike into the path which the taste and interest 
 of the public have taken. If the direction of his talent 
 accords with that of the public, everything is gained. 
 Houwald hit this path with his Bild (picture), and hence 
 the universal applause he received. Lord Byron, perhaps, 
 would not have been so fortunate, inasmuch as his tendency 
 varied from that of the public. The greatness of the poet 
 is by no means the important matter. On the contrary, 
 one who is little elevated above the general public may 
 often gain the most general favour precisely on that 
 account." 
 
 We continued to converse about Byron, and Goethe 
 admired his extraordinary talent. " That which I call 
 invention," said he, " I never saw in any one in the world 
 to a greater degree than in him. His manner of loosing a 
 dramatic knot is always better than one would anticipate." 
 
 "That," said I, "is what I feel about Shakspeare, 
 especially when Falstaff has entangled himself in such a 
 net of falsehoods, and I ask myself what I should do to 
 help him out ; for I find that Shakspeare surpasses all my 
 notions. That you say the same of Lord Byron, is the 
 highest praise that can be bestowed on him. Neverthe- 
 less," I added, "the poet who takes a clear survey of 
 beginning and end, has, by far, the advantage with the 
 biassed reader." 
 
 Goethe agreed with me, and laughed to think that Lord 
 
 i 
 
114 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [ I S25, 
 
 Byron, who, in practical life, could never adapt hiniselL 
 and never even asked about a law, finally subjected himself 
 to the stupidest of laws — that of the three unities. 
 
 "He understood the purpose of this law," said he, "no 
 better than the rest of the world. Comprehensibility * is 
 the purpose, and the three unities are only so far good as 
 they conduce to this end. If the observance of them 
 hinders the comprehension of a work, it is foolish to treat 
 them as laws, and to try to observe them. Even the 
 Greeks, from whom the rule was taken, did not always 
 follow it. In the ' Phaeton ' of Euripides, and in other 
 pieces, there is a change of place, and it is obvious that 
 good representation of their subject was with them more 
 important than blind obedience to law, which, in itself, is 
 of no great consequence. The pieces of Shakspeare 
 deviate, as far as possible, from the unities of time and 
 place ; but they are comprehensible — nothing more so — and 
 on this account, the Greeks would have found no fault in 
 them. The French poets have endeavoured to follow most 
 rigidly the laws of the three unities, but they sin against 
 comprehensibility, inasmuch as they solve a dramatic law, 
 not dramatically, but by narration." 
 
 " I call to mind the ' Feinde ' (enemies) of Houwald. 
 The author of this drama stood much in his own light, 
 when, to preserve the unity of place, he sinned against 
 comprehensibility in the first act, and altogether sacrificed 
 what might have given greater effect to his piece to a 
 whim, for which no one thanks him. I thought, too, on 
 the other hand, of ' Goetz von Berlichingen,' which 
 deviates as far as possible from the unity of time and 
 place ; but which, as everything is visibly developed to us, 
 and brought before our eyes, is as truly dramatic and com- 
 prehensible as any piece in the world. I thought, too, that 
 the unities of time and place were natural, and in accord- 
 ance with the intention of the Greeks, only when a subject 
 is so limited in its range that it can develop itself before 
 our eyes with all its details in the given time ; but that 
 
 * We unwillingly adopt this uncouth word as the equivalent for 
 "das Fassliche." The American translator uses the word "illusion," 
 but this would be rather a result of " das Fassliche " than the thing 
 itself. — Trans. 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 115 
 
 -with a large action, which occurs in several places, there is no 
 reason to be confined to one place, especially as our present 
 stage arrangements offer no obstacle to a change of scene." 
 
 Groethe continued to talk of Lord Byron. "With that 
 disposition," said he, " which always leads him into the 
 illimitable, the restraint which he imposed upon himself b}' 
 the observance of the three unities becomes him very well. 
 If he had but known how to endure moral restraint also ! 
 That he could not was his ruin ; and it may be aptly said, 
 that he was destroyed by his own unbridled temperament. 
 
 "But he was too much in the dark about himself. He 
 lived impetuously for the day, and neither knew nor 
 thought what he was doing. Permitting everything to 
 himself, and excusing nothing in others, he necessarily put 
 himself in a bad position, and made the world his foe. 
 At the very beginning, he offended the most distinguished 
 literary men by his ' English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.' 
 To be permitted only to live after this, he was obliged to 
 go back a step. In his succeeding works, he continued in 
 the path of opposition and fault-finding. Church and 
 State were not left unassailed. This reckless conduct drove 
 him from England, and would in time have driven him 
 from Europe also. Everywhere it was too narrow for him, 
 and with the most perfect personal freedom he felt himself 
 confined ; the world seemed to him a prison. His Grecian 
 expedition was the result of no voluntary resolution ; his 
 misunderstanding with the world drove him to it. 
 
 " The renunciation of what was hereditary and patriotic 
 not only caused the personal destruction of so distinguished 
 a man, but his revolutionary turn, and the constant mental 
 agitation with which it was combined, did not allow his 
 talent a fair development. Moreover, his perpetual nega- 
 tion and fault-finding is injurious even to his excellent 
 works. For not only does the discontent of the poet infect 
 the reader, but the end of all opposition is negation ; and 
 negation is nothing. If I call had bad, what do I gain ? 
 But if I call good bad, I do a great deal of mischief. He 
 who will work aright must never rail, must not trouble 
 himself at all about what is ill done, but only to do well 
 himself. For the great point is, not to pull down, but to 
 build up, and in this humanity finds pure jov." 
 
 1 2 
 
116 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. f I 825. 
 
 I was delighted with these noble words, and this valu- 
 able maxim. 
 
 " Lord Byron," continued Goethe, " is to be regarded as 
 a man, as an Englishman, and as a great talent. His good 
 qualities belong chiefly to the man, his bad to the English- 
 man and the peer, his talent is incommensurable. 
 
 "All Englishmen are, as such, without reflection, properly 
 so called ; distractions and party spirit will not permit 
 them to perfect themselves in quiet. But they are great as 
 practical men. 
 
 " Thus, Lord Byron could never attain reflection on 
 himself, and on this account his maxims in general are not 
 successful, as is shown by his creed, 'much money, no 
 authority,' for much money always paralyzes authority. 
 
 "But where he will create he always succeeds; and we 
 may truly say that with him inspiration supplies the place 
 of reflection. He was always obliged to go on poetizing, 
 and then everything that came from the man, especially 
 from his heart, was excellent. He produced his best things, 
 as women do pretty children, without thinking about it or 
 knowing how it was done. 
 
 " He is a great talent, a born talent, and I never saw the 
 true poetical power greater in any man than in him. In 
 the apprehension of external objects, and a clear pene- 
 tration into past situations, he is quite as great as 
 Shakspeare. But as a pure individuality, Shakspeare is 
 his superior. This was felt by Byron, and on this account 
 he does not say much of Shakspeare, although he knows 
 whole passages by heart. He would willingly have denied 
 him altogether ; for Shakspeare's cheerfulness is in his way, 
 and he feels that he is no match for it. Pope he does not 
 deny, for he had no cause to fear him. On the contrary, 
 he mentions him, and shows him respect when he can, 
 for he knows well enough that Pope is a mere foil to 
 himself." 
 
 Goethe seems inexhaustible on the subject of Byron, and 
 I felt that I could not listen enough. After a few 
 digressions, he proceeded thus : — 
 
 " His high rank as an English peer was very injurious to 
 Byron ; for every talent is oppressed by the outer world, — 
 how much more, then, when there is such high birth and 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 117 
 
 so great a fortune. A certain middle rank is much more 
 favourable to talent, on which, account we find all great 
 artists and poets in the middle classes. Byron's pre- 
 dilection for the unbounded could not have been nearly 
 so dangerous with more humble birth and smaller means. 
 But as it was, he was able to put every fancy into practice, 
 and this involved him in innumerable scrapes. Besides, 
 how could one of such high rank be inspired with awe and 
 respect by any rank whatever ? He spoke out whatever he 
 felt, and this brought him into ceaseless conflict with the 
 world. 
 
 "It is surprising to remark," continued Goethe, " how 
 large a portion of the life of a rich Englishman of rank 
 is passed in duels and elopements. Lord Byron himself 
 says that his father carried off three ladies. And let any 
 man be a steady son after that. 
 
 "Properly speaking, he lived perpetually in a state of 
 nature, and with his mode of existence the necessity for 
 self-defence floated daily before his eyes. Hence his 
 constant pistol shooting. Every moment he expected to 
 be called out. 
 
 "He could not live alone. Hence, with all his oddities, 
 he was very indulgent to his associates. He one evening 
 read his fine poem on the death of Sir John Moore, and 
 his noble friends did not know what to make of it. This 
 did not move him, but he put it away again. As a poet, he 
 really showed himself a lamb. Another would have com- 
 mended them to the devil." 
 
 (Sup.) Tues. Mar. 22. — Last night, soon after twelve 
 [ o'clock, we were awoke by an alarm of fire ; we heard cries, 
 " The theatre is on fire ! " I at once threw on my clothes, 
 and hastened to the spot. The universal consternation was 
 very great. Only a few hours before we had been delighted 
 with the excellent acting of La Roche in Cumberland's 
 "Jew," and Seidel had excited universal laughter by his 
 good humour and jokes. And now, in the place so lately 
 the scene of intellectual pleasures, raged the most terrible 
 element of destruction. 
 
 The fire, which was occasioned by the heating apparatus, 
 appears to have broken out in the pit ; it soon spread to the 
 stage and the dry lath- work of the wings, and, as it tear- 
 
118 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 fully increased by the great quantity of combustible 
 material, it was not long before tbe flames burst through 
 the roof, and the rafters gave way. 
 
 There was no deficiency of preparations for extinguishing 
 the fire. The building was, by degrees, surrounded by 
 engines, which poured an immense quantity of water upon 
 the flames. All, however, was without avail. The flames 
 raged upwards as before, and threw up to the dark sky an 
 inexhaustible mass of glowing sparks and burning particles 
 of light materials, which then, with a light breeze, passed 
 sideways over the town. The noise of the cries and calls 
 of the men working the fire-ladders and engines was very 
 great. All seemed determined to subdue the flames. On 
 one side, as near to the spot as the fire allowed, stood a man 
 in a cloak and military cap, smoking a cigar with the 
 greatest composure. At the first glance, he appeared to be 
 an idle spectator, but such was not the case. There were 
 several persons to whom, in a few words, he gave com- 
 mands, which were immediately executed. It was the 
 Grand Duke Charles Augustus. He had soon seen that 
 the building itself could not be saved ; he, therefore, 
 ordered that it should be left to fall, and that all the 
 superfluous engines should be turned upon the neigh- 
 bouring houses, which were much exposed to the fire. 
 He appeared to think with princely resignation — 
 ' ' Let that burn down, 
 With greater beauty will it rise again." 
 
 He was not wrong. The theatre was old, by no means 
 beautiful ; and for a long time, it had ceased to be roomy 
 enough to accommodate the annually increasing public. 
 Nevertheless, it was lamentable to see this building thus 
 irreparably destroyed, with which so many reminiscences of 
 a past time, illustrious and endeared to Weimar, were 
 connected. 
 
 I saw in beautiful eyes many tears, which flowed for 
 its downfall. I was no less touched by the grief of a 
 member of the orchestra. He wept for his burnt violin. 
 As the day dawned, I saw many pale countenances. I 
 remarked several young girls and women of high rank, 
 who had awaited the event of the fire during the whole 
 night, and who now shivered in the cold morning air. I 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 11'.) 
 
 returned home to take a little rest, and in the conrse of the 
 forenoon I called upon Goethe. 
 
 The servant told me that he was unwell and in bed. 
 Still Goethe had me called to his side. He stretched out 
 his hand to me. " We have all sustained a ' loss," said he ; 
 " what is to be done ? My little Wolf came early this 
 morning to my bed-side. He seized my hand, and looking 
 full at me, said, ' so it is with human tilings' What more 
 can be said, than these words of my beloved Wolf's, with 
 which he sought to comfort me ? The theatre, the scene 
 of my love-labours for nearly thirty years, lies in ashes. 
 But, as Wolf says, 'so it is with human things.' I have 
 slept but little during the night ; from my front windows, 
 I saw the flames incessantly rising towards the sky. 
 
 " You can imagine that many thoughts of old times, of 
 my many years' exertions with Schiller, and of the progress 
 of many a favourite pupil, passed through my mind, and 
 not without causing some emotion. Hence, I intend wisely 
 to remain in bed to-day." 
 
 I praised him for his forethought. Still ho did not 
 appear to me in the least weak or exhausted, but in a very 
 pleasant and serene mood. This lying in bed seemed to me 
 to be an old stratagem of war, which he is accustomed to 
 adopt on any extraordinary event, when he fears a crowd 
 of visitors. 
 
 Goethe begged me to be seated on a chair before his bed, 
 and to stay there a little time. " I have thought much of 
 you, and pitied you," said he. " What will you do with 
 your evenings now ? " 
 
 " You know," returned I, "how passionately I love the 
 theatre. When I came here, two years ago, I knew nothing 
 at all, except three or four pieces which I had seen in 
 Hanover. 
 
 " All was new to me, actors as well as pieces ; and since, 
 according to your advice, I have given myself up entirely to 
 the impression of the subject, without much thinking or 
 reflecting, I can say with truth, that I have, during the^e 
 two winters, passed at the theatre the most harmless and 
 most agreeable hours that I have ever known. I was, more- 
 over, so infatuated with the theatre, that I not only 
 missed no performance, but also obtained admission to the 
 
120 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [ 1 825. 
 
 rehearsals ; nay, not contented with this, if, as I passed in 
 the day-time, I chanced to find the doors open, I would 
 enter, and sit for half an hour upon the empty benches in 
 the pit, and imagine scenes which might at some time be 
 played there." 
 
 "You are a madman," returned Goethe, laughing ; " but 
 that is what I like. Would to Grod that the whole public 
 consisted of such children ! And in fact you are right. 
 Any one who is sufficiently young, and who is not quite 
 spoiled, could not easily find any place that would suit him 
 so well as a theatre. No one asks you any questions : you 
 need not open your mouth unless you choose ; on the contrary, 
 you sit quite at your ease like a king, and let everything 
 pass before you, and recreate your mind and senses to your 
 heart's content. There is poetry, there is painting, there 
 are singing and music, there is acting, and what not besides. 
 When all these arts, and the charm of youth and beauty 
 heightened to an important degree, work in concert on the 
 same evening, it is a bouquet to which no other can compare. 
 But, even when part is bad and part is good, it is still better 
 than looking out of the window, or playing a game at whist in 
 a close party amid the smoke of cigars. The theatre at 
 Weimar is, as you feel, by no means to be despised ; it is 
 still an old trunk from our best time, to which new talents 
 have attached themselves ; and we can still produce some- 
 thing which charms and pleases, and at least gives the 
 appearance of an organized whole." 
 
 " Would I had seen it twenty or thirty years ago," 
 answered I. " That was certainly a time," replied Groethe, 
 " when we were assisted by great advantages. Consider 
 that the tedious period of the French taste had not long 
 gone by ; that the public was not yet spoiled by over-excite- 
 ment ; that the influence of Shakspeare was in all its first 
 freshness ; that the operas of Mozart were new ; and lastly, 
 that the pieces of Schiller were first produced here year 
 after year, and were given at the theatre of Weimar in all 
 their first glory, under his own superintendence. Consider 
 all this, I say, and you will imagine that, with such dishes, 
 a fine banquet was given to old and young, and that we 
 always had a grateful public." 
 
 I remarked, " Older persons, who lived in those times,. 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 121 
 
 cannot praise highly enough the elevated position which the 
 Weimar theatre then held." 
 
 " I will not deny that it was something," returned Goethe. 
 " The main point, however, was this, that the Grand Duke 
 left my hands quite free, and I could do just as I liked. I 
 did not look to magnificent scenery, and a brilliant ward- 
 robe, but I looked to good pieces. From tragedy to farce, 
 every species was welcome ; but a piece was obliged to have 
 something in it to find favour. It was necessary that it 
 should be great and clever, cheerful and graceful, and, at all 
 events, healthy and containing some pith. All that was 
 morbid, weak, lachrymose, and sentimental, as well as all 
 that was frightful, horrible, and offensive to decorum, was 
 utterly excluded ; I should have feared, by such expedients, 
 to spoil both actors and audience. 
 
 " By means of good pieces, I raised the actors ; for the 
 study of excellence, and the perpetual practice of excellence, 
 must necessarily make something of a man whom nature 
 has not left ungifted. I was, also, constantly in personal 
 contact with the actors. I attended the first rehearsals,* 
 and explained to every one his part ; I was present at the 
 chief rehearsals, and talked with the actors as to any 
 improvements that might be made ; I was never absent 
 from a performance, and pointed out the next day anything 
 which did not appear to me to be right. 
 
 " By these means I advanced them in their art. 
 
 " But I also sought to raise the whole class in the esteem 
 of society, by introducing the best and most promising into 
 my own circle, and thus showing to the world that I con- 
 sidered them worthy of social intercourse with myself. The 
 result of this was, that [the rest of the higher society in 
 Weimar did not remain behind me, and that actors and 
 actresses gained soon an honourable admission into the best 
 circles. By all this, they acquired a great internal as well 
 as external culture. My scholar Wolff, in Berlin, and our 
 Diirand, are people of the finest tact in society. Oels and 
 Graff have enough of the higher order of culture to do 
 honour to the best circles. 
 
 * The word " Leseprobe," which is here used, answers exactly to 
 the English stage technicality — the "reading." The chief rehearsals, 
 " Haupt prober," are by us simply called "rehearsals." — Trans. 
 
122 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 " Scliiller proceeded in the same spirit as myself. He had 
 a great deal of intercourse with actors and actresses. He, 
 like me, was present at every rehearsal ; and after every 
 snccessf nl performance of one of his pieces, it was his custom 
 to invite the actors, and to spend a merry day with them. 
 All rejoiced together at that which had sncceeded, and dis- 
 cussed how anything might be done better next time. But 
 even when Schiller joined ns, he found both actors and the 
 public already cultivated to a high degree ; and it is 
 not to be denied that this conduced to the rapid success of 
 his pieces." 
 
 It gave me great pleasure to hear Goethe speak so cir- 
 cumstantially upon a subject which always possessed great 
 interest for me, and which, in consequence of the mis- 
 fortune of the previous night, was uppermost in my mind. 
 
 " This burning of the house," said I, "in which you and 
 Schiller, during a long course of years, effected so much 
 good, in some degree closes a great epoch, which will not 
 soon return for Weimar. You must at that time have ex- 
 perienced great pleasure in your direction of the theatre, 
 and its extraordinary success." 
 
 " And not a little trouble and difficulty," returned Goethe, 
 with a sigh. 
 
 "It must be difficult," said I, "to keep such a many- 
 headed being in proper order." 
 
 " A great deal," said Goethe, "may be done by severity, 
 more by love, but most by clear discernment and impartial 
 justice, which pays no respect to persons. 
 
 " I had to beware of two enemies, which might have been 
 dangerous to me. The one was my passionate love of talent, 
 which might easily have made me partial. The other I 
 will not mention, but you can guess it. At our theatre 
 there was no want of ladies, who were beautiful and young, 
 and who were possessed of great mental charms. I felt a 
 passionate inclination towards many of them, and sometimes 
 it happened that I was met half way. But I restrained 
 myself, and said, ~No further! I knew my position, and 
 also what I owed to it. I stood here, not as a private man, 
 but as chief of an establishment, the prosperity of which 
 was of more consequence to me than a momentary gratifi- 
 cation. If I had involved myself in any love affair, I should 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 123 
 
 have been like a compass, which cannot point right when 
 under the influence of a magnet at its side. 
 
 " By thus '.keeping myself quite clear, and always re- 
 maining master of myself, I also remained master of the 
 theatre, and I always received that proper respect, without 
 which all authority is very soon at an end." 
 
 This confession of Goethe's deeply impressed me. I had 
 already heard something of this kind about him from others, 
 and I rejoiced now to hear its confirmation from his own 
 mouth. I loved him more than ever, and took leave of him 
 with a hearty pressure of the hand. 
 
 I returned to the scene of the fire, where flames and 
 columns of smoke were rising from the great heap of ruins. 
 People were still occupied in extinguishing and pulling to 
 pieces. I found near the spot a burnt fragment of a written 
 part. It contained passages from Goethe's " Tasso." 
 
 (Sup.) Thurs., Mar. 24 — I dined with Goethe. The loss 
 of the theatre was almost the exclusive subject of conver- 
 sation. Frau von Goethe and Fraulein Ulrica recalled to 
 mind the happy hours they had enjoyed in the old house. 
 They had been seeking some relics from amongst the rub- 
 bish, which they considered invaluable ; but which were, 
 after all, nothing but stones and burnt pieces of carpet. 
 Still, these pieces were from the precise spot in the balcony 
 where they had been used to sit. 
 
 " The principal thing is," said Goethe, "to recover oneself, 
 and get in order as soon as possible. I should like the per- 
 formances to recommence next week, in the palace or in the 
 great town-hall, no matter which. Too long a pause must 
 not be allowed, lest the public should seek some other 
 resource for its tedious evenings." 
 
 " But," it was observed, " there are scarcely any of the 
 decorations saved." 
 
 " There is no need of much decoration," returned Goethe. 
 " Neither is there a necessity for great pieces. It is not 
 even necessary to perform whole pieces at all, much less a 
 great whole. 
 
 " The main point is, to choose something in which no 
 great 'change of scene takes place. Perhaps a one act 
 comedy, or a one act farce, or operetta. Then, perhaps, 
 some air, duet, or finale, from a favourite opera, and you 
 
124 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 will be very passably entertained. We have only to get 
 tolerably through April, for in May you have the songsters 
 of the woods. 
 
 " In the mean time," continued Goethe, " you will, during 
 the summer months, witness the spectacle of the rearing of 
 a new house. This fire appears to me very remarkable. I 
 will now confess to you, that, during the long winter even- 
 ings, I have occupied myself with Courdray, in drawing the 
 plan of a new handsome theatre suitable to Weimar. 
 
 " We had sent for the ground-plans and sections of some 
 of the principal German theatres, and by taking what was 
 best, and avoiding what appeared defective, we accom- 
 plished a sketch which will be worth looking at. As soon 
 as the Grand Duke gives permission, the building may be 
 commenced, and it is no trifle that this accident found us so 
 wonderfully prepared." 
 
 We received this intelligence of Goethe's with great joy. 
 
 "In the old house," continued Goethe, "the nobility 
 were accommodated in the balcony, and the servants and 
 young artisans in the gallery. The greater number of the 
 wealthy and genteel middle class were not well provided 
 for; for when, at the performance of certain pieces, the 
 students occupied the pit, these respectable persons did not 
 know where to go. The few small boxes behind the pit, 
 and the few stalls, were not sufficient. Now we have 
 managed much better. We have a whole tier of boxes 
 running round the pit, and another tier, of the second rank, 
 between the balcony and the gallery. 
 
 "By these means we gain a great many places, without 
 enlarging the house too much." 
 
 We rejoiced at this communication, and praised Goethe 
 for his kind consideration of the theatre and the public. 
 
 In order to lend my share of assistance to the future 
 theatre, I went, after dinner, with my friend Robert Doolan, 
 to Upper Weimar, and over a cup of coffee at the inn, began 
 to make the libretto of an opera, after the " Issipile " of 
 Metastasio. The first thing was to write a programme, so 
 as to cast the piece with all the favourite singers, male and 
 female, belonging to the Weimar theatre. This gave us 
 great pleasure. It was almost as if we were again seated 
 before the orchestra. 
 
.1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 125 
 
 We then set to work in good earnest, and finished a "rcat 
 part of the first act. 
 
 (Sup.) Sun., Mar. 27. — I dined at Goethe's with a large 
 party. He showed 11s the design for the new theatre. It 
 was as he had told 11s a few days ago ; the plan promised a 
 very beantiful building, both externally and internally. 
 
 It was remarked that so pretty a theatre required 
 beautiful decorations, and better costumes than the former 
 one. We were also of opinion that the company had 
 gradually become incomplete, and that some distinguished 
 young members should be engaged, both for the drama and 
 the opera. At the same time, we did not shut our eyes to 
 t he fact that all this would be attended with great expense, 
 which the present state of the treasury would not allow. 
 
 " I know very well," said Goethe, "that under pretext of 
 sparing the treasury, some insignificant persons will be en- 
 gaged who will not cost much. But we cannot expect to 
 benefit the treasury by such means. 
 
 " Nothing injures the treasury more than the endeavour 
 to save in such essential matters. Our aim must be, to 
 have a full house every evening. And a young singer, 
 male or female, a clever hero, and a clever young heroine of 
 distinguished talents and some beauty, will do much towards 
 this end. Ay, if I still stood at the head of the direction, I 
 would now go a step farther for the benefit of the treasury, 
 and you would perceive that I should not be without the 
 money required." 
 
 Goethe was asked what he meant by this. 
 
 "I would employ very simple means," returned he. " 1 
 would have performances on Sundays. I should thus have 
 the receipts of at least forty more evenings, and it would be 
 hard if the treasury did not thus gain ten or fifteen thousand 
 dollars a year." 
 
 This expedient was thought very practical. It was men- 
 tioned, that to the great working-class, who are usually 
 occupied until late at night on week days, Sunday is the 
 only day of recreation, when they would prefer the more 
 noble pleasures of a play to a dance, with beer, at a village 
 inn. It was also the general opinion, that all the farmers 
 and land-owners, as well as the officials and wealthy inha- 
 bitants of the small towns in the neighbourhood, would 
 
126 CONVEKSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1S25. 
 
 consider the Sunday as a desirable day to go to the theatre 
 at Weimar. Besides, at the present time, a Sunday evening 
 at Weimar was very dreary and tedious for every one who 
 did not go to court, or was not a member of a happy family 
 circle, or a select society ; since isolated individuals did not 
 know where to go. And still people said that there ought 
 to be some place where they might, on a Sunday evening, 
 be comfortable, and forget the annoyances of the week. 
 
 Goethe's idea of permitting Sunday performances, ac- 
 cording to the custom in all other German towns, received 
 perfect approbation, and was greeted as a very happy one. 
 Only a slight doubt arose, as to whether the court would 
 approve of it. 
 
 " The court of Weimar," returned Goethe, "is too good 
 and too wise to oppose any regulation which would con- 
 duce to the benefit of the town and an important institu- 
 tion. The court will certainly make the small sacrifice of 
 altering its Sunday soirees to another day. But if this 
 were not agreeable, we could find for the Sundays enough 
 pieces which the court does not like to see, but which 
 would suit the common people, and would fill the treasury 
 admirably." 
 
 The conversation then turned upon actors, and much was 
 said about the use and abuse of their powers. 
 
 "I have, during my long practice," said Goethe, "found 
 that the main point is never to allow any play, or scarcely 
 an opera, to be studied, unless one can look forward with 
 some certainty to a good success for years. No one 
 sufficiently considers the expenditure of power, which is 
 demanded for the study of a five act play, or even an opera 
 of equal length. Tes, my good friends, much is required 
 before a singer has thoroughly mastered a part through all 
 the scenes and acts, much more before the choruses go as 
 they ought. 
 
 " I am horrified, when I hear how lightly people often 
 give orders for the study of an opera, of the success of 
 which they truly know nothing, and of which they have 
 only heard through some very uncertain newspaper notice. 
 As we, in Germany, already possess very tolerable means of 
 travelling, and are even beginning to have diligences, I 
 would, on the intelligence of any new opera being pro- 
 
I S25.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 127 
 
 dnced and praised, send to the spot the Regisseur, or some 
 other trustworthy member of the theatre, that by his 
 presence, at an actual representation, he might be con- 
 vinced how far the highly-praised new opera was good for 
 anything, whether our forces were sufficient for it or not. 
 The expense of such a journey would be inconsiderable in 
 comrjarison with the enormous advantage to be derived 
 from it, and the fatal mistakes which, by these means, 
 would be avoided. 
 
 " And then, when a good play or a good opera has once 
 been studied, it should be represented at short intervals, — 
 be allowed to ' run ' as long as it draws, and continues at 
 all to fill the house. The same plan would be applicable to 
 a good old play, or a good old opera, which has, perhaps, 
 been long laid aside, and which now requires not a little 
 fresh study to be reproduced with success. Such a repre- 
 sentation should be repeated at short intervals, as frequently 
 as the public shows any interest in it. The desire always 
 to have something new, and to see a good play or opera, 
 which has been studied with excessive pains only once, or 
 at the most twice, or even to allow the space of six or eight 
 weeks to elapse between such repetitions, in which time a 
 new study becomes necessary, is a real detriment to the 
 theatre, and an unpardonable misuse of the talents of the 
 performers engaged in it." 
 
 Goethe appeared to consider this matter very important, 
 and it seemed to he so near his heart that he became more 
 warm than, with his calm disposition, is often the case. 
 
 "In Italy," continued Goethe, "they perform the same 
 opera every evening for four or six weeks, and the great 
 Italian children by no means desire any change. The 
 polished Parisian sees the classical plays of his great poets 
 so often that he knows them by heart, and has a practised 
 ear for the accentuation of every syllable. Here, in 
 Weimar, they have done me the honour to perform my 
 * Iphigenia ' and my ' Tasso,' but how often ? Scarcely 
 once in three or four years. The public finds them tedious. 
 Very probably. The actors are not in practice to play t lie 
 pieces, and the public is not in practice to hear them. If, 
 through more frequent repetitions, the actors entered so 
 much into the spirit of their parts that their representation 
 
128 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1S25. 
 
 gained life, as if it were not the result of study, and every- 
 thing flowed from their own hearts, the public would, 
 assuredly, no longer remain uninterested and unmoved. 
 
 "I really had the notion once that it was possible to 
 form a German drama. Nay, I even fancied that I myself 
 could contribute to it, and lay some foundation-stones for 
 such an edifice. I wrote my ' Iphigenia ' and my ' Tasso,' 
 and thought, with a childish hope, that thus it might be 
 brought about. But there was no emotion or excitement 
 — all remained as it was before. If I had produced an 
 effect, and had met with applause, I would have written a. 
 round dozen of pieces such as 'Iphigenia' and 'Tasso.' 
 There was no deficiency of material. But, as I said, actors 
 were wanting to represent such pieces with life and spirit, 
 and a public was wanting to hear and receive them with 
 sympathy." 
 
 (Sup.) Wed., Mar. 30. — This evening to a great tea 
 party at Goethe's, where I found a young American, 
 besides the young Englishmen. I also had the pleasure 
 of seeing the Countess Julia von Egloff stein, and of con- 
 versing with her pleasantly on various subjects. 
 
 (Sup.) Wed.. April 6. — Goethe's advice has been followed, 
 and a performance has taken place this evening, for the 
 first time, in the great hall of the town-house, consisting of 
 small things and fragments, which were in accordance 
 with the confined space and the want of decorations. 
 The little opera, " Das Hausgesinde " (the domestic ser- 
 vants), went quite as well as that at the theatre. Then 
 a favourite quartet, from the opera " Graf von Gleichen " 
 (Count von Gleichen), by Eberwein, was received with 
 decided approbation. Our first tenor, Herr Moltke, then 
 sang a well-known song from "Die Zauberflote," after 
 which, with a pause between, the grand finale to the first 
 act of "Don Juan" came in with powerful effect, and 
 nobly concluded this first substitute for an evening at the 
 theatre. 
 
 (Sup.) Sun., April 10. — Dined with Goethe. "I have 
 the good news to tell you," said he, " that the Grand Duke 
 has approved of our design for the new theatre, and that 
 the foundation will be laid immediately." 
 
 I was very much pleased at this information. 
 
1-825. ] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 129 
 
 "We had to contend with all sorts of obstacles," con- 
 tinned Goethe ; "we are, at last, happily through them. 
 We owe many thanks, on that account, to the Privy 
 Councillor, Schweitzer, who, as we might have expected 
 of him, stood true to our cause with hearty good will. 
 The sketch is signed in the Grand Duke's own hand- 
 writing, and is to undergo no further alteration. Rejoice, 
 then, for you will obtain a very good theatre." 
 
 (Sup.) Thur., April 14. — This evening at Goethe's. Since 
 conversation upon the theatre and theatrical manage- 
 ment were now the order of the day, I asked him npon 
 what maxims he proceeded in the choice of a new member 
 of the company. 
 
 " I can scarcely say," returned Goethe ; " I had various 
 modes of proceeding. If a striking reputation preceded 
 the new actor, I let him act, and saw how he suited 
 the others ; whether his style and manner disturbed our 
 ensemble, or whether he would supply a deficiency. If, 
 however, he was a young man who had never trodden a 
 stage before, I first considered his personal qnalities ; 
 whether he had about him anything prepossessing or 
 attractive, and, above all things, whether he had control 
 over himself. For an actor who possesses no self-posses- 
 sion, and who cannot appear before a stranger in his 
 most favourable light, has, generally speaking, little 
 talent. His whole profession requires continual self-denial, 
 and a continual existence in a foreign mask. 
 
 " If his appearance and his deportment pleased me, I 
 made him read, in order to test the power and extent of 
 his organ, as well as the capabilities of his mind. I gave 
 him some sublime passage from a great poet, to see whether 
 he was capable of feeling and expressing what was really 
 great ; then something passionate and wild, to prove bis 
 power. I then went to something marked by sense and 
 smartness, something ironical and witty, to see how he 
 treated such things, and whether he possessed sufficient 
 freedom. Then I gave him something in which was repre- 
 sented the pain of a wounded heart, the suffering of a 
 great soul, that I might learn whether he had it in his 
 power to express pathos. 
 
 " If he satisfied me in all these numerous particulars, I 
 
 K 
 
130 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 had a well-grounded hope of making him a very important 
 actor. If ho appeared more capable in some particulars 
 than in others, I remarked the line to which he was most 
 adapted. I also now knew his weak points, and, above 
 all, endeavoured to work upon him so that he might 
 strengthen and cultivate himself here. If I remarked 
 faults of dialect, and what are called provincialisms, I 
 urged him to lay them aside, and recommended to him 
 social intercourse and friendly practice with some member 
 of the stage who was entirely free from them. I then 
 asked him whether he could dance and fence ; and if this 
 were not the case, I would hand him over for some time 
 to the dancing and fencing masters. 
 
 " If he were now sufficiently advanced to make his ap- 
 pearance, I gave him at first such parts as suited his indivi- 
 duality, and I desired nothing but that he should represent 
 himself. If he now appeared to me of too fiery a nature, I 
 gave him phlegmatic characters ; if too calm and tedious, I 
 gave him fiery and hasty characters, that he might thus learn 
 to lay aside himself, and assume foreign individuality." 
 
 The conversation turned upon the casting of plays, upon 
 which Q-oethe made, among others, the following re- 
 markable observations : — 
 
 " It is a great error to think," said he, u that an indif- 
 ferent piece may be played by indifferent actors. A second 
 or third rate play can be incredibly improved by the 
 employment of first-rate powers, and be made something 
 really good. But if a second or third rate play be per- 
 formed by second or third rate actors, no one can wonder 
 if it is utterly ineffective. 
 
 " Second-rate actors are excellent in great plays. They 
 have the same effect that the figures in half shade have 
 in a picture ; they serve admirably to show off more 
 powerfully those which have the full light." 
 
 (Sup.) Sat, April 16. — Dined at Goethe's with D'Alton, 
 whose acquaintance I made last summer at Bonn, and 
 whom it gave me much pleasure to meet again. D'Alton 
 is a man quite after Goethe's own heart ; there is also 
 a very pleasant relation between them. In his own 
 science he appears of great importance, so that Goethe 
 esteems his observations, and honours every word ho 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 133 
 
 utters. Moreover, D 'Alton is, as a man, amiable and 
 witty, while in eloquence and abundance of flowing thoughts 
 few can equal him, and one is never tired of hearing him. 
 
 Goethe, who in his endeavours to investigate nature 
 would willingly encompass the Great Whole, stands in 
 a disadvantageous position to every natural philosopher * 
 of importance who has devoted a whole life to one special 
 object. The latter has mastered a kingdom of endless 
 details, whilst Goethe lives more in the contemplation 
 of great universal laws. Thence it is that Goethe, who 
 is always upon the track of some great synthesis, but 
 who, from the want of knowledge of single facts, lacks 
 a confirmation of his presentiments, seizes upon, and 
 retains with .such decided love, every connection with 
 important natural philosophers. For in them he finds 
 what he himself wants ; in them he finds that which 
 supplies his own deficiencies. He will in a few years 
 be eighty years old ; but he is not tired of inquiries and 
 experiments. In none of his tendencies has he come to 
 a fixed point : he will always go on further and further. 
 Still learning and learning. Thus he shows himself a 
 man endowed with perpetual, imperishable youth. 
 
 These reflections were awakened to-day, by his animated 
 conversation with D 'Alton. D 'Alton talked about Ro- 
 dentia,f and the formation and modifications of their 
 skeletons, and Goethe was unwearied in hearing new 
 facts. 
 
 Wed., A^ril 20. — Goethe showed me this evening a letter 
 from a young student, who begs of him the plan for the 
 second part of "Faust," with the design of completing the 
 work himself. In a straightforward, good-humoured, and 
 candid tone, he freely sets forth his wishes and views, and 
 at last, without reserve, utters his conviction that all other 
 literary efforts of later years have been nought, but that in 
 him a new literature is to bloom afresh. 
 
 If I met a young man who would set about continuing 
 
 * Naturf or seller, literally " Investigator into Nature ; " for tho 
 Germans do not, like us, honour experimentalists with the name of 
 philosophers. — Trans. 
 
 f This word of Cuvier's exactly corresponds to the German Nage. 
 thier. — Trans. 
 
 k'2 
 
 
 ' 
 
132 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1S25. 
 
 Napoleon's conquest of the world, or a young dilettante in 
 architecture, who attempted to complete the Cathedral of 
 Cologne, I should not be more surprised, nor find them 
 more insane and ridiculous, than this young poetical 
 amateur, who fancies he could write a second part of 
 " Faust " merely because he has a fancy to-do so. 
 
 Indeed, I think it more possible to complete the Cathedral 
 of Cologne than to continue "Faust" on Goethe's plan. 
 For the former object might, at any rate, be attained 
 mathematically : it stands visibly before our eyes, and may 
 be touched with our hands ; but what line or measure 
 could avail for a mental invisible work, which wholly de- 
 pends on the subjective peculiarity of the artist, in which 
 the first discovery (appercu) is everything, and which, for 
 its material, requires a great life actually experienced, and 
 for its execution, a technical skill heightened to perfection 
 by the practice of years. 
 
 He who esteems such a work easy, or even possible, has 
 certainly a very moderate talent, since he has not even a 
 suspicion of the high and the dim cult ; and it may be fairly 
 maintained, that if Goethe had completed his " Faust " 
 with only a deficiency of a few lines, such a youth would 
 be unequal to supply the small gap. 
 
 I will not inquire whence the young men of our day 
 acquire the notion that they are born with that which has 
 hitherto been attained only by the study and experience of 
 many years, but I think I may observe that this presump- 
 tuousness, now so common in Germany, which audaciously 
 strides over all the steps • of gradual culture, affords little 
 hope of future masterpieces. 
 
 " The misfortune," said Goethe, " in the state is, that 
 nobody can enjoy life in peace, but that everybody must 
 govern ; and in art, that nobody will enjoy what has been 
 produced, but every one wants to reproduce on his own 
 account. Again, no one thinks to be furthered in Ins own 
 way by a work of poetry, but every one will do the same 
 thing over again. There is, besides, no earnestness to ap- 
 proach the Whole, no willingness to do anything for the 
 sake of the Whole ; but each one tries to make his own 
 Self observable, and to exhibit it as much as possible to 
 the world. This false tendency is shown everywhere, and 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 133 
 
 people imitate the modern musical virtuosi, who do not 
 select those pieces which give the audience pure musical 
 enjoyment, so much as those in which they can gain admi- 
 ration by the dexterity they have acquired. Everywhere 
 there is the individual who wants to show himself off to 
 advantage, nowhere one honest effort to make oneself sub- 
 servient to the Whole. 
 
 " Hence it is that men acquire a bungling mode of pro- 
 duction, without knowing it. Children make verses, and 
 go on till they fancy, as youths, they can do something, 
 until at last manhood gives them insight into the excel- 
 lence that exists, and then they look back in despair on the 
 years they have wasted on a false and highly futile effort. 
 Nay, many never attain a knowledge of what is perfect, 
 and of their own insufficiency, and go on doing things by 
 halves to the end of their days. 
 
 " It is certain that if every one could early enough be 
 made to feel how full the world is already of excellence, 
 and how much must be done to produce anything worthy 
 of being placed beside what has already been produced, of 
 a hundred youths who are now poetizing scarcely one 
 would feel enough courage, perseverance, and talent to 
 work quietly for the attainment of a similar mastery. 
 
 " Many young painters would never have taken their 
 pencils in hand if they could have felt, known, and under- 
 stood early enough what really produced a master like 
 Raphael." 
 
 The conversation turned upon false tendencies in general, 
 and Goethe continued — 
 
 "Thus my tendency to practise painting was really a 
 false one, for I had not natural talent from which anything 
 of the sort could be developed. A certain sensibility to the 
 surrounding landscapes was one of my qualities, and, con- 
 sequently, my first attempts were really promising. The 
 journey to Italy destroyed this pleasure in practice. A 
 broad survey took its place, but the talent of love was lost ; 
 and as an artistical talent could neither technically nor aesthe- 
 tically be developed, my efforts melted away into nothing. 
 
 " It is justly said," continued Groethe, "that the culti- 
 vation of all human powers in common is desirable, and 
 also the chief end. But man is not born for this: every 
 
134 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. L I ^ 2 S- 
 
 one must form himself as a particular being, seeking, how- 
 ever, to attain that general idea of which all mankind are 
 constituents." * 
 
 I here thought of that passage in ' : Wilhelm Meister," 
 where it is likewise said that all men, taken together, are 
 requisite to constitute humanity, and that we are only so 
 far worthy of esteem as we know how to appreciate. 
 
 I thought, too, of the " Wanderjahre," where Jarno 
 advises each man to learn only one trade, and says that this 
 is the time for one-sidedness, and that he is to be congratu- 
 lated who understands this, and, in that spirit, works for 
 himself and others. 
 
 Then comes the question, what occupation shall a man 
 choose, that he may neither overstep ills proper limits nor 
 do too little ? 
 
 He whose business it is to overlook many departments, to 
 judge, to guide others, should endeavour to attain the best 
 insight into many departments. Thus a prince or a future 
 statesmen cannot be too many-sided in his culture ; for 
 many-sidedness belongs to his craft. 
 
 The poet, too, should strive after manifold knowledge, 
 for his subject is the whole world, which he has to handle 
 and to express. 
 
 However, the poet should not try to be a painter, but 
 content himself with reflecting the world in words, just as 
 he allows the actor to bring it before our eyes hj personally 
 exhibiting himself. 
 
 Insight and practical activity are to be distinguished, and 
 we ought to reflect that every art, when we reduce it to 
 practice, is something very great and dimcult, and that 
 mastery in it requires a life. 
 
 Thus Groethe strove for insight into many things, but has 
 practically confined himself to one thing only. Only one 
 art has he practised, and that in a masterly style, viz. the 
 art of writing Grerman (Deutsch zu schreiben). That the 
 matter which he uttered is of a many-sided nature is 
 another affair. 
 
 Culture is likewise to be distinguished from practical ac- 
 
 * Den Begriff zu erlangen suchen, was alle zusammen sind. The 
 word "Begriff" (rendered not quite correctly " idea") is here used 
 in the sense of the Hegelian school. — Trans. 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOET1IE. 135 
 
 tivity. Thus it belongs to the cultivation of tlie poet that 
 bis eye should be practised for the apprehension of external 
 objects. And if Goethe calls his practical tendency to 
 painting a false one, it was still of use in cultivating him 
 as a poet. 
 
 "The objectivity of my poetry," said he, "may be attri- 
 buted to this great attention and discipline of the eye ; and 
 I ought highly to prize the knowledge which I have at- 
 tained in this way." 
 
 But we must take care not to place the limits of our 
 culture too far off. 
 
 " The investigators into nature," said Goethe, " are most 
 in danger of this, because a general harmonious culture of 
 the faculties is really required for the adequate observa- 
 tion of nature." 
 
 But, on the other hand, every one should strive to guard 
 himself against one-sidedness and narrow views, with re- 
 spect to the knowledge which is indispensable to his own 
 department. 
 
 A poet who writes for the stage must have a knowledge 
 of the stage, that he may weigh the means at his command, 
 and know generally what is to be done, and what is to be 
 left alone ; the opera- composer, in like manner, should have 
 some insight into poetry, that he may know how to dis- 
 tinguish the bad from the good, and not apply his art 
 to something impracticable. 
 
 " Carl Maria Yon Weber," said Goethe, " should not 
 have composed 'Euryanthe.' He should have seen at once 
 that this was a bad material, of which nothing could be 
 made. So much insight we have a right to expect of every 
 composer, as belonging to his art." 
 
 Thus, too, the painter should be able to distinguish sub- 
 jects : for it belongs to his department to know what he 
 has to paint, and what to leave unpainted. 
 
 " But when all is said," observed Goethe, " the greatest 
 art is to limit and isolate oneself." 
 
 Accordingly he has, ever since I have been with him, 
 constantly endeavoured to guard me against all distrac- 
 tions, and to concentrate me to a single department. If I 
 showed an inclination to penetrate the secrets of natural 
 science, he always advised me to let it alone, and contiiic 
 
136 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 myself to poetry for tlie present. If I wished to read a 
 book which he thought would not advance me in my pre- 
 sent pursuits, he always advised me to let it alone, saying 
 that it was of no practical use to me. 
 
 "I myself," said he one day, " have spent too much time 
 on things which did not belong to my proper department. 
 When I reflect what Lopez de Vega accomplished, the 
 number of my poetical productions seems very small. I 
 should have kept more to my own trade." 
 
 " If I had not busied myself so much with stones," said 
 he another time, "but had. spent my time on something 
 better, I might have won the finest ornament of diamonds." 
 
 For the same cause he esteems and praises his friend 
 Meyer for having devoted his whole life exclusively to the 
 study of art, and thus having obtained beyond a doubt the 
 highest degree of penetration in his department. 
 
 " I also grew up with this tendency," said Goethe, " and 
 passed almost half my life in the contemplation and study 
 of works of art, but in a certain respect I am not on a par 
 with Meyer. I, therefore, never venture to show him a new 
 picture at once, but first see how far I can get on with it 
 myself. When I think I am fully acquainted both with its 
 beauties and defects I show it to Meyer, who sees far more 
 sharply into the matter, and who, in many respects, gives 
 quite new lights. Thus I am ever convinced anew how 
 much is needed to be thoroughly great in any one thing. 
 In Meyer lies an insight into art belonging to thousands of 
 years." 
 
 Why, then, it may be asked, if Goethe was so thoroughly 
 persuaded that one man can only do one thing well, did he 
 employ his life in such extremely various directions ? 
 
 I answer that, if Goethe now came into the world, and 
 found the literary and scientific endeavours of his native 
 country at the height which they have now, chiefly through 
 him, attained, he certainly would find no occasion for such 
 various tendencies, but would simply confine himself to a 
 single department. 
 
 Thus, it was not only in his nature to look in every direc- 
 tion, and to make himself clear about earthly things, but it 
 was needful for his time that he should speak out what he 
 had observed. 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 137 
 
 On his appearance in the world, he came in for two large 
 inheritances. Error and insufficiency fell to his lot that he 
 might remove them, and required a labour in many direc- 
 tions as long as his life endured. 
 
 If the Newtonian theory had not appeared to Goethe as 
 a great error, highly injurious to the human mind, is it to 
 be supposed that he would have had the notion of writing 
 a "theory of colours," and devoting the labour of years to 
 such a merely collateral object ? Certainly not. But it was 
 his love of truth in conflict with error that induced him to 
 make his pure light shine even into this darkness. 
 
 The same thing may be said of his doctrine^of the " Meta- 
 morphosis of Plants," through which we are indebted to 
 him for a model of scientific treatment. Goethe would cer- 
 tainly never have thought of writing this work if he had 
 seen his contemporaries in the way towards such a goal. 
 
 Nay, the same thing may be said of his varied poetical 
 efforts. It is a question whether Goethe would ever have 
 written a novel, if a work like " Wilhelm Meister " had 
 already been in the hands of his nation. It is a question 
 whether in that case he would not have devoted himself 
 exclusively to dramatic poetry. 
 
 What he would have effected and produced, if he had 
 been confined to one direction, is not to be seen ; but so 
 much is certain, that if we look at the whole, no intelligent 
 person will wish that Goethe had not produced everything 
 to which it pleased his Creator to direct him. 
 
 (Sup.) Wed., April 27. — Towards the evening to Goethe, 
 who had invited me to take a drive to the lower garden. 
 "Before we go," said he, " I will give you a letter from 
 Zelter, which I received yesterday, and wherein he touches 
 upon the affairs of our theatre. 
 
 " ' That you are not the man,' he writes, amongst other 
 things, 'to found a drama for the people of Weimar I could 
 have seen long ago. He who makes himself green, the 
 goats will eat. Other high folks should take this into 
 consideration, who would cork wine during its fermenta- 
 tion. 
 
 " ' Friends, we have lived to see it ; yes, lived to see it.' ' 
 
 Goethe looked at me, and we laughed. "Zelter is a 
 capital fellow," said he ; " but sometimes he does not quite 
 
138 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 understand ine, and puts a false construction on my 
 words. 
 
 " I have devoted my whole life to the people and their 
 improvement, and why should I not also found a drama ? 
 But here in Weimar, in this small capital, which, as people 
 jokingly say, has ten thousand poets and a few inhabitants, 
 how can we talk about the people, much more a theatre for 
 the people ? Weimar will doubtless become, at some future 
 time, a great city ; but we must wait some centuries before 
 the people of Weimar will form a mass sufficient to be able 
 to found and support a drama." 
 
 The horses were now put to, and we drove to the lower 
 garden. The evening was calm and mild, rather sultry, 
 and large clouds appeared gathering in tempestuous 
 masses. We walked up and down the dry gravel path, 
 Goethe quietly by my side, apparently agitated by various 
 thoughts. Meanwhile, I listened to the notes of the black- 
 bird and thrush, who, upon the tops of the still leafless ash- 
 trees, beyond the Urn, sang against the gathering tempest. 
 
 Goethe cast his glances around, now towards the clouds, 
 now upon the green which was bursting forth everywhere, 
 on the sides of the path and on the meadows, as well as on 
 the bushes and hedges. "A warm thunder- shower, which 
 the evening promises," said he, "and spring will again 
 appear in all her splendour and abundance." 
 
 In the mean time the clouds became more threatening, a 
 low peal of thunder was heard, some drops of rain also fell, 
 and Goethe thought it advisable to drive back into the 
 town. " If you have no engagement," said he, as we 
 alighted at his dwelling, " go upstairs, and spend an hour 
 or so with me." This I did with great pleasure. 
 
 Zelter's letter still lay upon the table. "It is strange, 
 very strange," said Goethe, " how easily one falls into a 
 false position with respect to public opinion. I do not 
 know that I ever joined in any way against the people ; but 
 it is now settled, once for all, that I am no friend to the 
 people. I am, indeed, no friend to the revolutionary mob, 
 whose object is robbery, murder, and destruction, and who, 
 behind the mask of public welfare, have their eyes only 
 upon the meanest egotistical aims. I am no friend to such 
 people, any more than I am a friend of a Louis XV. I 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 139 
 
 hate every violent overthrow, because as much good is de- 
 stroyed as is gained by it. I hate those who achieve it, as 
 well as those who give cause for it. But am I therefore no 
 friend to the people ? Does any right-minded man think 
 otherwise ? 
 
 "You know how greatly I rejoice at every improvement, 
 of which the future gives us some prospect. But, as I 
 said, all violent transitions are revolting to my mind, for 
 they are not conformable to nature. 
 
 " I am a friend to juants ; I love the rose as the most 
 perfect flower which our German nature can produce ; but 
 I am not fool enough to desire that my garden should pro- 
 duce them now, at the end of April. I am now satisfied if 
 I now find the first green leaves, satisfied if I see how one 
 leaf after another is formed upon the stem, from week to 
 week ; I am pleased when, in May, I perceive the buds, 
 and am happy when, at last, in June, the rose itself ap- 
 pears in all its splendour and all its fragrance. If any one 
 cannot wait, let him go to the hothouses. 
 
 "It is farther said that I am a servant, a slave tc 
 princes, as if that were saying any tiling. Do I then serve 
 a tyrant — a despot ? Do I serve one who lives at the cost 
 of the people, only for his own pleasures ? Such princes 
 and such times lie, God be praised, far behind us. I have 
 been intimately connected with the Grand Duke for half a 
 century, and have, during half a century striven and 
 worked with him ; but I should speak falsely if I were to 
 say that I have known a single day in which the Grand Duke 
 has not thought of doing and executing something tending 
 to the benefit of the land, and fitted to improve the condition 
 of individuals. As for himself personally, what has he 
 from his princely station but toil and trouble ? Is his 
 dwelling, his apparel, or his table better appointed than that 
 of any wealthy private man ? Only go into our seaport 
 towns, and you will find the kitchen and cellar of any con- 
 siderable merchant better appointed than his. 
 
 " This autumn," continued Goethe, " we arc going to 
 celebrate the day on which the Grand Duke will have 
 governed for fifty years. But when I consider it rightly 
 — this government of his — what was it but a continual 
 servitude ? What has it been but a servitude in the attain- 
 
140 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 ment of great ends, — a servitude to the welfare of his 
 people ? If, then, I must perforce be the slave of a prince, 
 it is at least my consolation that I am still only the slave 
 of one who is himself a slave to the common weal." 
 
 (Sup.) Fri., April 29. — The building of the new theatre 
 up to this time had advanced very rapidly ; the foundation 
 walls had already risen on every side, and gave promise of 
 a very beautiful building. 
 
 But to-day, on going to the site of the building, I saw, 
 to my horror, that the work was discontinued ; and I heard 
 it reported that another party, opposed to Goethe and Cou- 
 dray's plan, had at last triumphed ; that Coudray had 
 retired from the direction of the building, and that another 
 architect was going to finish it after a new design, and alter 
 accordingly the foundation already laid. 
 
 I was deeply grieved at what I saw and heard, for I had 
 rejoiced, with many others, at the prospect of seeing a 
 theatre arise in Weimar executed according to Goethe's 
 practical view of a judicious internal arrangement, and, as 
 far as beauty was concerned, in accordance with his culti- 
 vated taste. 
 
 But I also grieved for Goethe and Coudray, who must 
 both, more or less, feel hurt by this event. 
 
 (Sup.) Sun., May 1. — Dined with Goethe. It may be 
 supposed that the alteration in the building of the theatre 
 was the first subject we talked upon. I had, as I said, 
 feared that this most unexpected measure would deeply 
 wound Goethe's feelings ; but there was no sign of it. I 
 found him in the mildest and most serene frame of mind, 
 quite raised above all sensitive littleness. 
 
 " They have," said he, " assailed the Grand Duke on the 
 side of expenditure, and the great saving of expense which 
 will be effected by the change of plan for the building, 
 and they have succeeded. I am quite content. A new 
 theatre is, in the end, only a new funeral pile which some 
 accident will, sooner or later, set on fire. I console myself 
 with this. Besides, a trifle more or less is not worth men- 
 tioning. You will have a very tolerable house, if not 
 exactly such a one as I wished and imagined. You will 
 go to it, and I shall go to it too, and, in the end, all will 
 turn out well enough. 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 1 i-1 
 
 " The Grand Duke," said Goethe, "disclosed to me his 
 opinion, that a theatre need not be of architectural mag- 
 nificence, which could not be contradicted. He further 
 said, that it was nothing but a house for the purpose of 
 getting money. This view appears at first sight rather 
 material ; but rightly considered, it is not without a higher 
 purport. For if a theatre is not only to pay its expenses, 
 but is, besides, to make and save money, everything about; 
 it must be excellent. It must have the best management 
 at its head ; the actors must be of the best ; and good 
 pieces must continually be performed, that the attractive 
 power required to draw a full house every evening may 
 never cease. But that is saying a great deal in a few words 
 — almost what is impossible." 
 
 " The Grand Duke's view," said I, " of making the 
 theatre gain money appears to be very practical, since it 
 implies a necessity of remaining continually on a summit 
 of excellence." 
 
 "Even Shakspeare and Moliere," returned Goethe, "had 
 no other view. Both of them wished, above all things, 
 to make money by their theatres. In order to attain this, 
 their principal aim, they necessarily strove that everything 
 should be as good as possible, and that, besides good old 
 plays, there should be some clever novelty to please and 
 attract. The prohibition of ' Tartuffe ' was a thunderbolt 
 to Moliere ; but not so much for the poet as for the director 
 Moliere, who had to consider the welfare of an important 
 troupe, and to find some means to procure bread for him- 
 self and his actors. 
 
 "Nothing," continued Goethe, "is more dangerous to 
 the well-being of a theatre than when the director is so 
 placed, that a greater or less receipt at the treasury does 
 not affect him personally, and he can live on in careless 
 security, knowing that, however the receipts at the treasury 
 may fail in the course of the year, at the end of that 
 time he will be able to indemnify himself from another 
 source. It is a property of human nature soon to relax 
 when not impelled by personal advantage or disadvantage. 
 Now, it is not desirable that a theatre, in such a town 
 as Weimar, should support itself, and that no contribution 
 from the Prince's treasury should be necessary. But 
 
142 CONVERSATIONS QF GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 still everything has its bounds and limits, and a thousand 
 dollars yearly, more or less, is by no means a trifling 
 matter, particularly as diminished receipts and deteriora- 
 tions are dangers natural to a theatre ; so that there is 
 a loss not only of money, but also of honour. 
 
 " If I were the Grand Duke, I would in future, on any 
 change in the management, once for all appoint a fixed 
 sum for an annual contribution. I would strike the 
 average of the contributions during the last ten years, 
 and according to that I would settle a sum sufficient to 
 be regarded as a proper support. With this sum the 
 house must be kept. But then I would go a step further, 
 and say, that if the director and his Hegisseurs contrived, 
 by means of judicious and energetic management, to have 
 an overplus in the treasury at the end of the year, this 
 overplus should be shared, as a remuneration, between the 
 director, the Regisseuis, and the principal members of the 
 company. Then you would see what activity there would 
 be, and how the establishment would awaken out of the 
 drowsiness into which it must gradually fall. 
 
 " Our theatrical laws," continued Goethe, " contain 
 various penalties ; but there is no single law for the en- 
 couragement and reward of distinguished merit. This is 
 a great defect. For if, with every failure, I have a pros- 
 pect of a deduction from my salary, I should also have the 
 prospect of a reward, whenever I do more than can be 
 properly expected of me. And it is by every one's doing 
 more than can be hoped or expected of him that a theatre 
 rises." 
 
 Frau von Goethe and Fraulein Ulrica now entered, 
 both gracefully clothed in summer attire, on account of 
 the beautiful weather. The conversation during dinner 
 was light and cheerful. We spoke about various parties 
 of pleasure during the past week, and also about similar 
 plans for the following one. 
 
 " If we continue to have fine evenings," said Frau von 
 Goethe, " I shall have great pleasure in giving a tea- 
 party in the park, where we can listen to the song of the 
 nightingale. What do you say, dear father ? " 
 
 " That would be very pleasant," returned Goethe. "And 
 you, Eckermann," said Frau von Goethe, " how do you 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 143 
 
 feel disposed ? May one invite yon ? " " But, Ottilie," 
 rejoined Fraulein Ulrica, " how can you invite the doctor ? 
 He will not come ; and if he does come, he sits as if 
 upon thorns, and one can see that his mind is elsewhere^ 
 and that the sooner he is gone the better he would like it." 
 " To speak the plain truth," returned I, "I would certainly 
 rather ramble about the fields with Doolan. Tea, tea- 
 parties, and tea-conversation, are so contrary to my nature, 
 that I feel uncomfortable even when I think of them." 
 "But, Eckermann," said Fran von Goethe, "at a tea- 
 party in the park, yoo. are in the open air, and quite in 
 your element." " On the contrary," said I, " when I am so 
 near nature, that I scent all her fragrance, and yet cannot 
 thoroughly enjoy it, it is to me as unendurable as it would 
 be to a duck to be brought near to the water, and yet pre- 
 vented from plunging into it." "You might say, too," 
 remarked Goethe, laughing, "that you would feel like a 
 horse who, on raising his head in the stable, sees other 
 horses running wild upon an extensive plain before his 
 eyes. He scents the delights and freedom of fresh nature, 
 but cannot partake of them. Let Eckermann alone ; he 
 is as he is, and you cannot alter him. But tell me, my 
 good friend, how do you employ yourself with that Doolan 
 of yours, in the open fields, these long fine afternoons ? " 
 "We look out for some retired grove," said I, " and shoot 
 with bows and arrows." "Humph!" said Goethe, "that 
 may be a pretty amusement." "It is a glorious method," 
 said I, "to get rid of the ills of winter." "But how in 
 the world," said Goethe, "did you get bows and arrows 
 here in Weimar ? " " As for the arrows," returned I, " I 
 brought a model with me, on my return from my expedi- 
 tion into Brabant in 1814 Shooting with bows and arrows 
 is there universal. There is no town, however small, that 
 has not an archery society. They take their station in 
 some public-house, like our skittle-ground, and generally 
 assemble late in the afternoon, when I have often watched 
 them with great pleasure. What well-grown men wer< 
 there, and what picturesque attitudes when they bent the 
 bow ! How was their strength displayed, and what 
 excellent marksmen they were ! They generally shot from 
 a distance of sixty or eighty steps, at a paper mark upon a 
 
144 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [i 825. 
 
 moist clay wall ; they shot quickly one after another, and left 
 the arrows sticking in. And it was not seldom that out 
 of fifteen arrows five struck the centre, which was about 
 the size of a dollar, while the rest were very near it. 
 When all had shot, each went and drew his arrow out of 
 the soft wall, and the game went on afresh. I was then so 
 enraptured with this archery, that I thought it would be 
 a great thing to introduce it into Germany, and I was so 
 stupid as to deem it possible. I often bargained for a bow, 
 but there were none to be had under twenty francs, and 
 how could a poor Jager like myself scrape together so 
 much money ? I therefore confined myself to an arrow, 
 as the most important and most elaborate article ; and 
 bought one [at a manufactory at Brussels for a franc, 
 which I brought home, together with a drawing, as my 
 only prize of victory." 
 
 " That is just like you," said Goethe. " But do not 
 think that you can make anything natural and beautiful 
 popular. A long time, and a confounded deal of work, 
 will be requisite, at any rate. But I can easily imagine 
 that this Brabant archery is very beautiful. Our German 
 amusements in the skittle-ground appear rough and 
 ordinary, in comparison with it, and savour strongly of 
 the Philistine." * 
 
 "The beauty of archery," returned I, "is that it dis- 
 plays the body symmetrically, and exercises the powers in 
 equal proportion. There is the left arm, which holds the 
 bow, stiff, strong, and firm ; there is the right, which 
 draws the string with the arrow, and must be no less 
 powerful. At the same time both the feet and the thighs 
 are planted strongly, to form a firm basis for the upper 
 part of the body. The eye directed to the aim, and the 
 muscles of the neck are all in full tension and activity ; 
 and then the feeling of joy, when the arrow darts whizz- 
 ing from the bow, and pierces the desired mark ! I know 
 no bodily exercise that can be at all compared to it." 
 
 "It would be very well suited to our gymnastic insti- 
 tutions," answered Goethe. "And I should not wonder 
 if, in twenty years, we were to have skilful archers by 
 
 * " Philister," the academical slang corresponding to the English 
 " snob." — Trans. 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. L45 
 
 the thousands in Germany. Generally speaking, mucli 
 is not to be done with a full-grown generation, in 
 physical or in mental pursuits, in matters of taste or of 
 character. Be clever enough to begin with the schools, 
 and you may succeed." 
 
 " But our German teachers of gymnastics," returned T, 
 " do not understand the use of bows and arrows." 
 
 " Well," said Goethe, " several gymnastic societies 
 might combine, and a skilful archer might be brought 
 from Flanders or Brabant. Or they might send some fine, 
 well-grown young gymnasts to Brabant, that they might 
 be trained to good archers, and leam how to carve bows 
 and make arrows. These young men might enter the 
 German gymnastic institutions as travelling teachers, who 
 would sojourn for a time, now with one society, and now 
 with another. 
 
 "I have," continued Goethe, " no objection to German 
 gymnastic exercises. On the contrary, I was sorry that so 
 much politics crept into them, so that the authorities were 
 obliged to restrain them, or even to forbid and abolish 
 them. By this means we have thrown away the good for 
 the bad.* But I hope that the gymnastic institutions will 
 be revived ; for our German youths need them, especially 
 the students, who, with a great deal of mental and 
 intellectual exertion, are without any physical equilibrium, 
 and therefore without any necessary power of action. 
 But tell me something more about your bow and arrow. 
 Then you havo really brought an arrow with you from 
 Brabant ? I should like to see it." 
 
 " It has been lost lono; asro," returned I. "I re- 
 membered it so well, that I succeeded in replacing it, and 
 indeed by a dozen instead of one. It was not, however, 
 so easy as I expected, and I made many fruitless attempts 
 and many failures, but by that very means I learned a 
 great deal. The first thing to be attended to was the 
 shaft ; I had to see that it was straight, and would not 
 warp in a short time ; then that it was light and strong 
 enough not to split in striking against a hard substance. 
 I made experiments with the wood of the poplar, then of 
 
 * Literally, " thrown away the child with the bath " (^ s Kiu(1 
 mit dem Bade verschiittet) — a German proverbial expression. — Trans. 
 
146 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 the pine, and then of the birch ; but they were all deficient 
 in one quality or another, and were not such as they onght 
 to be. I then made experiments with the wood of the 
 lime-tree from a slender straight stem, and I found exactly 
 what I wished for and had sought. Such a shaft was 
 light, straight, and strong, on account of its fine fibres. 
 The next thing to be done was to furnish the lower end 
 with a tip of horn ; but it soon became evident that all 
 horn was not fit for the purpose, and that it must be 
 cut out of the kernel, in order that it might not split 
 on being shot against any hard substance. But the most 
 difficult part was yet to do, namely, the feathering of 
 the arrow. How I bungled, and what failures I made, 
 before I succeeded in bringing it to any perfection ! " 
 
 " The feathers are not let into the shaft, but glued on, 
 are they not ?" said Groethe. 
 
 " They are glued on," returned I ; "but this must be 
 so strongly and so neatly done, that they shall appear 
 as if they were a part of the shaft, and had grown out 
 of it. It is not a matter of indifference what glue one 
 uses. I have found that isinglass, steeped in water for 
 some hours, and then with some spirit added, dissolved to 
 a jelly over a gentle charcoal fire, makes the best glue. 
 Neither are all feathers serviceable alike. The feathers 
 drawn from the wings of all great birds are indeed good, 
 but I have found the red feathers from the wings of the 
 peacock, the large feathers of the turkey-cock, and par- 
 ticularly the strong and splendid ones of the eagle and 
 "bustard, the best of any." 
 
 " I hear all this with great interest," said Goethe. " One 
 who did not know you, would scarcely believe that your 
 tendencies were so lively. But tell me now, how came 
 you by a bow ?" 
 
 " I made some myself," returned I. " But here also I 
 bungled dreadfully at first. I consulted cabinet-makers 
 and cartwrights. I tried all the kinds of wood in this 
 place, and at last arrived at excellent results. In the 
 choice of woods, I had to take care that the bow should 
 bend easily, that it should spring back strongly and quickly, 
 and that its elasticity should last. I made my first ex- 
 periment with ash, with a branchless stem of about ten 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 147 
 
 years' growth, and of the thickness of a moderate-sized 
 arm. But in working, I came to the heart, which was 
 not good for my purpose, as the wood about it was of 
 too coarse a grain. I was advised to take a stem which 
 would be strong enough to schlachten into four parts." 
 
 " Schlachten" asked Goethe, " what is that ?" 
 
 " It is a technical term used by cartwrights," returned 
 I, " and means the same as spalten, (to spilt), so that a 
 wedge is driven quite through the stem, from one end to 
 the other. Now, if the stem grows straight, I mean if the 
 fibres rise in a straight line, the pieces obtained by splitting 
 will be straight and fit for a bow. But if the stem be 
 curved, the pieces will have a curved, crooked direction, 
 and be unfit for a bow, since the wedge follows the fibres." 
 
 " But what would be the result of saving such a stem 
 into four parts ? One could thus obtain straight pieces in 
 every case." 
 
 " One might," returned I, " cut through a stem in which 
 the fibres were twisted, and this would make the parts of 
 no use for a bow." 
 
 " I understand," said Goethe ; "a bow in which the 
 fibres were cut through would break. But go on further ; 
 this subject interests me." 
 
 "I therefore made," said I, "my second bow with a 
 piece of split ash. There were no fibres divided at the 
 back, the bow was strong and firm ; but I discovered this 
 fault, that it was hard, instead of easy to bend." " You 
 have taken a piece of a seedling ash," said the cartwright, 
 " which is always a very stiff: wood ; but take one of the 
 tough sort, and you will find it better. On this occasion 
 I learned that there is a great difference in ash, and that, 
 in all kinds of wood, a great deal depends upon the place 
 and soil on which they grow. I learned that the wood of 
 the Ettersberg is of little value as timber; that, on the 
 contrary, the wood in the neighbourhood of ISTohra possesses 
 remarkable strength, on account of which the carriers of 
 Weimar have great confidence in the cart-fittings made at 
 Nohra. In my subsequent experiments I made the 
 discovery that all wood which grows upon the northern 
 side of a declivity is stronger, and of more even fibres than 
 that which grows on the southern sid Q This is compre- 
 
 l2 
 
148 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 hcnsible. For a young tree which grows on the shady 
 north side of a cliff, must seek light and sun from above ; 
 on which account, longing for the sun, it continually 
 struggles upwards, and draws the fibres in a perpendicular 
 direction. Besides, a shady situation is favourable to the 
 formation of a finer fibre, which is very strikingly apparent 
 in those trees which gsow in such a situation, that their 
 south side is constantly exposed to the sun, whilst their 
 north side is always in the shade. If such a stem lay 
 sawn in pieces before us, we should remark that the point 
 of the heart was by no means in the centre, but very much 
 on one side. And this eccentricity of the heart arises from 
 the circumstance that the yearly rings of the south side 
 become, through the constant influence of the sun, 
 developed more strongly, and are therefore broader than 
 those on the shady north side. Hence cabinet-makers and 
 cartwrights, when they require a strong fine wood, choose 
 in preference the more finely developed north sido of a 
 stem, which they call the winter side, and in which they 
 have great confidence." 
 
 " You can imagine," said Goethe, " that your observa- 
 tions are very interesting to me, who have, for half my 
 life, occupied myself with the growth of plants and trees. 
 But continue your relation. You probably made then a 
 bow from a tough ash ? " 
 
 " I did so," returned I, " and I took a well split piece 
 from the winter side, in which I found a tolerably fine 
 fibre. The bow was also easy to bend, and very elastic. 
 But after it had been in use some months, a very con- 
 siderable curve showed itself, and it was evident that the 
 elasticity did not continue. I then made experiments with 
 the stem of a young oak, which was moreover a perfectly 
 good wood ; but I soon found the same fault in this. 1 
 then tried the stem of a walnut tree, which was better ; 
 and at last the stem of a fine-leafed maple — a Masliolder, 
 as it is called, which was the best, and which left nothing 
 to desire." 
 
 " I know the wood," returned Groethe ; " it is often 
 found in hedges. I can imagine that it is good. But I have 
 seldom found a young stem without knots ; and to make 
 a bow, do you not require wood quite free from them ? " 
 
1825.] CONVEKSATIONS OF GOETEE. ] !•'.) 
 
 "A young stem," returned I, "is indeed not without 
 knots ; but when one rears it to a tree, the knots are 
 taken off, or if it grow in a thicket, they disappear in time 
 of their own accord. Now, if a stem is about two or 
 three inches in diameter when the knots are removed, 
 and if it is allowed to increase yearly, and to form new 
 wood on the outside, at the expiration of fifty or eighty 
 years, the knotty inner part will be encased in about six 
 inches of sound wood, free from knots. Such a stem will 
 present a very smooth exterior ; but one cannot tell what 
 imperfections it has within. We shall, therefore, at all 
 events, be safe with a plank sawn from such a stem, if 
 we keep to the outside, and cut a few inches from that 
 piece winch is immediately under the bark, that is to say, 
 the splint and what follows, as this is always the youngest 
 and toughest wood, and the most suitable for a bow." 
 
 "I thought," said Goethe, "that the wood for a bow 
 should not be sawn, but must be split, or as you call it 
 Gesclilacliet." 
 
 "Certainly, when it can be split," returned I. "Ash, 
 oak, and walnut may be split, because they are woods of 
 a coarse fibre. But not the Maslwlder. For it is a wood of 
 such a fine interwoven fibre, that it will not divide accord- 
 ing to the course of the fibres, but splits quite against the 
 natural grain. The wood of the Maslwlder must therefore 
 be divided with the saw, and that without endangering 
 the strength of the bow." 
 
 " Humph ! Humph ! " said Goethe. " You have acquired 
 considerable knowledge through your bow mania. And 
 it is that lively kind of knowledge which is attained only 
 in a practical way. But that is the advantage of a 
 passionate liking for any pursuit, that it carries one to 
 the very bottom of the subject. Besides, seeking and 
 blundering are good, for it is by seeking and blundering 
 that we learn. And, indeed, one learns not merely the 
 thing itself, but everything connected with it. What 
 should I have known of plants and colours, if my theory 
 had been handed down to me ready made, and I had learned 
 it by heart ? But from the very circumstance that I was 
 obliged to seek and find everything for myself, and 
 occasionally to make mistakes, I can say that I know 
 
150 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 something of both these subjects, and more than stands on 
 paper. But tell me something more about your bow. I 
 have seen some Scotch ones, which were quite straight 
 to the point, and others the points of which were curved. 
 Which do you consider the best ? " 
 
 " I consider," returned I, " that the elasticity is much 
 greater when the ends of the bow are curved backwards. 
 At first I made them straight, because I did not under- 
 stand how to bend the ends. But when I had learned how 
 to do it, I bent the ends, and I find that the bow not only 
 has a more beautiful appearance, but also that it acquires 
 more power." 
 
 " The curves are made by heat, are they not ? " said 
 Goethe. 
 
 " Yes ; by moist heat," returned I. " When the bow is 
 so far finished that the elasticity is equally distributed, and 
 that it is nowhere stronger or weaker than it ought to be, 
 
 I place one end of it in boiling water, about six or eight 
 inches deep, and let it boil for about an hour. I then 
 screw this softened end, while it is hot, between two small 
 blocks, the inner surface of which has the form of the 
 curve that I wish to give to my bow. In this state of 
 pressure, I let it remain at least a day and a night, that it 
 may be perfectly dry, and I then proceed with the other 
 end in the same manner. Points so treated are as inde- 
 structible as if they had grown in such a curve." 
 
 " What do you think ? " said Goethe, with a mysterious 
 laugh. " I believe I have something for you, which will 
 not be unacceptable. Suppose we went down together, 
 and I were to put a genuine Baschkir bow* in your 
 hands." 
 
 " A Baschkir bow ! " exclaimec* I, full of animation, 
 
 II and a genuine one ? " 
 
 "Yes, mad fellow, a genuine one," said Goethe. " Come 
 along." We went down into the garden. Goethe opened 
 the under chamber of a small outhouse, the tables and 
 walls of which appeared crammed with rarities and curi- 
 osities of every description. I cast only a transient glance 
 at these treasures ; my eyes sought the bow. " Here it is," 
 said Goethe, " as he took it from a corner, out of a heap 
 
 * The Baschkiren are a Tartar race subject to Russia. — Trans. 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 151 
 
 of all sorts of strange implements. I see it is in the 
 same condition as when it was presented to me in the year 
 1814, by a Baschkir chief. Now, what do yon say ? " 
 
 I was delighted to hold the precions weapon in my hands. 
 It appeared qnite uninjured, and even the string appeared 
 perfectly serviceable. I tried it in my hands, and found 
 that it was still tolerably elastic. " It is a good bow," said 
 I. " The form especially pleases me, and for the future it 
 shall serve me as a model." 
 
 " Of what wood is it made, do you think ? " 
 
 "It is, as you see, so covered with birch bark," replied I, 
 " that very little of the wood is visible, and only the curved 
 ends remain exposed. Even these are so embrowned by 
 time, that one cannot well distinguish what the wood is. 
 At the first glance, it looks like young oak, and then again 
 like nut tree. I think that it is nut tree, or a wood that 
 resembles it. Maple or masholder it is not. It is a wood 
 of coarser fibre ; besides, I observe signs of its having been 
 split (gescTdachtet)." 
 
 " Suppose you were to try it now," said Goethe. " Here 
 you have an arrow. But be cautious with the iron point, 
 it may be poisoned." 
 
 We went again into the garden, and I bent the bow. 
 " Now, where will you shoot?" said Goethe. "Into the 
 air at first, I think," said I. " Go on, then," said Goethe. 
 I shot up towards the sunny clouds in the blue sky. The 
 arrow supported itself well, then turned round, came 
 whizzing downwards, and stuck into the ground. "Now 
 let me try," said Goethe. I was pleased that he, too, 
 was going to shoot. I gave him the bow, and fetched the 
 arrow. 
 
 Goethe placed the notch of the arrow upon the string, 
 and held the bow right, but was some time before he could 
 manage it properly. He now aimed upwards, and drew 
 the string. There he stood like an Apollo, with imperish- 
 able youth of soul, although old in body. The arrow only 
 attained a very moderate height, and then fell to the 
 ground. I ran and fetched the arrow. "Once move"' 
 said Goethe. He now took aim along the gravel path of 
 the garden. The arrow supported itself about thirty pa 
 tolerably well, then fell, and whizzed along upon 
 
152 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 ground. Goethe pleased nie beyond measure, by thus 
 shooting with the bow and arrow. I thought of the 
 verses — 
 
 " Does old age leave me in the lurch ? 
 Am I again a child ? " 
 
 I brought him back the arrow. He begged me to shoot 
 once in a horizontal direction, and gave me for a mark a 
 spot in the window-shutter of his workroom. I shot. The 
 arrow was not far from the mark ; but penetrated so deep 
 into the soft wood, that I could not get it out again. " Let 
 it stick there," said Goethe, " it shall serve me for some 
 days as a remembrance of our sport." 
 
 We walked up and down the garden, enjoying the fine 
 weather ; we then sat upon a bench with our backs against 
 the young leaves of a thick hedge. We spoke about the 
 bow of IJlysses, about the heroes of Homer, then about 
 the Greek tragic poets, and lastly about the widely diffused 
 opinion, that Euripides caused the decline of the Greek 
 drama. Goethe was, by no means, of this opinion. 
 
 "Altogether," said he, "I am opposed to the view 
 that any single man can cause the decline of an art. Much, 
 which it is not so easy to set forth, must co-operate to this 
 end. The decline of the tragic art of the Greeks could 
 no more have been caused by Euripides, than could that of 
 sculpture by any great sculptor who lived in the time of 
 Phidias, but was inferior to him. For when an epoch is 
 great, it proceeds in the path of improvement, and an in- 
 ferior production is without results. But what a great 
 epoch was the time of Euripides ! It was the time, not of 
 a retrograde, but of a progressive taste. Sculpture had 
 not yet reached its highest point, and painting was still in 
 its infancy. 
 
 "If the pieces ot Euripides, compared with those of 
 Sophocles, had great faults, it was not necessary that 
 succeeding poets should imitate these faults, and be spoilt 
 by them. But if they had great merits, so that some of 
 them were even preferable to plays of Sophocles, why did 
 not succeeding poets strive to imitate their merits ; and 
 why did they not thus become at least as great as 
 Euripides himself ? 
 
 "But if after the three celebrated tragic poets, there 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 153 
 
 appeared no equally great fourth, fifth, or sixth — this is, 
 indeed, a matter difficult to explain ; nevertheless, we may 
 have our own conjectures, and approach the truth in some 
 degree. 
 
 " Man is a simple being. And however rich, varied, and 
 unfathomable he may be, the cycle of his situations is soon 
 run through. 
 
 " If the same circumstances had occurred, as with us 
 poor Germans, for whom Lessing has written two or three, 
 I myself three or four, and Schiller five or six passable 
 plays, there might easily have been room for a fourth, 
 fifth, and sixth tragic poet. 
 
 "But with the Greeks and the abundance of their pro- 
 ductions — for each of the three great poets has written a 
 hundred, or nearly a hundred pieces, and the tragical sub- 
 jects of Horner, and the heroic traditions, were some of 
 them treated three or four times — with such abundance of 
 existing works, I say, one can well imagine that by degrees, 
 subjects were exhausted, and that any poet who followed 
 the three great ones would be puzzled how to proceed, 
 
 " And, indeed, for what purpose should he write ? Was 
 there not, after all, enough for a time ? And were not tho 
 productions of iEschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides of that 
 kind and of that depth, that they might be heard again 
 and again without being esteemed trite, or put on one side ? 
 Even the few noble fragments which have come down to 
 us are so comprehensive and of such deep significance, that 
 we poor Europeans have already busied ourselves with 
 them for centuries, and shall find nutriment and work in 
 them for centuries still." 
 
 Thurs., May 12. — Goethe spoke with much enthusiasm 
 of Menander. " I know no one, after Sophocles," said ho, 
 " whom I love so well. He is thoroughly pure, noble, 
 great, and cheerful, and his grace is unattainable. It is 
 certainly to be lamented that we possess so little of him, 
 but that little is invaluable, and highly instructive to gifted 
 men. 
 
 " The great point is, that he from whom we would learn 
 should be congenial to our nature. Now, Calderon, for 
 instance, great as he is, and much as I admire him, lias 
 exerted no influence over me for good or for ill. But ho 
 
154 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETEE. L l82 5' 
 
 would have been dangerous to Schiller — he would have 
 led him astray ; and hence it is fortunate that Calderon 
 was not generally known in Germany till after Schiller's 
 death. Calderon is infinitely great in the technical and 
 theatrical ; Schiller, on the contrary, far more sound, 
 earnest, and great in his intention, and it would have "been 
 a pity if he had lost any of these virtues, without, after 
 all, attaining the greatness of Calderon in other respects." 
 
 We spoke of Moliere. " Moliere," said Goethe, "is so 
 great, that one is astonished anew every time one reads 
 him. He is a man by himself — his pieces border on 
 tragedy ; they are apprehensive ; and no one has the courage 
 to imitate them. His ' Miser,' where the vice destroys all 
 the natural piety between father and son, is especially 
 great, and in a high sense tragic. But when, in a German 
 paraphrase, the son is changed into a relation, the whole is 
 weakened, and loses its significance. They feared to show 
 the vice in its true nature, as he did ; but what is tragic 
 there, or indeed anywhere, except what is intolerable ? 
 
 " I read some pieces of Moliere' s every year, just as, 
 from time to time, I contemplate the engravings after the 
 great Italian masters. For we little men are not able to 
 retain the greatness of such things within ourselves ; we 
 must therefore return to them from time to time, and 
 renew our impressions. 
 
 " People are always talking about originality ; but what 
 do they mean ? As soon as we are bom, the world begins 
 to work upon us, and this goes on to the end. And, after 
 all, what can we call our own except energy, strength, and 
 will ? If I could give an account of all that I owe to 
 great predecessors and contemporaries, there would be but 
 a small balance in my favour. 
 
 " However, the time of life in which we are subjected 
 to a new and important personal influence is, by no means, 
 a matter of indifference. That Lessing, Winckelmann, 
 and Kant were older than I, and that the first two acted 
 upon my youth, the latter on my advanced age, — this 
 circumstance was for me very important. Again, that 
 Schiller was so much younger than I, and engaged in his 
 freshest strivings, just as I began to be weary of the 
 world — just, too, as the brothers von Humboldt and 
 
1 825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 155 
 
 Schlegel were beginning their career under my eye — 
 was of the greatest importance. I derived from it un- 
 speakable advantages." 
 
 After these remarks respecting the influence which 
 important persons had had upon him, the conversation 
 turned on the influence which he had exerted over others ; 
 and I mentioned Burger, whose case appeared to mc 
 problematical, inasmuch as his purely natural tendency 
 showed no trace of influence on the part of Goethe. 
 
 "Burger," said Goethe, "had an affinity to me as a 
 talent ; but the tree of his moral culture had its root in a 
 wholly different soil, and took a wholly different direction. 
 Each man proceeds as he has begun, in the ascending line 
 of his culture. A man who, in his thirtieth year, could 
 write such a poem as ' Frau Schnips,' had obviously taken 
 a path which deviated a little from mine. He had also, by 
 his really great talents, won for himself a public which he 
 perfectly satisfied ; and he had no need of troubling him- 
 self about a contemporary who did not affect him at all. 
 
 " Everywhere, we learn only from those whom we love. 
 There is a favourable disposition towards me in the young 
 talents who are now growing up, but I very rarely found 
 it among my contemporaries. Nay, I can scarcely name 
 one man, of any weight, who was perfectly satisfied with 
 me. Even with ' Werther,' people found so much fault, 
 that if I had erased every passage that was censured, 
 scarcely a line of the whole book would have been left. 
 However, all the censure did rne no harm, for these sub- 
 jective judgments of individuals, important as they may 
 be, are at least rectified by the masses. He who does not 
 expect a million of readers should not write a line. 
 
 " For twenty years, the public has been disputing which 
 is the greatest, Schiller or I ; and it ought to be glad that 
 it has got a couple of fellows about whom it can dispute." 
 
 (Sup.) Mon.j June 5.* — Goethe related to me that Preller 
 had been with him, and had taken leave, as he is going to 
 spend some years in Italy. 
 
 "As a parting word," said Goethe, "I counselled him 
 not to allow himself to be distracted, but to confine himself 
 
 * In the original this is dated 1826, but from its position in the 
 volume it may be conjectured that this is a misprint. — Trans. 
 
156 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 particularly to Poussin » lid Claude Lorraine, and, above all, 
 to study the works of these two great men, that he might 
 plainly see how they regarded nature, and used her for the 
 expression of their artistical views and feelings. 
 
 " Preller is an important talent, and I have no fear of 
 him. He appears to me, besides, of a very earnest charac- 
 ter. I am almost certain that he will rather incline to 
 Poussin than to Claude Lorraine ; still I have particularly 
 recommended him to study the latter — and not without 
 reason ; for it is with the cultivation of an artist as with 
 the cultivation of every other talent. Our strong points, to 
 a certain extent, develope themselves ; but those germs of 
 our nature which are not in daily exercise, and are there- 
 fore less powerful, need particular care, in order that they 
 may become strong likewise. 
 
 " So may a young singer, as I have often said, possess 
 certain natural tones which are very excellent, and which 
 leave nothing to desire ; while other tones in his voice may 
 be found less strong, clear, and full. But even these he 
 must by constant exercise seek to bring to equal perfection 
 with the others. 
 
 "I am certain that Preller will one day succeed admir- 
 ably in the solemn, the grand, and perhaps also the wild- 
 Whether he will be equally happy in the cheerful, the 
 graceful, and the lovely, is another question; and there- 
 fore have I especially recommended to him Claude Lorraine, 
 in order that, by study, he may acquire that which does 
 not lie in the actual tendency of his nature. 
 
 " There is one thino* more to which I called his attention. 
 I have seen many of his studies from nature : they were 
 excellent, and executed with great energy and life ; but 
 they were all isolated objects, of which little can after- 
 wards be made when one comes to inventions of one's own. 
 I have now advised him never for the future to delineate an 
 isolated object, such as single trees, single heaps of stones, 
 or single cottages, but always to add a background and 
 ponie surrounding objects. 
 
 " And for the following reasons. In nature we never see 
 anything isolated, but everything in connection with some- 
 thing else which is before it, beside it, under it, and over it. 
 A single object, I grant ; may strike us as particularly 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 157 
 
 picturesque : it is not, however, the object alone which pro- 
 duces this effect, but it is the connection in which we see it, 
 with that which is beside, behind, and above it, all of which 
 contributes to that effect. 
 
 "Thus during a walk I may meet with an oak, the 
 picturesque effect of which surprises me. But if I 
 represent it alone, it will perhaps no longer appear to me as 
 it did, because that is wanting which contributed to and 
 enhanced the picturesque effect in nature. Thus, too, a 
 wood may appear beautiful through the influence of one 
 particular sky, one particular light, and one particular 
 situation of the sun. But if I omit all these in my draw- 
 ing, it will perhaps appear without any force, and as some- 
 thing indifferent to which the proper charm is wanting. 
 
 "Further; there is in nature nothing beautiful which 
 is not produced (motivirt) as true in conformity with the 
 laws of nature. In order that that truth of nature may 
 also appear true in the picture, it must be accounted for by 
 the introduction of the influential circumstances. 
 
 " I find by a brook well-formed stones, the parts of 
 which exposed to the air are in a picturesque manner 
 covered with green moss. Now it is not alone the moisture 
 of the water which has caused this formation of moss ; 
 but perhaps a northerly aspect, or the shade of the trees 
 and bushes, have co-operated in this formation at this part 
 of the brook. If I omit these influential causes in my 
 picture, it will be without truth, and without the proper 
 convincing power. 
 
 " Thus the situation of a tree, the kind of soil beneath 
 it, and other trees behind and beside it, have a great in- 
 fluence on its formation. An oak which stands exposed 
 to the wind on the western summit of a rocky hill, will 
 acquire quite a different form from that of one which 
 grows below on the moist ground of a sheltered valley. 
 Both may be beautiful in their kind, but they will have a 
 very different character, and can, therefore, in an artisti- 
 cally conceived landscape, only be used for such a situation 
 as they occupied in nature. And therefore the delinea- 
 tion of surrounding objects, by which any particular sit na- 
 tion is expressed, is of high importance to the artist. On 
 the other hand, it would be foolish to attempt to represent 
 
3 58 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 all those prosaic casualties which, have had as little in- 
 fluence upon the form of the principal objects, as upon its 
 picturesque effect for the moment. 
 
 " I have imparted the substance of all these little hints 
 to Preller, and I am certain that they will take root and 
 thrive in him — as a born genius." 
 
 Sat, June 11. — To-day Goethe talked much at dinner 
 about Major Parry's book on Lord Byron. He gave it 
 unqualified praise, and remarked that Lord Byron in this 
 account appeared a far more complete character, and far 
 more clear as to himself and his views, than in anvthins^ 
 which had been written about him. 
 
 "Major Parry," continued Goethe, "must be an ele- 
 vated — nay, a noble man, so fully to have conceived, and 
 so perfectly to have described, his friend. One passage in 
 his book has pleased me particularly ; — it is worthy of an 
 old Greek — of a Plutarch. ' The noble lord,' says Parry, 
 ' was destitute of all those virtues which adorn the bourgeois 
 class, and which he was prevented from attaining by his 
 birth, education, and mode of life. ISTow all his unfavour- 
 able judges are from the middle class, and these cen- 
 soriously pity him, because they miss in him that which 
 they have reason to prize in themselves. The good folks 
 do not reflect that for his own high station he possessed 
 virtues of which they can form no conception.' How do 
 you like that ? " said Goethe : " we do not hear so good a 
 thing every day." 
 
 " I am glad," said I, "to see publicly expressed a view 
 by which all the puny censors and detractors of a man 
 higher than themselves must be at once disabled and cast 
 down." 
 
 We then spoke of subjects of universal history in rela- 
 tion to poetry, and as to how far the history of one nation 
 may be more favourable to the poet than that of another. 
 
 " The poet," said Goethe, "should seize the Particular, 
 and he should, if there be anything sound in it, thus re- 
 present the Universal. The English history is excellent 
 for poetry, because it is something genuine, healthy, and 
 therefore universal, which repeats itself over and over 
 again. The French history, on the contrary, is not for 
 poetry, as it represents an era that cannot come agaiii 
 
1 825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 159 
 
 The literature of the French, so far as it is founded on 
 that era, stands as something of merely particular interest, 
 which must grow old with time. 
 
 " The present era of French literature," said Goethe 
 afterwards, " cannot be judged fairly. The German 
 influence causes a great fermentation there, and we 
 probably shall not know for twenty years what the result 
 will be." 
 
 We then talked of the aesthetic writers, who labour to 
 express the nature of poetry and the poet in abstract defi- 
 nitions, without arriving at any clear result. 
 
 "What need of much definition?" said Goethe. 
 " Lively feeling of situations, and power to express them, 
 make the poet." 
 
 Wed., Oct. 15. — I found Goethe in a very elevated mood 
 this evening, and had the pleasure of hearing from hini 
 many significant remarks. We talked about the state of 
 the newest literature, when Goethe expressed himself as 
 follows : — 
 
 "Deficiency of character in individual investigators and 
 writers is," he said, "the source of all the evils of our 
 newest literature. 
 
 " In criticism, especially, this defect produces mischief 
 to the world, for it either diffuses the false instead of the 
 true, or by a pitiful truth deprives us of something great, 
 that would be better. 
 
 " Till lately, the world believed in the heroism of a 
 Lucretia, — of a Mucins Scaevola, — and suffered itself, by 
 this belief, to be warmed and inspired. But now comes 
 your historical criticism, and says that those persons never 
 lived, but are to be regarded as fables and fictions, divined 
 by the great mind of the Romans. What are we to do 
 with so pitiful a truth? If the Romans were great 
 enough to invent such stories, we should at least be great 
 enough to believe them. 
 
 " Till lately, I was always pleased with a great fact in 
 the thirteenth century, when the Emperor Frederic the 
 Second was at variance with the Pope, and the north of 
 Germany was open to all sorts of hostile attacks. Asiatic 
 hordes had actually penetrated as far as Silesia, when tho 
 Duke of Liegnitz terrified them, by one great defeat. 
 
160 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 They tlien turned to Moravia, but were here defeated by 
 Count Sternberg. These valiant men had on this account 
 been living in my heart as the great saviours of the Ger- 
 man nation. But now comes historical criticism, and says 
 that these heroes sacrificed themselves quite uselessly, as 
 the Asiatic army was already recalled, and would have 
 returned of its own accord. Thus is a great national fact 
 crippled and destroyed, which seems to me most abomin- 
 able." 
 
 After these remarks on historical critics, Goethe spoke of 
 another class of seekers and literary men. 
 
 " I could never," said he, " have known so well how 
 paltry men are, and how little they care for really high 
 aims, if I had not tested them by my scientific researches. 
 Thus I saw that most men only care for science so far as 
 they get a living by it, and that they worship even error 
 when it affords them a subsistence. 
 
 " In belles lettres it is no better. There, too, high aims 
 and genuine love for the true and sound, and for their 
 diffusion, are very rare phenomena. One man cherishes 
 and tolerates another, because he is by him cherished and 
 tolerated in return. True greatness is hateful to them ; 
 they would fain drive it from the world, so that only such 
 as they might be of importance in it. Such are the 
 masses ; and the prominent individupJs are not better. 
 
 " 's great talents and world- embracing learning 
 
 might have done much for his country. But his want of 
 character has deprived the world of such great results, 
 and himself of the esteem of the country. 
 
 " We want a man like Lessing. For how was he great, 
 except in character, — in firmness ? There are many men 
 as clever and as cultivated, but where is such character ? 
 
 " Many are full of esprit and knowledge, but they are 
 also full of vanity ; and that they may shine as wits before 
 the short-sighted multitude, they have no shame or 
 delicacy — nothing is sacred to them. 
 
 " Madame de Genlis was therefore perfectly right when 
 she declaimed against the freedoms and profanities of 
 Voltaire. Clever as they all may be, the world has derived 
 no profit from them ; they afford a foundation for nothing. 
 Nay, they have been of the greatest injury, since they 
 
1825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 1G1 
 
 have confused men, and robbed them of their needful 
 support. 
 
 " After all, what do we know, and how far can we go^ 
 with all our wit ? 
 
 " Man is born not to solve the problems of the universe, 
 but to find out where the problem begins, and then to 
 restrain himself within the limits of the comprehensible. 
 
 " His faculties are not sufficient to measure the actions 
 of the universe ; and an attempt to explain the outer 
 world by reason is, with his narrow point of view, but a 
 vain endeavour. The reason of man and the reason of the 
 Deity are two very different things. 
 
 "If we grant freedom to man, there is an end to the 
 omniscience of God ; for if the Divinity knows how I 
 shall act, I must act so perforce. I give this merely as a 
 sign how little we know, and to show that it is not good 
 to meddle with divine mysteries. 
 
 " Moreover, we should only utter higher maxims so far 
 as they can benefit the world. The rest we should keep 
 within ourselves, and they will diffuse over our actions a 
 lustre like the mild radiance of a hidden sun." 
 
 Sun., Dec. 25. — I went to Goethe this evening at six 
 o'clock. I found him alone, and passed with him some 
 delightful hours. 
 
 "My mind," said he, "has of late been burdened by 
 many things. So much good has been flowing in to me 
 on all sides, that the mere ceremony of returning thanks 
 has prevented me from having any practical life. The 
 privileges respecting the publication of my works have 
 been gradually coming in from the different courts ; and as 
 the position was different in each case, each required a 
 different answer. Then came the proposals of innumer- 
 able booksellers, which also had to be considered, acted 
 upon, and answered. Then my Jubilee has brought me 
 such thousand-fold attentions, that I have not yet got 
 through with my letters of acknowledgment. I cannot 
 be content with hollow generalities, but wish to say some- 
 thing appropriate to every one. Now I am gradually be- 
 coming free, and feel again disposed for conversation. 
 
 "I have of late made an observation, which I will im- 
 part to you. 
 
 SI 
 
X62 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1S25. 
 
 "Everything we do has a result. But that which is 
 right and prudent does not always lead to good, nor the 
 contrary to what is bad ; frequently the reverse takes 
 place. Some time since, I made a mistake in one of these 
 transactions with booksellers, and was sorry that I had 
 done so. But now circumstances have so altered, that, if 
 I had not made that very mistake, I should have made a 
 greater one. Such instances occur frequently in life, and 
 hence we see men of the world, who know this, going to 
 work with great freedom and boldness." 
 
 I was struck by this remark, which was new to me. 
 
 I then turned the conversation to some of his works, and 
 we came to the elegy " Alexis and Dora." 
 
 "In this poem," said Goethe, " people have blamed the 
 strong, passionate conclusion, and would have liked the 
 elegy to end gently and peacefully, without that outbreak 
 of jealousy ; but I could not see that they were right. 
 Jealousy is so manifestly an ingredient of the affair, that 
 the poem would be incomplete if it were not introduced 
 at all. I myself knew a young man who, in the midst 
 of his impassioned love for an easily-won maiden, cried 
 out, ' But would she not act to another as she has acted to 
 me?"' 
 
 I agreed entirely with Goethe, and then mentioned the 
 peculiar situations in this elegy, where, with so few strokes 
 and in so narrow a space, all is so well delineated, that we 
 think we see the whole life and domestic environment of 
 the persons engaged in the action. " What you have 
 described," said I, " appears as true as if you had worked 
 from actual experience." 
 
 "I am glad it seems so to yon," said Goethe. " There 
 j. are, however, few men who have imagination for the truth 
 J of reality ; most prefer strange countries and circum- 
 stances, of which they know nothing, and by which their 
 imagination may be cultivated, oddly enough. 
 
 " Then there are others who cling altogether to reality, 
 and, as they wholly want the poetic spirit, are too severe 
 in their requisitions. For instance, in this elegy, some 
 would have had me give Alexis a servant to carry his 
 bundle, never thinking that all that was poetic and idyllic 
 in the situation would thus have been destroyed." 
 
J 825.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 163 
 
 From "Alexis and Dora," tho conversation then fcu 
 to "Wilhelm Meister." "There are odd critics in i 
 world," said Goethe; "they blamed me for letting the 
 hero of this novel live so much in bad company ; but by 
 this very circumstance, that I considered this so called ba < I 
 company as a vase, into which I could put everything I bad 
 to say about good society, I gained a poetical body, and a 
 varied one into the bargain. Had I, on the contrary, de- 
 lineated good society by the so-called good society, nobody 
 would have read the book. 
 
 "In the seeming trivialities of 'Wilhelm Meister ' there 
 is always something higher at bottom, and nothing is re- 
 quired but eyes and knowledge of the world, and power of 
 comprehension to perceive the great in the small. Foi 
 those who are without such qualities, let it suffice to receive 
 the picture of life as real life." 
 
 Goethe then showed me a very interesting English work, 
 which illustrated all Shakspeare in copper plates. Each 
 page embraced, in six small designs, one piece with some 
 verses written beneath, so that the leading idea and the 
 most important situations of each work were brought 
 before the eyes. All these immortal tragedies and come- 
 dies thus passed before the mind like processions of 
 masks. 
 
 "It is even terrifying," said Goethe, "to look through 
 these little pictures. Thus are we first made to feel the 
 infinite wealth and grandeur of Shakspeare. There is no 
 ■native in human life which he has not exhibited and 
 expressed ! And all with what ease and freedom ! 
 
 " But we cannot talk about Shakspeare ; everything is 
 inadequate. I have touched upon the subject in my 
 'Wilhelm Meister,' but that is not saying much. He is 
 not a theatrical poet ; he never thought of the stage ; it 
 was far too narrow for his great mind : nay, the whole 
 visible world was too narrow. 
 
 " He is even too rich and too powerful. A productive 
 nature * ought not to read more than one of his dramas in 
 a« year if it would not be wrecked entirely. I did well to 
 
 * Vide p. 185, where a remark is made on the word nature, as np. 
 nlied to a persan. — Trans. 
 
 m2 
 
164s CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1825. 
 
 get rid of him by writing ' Goetz,' and ' Egmont,' * and 
 Byron did well by not having too much respect and ad- 
 miration for him, but going his own way. How many 
 excellent Germans have been mined by him and Calderon I 
 1 " Shakspeare gives us golden apples in silver dishes. 
 We get, indeed, the silver dishes by studying his works ; 
 but, unfortunately, we have only potatoes to put into 
 them." 
 
 I laughed, and was delighted with this admirable simile. 
 
 Goethe then read me a letter from Zelter, describing a 
 representation of Macbeth at Berlin, where the music could 
 not keep pace with the grand spirit and character of the 
 piece, as Zelter set forth by various intimations. By 
 Goethe's reading, the letter gained its full effect, and he 
 often paused to admire with me the point of some single 
 passage. 
 
 " ' Macbeth,' said Goethe, " is Shakspeare's best acting 
 play, the one in which he shows most understanding with 
 respect to the stage. But would you see his mind unfet- 
 tered, read ' Troilus and Cressida,' where he treats the 
 materials of the ' Iliad ' in his own fashion." 
 
 The conversation turned upon Byron, — the disadvantage 
 to which he appears when placed beside the innocent 
 cheerfulness of Shakspeare, and the frequent and generally 
 not unjust blame which he drew upon himself by his mani- 
 fold works of negation. 
 
 " If Lord Byron," said Goethe, "had had an opportunity 
 of working off all the opposition in his character, by a num- 
 ber of strong parliamentary speeches, he would have been 
 much more pure as a poet. But, as he scarcely ever spoke 
 in parliament, he kept within himself all his feelings 
 against his nation, and to free himself from them, he had no 
 other means than to express them in poetical form. I 
 could, therefore, call a great part of Byron's works of ne- 
 gation 'suppressed parliamentary speeches,' and think this 
 would be no bad name for them." 
 
 We then mentioned one of our most modern German 
 
 * These plays were intended to be in the Shaksperian style, and 
 Goethe means that by writing them he freed himself from Shakspeare, 
 just as by writing ' Werther ' he freed himself from thoughts of 
 suicide. — Trans. 
 
I S2 5.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. ] 65 
 
 poets, Platen, who had lately gained a great name, and 
 whose negative tendency was likewise disapproved. " We 
 cannot deny," said Goethe, "that he has many bril- 
 liant qualities, but he is wanting in — love. He loves 
 his readers and his fellow-poets as little as he loves him- 
 self, and thus we may apply to him the maxim of the 
 apostle — ' Though I speak with the tongues of men and 
 angels, and have not love (charity), I am become as 
 sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal." I have lately 
 read the poems of Platen, and cannot deny his great 
 talent. But, as I said, he is deficient in love, and thus he 
 will never produce the effect which he ought. He will 
 be feared, and will be the idol of those who would like 
 to be as negative as himself, but have not his talent." 
 
 1826. 
 
 Sun. evening, Jan. 29. — The most celebrated German 
 improvisatore, Dr. Wolff of Hamburg, has been here 
 several days, and has already given public proof of his rare 
 talent. On Friday evening he gave a brilliant display to a 
 numerous audience, and in the presence of the court of 
 Weimar. On the same evening he received from Goethe 
 an invitation to come to him the next day at noon. 
 
 I talked with him yesterday evening/ after he had im- 
 provised before Goethe. He was much delighted, and 
 declared that this hour would make an epoch in his life ; 
 for Goethe, by a few words, had opened to him a wholly 
 new path, and when he had found fault with him, had hit 
 the right nail on the head. 
 
 This evening, when I was at Goethe's, the conversation 
 turned immediately on Wolff. " Dr. Wolff is very happy," 
 said I, " that your excellency has given him good counsel." 
 
 " I was perfectly frank with him," said Goethe, "and 
 if my words have made an impression on him and incited 
 him, that is a very good sign. He is a decided talent with- 
 out doubt, but he has the general sickness of the present 
 day — subjectivity — and of that I would fain heal him. I 
 gave him a task to try him : — ' Describe to me,' said I, 
 ' your return to Hamburg.' He was ready at once, and 
 
166 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1826. 
 
 began immediately to speak in melodious verses. I could 
 not but admire hiru, yet I could not praise him. It was 
 not a return to Hamburg that he described, but merely the 
 emotions on the return of a son to his parents, relations, 
 and friends ; and his poem would have served just as well 
 for a return to Merseburg or Jena, as for a return to 
 Hamburg. Yet what a remarkable, peculiar city is Ham- 
 burg ! and what a rich field was offered him for the most 
 minute description, if he had known or ventured to take 
 hold of the subject properly ! " 
 
 I remarked that this subjective tendency was the 
 fault of the public, which decidedly applauds all senti- 
 mentality. 
 
 " Perhaps so," said Goethe ; " but the public is still more 
 pleased if you give it something better. I am certain that 
 if, with Wolff's talent at improvisation, one could faith- 
 fully describe the life of great cities, such as Rome, Naples, 
 Vienna, Hamburg, or London, and that in such a lively 
 manner, that one's hearers would believe they saw with 
 their own eyes, everybody would be enchanted. If he breaks 
 through to the objective, he is saved, the stuff is in him ; 
 for he is not without imagination. Only he must make up 
 his mind at once, and strive to grasp it." 
 
 "I fear," said I, "that this will be harder than we imagine, 
 since it demands entire regeneration of his mode of thought. 
 Even if he succeeds, he will, at all events, come to a 
 momentary standstill with his production, and long prac- 
 tice will be required to make the objective become a second 
 nature." 
 
 " The step I grant is very great," said Goethe; "but he 
 must take courage, and make his resolution at once. It is 
 in such matters, like the dread of water in bathing — we 
 must jump in at once, and the element is ours. 
 
 " If a person learns to sing," continued Goethe, "all the 
 notes which are within his natural compass are easy to him, 
 while those which he beyond the compass are at first ex- 
 tremely difficult. But to be a vocalist, he must conquer 
 them, for he must have them all at command. Just so 
 with the poet ; — he deserves not the name while he only 
 speaks out his few subjective feelings ; but as soon as he 
 can appropriate to himself, and express the world, he is a 
 
1826.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 107 
 
 poet. Then lie is inexhaustible, and can be always new, 
 while a subjective nature has soon talked out his little 
 internal material, and is at last ruined by mannerism. 
 People always talk of the study of the ancients ; but what 
 does that mean, except that it says, turn your attention to 
 the real world, and try to express it, for that is what the 
 ancients did when they were alive." 
 
 Goethe arose [and walked to and fro, while 1 remained 
 seated at the table, as he likes to see me. He stooa. 
 a moment at the stove, and then, like one who has 
 reflected, came to me, and with his finger on his lips, said, 
 
 " I will now tell you something which you will often find 
 confirmed in your experience. All eras in a state of decline 
 and dissolution are subjective ; on the other hand, all pro- 
 gressive eras have an objective tendency. Our present time 
 is retrograde, for it is subjective : we see this not merely 
 in poetry, but also in painting, and much besides. Every 
 healthy effort, on the contrary, is directed from the inward 
 to the outward world, as you will see in all great eras, 
 which have been really in a state of progression, and all of 
 an objective nature." 
 
 These remarks led to a most interesting conversation, in 
 which especial mention was made of the great period of the 
 fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. 
 
 The conversation now turned upon the theatre, and the 
 weak, sentimental, gloomy character of modern j)roductions. 
 
 "Moliere is my strength and consolation at present," 
 said I ; "I have translated his 'Avare,' and am now busy 
 with his ' Medicin malgre lui.' Moliere is indeed a great, a 
 genuine (reiner) man." 
 
 "Yes," said Goethe, "a genuine man; that is the proper 
 term. There is nothing distorted about him. He ruled the 
 manners of his day, while, on the contrary, our Inland and 
 Kotzebue allowed themselves to be ruled by theirs, and 
 were limited and confined in them. Moliere chastised men 
 by drawing them just as they were." 
 
 "I would give something," said I, "to see his plays acted 
 in all their purity ! Yet such things are much too strong 
 and natural for the public, so far as I am acquainted with 
 it. Is not this over-refinement to be attributed to the 
 called ideal literature of certain authors ?" 
 
168 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1826. 
 
 "No," said Grocthe, "it lias its source in society itself. 
 What business have our young girls at the theatre ? They 
 do not belong to it — they belong to the convent , and the 
 theatre is only for men and women, who know something 
 of human affairs. When Moliere wrote, girls were in the 
 convent, and he was not forced to think about them But 
 now we cannot get rid of these young girls, and pieces which 
 are weak, and therefore proper, will continue to be produced. 
 Be wise and stay away, as I do. I was really interested in 
 the theatre only so long as I could have a practical influence 
 upon it. It was my delight to bring the establishment to a 
 high degree of perfection ; and when there was a perform- 
 ance, my interest was not so much in the pieces as in ob- 
 serving whether the actors played as they ought. The faults 
 I wished to point out I sent in writing to the Begisseur, and 
 was sure they would be avoided on the next representation. 
 Now I can no longer have any practical influence in the 
 theatre, I feel no calling to enter it ; 1 should be forced to 
 endure defects without beings able to amend them ; and that 
 would not suit me. And with the reading of plays, it is no 
 better. The young German poets are eternally sending me 
 tragedies ; but what am I to do with them ? I have never 
 read German plays except with the view of seeing whether 
 I could act them ; in every other respect they were indifferent 
 to me. What am I to do now, in my present situation, with 
 the pieces of these young people ? I can gain nothing for 
 myself by reading how things ought not to be done ; and I 
 cannot assist the young poets in a matter which is already 
 finished. If, instead of their printed plays, they would 
 send me the plan of a play, I could at least say, ' Do it,' or 
 'Leave it alone,' or 'Do it this way,' or 'Do it that; ' and 
 in this there might be some use. 
 
 " The whole mischief proceeds from this, that poetical 
 culture is so widely diffused in Germany that nobody now 
 ever makes a bad verse. The young poets who send me 
 their works are not inferior to their predecessors, and, since 
 they see these praised so highly, they cannot understand 
 why they are not praised also. And yet we cannot encour- 
 age them, when talents of the sort exist by hundreds ; and 
 we ought not to favour superfluities while so much that is 
 useful remains to be done. Were there a single one 
 
1826.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 169 
 
 who towered above all the rest, it would be well, for the 
 world can only be served by the extraordinary." 
 
 Thurs., Feb. 16. — I went, at seven this evening, to Goethe, 
 whom I found alone in his room. I sat down by him at 
 the table, and told him that yesterday I had seen, at the 
 inn, the Duke of Wellington, who was passing through on 
 his way to St. Petersburg. " Indeed ! " said Goethe, with 
 animation ; " what was he like ? — tell me all about him. 
 Does he look like his portrait ? " 
 
 "Yes," said I; "bat better, with more of marked 
 character. If you ever look at his face, all the portraits 
 are nought. One need only see him once never to forget 
 him, such an impression does he make. His eyes are brown, 
 and of the serenest brilliancy ; one feels the effect of his 
 glance ; his mouth speaks, even when it is closed ; he looks 
 a man who has had many thoughts, and has lived through 
 the greatest deeds, who now can handle the world serenely 
 and calmly, and whom nothing more can disturb. He 
 seemed to me as hard and as tempered as a Damascus blade. 
 By his appearance, he is far advanced in the fifties ; is up- 
 right, slim, and not very tall or stout. I saw him getting 
 into his carriage to depart. There was something uncom- 
 monly cordial in his salutation as he passed through the 
 crowd, and, with a very slight bow, touched his hat with 
 his finger." Goethe listened to my description with visible 
 interest. "You have seen one hero more," said he, "and 
 that is saying something." 
 
 "We then talked of Napoleon, and I lamented that I had 
 never seen him. 
 
 "Truly," said Goethe, "that also was worth the trouble. 
 What a compendium of the world ! " " Did he look like 
 something ? " asked I. " He was something," replied 
 Goethe ; " and he looked what he was — that was all." 
 
 I had brought with me for Goethe a very remarkable 
 poem, of which I had spoken to him some evenings before 
 — a poem of his own, written so long since that he had 
 quite forgotten it. It was printed in the beginning of the 
 year 1776, in "Die Sichtbaren" (the Visible), a periodical 
 published at the time in Frankfort, and had been brought 
 to Weimar by an old servant of Goethe's, through whom 
 it had fallen into my hands. Undoubtedly it is the 
 
170 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1826. 
 
 earliest known poem of Goethe's. The snbject was the 
 "Descent of Christ into Hell;" and it was remarkable to 
 observe the readiness of the young author with his religious 
 images. The purpose of the poem might have suited 
 Klopstock; but the execution was quite of a different 
 character ; it was stronger, freer, and more easy, and had 
 greater energy and better arrangement. The extraordinary 
 ardour reminded one of a period of youth, full of im- 
 petuosity and power. Through a want of subject matter, 
 it constantly reverted to the same point, and was of undue 
 length. 
 
 I placed before Goethe the yellow, worn-out paper, and 
 as soon as he saw it he remembered his poem. "It is pos- 
 sible," said he, "that Fraulein von Klettenberg induced me 
 to write it : the heading shows that it was written by desire, 
 and I know not any other friend who could have desired 
 such a subject. I was then in want of materials, and was 
 rejoiced when I got anything that I could sing. Lately, a 
 poem of that period fell into my hands, which I wrote in 
 the English language, and in which I complained of the 
 dearth of poetic subjects. We Germans are really ill off in 
 that respect ; our earliest history lies too much in obscurity, 
 and the later is without general native interest, through the 
 want of one ruling dynasty. Klopstock tried Arminius, 
 but the subject lies too far off ; nobody feels any connection 
 with it ; no one knows what to make of it, and accordingly 
 it has never been popular, or produced any result. I made 
 a happy hit with my ' Goetz von Berlichingen ; ' that was, 
 at any rate, bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh, and 
 something could be done with it. 
 
 "For 'Werther' and 'Faust' I was, on the contrary, 
 obliged to draw upon my own bosom, for that which was 
 handed down to me did not go far. I made devils and 
 witches but once; I was glad when I had consumed my 
 northern inheritance, and turned to the tables of the Greeks. 
 Had I earlier known how many excellent things have been 
 in existence for hundreds of years, I should not have 
 written a line, but should have done something else." 
 
 Easter-day, Mar. 26. — To-day, at dinner, Goethe was in 
 one of his pleasantest moods. He had received something he? 
 highly valued, Lord Byron's manuscript of the dedication 
 
1826.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 171 
 
 to his " Sardanapalus." He showed it to us after dinner, 
 at the same time teazing his daughter to give him back 
 Byron's letter from Genoa. "You see, my dear child," 
 said he, " I have now everything collected which relates to 
 my connection with Byron ; even this valuable paper comes 
 to me to-day, in a remarkable manner, and now nothing is 
 wanting but that letter." 
 
 However, the amiable admirer of Byron would not re- 
 sfcorejthe letter. " You gave it to me once, dear father," 
 aid she, "and I shall not give it back; and if you wish, as 
 is fit, that like should be with like, you had better give me 
 the precious paper of to-day, and I will keep them all 
 together." This was still more repugnant to Goethe, and 
 the playful contest lasted for some time, when it merged 
 into, general lively conversation. 
 
 After we had risen from table, and the ladies had gone 
 upstairs, I remained Avith Goethe alone. He brought 
 from his work-room a red portfolio, which he took to the 
 window, and showed me its contents. " Look," said he, 
 " here I have everything together which relates to my con- 
 nection with Lord Byron. Here is his letter from Leghorn ; 
 this is a copy of his dedication ; this is my poem ; and here 
 is what I wrote for ' Medwin's Conversations ; ' now, I only 
 want the letter from Genoa, and she will not give it me." 
 
 Goethe then told me of a friendly request, which had 
 this day been made to him from England, with reference 
 to Lord Byron, and which had excited him in a very 
 pleasant manner. His mind was just now quite full of 
 Byron, and he said a thousand interesting things about 
 him, his works, and his talents. 
 
 " The English," said he, among other things, " may 
 think of Byron as they please ; but this is certain, that they 
 can show no poet who is to be compared to him. He is dif- 
 ferent from all the others, and, for the most part, greater." 
 
 Mon., May 15. — I talked with Goethe to-day about St. 
 Schiitze, of whom he spoke very kindly. " When I was ill 
 a few weeks since," said he, " I read his * Heitere Stunden ' 
 (Cheerful Hours) with great pleasure. If Schiitze had 
 lived in England, he would have made an epoch ; for, with 
 his gift of observing and depicting, nothing was wanting 
 but the sight of life on a large scale." 
 
172 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1826. 
 
 TJiurs., June 1.— Goethe spoke of the " Globe." * " The 
 contributors," said he, " are men of the world, cheerful, 
 clear in their views, bold to the last degree. In their cen- 
 sure they are polished and galant ; whereas our German 
 literati always think they must hate those who do not 
 think like themselves. I consider the ' Globe ' one of our 
 most interesting periodicals, and could not do without it." 
 
 Wed., July 26. — This evening I had the pleasure of hear- 
 ing Goethe say a great deal about the theatre. 
 
 I told him that one of my friends intended to arrange 
 Lord Byron's " Two Foscari " for the stage. Goethe 
 doubted his success. 
 
 " It is indeed a temptation," he said. " When a piece 
 makes a deep impression on us in reading, we think it 
 will do the same on the stage, and that we could obtain 
 such a result with little trouble. But this is by no means 
 the case. A piece that is not originally, by the intent 
 and skill of the poet, written for the boards, will not 
 succeed ; but whatever is done to it, will always remain 
 something unmanageable. What trouble have I taken with 
 my ' Goetz von Berlichingen ! ' yet it will not go right as 
 an acting play, but is too long ; and I have been forced to 
 divide it into two parts, of which the last is indeed thea- 
 trically effective, while the first is to be looked upon as a 
 mere introduction. If the first part were given only once 
 as |an introduction, and then the second repeatedly, it 
 might succeed. It is the same with ' Wallenstein : ' ' The 
 Piccolomini' does not bear repetition, but ' Wallenstein's 
 Death ' is always seen with delight." 
 
 I asked how a piece must be constructed so as to be fit 
 for the theatre. 
 
 " It must be symbolical," replied Goethe ; "that is to say, 
 each incident must be significant in itself, and lead to 
 another still more important. The ' Tartuffe ' of Moliere 
 is, in this respect, a great example. Only think what an 
 introduction is the first scene ! From the very beginning 
 everything is highly significant, and leads us to expect 
 something still more important which is to come. The 
 beginning of Lessing's ' Minna von Barnhelm' is also 
 
 * The celebrated French paper. — Trans. 
 
1826.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 173 
 
 admirable ; but that of the ' Tartuffe' comes only onco 
 into the world : it is the greatest and best thing that exists 
 of the kind." 
 
 We then came to the pieces of Caldcron. 
 
 "In Calderon," said Goethe, " you find the same perfect 
 adaptation to the theatre. His pieces are throughout fit 
 for the boards ; there is not a touch in them which is 
 not directed towards the required effect. Calderon is a 
 genius who had also the finest understanding." 
 
 "It is singular," said I, "that the dramas of Shakspeare 
 are not theatrical pieces, properly so called, since he wrote 
 them all for his theatre." 
 
 " Shakspeare," replied Goethe, " wrote those pieces 
 direct from his own nature. Then, too, his age, and the 
 existing arrangements of the stage, made no demands upon 
 him ; people were forced to put up with whatever he 
 gave them. But if Shakspeare had written for the court 
 of Madrid, or for the theatre of Louis XIV., he would 
 probably have adapted himself to a severer theatrical 
 form. This, however, is by no means to be regretted, for 
 what Shakspeare has lost as a theatrical poet he has 
 gained as a poet in general. Shakspeare is a great psycho- 
 logist, and we learn from his pieces the secrets of human 
 nature." * 
 
 "We then talked of the difficulties in managing a theatre. 
 
 " The knotty point," said Goethe, " is so to deal with 
 contingencies that we are not tempted to deviate from our 
 higher maxims. Among the higher maxims is this : to 
 keep a good repertoire of excellent tragedies, operas, and 
 comedies, to which we can adhere, and which may be 
 regarded as permanent. Among contingencies, I reckon a 
 new piece about which the public is anxious, a ' starring ' 
 character (Gastrolle), and so forth. We must not be led 
 astray by things of this kind, but always return to our 
 repertoire. Our time is so rich in really good pieces, that 
 nothing is easier to a connoisseur than to form a good 
 repertoire; but nothing is more difficult to maintain one. 
 
 "When Schiller and I superintended the theatre, we had 
 the great advantage of playing through the summer at 
 
 * Wie den Menschen zu Muthe ist. The above is only nu approxi- 
 mation. — Trans. 
 
174 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1826. 
 
 Lauchstadt. There we had a select audience, who would 
 have nothing but what was excellent ; so we always re- 
 turned to Weimar thoroughly practised in the best plays, 
 and could repeat all our summer performances in the winter. 
 Besides, the Weimar public had confidence in our manage- 
 ment, and, even in the case of things they could not appre- 
 ciate, they were convinced that we acted in accordance with 
 some higher view. 
 
 " When the nineties began," continued Goethe, " the 
 proper period of my interest in the theatre was already past, 
 and I wrote nothing for the stage, but wished to devote 
 myself to epic poetry. Schiller revived my extinct interest, 
 and, for the sake of his works, I again took part in the 
 theatre. At the time of my ' Clavigo,' I could easily have 
 written a dozen theatrical pieces. I had no want of sub- 
 jects, and production was easy to me. I might have 
 written a piece every week, and I am sorry I did not." 
 
 Wed., Nov. 8. — To-day, Greethe spoke again of Lord 
 Byron with admiration. " I have," said he, " read once 
 more his ' Deformed Transformed,' and must say that to 
 me his talent appears greater than ever. His devil was 
 suggested by my Mephistophiles ; but it is no imitation — it 
 is thoroughly new and original, close, genuine, and spirited. 
 There are no weak passages — not a place where you could 
 put the head of a pin, where you do not find invention and 
 thought. Were it not for his hypochondriacal negative 
 turn, he would be as great as Shakspeare and the ancients." 
 I expressed surprise. 
 
 " Yes," said Groethe, " you may believe me. I have 
 studied him anew, and am confirmed in this oninion." 
 
 In a conversation some time ago, Greothe had remarked 
 that Byron had too much empeiria.* I did not well under- 
 stand what he meant ; but I forbore to ask, and thought of 
 the matter in silence. However, I got nothing by reflec- 
 tion, and found that I must wait till my improved culture, 
 or some happy circumstance, should unlock the secret for 
 me. Such an one occurred when an excellent representa- 
 tion of " Macbeth " at the theatre produced a strong effect 
 
 * The impor': of this Greek word for " experience," and its cognate 
 word " empiric," has nothing in common with the notion of " quack- 
 ery." The general meaning is, that Byron is too worldly. — Trans. 
 
1826.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 175 
 
 upon me, and on the day afterwards I took np Byron's 
 works to read his " Beppo." Now, I felt I could not relish 
 this poem after " Macbeth ; " and the more I read, the more 
 I become enlightened as to Goethe's meaning. 
 
 In " Macbeth," a spirit had impressed me, whose grandeur, 
 power, and sublimity could have proceeded from none but 
 Shakspeare. There was the innate quality of a high and 
 deep nature, which raises the individual who possesses it 
 above all mankind, and thus makes him a great poet. 
 Whatever has been given to this piece by knowledge of tli • 
 world or experience was subordinate to the poetic spirit, 
 and served only to make this speak out and predominate. 
 The great poet ruled us and lifted us up to his own point of 
 view. 
 
 While reading " Beppo," on the contrary, I felt the pre- 
 dominance of a nefarious empirical world, with which the 
 rnind which introduced it to us had, in a certain measure, 
 associated itself. I no more found the great and pure 
 thoughts of a highly-gifted poet, but, by frequent inter- 
 course with the world, the poet's mode of thought seemed 
 to have acquired the same stamp. He seemed to be on the 
 same level with all intellectual men of the world of the 
 higher class, being only distinguished from them by his 
 great talent for representation, so that he might be re- 
 garded as their mouthpiece. 
 
 So I felt, in reading " Beppo," that Lord Byron had too 
 much empeiria, not because he brought too much real life 
 before us, but because the higher poetic nature seemed to 
 be silent, or even expelled by an empiric mode of thought. 
 
 Wed., Nov. 29. — I had now also read Lord Byron's " De- 
 formed Transformed," and talked with Goethe about it after 
 dinner. 
 
 " Am I not right ? " said he ; " the first scenes are great 
 — politically great. The remainder, when the subject 
 wanders to the siege of Rome, I will not call poetical, but 
 it must be averred that it is very pointed * (geistreich)." 
 
 " To the highest degree," said I ; " but there is no art in 
 being pointed when one respects nothing." 
 
 Goethe laughed. " You are not quite wro T g," said he. 
 
 *" Pointed" is only an approximation, — the word here means 
 " full of esprit." — Trans. 
 
176 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1826. 
 
 " We must, indeed, confess tliat the poet says more than 
 ought to be said. He tells us the truth, but it is disagreeable, 
 and we should like him better if he held his peace. There 
 are things in the world which the poet should rather con- 
 ceal than disclose ; but this openness lies in Byron's cha- 
 racter, and you would annihilate him if you made him other 
 than he is." 
 
 " Yes," said I, " he is in the highest degree pointed. How 
 excellent, for instance, is this passage — 
 
 ' The devil speaks truth much oftener than he's deemed ; 
 He hath an ignorant audience P ' " 
 
 " That is as good and as free as one of my Mephis- 
 tophiles' sayings." 
 
 " Since we are talking of Mephistophiles," continued 
 Goethe, " I will show you something which Coudray has 
 brought me from Paris. What do you think of it ? " 
 
 He laid before me a lithograph, representing the scene 
 where Faust and Mephistophiles, on their way to free 
 Margaret from prison, are rushing by the gallows at night 
 on two horses. Faust rides a black horse, which gallops 
 with all its might, and seems, as well as his rider, afraid of 
 the spectres under the gallows. They ride so fast that 
 Faust can scarcely keep his seat ; the current of air has 
 blown off his cap, which, fastened by straps about his neck, 
 flies far behind him. He has turned his fearful inquiring 
 face to Mephistophiles, and is listening to his words. Me- 
 phistophiles, on the contrary, sits quiet and undisturbed, 
 like a being of a higher order. He rides no living horse, 
 for he loves not what is living ; indeed, he does not need it, 
 for his will moves him with the swiftness he requires. He 
 has a horse merely because he must look as if he were 
 riding, and it has been quite enough for him to find a beast 
 that is a mere bag of bones, from the first field he has come 
 to. It is of a bright colour, and seems to be phosphor- 
 escent amid the darkness of night. It is neither bridled nor 
 saddled, but goes without such appendages. The super- 
 natural rider sits easily and negligently, with his face 
 turned towards Faust, in conversation. The opposing* 
 element of air does not exist for him ; neither he nor his 
 horse feel anything of it. Not a hair of either is stirred. 
 
 We expressed much pleasure at this ingenious composi- 
 
iSzG.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 177 
 
 tion. " I must aver," said Goethe, "that I myself did not 
 think it out so perfectly. Here is another. What say you 
 to this ? " 
 
 I saw a representation of the wild drinking scene in 
 Auerbach's cellar, at the all-important moment when the 
 wine sparkles up into flames, and the brutality of the drinkers 
 is shown in the most varied ways. All is passion and 
 movement; Mephistophiles also maintains his usual com- 
 posure. The wild cursing and screaming, and the drawn 
 knife of the man who stands next him, are to him nothing. 
 He has seated himself on a corner of the table, dangling 
 his legs. His upraised finger is enough to subdue flame 
 and passion. 
 
 The more one looked at this excellent design, the greater 
 seemed the intelligence of the artist, who made no figure 
 like another, but in each one expressed some different part 
 of the action. 
 
 "M. Delacroix," said Goethe, "is a man of great talent, 
 who found in ' Faust ' his proper aliment. The French 
 censure his wildness, but it suits him well here. He will, 1 
 hope, go through all 'Faust,' and I anticipate a special 
 pleasure from the witches' kitchen and the scenes on the 
 Brocken. We can see that he has a good knowledge of 
 life, for which a city like Paris has given him the best 
 opportunity." 
 
 I observed that these designs greatly conduce to the com- 
 prehension of a poem. 
 
 "Undoubtedly," said Goethe; "for the more perfect 
 imagination of such an artist constrains us to think the 
 situations as beautiful as he conceived them himself. And 
 if I must confess that M. Delacroix has, in some scenes, 
 surpassed my own notions, how much more will the reader 
 find all in full life, and surpassing his imagination." 
 
 Hon., Dec. 11. — I found Goethe in a very happy mood. 
 " Alexander von Humboldt has been some hours with me 
 this morning," said he, coming to meet mo with great 
 vivacity ; " what a man he is ! Long as I have known him, 
 he ever surprises me anew. One may say he has not his 
 equal in knowledge and living wisdom. Then he has a 
 many-sidedness such as I have found nowhere else. On 
 whatever point you approach him, he is at home, and 
 
 N 
 
178 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETflE. [1826. 
 
 lavishes upon us his intellectual treasures. He is like a 
 fountain with many pipes, under which you need only hold 
 a vessel, and from which refreshing and inexhaustible 
 streams are ever flowing. He will stay here some days ; 
 and I already feel that it will be with me as if I had lived 
 for years." 
 
 Wed., Dec. 13. — At table, the ladies praised a portrait 
 by a young painter. " What is most surprising," they 
 added, "he has learned everything by himself." This could 
 be seen particularly in the hands, which were not correctly 
 and artistically drawn. " We see," said Goethe, "that the 
 young man has talent ; however, you should not praise, but 
 rather blame him, for learning everything by himself. A 
 man of talent is not born to be left to himself, but to devote 
 himself to art and good masters, who will make something 
 out of him. I have lately read a letter from Mozart, 
 where, in reply to a Baron who had s<mt him his composi- 
 tion, he writes somewhat in this fashion — 
 
 " ' You dillettanti must be blamed for two faults, since 
 two you generally have ; either you have no thoughts of 
 your own, and take those of others, or, if you have 
 thoughts of your own, you do not know what to do with 
 them.' 
 
 "Is not this capital? and does not this fine remark, 
 which Mozart makes about music, apply to all other arts ? " 
 
 Goethe continued: "Leonardo da Vinci says, 'If your 
 son has not sense enough to bring out what he draws by a 
 bold shadowing, so that we can grasp it with our hands, 
 he has no talent.' 
 
 " Further, Leonardo da Vinci says, ' If your son is 
 a perfect master of perspective and anatomy, send him to a 
 good master.' 
 
 "And now," said Goethe, "our young artists scarcely 
 understand either when they leave their masters. So much 
 have times altered." 
 
 " Our young painters," continued Goethe, " lack heart 
 and intellect. Their inventions express nothing and effect 
 nothing : they paint swords which do not cut, and arrows 
 which 6lo not hit ; and I often think, in spite of myself, 
 that all intellect has vanished from the world." 
 
 " And yet," I replied, " we should naturally think that 
 
1826.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 17. < 
 
 the great military events of latter years would have stirred 
 the intellect." 
 
 " They have stirred the will more than the intellect," said 
 Goethe, " and the poetical intellect more than the artis- 
 tical, while all naivete and sensuousness are lost. Without 
 these two great requisites how can a painter produce any- 
 thing in which we can take any pleasure ? " 
 
 I said that J had lately, in his " Italian Travels," read of 
 a picture by Correggio, which represents a "weaning," and 
 in which the Infant Christ in Mary's lap stands in doubt 
 between his mother's breast and a pear held before him, 
 and does not know which of the two to choose. 
 
 "Aye," said Goethe, "there is a little picture for you! 
 There are mind, naivete, sensuousness, all together. The 
 sacred subject is endowed with an universally human in- 
 terest, and stands as a symbol for a period of life we must 
 all pass through. Such a picture is immortal, because it 
 grasps backwards at the earliest times of humanity, and 
 forwards at the latest. On the contrary, if Christ were 
 painted suffering the little children to come unto him, 
 it would be a picture that expressed nothing — at any 
 rate, nothing of importance. 
 
 "For above fifty years," continued Goethe, "I have 
 watched German painting — nay, not merely watched it, but 
 endeavoured to exert some influence on it, and now I can 
 say so much, that as the matter now stands, little is to be 
 expected. Some great talent must come, which will at 
 once appropriate to itself all that is good in the period, and 
 thus surpass every one. The means are at hand, and the 
 way is pointed out. We have now the works of Phidias 
 before our eyes, whereas in our youth nothing of the sort 
 was to be thought of. As I have just said, nothing is 
 wanting but a great talent, and this I hope will come ; 
 perhaps it is already in its cradle, and you will live to see 
 its brilliancy." 
 
 Wed., Dec. 20. — I told Goethe after dinner, that I had 
 made a discovery which afforded me much pleasure. I had 
 observed in a burning taper that the lower transparent 
 part of the flame exhibits a phenomenon analogous to that 
 of the blue sky, since in both we see darkness through a 
 lighted but dense medium. 
 
 n2 
 
180 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [l8z6. 
 
 I asked Goethe whether he knew this phenomenon of 
 the taper, and had mentioned it in his " Theory of 
 Colours." 
 
 " Certainly," said he. He then took down a volume of 
 "the Theory of Colours," and read me the paragraphs in 
 which I found described all that I had seen. " I am glad," 
 said he, " that you have been struck with this phe- 
 nomenon, without learning it from my ' Theory,' for you 
 have now comprehended it, and may say that you 
 possess it. Moreover, you have thus gained a point of 
 view from which you can proceed to the other phenomena. 
 I will show you a new one now." 
 
 It was about four o'clock : the sky was clouded over, 
 and twilight was beginning. Goethe lighted a candle, and 
 went with it to a table near the window. He then set it 
 on a white sheet of paper, and placed a small stick so that 
 the ligdit of the candle threw a shadow from the stick to- 
 
 O 
 
 wards the daylight. " Now," said Goethe, " what do you 
 say of this shadow ? " " The shadow is blue," replied I. 
 " There you' get your blue again," said Goethe. " But what 
 do you see on the other side of the stick towards the taper ? " 
 " Another shadow." " But of what colour ? " " The sha- 
 dow is a reddish yellow," I replied ; " but whence pro- 
 ceeds this double phenomenon ? " "There is a point for 
 you," said Goethe : " see if you can work it out. A 
 solution is to be found, but it is difficult. Do not look at 
 my ' Theory of Colours ' until you have given up all hopes 
 of finding it out yourself." I made this promise with great 
 delight. 
 
 " The phenomenon of the lower part of the taper," said 
 Goethe, "where a transparent flame stands before dark- 
 ness and produces a blue colour, I will now show you on a 
 larger scale." He took a spoon and poured into it some 
 spirit, which he set on fire. Thus a transparent flame was 
 again produced, through which the darkness appeared blue. 
 If I held the burning spirit against the darkness, the blue 
 increased in intensity ; but if I held it against the light, 
 the blue became fainter or vanished altogether. 
 
 I was delighted with this phenomenon. " Yes," said 
 Goethe, "this is the grandeur of nature, that she is so 
 simple, and that she always repeats her greatest 
 
1826.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 181 
 
 phenomena on a small scale. The law by which the sky- 
 is blue may likewise be observed in the lower part of a 
 burning taper, in burning spirits, and also in the bright 
 smoke which rises from a village with dark mountains in 
 the background." 
 
 " But how do the disciples of Newton explain this 
 extremely simple phenomenon ? " " That you must not 
 know," answered Goethe. " Their explanation is too 
 stupid, and a good head-piece is incredibly damaged when 
 it meddles with stupidities. Do not trouble yourself about 
 the Newtonians, but be satisfied with the pure doctrine, 
 and you will find it quite enough for you." 
 
 " An occupation with that which is wrong," said I, " is 
 perhaps in this case as unpleasant and as injurious as 
 taking up a bad tragedy to illustrate it in all its purts, and 
 to expose it in its nudity." 
 
 "The case is precisely the same," said Goethe, "and we 
 should not meddle w r ith anything of the sort without actual 
 necessitv. 1 receive mathematics as the most sublime and 
 useful science, so long as they are applied in their proper 
 place ; but I cannot commend the misuse of them in mat- 
 ters which do not belong to their sphere, and in which, 
 noble science as they are, they seem to be mere nonsense. 
 As if, forsooth ! things only exist when they can be mathe-^ 
 raatically demonstrated. It would be foolish for a man not 
 to believe in his mistress's love because she could not prove 
 it to him mathematically. She can mathematically prove ^ 
 her dowry, but not her love. The mathematicians did not 
 find out the metamorphosis of plants. I have achieved this 
 discovery without mathematics, and the mathematicians 
 were forced to put up with it. To understand the 
 phenomena of colour nothing is required but unbiassed 
 observation and a sound head, but these are scarcer than 
 folks imagine." 
 
 " How do the French and English of the present day 
 stand with respect to the theory of colour?" asked I. 
 "Each of the two nations," replied Goethe, "lias its ad- 
 vantages and disadvantages. With the English, it is a 
 good quality, that they make everything practical, but they 
 are pedants. The French have good brains, but with them 
 everything must be positive, and if it is not so they make 
 
182 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [182b. 
 
 it so. However, with respect to the theory of colours, 
 they are in a good way, and one of their best men comes 
 near the truth. He says that colours are inherent in 
 the things themselves; for as there is in nature an 
 acidulating principle, so also is there a colouring principle. 
 This view, I admit, does not explain the phenomena, but 
 it places the object within the sphere of nature, and 
 frees it from the load of mathematics." 
 
 The Berlin papers were brought in, and Goethe sat 
 down to read them. He handed one of them to me, 
 and I found in the theatrical intelligence, that at the 
 opera house and the theatre royal they gave just as bad 
 pieces as they gave here. " How should it be otherwise ? " 
 said Goethe. " There is no doubt that with the help of 
 good English, French, and Spanish pieces, a repertoire 
 ^an be formed sufficiently abundant to furnish a good 
 piece every evening. But what need is felt by the 
 nation always to see good pieces ? The time in which 
 iEschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides lived was different. 
 Then there was mind enough to desire only what was; 
 really greatest and best. But in our miserable times, 
 where is felt a need for the best ? where are the organs 
 to appreciate it ? 
 
 " And then," continued Goethe, " people will have 
 something new. In Berlin or Paris, the public is always 
 the same. A quantity of new pieces are written and 
 brought out in Paris, and you must endure five or six 
 thoroughly bad ones before you are compensated by a 
 single good one. The only expedient to keep up a Ger- 
 man theatre at the present time is that of ' starring ' 
 (Gastrollen). If I had the direction of a theatre now, 
 the whole winter should be provided with excellent 'stars.' 
 Thus, not only would all the good pieces be represented 
 once more, but the interest of the audience would be led 
 more from the pieces to the acting ; a power of comparing 
 and judging would be acquired ; the public would gain in 
 penetration, and the superior acting of a distinguished star 
 would maintain our own actors in a state of excitement 
 and emulation. As I said before, keep on with your star- 
 ring, and you will be astonished at the benefit that will 
 accrue both to the theatre and the public. I foresee a time 
 
1826.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 183 
 
 when a clever man, who understands the matter, will take 
 fonr theatres at once, and provide them with stars by turns. 
 And I am sure he will keep his ground better than if he 
 only had one." 
 
 Wed., Dec. 27. — I had been sedulously reflecting at home, 
 on the phenomenon of the blue and yellow shadows, and 
 although this long remained a riddle to me, a light gleamed 
 upon me after constant meditation, and I was gradually 
 convinced that I understood the phenomenon. 
 
 To-day at dinner, I told Goethe that I had solved the 
 riddle. "That is saying a great deal," said Goethe, 
 "you shall show me after dinner." "I would rather 
 write my solution down," returned I, "for I want the 
 right words for a verbal explanation." " You may write 
 it down afterwards, but to-day you shall solve the 
 problem before my eyes, and demonstrate it with your 
 own mouth, that I may see whether you are in the 
 right way." 
 
 After dinner, when it was still quite light, Goethe said 
 to me, "Can you make the experiment now?" "No," 
 said I. "Why not?" asked Goethe. "It is too light," 
 I replied. " We must have a little dusk, in order that the 
 candle may throw a decided shade, but not so much that 
 daylight cannot fall upon this shadow." " Humph ! " said 
 Goethe, " that is not wrong." 
 
 The dusk of the evening at last set in, and I told Goethe 
 that this was the time. He lighted the wax taper, and 
 gave me a sheet of white paper and a stick. "Now, go on 
 with your experiment and demonstration," said he. 
 
 I placed the taper on the table near the window, laid the 
 sheet of paper near it, and when I placed the stick in 
 the middle of the paper, between daylight and candle-light, 
 the phenomenon was there in all its beauty. The shadow 
 towards the candle was a decided yellow, and the one to- 
 wards the window a perfect blue. 
 
 "Now," said Goethe, "how is the blue shadow pro- 
 duced?" "Before I explain this," said I, "I will lay 
 down the fundamental law, from which I deduce both 
 phenomena. Light and darkness are not colours, but they 
 are the two extremes between which, and by the modifi- 
 cation of which, all colours are produced. Next to the 
 
184 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1826. 
 
 extremes of light and darkness, arise the two colonrs 
 yellow and blue. The yellow borders on light, inasmuch 
 as it is produced by seeing light through a dimmed 
 transparency ; the blue borders on darkness, inasmuch as 
 it is produced by seeing darkness through an illuminated 
 transparency. If we now come to our phenomena," I con- 
 tinued, " we see that the stick, through the strength of the 
 taper light, casts a decided shadow. This shadow would 
 appear as so much black darkness if I closed the shutters 
 and shut out the light of day ; but here the daylight enters 
 freely by the window, and forms an illuminated medium, 
 through which I see the darkness of the shadow ; and thus, 
 in conformity with our law, the blue colour is produced." 
 
 Goethe laughed. " Well, that would be the blue, would 
 it ? " said he ; " but how do you explain the yellow 
 shadow?" "From the law of the dimmed light," I re- 
 plied. "The burning taper throws upon the white paper a 
 light which has already a slightly yellowish tinge. The 
 daylight, however, is strong enough to throw a weak 
 shadow, which, as far as it extends, dims the light ; and 
 thus, in conformity with our law, the yellow colour is 
 produced. If I lessen the dimness by bringing the shadow 
 as nearly as possible to the candle, a pure clear yellow is 
 produced ; but if I increase the dimness by removing the 
 shadow as far as possible from the candle, the yellow is 
 heightened to a reddish yellow, or even to a red." 
 
 Goethe again laughed, and looked very mysterious. 
 " Now," said he, "am I right ? You have observed your 
 phenomenon well, and have described it very prettily," 
 replied Goethe, "but you have not explained it. Your 
 explanation is ingenious, but it is not the right one." 
 
 " Help me, then," said I, " and solve the riddle, for I 
 am extremely impatient." " You shall learn the solution," 
 replied Goethe, " but not to-day and not in this manner. 
 I will next show you another phenomenon, which will 
 bring the law plainly before your eyes. You are near 
 the mark, and cannot proceed further in this direction, 
 When you have once comprehended the new law, you 
 will be transplanted into quite another region. Come some 
 day and dine with me an hour earlier, when the sky 
 is clear, and I will show you a plainer phenomenon, by 
 
1826.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 185 
 
 which you will at onco comprehend the law which lies at 
 the foundation of this one. I am very glad," he continued, 
 " that you take this interest in colours ; it will prove a 
 source of infinite delight." 
 
 When I left Goethe in the evening, I could not get the 
 thought of the phenomenon out of my head, and it oc- 
 cupied my very dreams ; but even thus I did not gain a 
 clearer view, and did not advance one step nearer towards 
 the solution of the enigma. 
 
 " I am going on, though slowly, with my papers on. 
 Natural Science," said Goethe to me lately ; " not because I 
 think that I can materially advance science, but on account 
 of the many pleasant associations I maintain by it. Of all 
 occupations, that with nature is the most innocent. As for 
 any connection or correspondence in sesthetical matters, 
 that is not to be thought of. They now want to know 
 what town on the Rhine is meant in my ' Hermann and 
 Dorothea,' as if it were not better to choose according to 
 one's fancy. They want truth — they want actuality ; and 
 thus poetry is destroyed." 
 
 1827. 
 
 Wed., Jan. 3. — At dinner, we talked over Canning's ex- 
 cellent speech for Portugal. "Some people," said Goethe, 
 " call this speech coarse ; but these people know not what 
 they want — they have a morbid desire to hefrondeurs against 
 all greatness. It is no opposition, it is mere ' frondation ' ; 
 they must have something great, that they may hate it. 
 When Napoleon was alive they hated him, and he served as 
 a good conduit-pipe. When it was all over with him, they 
 grumbled (frondirten) at the Holy Alliance, and yet nothing 
 greater or more beneficial for mankind was ever devised. 
 Now it is Canning's turn. His speech for Portugal is the 
 result of a grand consciousness. He feels very well the 
 extent of his power and the dignity of his position ; and he 
 is right to speak as he feels. This the Sans-culottes can- 
 not understand; and what to us seems sublime, seems to 
 
ISO CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [ I 827- 
 
 thein coarse. The grand disturbs them ; they are not so 
 constituted as to respect it, and cannot endure it." 
 
 Thurs. evening, Jan. 4<. — Goethe praised highly the poems 
 of Victor Hus:o. 
 
 "He is," said he, "a man of decided talent, on whom 
 German literature has had an influence. His poetic youth 
 has, unfortunately, been disturbed by the pedantry of the 
 classic school ; but now he has the ' Globe ' on his side, and 
 is thus sure of his game. I am inclined to compare him 
 with Manzoni. He has much objectivity, and seems to me 
 quite as important as MM. De Lamartine and De la Yigne. 
 On closely observing him, I see the source of this and other 
 fresh talent of the same sort. They all come from Chateau- 
 briand, who has really a distinguished rhetorico-poetical 
 talent. That you may see how Victor Hugo writes, only 
 read this poem upon Napoleon — Les Deux Isles." 
 
 Goethe gave me the book, and went to the stove. I read 
 the poem. " Has he not excellent images," said Goethe, 
 " and has not he managed his subject with great freedom ? " 
 He came back to me. " Only look at this passage — how 
 fine it is ! " He read the passage about the storm-cloud, 
 from which the lightning darts upward and strikes the 
 hero. " That is fine ; for the image is correct : as you will 
 find in the mountains, where we often have the storm 
 beneath us, and where the lightning darts upwards." 
 
 "I praise this in the French," said I, "that their poetry 
 never deserts the firm ground of reality. We can translate 
 their poems into prose, without losing anything essential." 
 
 "That," said Goethe, "is because the French poets have 
 knowledge, while our German simpletons think they would 
 lose their talent, if they laboured for knowledge ; although, 
 in fact, all talent must derive its nutriment from knowledge, 
 and thus only is enabled to use its strength. But let them 
 pass ; we cannot help them, and real talent soon finds its 
 way. The many young poets Who are now carrying on 
 their trade have no real talent ; they only show an impotence 
 which has been excited into productiveness by the high 
 state of German literature. 
 
 " That the French," continued Goethe, " have passed from 
 their pedantry into a freer manner is not surprising. Even 
 before the revolution, Diderot, and minds like his, sought 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 187 
 
 to break open this path. The revolution itself, and the 
 reign of Napoleon, have been favourable to the cause ; for 
 if the years of war allowed no real poetical interest to 
 spring up, and were consequently for the moment un- 
 favourable to the Muses, yet a multitude of free intellects 
 were formed in this period, who now, in times of peace, 
 attain reflection, and come forward as talents of importance." 
 
 I asked Goethe whether the classical party had been op- 
 posed to the excellent Beranger. " The genre of Beranger's 
 poetry," said Goethe, "is old and traditional, and people 
 were accustomed to it. However, he has been in many 
 respects more free than his predecessors, and has therefore 
 been attacked by the pedantic party." 
 
 The conversation turned upon painting, and on the mis- 
 chief of the antiquity- worshipping school. "You do not 
 pretend to be a connoisseur," said Goethe ; "but I will show 
 jou a picture, in which, though it has been painted by one 
 of the best living German artists, you will at the first 
 glance be struck by the most glaring offences against the 
 primary laws of art. You will see that details are nicely 
 done, but you will be dissatisfied with the whole, and will 
 not know what to make of it ; and this not because the 
 painter has not sufficient talent, but because his mind, which 
 should have directed his talent, is darkened, like that of all 
 the other bigots to antiquity ; so that he ignores the perfect 
 masters, and, going back to their imperfect predecessors, 
 takes them for his patterns. 
 
 "Raphael and his contemporaries broke through a limited 
 mannerism, to nature and freedom. And now our artists, 
 instead of being thankful, using these advantages, and pro- 
 ceeding on the good way, return to the state of limitation. 
 
 " This is too bad, and it is hard to understand such 
 darkening of the intellect. And since in this course they 
 find no support in art itself, they seek one from religion 
 and faction — without these two they could not sustain 
 themselves in their weakness. 
 
 " There is," continued Goethe, " through all art a filiation. 
 If you see a great master, you will always find that he used 
 what was good in his predecessors, and that it was this 
 which made him great. Men like Raphael do not spring 
 out of the ground. They took root in the antique, and 
 
188 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827, 
 
 the best which had been clone before them. Had they not 
 used the advantages of their time, there would be little to 
 say about them." 
 
 The conversation now turned upon old German poetry. 
 T mentioned Elemming. " Flemming," said Goethe, " is a 
 very fair talent, a little prosaic and citizen-like, and of no 
 practical use nowadays. It is strange," he continued, 
 "that with all I have done, there is not one of my poems 
 that would suit the Lutheran hymn-book." I laughed and 
 assented, while I said to myself that in this odd expression 
 there was more than could be seen at the first glance. 
 
 Sun. evening, Jan. 12. — I found a musical party at Goethe's. 
 The performers were the Eberwein family, and some mem- 
 bers of the orchestra. Among the few hearers w ere General 
 Superintendent Rohr, Hofrath Vogel, and some ladies. 
 Goethe had wished to hear a quartet by a celebrated young 
 composer, and this was played first. Karl Eberwein, a boy 
 twelve years old, played the piano entirely to Goethe's great 
 satisfaction, and indeed admirably, so that the quartet was 
 in every respect well performed. 
 
 " It is a strange state," said Goethe, " to which the great 
 improvements in the technical and mechanical part of the 
 art have brought our newest composers. Their productions 
 are no longer music ; they go beyond the level of human 
 feelings, and one can give them no response from the mind 
 and heart. How do you feel ? I hear with my ears only." 
 
 I replied that I fared no better. 
 
 " Yet the Allegro," said he, " had character; that ceaseless 
 whirling and twirling brought before my mind the witches' 
 dance on the Blocksberg, and thus I had a picture to illus- 
 trate this odd music." 
 
 After a pause, during which the party discoursed and 
 took refreshments, Goethe asked Madame Eberwein to 
 sing some songs. She sang the beautiful song, " Um 
 Mitternacht," with Zelter's music, which made the deepest 
 impression. 
 
 "That song," said Goethe, "remains beautiful, however 
 often it is heard ! There is something eternal, indestruc- 
 tible, in the melody ! " 
 
 The " Erlkonig " obtained great applause ; and the aria, 
 "Ich hab's gesagt der guten Mutter," made every one re- 
 
1827.] CONVEESATIONS OP GOETHE. 180 
 
 xnark that the music so happily fitted the words, that no 
 one conl d even conceive it otherwise. Goethe himself was 
 in the highest degree pleased. 
 
 By way of conclusion to this pleasant evening, Madame 
 Eberwein, at Goethe's request, sang some songs from his 
 " Divan," with her husband's music. The passage, " Jussuf 's 
 Reize mocht' ich borgen," pleased Goethe especially. 
 "Eberwein," he said, "sometimes surpasses himself." He 
 then asked for the song, "Ach um deine feuchten 
 vSchwingen," which was also of a kind to excite the deepest 
 emotions. 
 
 After the party had left, I remained some moments alone 
 Avith Goethe. "I have," said he, "this evening made the 
 remark that these songs in the ' Divan ' have no further 
 connection with me. Both the oriental and impassioned 
 elements have ceased to live in me. I have left them be- 
 hind, like a cast-off snake-skin on my path. The song, 
 ' Um Mitternacht,' on the contrary, has not lost its connec- 
 tion with me ; it is a living part of me, and goes on living 
 with me still. 
 
 " Oftentimes, my own productions seem wholly strange 
 to me. To-day, I read a passage in French, and thought 
 as I read — ' This man speaks cleverly enough — you would 
 not have said it otherwise : ' when I look at it closely, I find 
 it is a passage translated from my own writings ! " 
 
 Mon. evening, Jan. 15. — After the completion of the 
 " Helena," Goethe had employed himself last summer with 
 the continuation of the " Wanderjahre." He often talked 
 to me about the progress of this work. 
 
 " In order the better to use the materials I possess," said 
 he to me one day, " I have taken the first part entirely to 
 pieces, and intend, by mingling the old with the new, to 
 make two parts. I have ordered everything that is printed 
 to be copied entire. The places where I have new matter 
 to introduce are marked, and when my secretary comes to 
 such a mark, I dictate what is wanting, and thus compel 
 myself never to let my work stop." 
 
 Another day he said to me, " All the printed part of the 
 ' Wanderjahre ' is now completely copied. The places where 
 I am to introduce new matter are filled with blue paper, so 
 that I have always before my eyes what is yet to be done. 
 
190 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. L 1 ^ 2 !- 
 
 As I go on at present, the blue spots gradually vanish, to 
 my great delight." 
 
 Some weeks ago, I had heard from his secretary that he 
 was at work on a new novel. I therefore abstained from 
 evening visits, and satisfied myself with seeing him once a 
 week at dinner. The novel had now been finished for some 
 time, and this evening he showed me the first sheets. I 
 was delighted, and read as far as the important passage 
 where all stand round the dead tiger, and the messenger 
 brings the intelligence that the lion has laid himself in the 
 sun by the ruins. 
 
 While reading, I could not but admire the extraordinary 
 clearness with which all objects, down to the very smallest 
 locality, were brought before the eyes. The going out to 
 hunt, the old ruins of the castle, the fair, the way through 
 the fields to the ruins, were all so distinctly painted, that 
 one could not conceive them otherwise than as the poet 
 intended. At the same time, all was written with such 
 circumspection and mastery of subject, that one could 
 never anticipate w r hat was coming, or see a line further 
 than one read. 
 
 "Your excellency," said I, "must have worked after a 
 very defined plan." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," replied Goethe ; " I was going to treat the 
 subject thirty years ago, and have carried it in my head 
 ever since. The work went on oddly enough. At that 
 time, immediately after ' Hermann and Dorothea,' I meant 
 to treat it in an epic form and in hexameters, and had 
 drawn up a complete outline with this view. But when I 
 now took up the subject again, not being able to find my 
 old outline, I was obliged to make a new one, and that 
 suitable to the altered form I intended to give the subject. 
 iS T ow my work is ended, the old outline is again found, and 
 I am glad I did not have it earlier ; for it would only have 
 confused me. The action and the progress of development 
 were, indeed, unaltered, but the details were entirely 
 different; it had been conceived with a view to an epic 
 treatment in hexameters, and would not therefore have been 
 applicable to this prose form." 
 
 The conversation then turned upon the contents. 
 
 " That is a beautiful situation," said I, "where Honorio, 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 191 
 
 opposite to the princess, stands over the dead tiger, when 
 the lamenting woman with her boy comes np, and the 
 prince, too, with his retinue of huntsmen, hastens to join 
 this singular group ; it would make an excellent picture, 
 and I should like to see it painted." 
 
 " Yes," said Goethe, " that would be a fine picture. 
 Yet, perhaps," continued he, after some reflection, " the 
 subject is almost too rich, and the figures are too many, so 
 that it would be very difficult for the artist to group them, 
 and distribute the light and shade. That earlier moment, 
 where Honorio kneels on the tiger, and the princess is 
 opposite to him on horseback, I have imagined as a picture, 
 and that might be done." 
 
 I felt that Goethe was right, and added that this 
 moment contained in fact the gist of the whole situation. 
 
 I also remarked that this novel had a character quite dis- 
 tinct from those of the " Wander jahre," inasmuch as every- 
 thing represented the external world — everything was real. 
 
 " True," said Goethe, "you will find in it scarcely any- 
 thing of the inward world, and in my other things there is 
 almost too much." 
 
 " I am now curious to learn," said I, " how the lion will 
 be conquered ; I almost guess that this will take place in 
 quite a different manner, but how I cannot conceive." " It 
 would not be right for you to guess it," said Goethe, "and 
 I will not reveal the secret to-day. On Thursday evening 
 I will give you the conclusion. Till then, the lion shall lie 
 in the sun." 
 
 I turned the conversation to the second part of " Faust," 
 especially the classical Walpurgis night, which existed as 
 yet only as a sketch, and which Goethe had told me he 
 meant to print in that form. I had ventured to advise him 
 not to do so ; for I found that if it were once printed, it would 
 be always left in this unfinished state. Goethe must have 
 thought that over in the mean time, for he now told me that 
 he had resolved not to print the sketch. 
 
 " I am very glad of it," said I ; " for now I shall hope to 
 see you complete it." 
 
 "It might be done in three months," said he ; "but when 
 am I to get time for it ? The day has too many claims on 
 me ; it is difficult to isolate myself sufficiently. This 
 
192 CONVERSATONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 morning, the hereditary Grand Duke was with me ; to- 
 morrow at noon, the Grand Duchess proposes visiting 
 me. I must prize such visits as a high favour; they 
 embellish my life, but they occupy my mind. I am 
 obliged to think what I have new to offer to such 
 dignified personages, and how I can worthily entertain 
 them." 
 
 "And yet," said I, "you finished ' Helena ' last winter, 
 when you were no less disturbed than now." 
 
 "Why," he replied, " one goes on, and must go on ; but 
 it is difficult." 
 
 " 'Tis well," said I, " that your outline is so completely 
 made out." 
 
 " The outline is indeed complete," said Goethe, " but the 
 most difficult part is yet to be done ; and in the execution 
 of parts, everything depends too much on luck. The 
 classic Walpurgis night must be written in rhyme, and yet 
 the whole must have an antique character. It is not easy 
 to find a suitable sort of verse ; — and then the dialogue ! " 
 
 " Is not that also in the plan ? " said I. 
 
 " The what is there," replied Goethe, " but not the liow. 
 Then only think what is to be said on that mad night ! 
 Faust's speech to Proserpine, when he would move her to 
 give him Helena — what a speech should that be, when 
 Proserpine herself is moved to tears ! All this is not easy 
 to do, and depends much on good luck, nay, almost entirely 
 on the mood and strength at the moment." 
 
 Wed., Jan. 17. — Lately, during Goethe's occasional in- 
 disposition, we had dined in his work-room, which looks 
 out on the garden. To-day, the cloth was again laid 
 in what is called the Urbino- chamber, which I looked 
 upon as a good omen. When I entered, I found Goethe 
 and his son : both welcomed me in their naive, affectionate 
 manner; Goethe himself was in his happiest mood, as I 
 could perceive by the animation of his face. 
 
 Through the open door of the next room, I saw 
 Chancellor von Midler stooping over a large engraving ; he 
 soon came in to us, and I was glad to greet him as a 
 pleasant companion at table. Frau von Goethe was still 
 absent, but we sat down to table without her. The engrav- 
 ing was talked about with admiration, and Goethe said 
 
1 82 7. J CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 103 
 
 that it was a work of the celebrated Parisian Gerard, who 
 had lately sent it to him as a present. " Go you at once," 
 added he, "and take a peep before the soup comes in." 
 
 I followed his wish and my own inclination, and was 
 delighted both with the sight of the admirable work and 
 with the inscription of the artist, by which he dedicates it 
 to Goethe as a proof of his esteem. I could not look long ; 
 Frau von Goethe came in, and I hastened back to my 
 place. 
 
 " Is not that something great ? " said Goethe. " You 
 may study it days and weeks before you can find out all its 
 rich thoughts and perfections." 
 
 "We were very lively at table. The Chancellor produced 
 a letter by an important man at Paris, who had held a 
 difficult post as ambassador here in the time of the French 
 occupation, and had from that period kept up a friendly 
 communication with Weimar. He mentioned the Grand 
 Duke and Goethe, and congratulated Weimar for being- 
 able to maintain so intimate an alliance between genius and 
 the highest power. 
 
 Frau von Goethe gave a highly graceful tone to the 
 conversation. The discourse was upon certain pur- 
 chases ; and she teazed young Goethe, who would not 
 give in. 
 
 " We must not spoil fair ladies too much," said Goethe ; 
 "they are so ready to break all bounds. Even at Elba, 
 Napoleon received milliners' bills, which he had to pay ; 
 yet, in such matters, he would as easily do too little as too 
 much. One day, at the Tuileries, a marcliancl de modes 
 offered, in his presence, some valuable goods to his consort. 
 As Napoleon showed no disposition to buy anything, the 
 man gave him to understand that he was doing but little in 
 this way for his wife. Napoleon did not answer a word, 
 but looked upon the man with such a look, that he 
 packed up his things at once, and never showed his face 
 again." 
 
 " Did he do this when consul ? " asked Frau von Goethe. 
 
 " Probably when emperor," replied Goethe, " for other- 
 wise his look would not have been so formidable. I 
 cannot but laugh at the man, who was pierced through by 
 the glance, and who saw himself already beheaded or shot-" 
 
 
 
194 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827* 
 
 We were in the liveliest mood, and continued to talk of 
 Napoleon. 
 
 " I wish," said young Goethe, " that I had good pictures 
 or engravings of all Napoleon's deeds, to decorate a large 
 room." 
 
 " The room must be very large," said Goethe, " and 
 even then it would not hold the pictures, so great are the 
 deeds." 
 
 The Chancellor turned the conversation on Luden's 
 "History of the Germans;" and I had reason to admire 
 the dexterity and penetration which young Goethe dis- 
 played in deducing all which the reviewers had found to 
 blame in the book from the time in which it was written, 
 and the national views and feelings which had animated 
 the author. We arrived at the result that the wars of 
 Napoleon first explained to us those of Ca3sar. " Pre- 
 viously," said Goethe, " Caesar's book was really not much 
 more;, than an exercise for classical schools." 
 
 From the old German time, the conversation turned upon 
 the Gothic. We spoke of a bookcase which had a Gothic 
 character, and from this were led to discuss the late 
 fashion of arranging entire apartments in the old German 
 and Gothic style, and thus living under the influences of &• 
 bygone time. 
 
 " In a house," said Goethe, " where there are so many 
 rooms that some are entered only three or four times a year, 
 such a fancy may pass ; and I think it a pretty notion of 
 Madame Pankoucke at Paris that she has a Chinese apart- 
 ment. But I cannot praise the man who fits out the rooms 
 in which he lives with these strange, old-fashioned objects. 
 It is a sort of masquerade, which can, in the long run, do 
 no good in any respect, but must, on the contrary, have an 
 unfavourable influence on the man who adopts it. Such a 
 fashion is in contradiction to the age in which we live, and 
 will only confirm the empty and hollow way of thinking 
 and feeling in which it originates. It is well enough, on a 
 merry winter's evening, to go to a masquerade as a Turk ; 
 but what should we think of a man who wore such a mask 
 all the year round ? We should think either that he was 
 crazy, or in a fair way to become so before long." 
 
 We found Goethe's remarks on this highly practical 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 195 
 
 subject very convincing, and as the reproof did not even 
 lightly touch any of us, we received the truth with the 
 pleasantest feelings. 
 
 The conversation now turned upon the theatre, and Goethe 
 rallied me for having, last Monday evening, sacrificed 
 it to him. " He has now been here three years," said he, 
 turning to the others, " and this is the frst evening that he 
 has given up the theatre for niy sake. I ought to think a 
 great deal of it. I had invited him, and he had promised 
 to come, but yet I doubted whether he would keep his 
 word, especially as it struck half -past six and he was not 
 here. Indeed, I should have rejoiced if he had not come ; 
 for then I could have said : this is a crazy fellow, who loves 
 the theatre better than his dearest friends, and whom 
 nothing can turn aside from his obstinate partiality. But 
 did I not make it up to you ? have I not shown you fine 
 things ? " By these words Goethe alluded to the new 
 novel. 
 
 We talked of Schiller's " Fiesco," which was acted last 
 Saturday. " I saw it for the first time," said I, " and have 
 been much occupied with thinking whether those extremely 
 rough scenes could not be softened ; but I find very little 
 could be done to them without spoiling the character of the 
 whole." 
 
 "You are right — it cannot be done," replied Goethe. 
 " Schiller often talked with me on the matter ; for he him- 
 self could not endure his first plays, and would never allow 
 them to be acted while he had the direction of the theatre. 
 At last we were in want of pieces, and would willingly have 
 gained those three powerful firstlings for our repertoire. 
 But we found it impossible ; all the parts were too closely 
 interwoven one with another ; so that Schiller himself 
 despaired of accomplishing the plan, and found himself con- 
 strained to give it up, and leave the pieces just as they 
 were." 
 
 ""Pis a pity," said I; "for, notwithstanding all theii' 
 roughness, I love them a thousand times better than th i 
 weak, forced, and unnatural pieces of some of the best oi 
 our later tragic poets. A grand intellect and character is 
 felt in everything of Schiller's." 
 
 "Yes," said Goethe, "Schiller might do what he would, 
 
 o2 
 
19G CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 he conld not make anything which would not come out far 
 greater than the best things of these later people. Even 
 when he cut his nails, he showed he was greater than these 
 gentlemen." We laughed at this striking metaphor. 
 
 " But I have known persons," continued he, " who could 
 never be content with those first dramas of Schiller. One 
 summer, at a bathing place, I was walking through a very- 
 secluded, narrow path, which led to a mill. There Prince 
 
 met me, and as at the same moment some mules 
 
 laden with meal- sacks came up to us, we were obliged to 
 get out of the way and enter a small house. Here, in a 
 narrow room, we fell, after the fashion of that prince, into 
 deep discussion about things divine and human ; we also 
 came to Schiller's 'Robbers,' when the prince expressed 
 himself thus : * If I had been the Deity on the point of 
 creating the world, and had foreseen, at the moment, that 
 Schiller's ' Robbers ' would have been written in it, I would 
 have left the world uncreated.' " We could not help 
 laughing. " What do you say to that ? " said Goethe ; 
 " that is a dislike which goes pretty far, and which one can 
 'scarcely understand." 
 
 "There is nothing of this dislike," I observed, "in our 
 young people, especially our students. The most excellent 
 and matured pieces by Schiller and others may be per- 
 formed, and we shall see but few young people and students 
 in the theatre ; but if Schiller's ' Robbers ' or Schiller's 
 ' Fiesco ' is given, the house is almost filled by students 
 alone." 
 
 " So it was," said Goethe, " fifty years ago, and so it will 
 probably be fifty years hence. Do not let us imagine that 
 the world will so much advance in culture and good taste 
 that young people will pass over the ruder epoch. What a 
 young man has written is always best enjoyed by young 
 people. Even if the world progresses generally, youth will 
 always begin at the beginning, and the epochs of the world's 
 cultivation will be repeated in the individual. This has 
 ceased to irritate me, and a long time ago I made a verse in 
 this fashion : 
 
 Still let the bonfire blaze away, 
 
 Let pleasure never know decay ; 
 
 Old brooms to stumps are always worn, 
 
 And youngsters every day are born. 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. ±07 
 
 "I need only look out of the window to see, in the 
 brooms that sweep the street, and the children who run 
 about, a visible symbol of the world, that is always wearing 
 out and always becoming young again. Children's games 
 and the diversions of youth are preserved from century to 
 century ; for, absurd as these may appear to a more mature 
 age, children are always children, and are at all times 
 alike. Hence we ought not to put down the midsummer 
 bonfires, or spoil the pleasure which the little dears take in 
 them." 
 
 With this and the like cheerful conversation the hours 
 at table passed swiftly by. We younger people then 
 went into the upper room, while the Chancellor remained 
 with Goethe. 
 
 Thurs. evening, Jan. 18. — Goethe had promised me the 
 rest of the novel this evening. I went to him at half-past 
 six, and found him alone in his comfortable work-room. I 
 sat down with him at table, and after we had talked over 
 the immediate events of the day, Groethe arose and gave mc 
 the wished-for last sheets. " There you may read the con- 
 clusion," said he. I began, while Goethe walked up and 
 down the room, and occasionally stood at the stove. As 
 usual, I read softly to myself. 
 
 The sheets of the last evening had ended where the lion 
 is lying in the sun outside the wall of the old ruin, at the 
 foot of an aged beech, and preparations are made to subdue 
 him. The prince is going to send the hunters after him, 
 but the stranger begs him to spare his lion, being confident 
 that he can bring him back into his cage by milder means. 
 This child, said he, will accomplish his work by pleasant 
 words and the sweet tones of his flute. The prince con- 
 sents, and after he has arranged the necessary measures of 
 precaution, rides back into the town with his men. 
 Honorio, with a number of hunters, occupies the defile, 
 that, in case the lion comes down, he may scare him back by 
 kindling a fire. The mother and the child, led by the 
 warder of the castle, ascend the ruin, on the other side of 
 which the lion is lying by the outer wall. 
 
 The design is to lure the mighty animal into the spacious 
 castle-yard. The mother and the warder conceal them- 
 selves above in the half-ruined hall, while the child eroes 
 
198 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 alone after the lion through the dark opening in the wall of 
 the court-yard. An anxious pause arises. They do not 
 know what has become of the child — his flute gives no 
 sound. The warder reproaches himself that he did not go 
 also, but the mother is calm. 
 
 At last the sounds of the flute are again heard. They 
 approach, nearer and nearer. The child returns to the 
 castle-yard by the opening in the wall, and the lion, now 
 docile, follows him with heavy step. They go once round 
 the yard. Then the child sits down in a sunny spot, while 
 the lion settles himself peacefully beside him, and lays one 
 of his heavy paws in his lap. A thorn has entered it ; the 
 child draws it out, and, taking his silken kerchief from his 
 neck, binds the paw. 
 
 The mother and the warder, who have witnessed the 
 whole scene from the hall above, are transported with de- 
 light. The lion is tamed and in safety, and, as the child 
 alternately with the sounds of his flute sings his charming 
 pious songs to soothe the monster, he concludes the whole 
 novel by singing the following verses : — 
 Holy angels thus take heed 
 
 Of the good and docile child, 
 Aiding ev'ry worthy deed, 
 
 Checking ev'ry impulse -wild. 
 Pious thoughts and melody 
 
 Both together work for good, 
 Luring to the infant's knee 
 E'en the tyrant of the wood.* 
 
 * Those who know the difficulty of the original will not be too 
 severe on the above translation. The words as they stand in Cotta's 
 editions of Goethe are as follows : — 
 
 TJnd so geht mit guten Kindern 
 
 Sel'ger Engel gern zu Eath, 
 Boses Willen zu verhindern, 
 Zu befordem schone That. 
 So beschworen fest zu bannen 
 Lieben Sohn ans zarte Knie 
 Ihn des Waldes Hochtyrannen 
 Frommer Sinn und Melodie. 
 Unless the most forced construction be adopted, these lines seem 
 to me quite inexplicable. But in the passage as quoted by Ecker- 
 mann, " liebem " stands in the place of " lieben," and this reading, 
 which I suspect to be the right one, gives a sense to which my ver- 
 sion approximates. — Trans. 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 10P 
 
 I had not read without emotion the concluding incident. 
 Still I did not know what to say. I was astonished but not 
 satisfied. It seemed to me that the conclusion was too 
 simple,* too ideal, too lyrical ; and that at least some of 
 the other figures should have reappeared, and, by winding 
 up the whole, have given more breadth to the termination. 
 Goethe observed that I had a doubt in my mind, and 
 endeavoured to set me right. " If," said he, "I had again 
 brought in some of the other figures at the end, the con- 
 clusion would have been prosaic. "What could they do and 
 say, when everything is done already ? The prince and his 
 men have ridden into the town, where his assistance is 
 needed. Honorio, as soon as he learns that the lion is 
 secured, will follow with his hunters, and the man will soon 
 come from the town with his iron cage and put the Hon into 
 it. All these things are foreseen, and therefore should not 
 be detailed. If they were, we should become prosaic. 
 But an ideal, nay, a lyrical conclusion, was necessary ; for 
 after the pathetic speech of the man, which in itself is 
 poetical prose, a further elevation is required, and 7 ^as 
 obliged to have recourse to lyrical poetry, nay, even to a 
 song. 
 
 " To find a simile to this novel," continued Goethe, 
 " imagine a green plant shooting up from its root, thrusting 
 forth strong green leaves from the sides of its sturdy stem, 
 and at last terminating in a flower. The flower is unex- 
 pected and startling, but come it must — nay, the whole 
 foliage has existed only for the sake of that flower, and 
 would be worthless without it." 
 
 At these words I breathed lightly. The scales seemed 
 to fall from my eyes, and a feeling of the excellence 
 of this marvellous composition began to stir within me. 
 
 Goethe continued, — " The purpose of this novel was to 
 show how the unmanageable and the invincible is often 
 better restrained by love and pious feeling than by force. 
 And this beautiful aim, which is set forth by the child and 
 the lion, charmed me on to the completion of the work. 
 This is the ideal — this is the flower. The green foliage of 
 the extremely real introductory is only there for the sake of 
 
 * In the sense of a group being simple. The German word is 
 "einsam" (solitary). — Trwns. 
 
200 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 this ideal, and only worth anything on acconnt of it. For 
 what is the real in itself ? We take delight in it when it 
 is represented with truth — nay, it may give us a clearer 
 knowledge of certain things, but the proper gain to our 
 higher nature lies alone in the ideal, which proceeds from 
 the heart of the poet." 
 
 I palpably felt how right Goethe was, for the conclusion 
 of his novel still acted upon me, and had produced in me a 
 tone of piety such as I had not known for a long time. 
 How pure and intense, thought I to myself, must be the 
 feelings of the poet, that he can write anything so beautiful 
 at his advanced age. I did not refrain from expressing 
 myself on this point to Goethe, and from congratulating 
 myself that this production, which was unique in itself, 
 had now a visible existence. 
 
 " I am glad," said Goethe, " that you are satisfied with 
 it ; and I am also glad on my own account, that I have got 
 rid of a subject which I carried about with me for thirty 
 years. Schiller and Humboldt, to whom I formerly com- 
 municated my plan, dissuaded me from going on with it, 
 because they could see nothing in it, and because the poet 
 alone knows what charms he is capable of giving to his 
 subject. One should therefore never ask anybody if one 
 means to write anything. If Schiller had asked me about 
 his ' Wallenstein ' before he had written it, I should surely 
 have advised him against it ; for I could never have dreamed 
 that, from such a subject, so excellent a drama could be 
 made. Schiller was opposed to that treatment of my sub- 
 ject in hexameters, to which I was inclined immediately 
 after my ' Hermann and Dorothea/ and advised eight-lined 
 stanzas. Tou see, however, that I have succeeded, but with 
 prose; for much depended on an accurate description of 
 the locality, and in this I should have been constrained by 
 a verse of the sort recommended. Besides, the very real 
 character at the beginning, and the very ideal character at 
 the conclusion of the novel, tell best in prose ; while the 
 little songs have a pretty effect, which could not be pro- 
 duced either by hexameters or by Ottava Rima." 
 
 The single tales and novels of the " Wanderjahre " were 
 talked of ; and it was observed that each was distinguished 
 from the others by peculiar character and tone. " The 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 201 
 
 reason of this," said Goethe, " I will explain. I went to 
 work like a painter, who, with certain subjects, shnns cer- 
 tain colours, and makes others predominate. Thus, for a 
 morning landscape, he puts a great deal of blue on his 
 palette, and but little yellow. But if he is to paint an 
 evening scene, he takes a great deal of yellow, and almost 
 omits the blue. I proceeded in the same way with my 
 different literary productions, and this is the cause of their 
 varied character." 
 
 I thought within myself that this was a very wise 
 maxim, and was please'd that Goethe had uttered it. 
 
 I then, especially with reference to this last novel, 
 admired the detail with which the scenery was de- 
 scribed. 
 
 "I have," said Goethe, "never observed Nature with a 
 view to poetical production ; but, because my early drawing 
 of landscapes, and my later studies in natural science, led 
 me to a constant, close observation of natural objects, I 
 have gradually learned Nature by heart even to the mi- 
 nutest details, so that, when I need anything as a poet, it is 
 at my command ; and I cannot easily sin against truth. 
 Schiller had not this observation of Nature. The localities 
 of Switzerland, which he used in 'William Tell,' were all 
 related to him by me ; but he had such a wonderful mind, 
 that even on hearsay, he could make something that pos- 
 sessed reality." 
 
 The conversation now turned wholly on Schiller, and 
 Goethe proceeded thus : — 
 
 " Schiller's proper productive talent lay in the ideal ; and 
 it may be said he has not his equal in German or any other 
 literature. He has almost everything that Lord Byron 
 has ; but Lord Byron is his superior in knowledge of 
 the world. I wish Schiller had lived to know Lord 
 Byron's works, and wonder what he would have said to 
 so congenial a mind. Did Byron publish anything during 
 Schiller's life ? " 
 
 I could not say with certainty. Goethe took down the 
 " Conversations Lexicon," and read the article on Byron, 
 making many hasty remarks as he proceeded. It appeared 
 that Byron had published nothing before 1807, and that 
 therefore Schiller could have seen nothing of his. 
 

 202 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [^27. 
 
 " Through all Schiller's works," continued Goethe, " goes 
 the idea of freedom ; though this idea assumed a new shape 
 as Schiller advanced in his culture and became another 
 man. In his youth it was physical freedom which occu- 
 pied him, and influenced his poems ; in his later life it was 
 ideal freedom. 
 
 " Freedom is an odd thing, and every man has enough 
 of it, if he can only satisfy himself. What avails a super- 
 fluity of freedom which we cannot use ? Look at this 
 chamber and the next, in which, through the open door, 
 you see my bed. Neither of them is large ; and they are 
 rendered still narrower by necessary furniture, books, 
 manuscripts, and works of art ; but they are enough for 
 me. I have lived in them all the winter, scarcely entering 
 my front rooms. What have I done with my spacious 
 house, and the liberty of going from one room to 
 another, when I have not found it requisite to make use of 
 them? 
 
 " If a man has freedom enough to live healthy, and work 
 at his craft, he has enough ; and so much all can easily 
 obtain. Then all of us are only free under certain con- 
 ditions, which we must fulfil. The citizen is as free as the 
 nobleman, when he restrains himself within the limits 
 which God appointed by placing him in that rank. The 
 nobleman is as free as the prince ; for, if he will but ob- 
 serve a few ceremonies at court, he may feel himself his 
 equal. Freedom consists not in refusing to recognize any- 
 thing above us, but in respecting something which is above 
 us ; for, by respecting it, we raise ourselves to it, and by 
 our very acknowledgment make manifest that we bear 
 within ourselves what is higher, and are worthy to be on a 
 level with it. 
 
 " I have, on my journeys, often met merchants from the 
 north of Germany, who fancied they were my equals, if 
 they rudely seated themselves next me at tabte. They 
 were, by this method, nothing of the kind ; but they would 
 have been so, if they had known how to value and treat 
 me. 
 
 " That this physical freedom gave Schiller so much 
 trouble in his youthful years, was caused partly by the 
 nature of his mind, but still more by the restraint which 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 203 
 
 he endured at the military school. In later days, when 
 he had enough physical freedom, he passed over to the 
 ideal ; and I would almost say that this idea killed him, 
 since it led him to make demands on his physical nature 
 which were too much for his strength. 
 
 " The Grand Duke fixed on Schiller, when he was 
 established here, an income of one thousand dollars yearly, 
 and offered to give him twice as much in case he should 
 be hindered by sickness from working. Schiller declined 
 this last offer, and never availed himself of it. ' I have 
 talent,' said he, 'and must help myself.' But as his family 
 enlarged of late years, he was obliged, for a livelihood, to 
 write two dramas annually ; and to accomplish this, he 
 forced himself to write days and weeks when he was not 
 well. He would have his talent obey him at any hour. 
 He never drank much ; ' he was very temperate ; but, in 
 such hours of bodily weakness, he was obliged to stimulate 
 his powers by the use of spirituous liquors. This habit 
 impaired his health, and was likewise injurious to his pro- 
 ductions. The faults which some wiseacres find in his 
 works I deduce from this source. All the passages which 
 they say are not what they ought to be, I would call 
 pathological passages ; for he wrote them on those days 
 when he had not strength to find the ris:ht and true 
 motives. I have every respect for the categorical impera- 
 tive. I know how much good may proceed from it ; but 
 one must not carry it too far, for then this idea of ideal 
 freedom certainly leads to no good." 
 
 Amid these interesting remarks, and similar discourse 011 
 Lord Byron and the celebrated German authors, of whom 
 Schiller had said that he liked Kotzebue best, for he, at 
 any rate, produced something, the hours of evening passed 
 swiftly along, and Goethe gave me the novel, that I might 
 study it quietly at home. 
 
 Sun. evening, Jan. 21. — I went at half -past seven this even- 
 ing to Goethe, and stayed with him about an hour. He 
 showed me a volume of new French poems, by Mademoiselle 
 Gay, and spoke of them with great praise. 
 
 " The French," said he, " push their way, and it is well 
 worth while to look after them. I have lately been striving 
 hard to form a notion of the present state of the French litera- 
 
204 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 ture ; and if I succeed I shall express my opinion of it. It is 
 very interesting to observe that those elements are now, for 
 the first time, at work with them which we went through 
 long ago. 
 
 "A mediocre talent is, indeed, always biassed by its 
 age, and must be fed by the elements of the age. With 
 the French it is the same as with us, down to the most 
 modem pietism, only that with them this appears more 
 galant and sjpirituel." 
 
 " What says your excellency to Beranger, and the author 
 of ' Clara Gazul ? ' " 
 
 " Those I except," said Goethe ; " they are great geniuses, 
 who have a foundation in themselves, and keep free from 
 the mode of thinking which belongs to their time." 
 
 "I am glad to hear you say this," said I, "for I have 
 had a similar feehW about them both." 
 
 The conversation turned from French to German litera- 
 ture. "I will show you something," said Goethe, "that 
 will be interesting to you. Give me one of those two 
 volumes which lie before you. Solger is known to 
 you." 
 
 " Certainly," said 1 ; "I am very fond of him, I have 
 his translation of Sophocles, and both this and the preface 
 gave me long since a high opinion of him." 
 
 " You know he has been dead several years," said Goethe ; 
 " and now a collection of the writings and letters he left is 
 published. He is not so happy in his philosophical in- 
 quiries, which he has given us in the form of the Platonic 
 dialogues ; but his letters are excellent. In one of them, 
 he writes to Tieck upon the Wahlverivandtschaften (elective 
 affinities), and I wish to read it to you ; for it would not 
 be easy to say anything better about that novel." 
 
 Goethe read me these excellent remarks, and we talked 
 them over point by point, admiring the dignified character 
 of the views, and the logical sequence of the reasoning. 
 Although Solger admitted that the facts of the "Wahlver- 
 wandtschaften " had their germ in the nature of all the 
 characters, he nevertheless blamed that of Edward. 
 
 " I do not quarrel with him," said Goethe, "because he 
 cannot endure Edward. I myself cannot endure him, but 
 was obliged to make him such a man in order to bring out 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 205 
 
 my fact. He is, besides, very true to nature ; for you find 
 many people in the higher ranks, with whom, quite like 
 him, obstinacy takes the place of character. 
 
 " High above all, Solger placed the Architect ; because, 
 while all the other persons of the novel show themselves 
 loving and weak, he alone remains strong and free ; and 
 the beauty of his nature consists not so much in this, 
 that he does not fall into the errors of the other characters 
 — but in this, that the poet has made him so noble that 
 he could not fall into them." 
 
 We were pleased with this remark. 
 
 " That is really very fine," said Goethe. 
 
 " I have," said I, "felt the importance and amiability of 
 the Architect's character ; but I never remarked that he 
 was so very excellent, just because by his very nature he 
 could not fall into those bewilderments of love." 
 
 " JSTo wonder," said Goethe, "for I myself never thought 
 of it when I was creating him ; yet Solger is right — this 
 certainly is his character. 
 
 " These remarks," continued he, " were written as early 
 as the year 1809. I should then have been much cheered 
 to have heard so kind a word about the ' Wahlverwandt- 
 schaften,' for at that time, and afterwards, not many pleasant 
 remarks were vouchsafed me about that novel. 
 
 " I see from these letters that Solder was much attached 
 to me : in one of them, he complains that I have returned 
 no answer about the ' Sophocles ' which he sent me. Good 
 Heavens ! how am I placed. It is not to be wondered at. 
 I have known great lords, to whom many presents were 
 sent. These had certain formulas and phrases with which 
 they answered everything ; and thus they wrote letters to 
 hundreds, all alike, and all mere phrases. This I never 
 could do. If I could not say to each man something dis- 
 tinct and appropriate to the occasion, I preferred not 
 writing to him at all. I esteemed superficial phrases un- 
 worthy, and thus I have failed to answer many an excellent 
 man to whom I would willingly have written. You see 
 yourself how it is with me, and what messages and de- 
 spatches daily flow in upon me from every quarter, and you 
 must confess that more than one man's life would be 
 required to answer all these, in ever so careless a way. But 
 
206 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 I am. sorry about Solgcr ; lie was an admirable being, and 
 deserved, better than many, a friendly answer." 
 
 I turned the conversation to the novel, which. I had now 
 frequently read and studied at home. " All the first part," 
 said I, " is only an introduction, but nothing is set forth 
 beyond what is necessary ; and this necessary preliminary 
 is executed with such grace, that we cannot fancy it is 
 only for the sake of something else, but would give it a 
 value of its own." 
 
 " I am glad that you feel this," said Goethe, "but I 
 must do something yet. According to the laws of a good 
 introduction, the proprietors of the animals must make 
 their appearance in it. When the princess and the uncle 
 ride by the booth, the people must come out and entreat 
 the princess to honour it with a visit." " Assuredly you 
 are right," said I; "for, since all the rest is indicated in 
 the introduction, these people must be so likewise ; and it 
 is perfectly natural that, with their devotion to their 
 treasury, they would not let the princess pass unassailed." 
 "You see," said Goethe, "that in a work of this kind, 
 even when it is finished as a whole, there is still something 
 to be done with the details." 
 
 Goethe then told me of a foreigner who had lately 
 visited him, and had talked of translating several of his 
 works. 
 
 "He is a good man," said Goethe, "but, as to his 
 literature, he shows himself a mere dilettante ; for he 
 does not yet know German at all, and is already talking of 
 the translations he will make, and of the portraits which 
 he will prefix to them. 
 
 " That is the very nature of the dilettanti, that they 
 have no idea of the difficulties which lie in a subject, and 
 always wish to undertake something for which they have 
 no capacity." 
 
 Thurs. evening, Jan. 29. — At seven o'clock I went with the 
 manuscript of the novel and a copy of Beranger to Goethe. 
 I found M. Soret in conversation with him upon modern 
 French literature. I listened with interest, and it was 
 observed that the modern writers had learned a great deal 
 from De Lille, as far as good versification was concerned. 
 Since M. Soret, as a born Genevese, did not speak German 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 207 
 
 fluently, while Goethe talks French tolerably well, the 
 conversation was carried on in that language, and only 
 became German when I put in a word. I took my 
 "Beranger" out of my pocket, and gave it to Goethe, 
 who wished to read his admirable songs again. M. Soret 
 thought the portrait prefixed to the poems was not a good 
 likeness. Goethe was much pleased to have this beautiful 
 copy in his hands. 
 
 " These songs," said he, " may be looked upon as perfect, 
 and as the best things in their kind, especially when you 
 observe the burden, without which they would be almost 
 too earnest, too pointed, and too epigrammatic for songs. 
 Beranger reminds me ever of Horace and Hafiz, who stood 
 in the same way above their times, satirically and play- 
 fully setting forth the corruption of manners. Beranger 
 has the same relation to his contemporaries ; but as he 
 belongs to the lower class, the licentious and vulgar are 
 not very hateful to him, and he treats them with a sort of 
 partiality." 
 
 Many similar remarks were made upon Beranger, and 
 other modern French writers, till M. Soret went to court, 
 and I remained alone with Goethe. 
 
 A sealed packet lay upon the table. Goethe laid his 
 hand upon it. "This," said he, "is 'Helena,' which is 
 going to Cotta to be printed." 
 
 I felt, at these words, more than I could say ; I felt the 
 importance of the moment. For, as it is with a newly 
 built vessel which first goes to sea, and with respect to 
 which we know not what destinies it must encounter, 
 so is it likewise with the intellectual creation of a 
 great master which first goes forth into the world to 
 exercise its influence through many ages, ana to produce 
 and undergo manifold destinies. 
 
 " I have^" said Goethe, "till now, been always finding little 
 things to add or to touch up ; but I must finish now, and 
 I am glad that it is going to the post, and that I shall be 
 at liberty to turn to some other object. Let it meet its proper 
 destiny. My comfort is, that the general culture of Ger- 
 many stands at an incredibly high point ; so that I need 
 not fear that such a production will long remain misunder- 
 stood and without effect." 
 
208 CONVEKSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 " There is a whole antiquity in it," said I. 
 
 " Yes," said Goethe, " the philologists will find work.' f 
 
 " I have no fear," said I, " about the antique part ; 
 for there we have the most minute detail, the most thorough 
 development of individuals, and each personage says just 
 what he should. But the modern romantic part is very 
 difficult, for half the history of the world lies behind it ; 
 the material is so rich that it can only be lightly indicated, 
 and heavy demands are made upon the reader." 
 
 "Yet," said Groethe, "it all appeals to the senses, and 
 on the stage would satisfy the eye : more I did not intend. 
 Let the crowd of spectators take pleasure in the spectacle ; 
 the higher import will not escape the initiated, as has 
 been the case with the ' Magic Flute,' and other things 
 beside." 
 
 " It will produce a most unusual effect on the stage," 
 said I, " that a piece should begin as a tragedy and end 
 as an opera. But something is required to present the 
 grandeur of these persons, and to express the sublime 
 language and verse." 
 
 "The first part," said Groethe, " requires the first tragic 
 aitists, and the operatic part must be sustained by the 
 first vocalists, male and female. That of Helena ought to 
 be played, not by one, but by two great female artists ; for 
 we seldom find that a fine vocalist has sufficient talent as a 
 tragic actress." 
 
 " The whole," said I, " will furnish an occasion for great 
 splendour of scenery and costume, and I cannot deny that 
 I look forward with pleasure to its representation on the 
 stage. If we could only get a good composer." 
 
 " It should be one," said Groethe, " who, like Meyerbeer, 
 has lived long in Italy, so that he combines his Grerman 
 nature with the Italian style and manner. However, that 
 will be found somehow or other ; I only rejoice that I am 
 rid of it. Of the notion that the chorus does not descend 
 into the lower world, but rather disperses itself among the 
 elements on the cheerful surface of the earth, I am not a 
 little proud." 
 
 " It is a new sort of immortality," said I. 
 
 "Now," continued Groethe, "how do you go on with 
 the novel ? " 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 209 
 
 " I have brought it with me," said I. " iMter reading 
 it again, I find that your Excellency must noft^nake the 
 intended alteration. It produces a good effect that the 
 people first appear by the slain tiger as completely new 
 beings, with their outlandish costume and manners, and 
 announce themselves as the owners of the beasts. If you 
 made them first appear in the introduction, this effect 
 would be completely weakened, if not destroyed." 
 
 " You are right," said Goethe ; " I must leave it as it is ; 
 unquestionably you are right. It must have been my 
 design, when first I planned the tale, not to bring the 
 people in sooner, otherwise I should not have left them 
 out. The intended alteration was a requisition on the 
 part of the understanding, which would certainly have 
 led me into a fault. This is a remarkable case in aesthetics, 
 that a rule must be departed from if faults are to be 
 avoided." 
 
 We talked over the title which should be given to the 
 novel. Many were proposed ; some suited the beginning, 
 others the end, but none seemed exactly suitable to the 
 whole. 
 
 "I'll tell you what," said Goethe, "we will call it ' The 
 Novel (Die ISTovelle) ; ' for what is a novel but a peculiar 
 and as yet unheard-of event ? This is the proper meaning 
 of this name ; and much which in Germany passes as a 
 novel is no novel at all, but a mere narrative, or whatever 
 else you like to call it. In that original sense of an un- 
 heard-of event, even the ' Wahlverwandtschaftcn ' may be 
 called a 'novel.' " 
 
 "If we consider rightly," said I, "a poem has always 
 originated without a title, and is that which it is without 
 a title ; so that we may imagine the title is not really 
 essential to the matter." 
 
 "It is not," said Goethe; "the ancient poems had no 
 titles ; but this is a custom of the moderns, from whom 
 also the poems of the ancients obtained titles at a later 
 j^eriod. However, this custom is the result of a necessity 
 to name things, and distinguish them from each other, 
 when a literature becomes extensive." 
 
 "Here," said Goethe, "you have something new; — 
 read it." 
 
210 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 With these words, lie handed over to me a translation by 
 Herr Gerhard of a Servian poem. I read it with great 
 pleasure, for the poem was very beautiful, and the trans- 
 lation so simple and clear that one was never disturbed in 
 the contemplation of the object. It was entitled " the 
 Prison-Key." I say nothing of the course of the action, 
 except that the conclusion seemed to me abrupt, and rather 
 unsatisfactory. 
 
 "That," said Goethe, "is the beauty of it; for it thus 
 leaves a sting in the heart, and the imagination of the 
 reader is excited to devise every possible case which can 
 follow. The conclusion leaves untold the material for a 
 whole tragedy, but of a kind that has often been done 
 already. On the contrary, that which is set forth in the 
 poem is really new and beautiful, and the poet acted very 
 wisely in delineating this alone, and leaving the rest to the 
 reader. I would willingly insert the poem in ' Kunst und 
 Alterthum,' but it is too long ; on the other hand, I have 
 asked Herr Gerhard to give me these three in rhyme, which 
 I shall print in the next number. What do you say to 
 this ? Only listen." 
 
 Goethe read first the song of the old man who loves a 
 young maiden, then the women's drinking song, and finally 
 that animated one beginning "Dance for us, Theodore." 
 He read them admirably, each in a different tone and 
 manner, so that it would not be easy to hear anything more 
 perfect. 
 
 We praised Herr Gerhard for having, in each instance, 
 chosen the most appropriate versification and burden, and 
 for having executed all in such an easy and perfect 
 manner, that we could not easily conceive anything better 
 done. " There you see," said Goethe, " what technical 
 practice does for such a talent as Gerhard's ; and it is 
 fortunate for him that he has no actual literary profession, 
 but one that daily takes him into practical life. He has, 
 moreover, travelled much in England and other countries ; 
 and thus, with his sense for the actual, he has many ad- 
 vantages over our learned young poets. 
 
 " If he confines himself to making good translations, he 
 is not likely to produce anything bad ; but original inven- 
 tions demand a great deal, and are difficult matters." 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 211 
 
 Some reflections were here made upon the productions 
 of our newest young poets, and it was remarked that 
 scarce one of them had come out with good prose. " That 
 is very easily explained," said Goethe ; "to write prose, 
 one must have something to say ; but he who has nothing 
 to say can still make verses and rhymes, where one word 
 suggests the other, and at last something comes out, which 
 in fact is nothing, but looks as if it were something." 
 
 Wed., Jan. 31. — Dined with Goethe. "Within the last 
 few days, since I saw you," said he, " I have read many 
 and various things ; especially a Chinese novel, which 
 occupies me still, and seems to me very remarkable." 
 
 "Chinese novel!" said I; "that must look strange 
 enough." 
 
 " Not so much as you might think," said Goethe ; " the 
 Chinamen think, act, and feel almost exactly like us ; and 
 we soon find that we are perfectly like them, excepting 
 that all they do is more clear, more pure, and decorous 
 than with us. 
 
 "With them all is orderly, citizen-like, without great 
 passion or poetic flight ; and there is a strong resemblance 
 to my ' Hermann and Dorothea,' as well as to the English 
 novels of Richardson. They likewise differ from us, inas- 
 much as with them external nature is always associated 
 with the human figures. You always hear the goldfish 
 splashing in the pond, the birds are always singing on the 
 bough, the day is always serene and sunny, the night is 
 always clear. There is much talk about the moon, but 
 it does not alter the landscape, its light is conceived to bo 
 as bright as day itself ; and the interior of the houses is 
 as neat and elegant as their pictures. For instance, ' I 
 heard the lovely girls laughing, and when I got a sight of 
 them, they were sitting on cane chairs.' There you have, 
 at once, the prettiest situation ; for cane chairs are 
 necessarily associated with the greatest lightness and 
 elegance. Then there is an infinite number of legends 
 which are constantly introduced into the narrative, and are 
 applied almost like proverbs ; as, for instance, one of a 
 girl, who was so light and graceful in the feet, that she 
 could balance herself on a flower without breaking it ; and 
 then, another, of a young man so virtuous and brave, that 
 
 p2 
 
£12 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 in his thirtieth year he had the honour to talk with the 
 Emperor ; then there is another of two lovers who showed 
 such great purity during a long acquaintance, that when 
 they were on one occasion obliged to pass the night in the 
 same chamber, they occupied the time with conversation, 
 and did not approach one another. 
 
 "And in the same way, there are innumerable other 
 legends, all turning upon what is moral and proper. It is 
 by this severe moderation in everything that the Chinese 
 [Empire has sustained itself for thousands of years, and 
 (will endure hereafter. 
 
 " I find a highly remarkable contrast to this Chinese 
 novel in the ' Chansons de Beranger,' which have, almost 
 every one, some immoral licentious subject for their 
 foundation, and which would be extremely odious to me if 
 managed by a genius inferior to Beranger ; he, how- 
 ever, has made them not only tolerable, but pleasing. Tell 
 me yourself, is it not remarkable that the subjects of the 
 Chinese poet should be so thoroughly moral, and those of 
 the first French poet of the present day be exactly the 
 contrary ? " 
 
 " Such a talent as Beranger's," said I, " would find no 
 field in moral subjects." 
 
 "You are right," said Goethe ; " the very perversions of 
 his time have revealed and developed his better nature." 
 
 " But," said I, " is this Chinese romance one of their 
 best ? " 
 
 "By no means," said Groethe; "the Chinese have 
 thousands of them, and had already when our forefathers 
 were still living in the woods. 
 
 "I am more and more convinced," he continued, "that 
 poetry is the universal possession of mankind, revealing 
 itself everywhere, and at all times, in hundreds and 
 hundreds of men. One makes it a little better than 
 another, and swims on the surface a little longer than 
 another — that is all. Herr von Matthisson must not 
 think he is the man, nor must I think that I am the man ; 
 biit each must say to himself, that the gift of poetry is by 
 no means so very rare, and that nobody need think very 
 much of himself because he has written a good poem. 
 
 "But, really, we Germans are very likely to fall too 
 
1 827.J CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 213 
 
 easily into this pedantic conceit, when we do not look be- 
 yond the narrow circle which surrounds us. I therefore 
 like to look about me in foreign nations, and advise every 
 one to do the same. National literature is now rather an 
 unmeaning term ; the epoch of World literature is at hand, 
 and every one must strive to hasten its approach. But, 
 while we thus value what is foreign, we must not bind 
 ourselves to anything in particular, and regard it as a 
 model. "We must not give this value to the Chinese, or 
 the Servian, or Calderon, or the Nibelungen ; but if we 
 really want a pattern, we must always return to the 
 ancient Greeks, in whose works the beauty of mankind is 
 constantly represented. All the rest we must look at only 
 historically, appropriating to ourselves what is good, so far 
 as it goes." 
 
 I was glad to hear Goethe talk at length on a subject of 
 such importance. The bells of passing sledges allured us 
 to the window, as we expected that the long procession 
 winch went out to Belvidere this morning: would return 
 about this time. 
 
 Goethe, meanwhile, continued his instructive conversa- 
 tion. We talked of Alexander Manzoni ; and he told me 
 that Count Reinhard, not long since, saw Manzoni at Paris, 
 where, as a young author of celebrity, he had been well 
 received in society, and that he was now living happily 
 on his estate in the neighbourhood of Milan, with a young 
 family and his mother. 
 
 "Manzoni," continued he, " wants nothing except to 
 know what a good poet he is, and what rights belong to 
 him as such. He has too much respect for history, and on 
 this account is always adding notes to his pieces, in which 
 he shows how faithful he has been to detail. Now, though 
 his facts may be historical, his characters are not so, any 
 more than my Thoas and Iphigenia. No poet has ever 
 known the historical characters which he has painted ; if 
 he had, he could scarcely have made use of them. The 
 poet must know what effects he wishes to produce, and 
 regulate the nature of his characters accordingly. If I 
 had tried to make Egmont as history represents him, the 
 father of a dozen children, his light-minded proceedings 
 would have appeared very absurd. I needed an Egmont 
 
214 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1827- 
 
 more in harmony with, his own actions and my poetic 
 views ; and this is, as Clara says, my Egmont. 
 
 " What would be the use of poets, if they only repeated 
 the record of the historian ? The poet must go further, 
 and give us, if possible, something higher and better. All 
 the characters of Sophocles bear something of that great 
 poet's lofty soul ; and it is the same with the characters of 
 Shakspeare. This is as it ought to be. Nay, Shakspeare 
 goes farther, and makes his Romans Englishmen; and 
 there, too, he is right ; for otherwise his nation would not 
 have understood him. 
 
 " Here, again," continued Groethe, "the Greeks were so 
 great, that they regarded fidelity to historic facts less than 
 the treatment of them by the poet. We have, fortunately, 
 a fine example in Philoctetes, which subject has been 
 treated by all three of the great tragedians, and lastly and 
 best by Sophocles. This poet's excellent play has, fortu- 
 nately, come down to us entire, while of the Philoctetes of 
 -^Eschylus and Euripides only fragments have been found, 
 although sufficient to show how they have managed the 
 subject. If time permitted, I would restore these pieces, as 
 I did the Phaeton of Euripides ; it would be to me no un- 
 pleasant or useless task. 
 
 "In this subject the problem was very simple, namely, to 
 bring Philoctetes, with his bow, from the island of Lemnos. 
 But the manner of doing this was the business of the poet, 
 and here each could show the power of his invention, and 
 one could excel another. Ulysses must fetch him; but 
 shall he be known by Philoctetes or not ? and if not, how 
 shall he be disguised ? Shall Ulysses go alone, or shall he 
 have companions, and who shall they be ? In .iEschylus 
 there is no companion ; in Euripides, it is Diomed ; in 
 Sophocles, the son of Achilles. Then, in what situation 
 is Philoctetes to be found ? Shall the island be inhabited or 
 not? and, if inhabited, shall any sympathetic soul have 
 taken compassion on him or not ? And so with a hundred 
 other things, which are all at the discretion of the poet, and 
 in the selection and omission of which one may show his 
 superiority in wisdom to another. Here is the grand point, 
 and our present poets should do like the ancients. They 
 should not be always asking whether a subject has been used 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE 215 
 
 before, and look to south and north for unheard-of adven- 
 tures, which are often barbarous enough, and merely make 
 an impression as incidents. But to make something of a 
 simple subject by a masterly treatment requires intellect 
 and great talent, and these we do not find." 
 
 Some passing sledges again allured us to the window ; 
 but it was not the expected train from Belvedere. We 
 laughed and talked about trivial matters, and then I asked 
 Goethe how the novel was going on. 
 
 "I have not touched it of late," said he; "but one inci- 
 dent more must yet take place in the introduction. The 
 lion must roar as the princess passes the booth ; upon 
 which some good remarks may be made on the formidable 
 nature of this mighty beast." 
 
 " That is a very happy thought," said I ; " for thus yon 
 gain an introduction, which is not only good and essential 
 in its place, but which gives a greater effect to all that 
 follows. Hitherto the lion has appeared almost too gentle, 
 inasmuch as he has shown no trace of ferocity ; but by 
 roaring he at least makes us suspect how formidable he is, 
 and the effect is heightened when he gently follows the 
 boy's flute." 
 
 " This mode of altering and improving," said Goethe, 
 " where by continued invention the imperfect is heightened 
 to the perfect, is the right one. But the re-making and 
 carrying further what is already complete — as, for instance, 
 Walter Scott has done with my ' Mignon,' * whom, in addi- 
 tion to her other qualities, he makes deaf and dumb — this 
 mode of altering I cannot commend." 
 
 Thurs. evening j Feb. 1. — -Goethe told me of a visit which 
 the Crown Prince of Bussia had been making him in com- 
 pany with the Grand Duke. " The princes Charles and 
 William of Prussia," said he, "were also with me this 
 morning. The Crown Prince and Grand Duke stayed 
 nearly three hours, and we talked about many things, which 
 gave me a high opinion of the intellect, taste, knowledge, 
 and way of thinking of these young princes." 
 
 Goethe had a volume of the "Theory of Colours " before 
 him. " I still," said he, " owe you an answer with respect 
 
 * This allusion is to Fcnella in "Peveril of the Peat." 
 
216 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [ l8z 7« 
 
 to the phenomenon of the coloured shadows ; "but as this pre- 
 supposes a great deal, and is connected with much besides, 
 I will not give you an explanation detached from the rest, 
 but rather think it would be better if, on the evenings when 
 we meet, we read through the whole ' Theory of Colours ' 
 together. Thus we shall always have a solid subject for 
 discourse ; and you yourself will have made the whole 
 thoory so much your own, that you will hardly know how 
 you have come by it. What you have already learned 
 begins to live and to be productive within you ; and hence 
 I foresee this science will soon be your own property. Now 
 read the first section." 
 
 With these words Goethe laid the open book before me. 
 I felt highly pleased with his good intentions towards me. 
 I read the first paragraph respecting the physiological * 
 colours. 
 
 "You see," said Goethe, "that there is nothing without 
 us that is not also within us, and that the eye, like the ex- 
 ternal world, has its colours. Since a great point in this 
 science is the decided separation of the objective from the 
 subjective, I have properly begun with the colours which 
 belong to the eye, that in all our perceptions we may accu- 
 rately distinguish whether a colour really exists externally 
 to ourselves, or whether it is only a seeming colour which 
 the eye itself has produced. I think that I have begun at 
 the right end, by first disposing of the organ by means of 
 which all our perceptions and observations must take 
 place." 
 
 I read on as far as those interesting paragraphs where it 
 is taught that the eye has need of change, since it never 
 willingly dwells on the same colour, but always requires 
 another, and that so urgently that it produces colours itself 
 if it does not actually find them. 
 
 This remark led our conversation to a great law which 
 pervades all nature, and on which all life and all the joy of 
 life depend. " This," said Goethe, " is the case not only 
 with all our other senses, but also with our higher spiritual 
 nature ; and it is because the eye is so eminent a sense, that 
 this law of required change (Gesetz des geforderten Wecli- 
 
 * Eckermann says " psychologisch," but this is manifestly a mis- 
 print. — Trans. 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 217 
 
 sets) is so striking and so especially clear with respect to 
 colours. We Lave dances which please us in a high degree 
 on account of the alteration of major and minor, while 
 dances in only one of these modes weary us at once." 
 
 " The same law," said I, " seems to lie at the foundation of 
 a good style, where we like to avoid a sound which we have 
 just heard. Even on the stage a great deal might be done 
 with this law, if it were well applied. Plays, especially 
 tragedies, in which an uniform tone uninterrupted by 
 change prevails, have always something wearisome about 
 them ; and if the orchestra plays melancholy, depressing 
 music during the entr'actes of a melancholy piece, we are 
 tortured by an insupportable feeling, which we would escape 
 by all possible means." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Goethe, "the lively scenes introduced 
 into Shakspeare's plays rest upon this ' law of required 
 change,' but it does not seem applicable to the higher 
 tragedy of the Greeks, where, on the contrary, a certain 
 fundamental tone pervades the whole." 
 
 " The Greek tragedy," said I, " is not of such a length 
 as to be rendered wearisome by one pervading tone. Then 
 there is an interchange of chorus and dialogue ; and the 
 sublime sense is of such a kind that it cannot become 
 fatiguing, since a certain genuine reality, which is always of 
 a cheerful nature, constantly lies at the foundation." 
 
 " You may be right," said Goethe ; " and it would be well 
 worth the trouble to investigate how far the Greek tragedy 
 is subject to the general ' law of required change.' You 
 see how all things are connected with each other, and how a 
 law respecting the theory of colours can lead to an inquiry 
 into Greek tragedy. "\Ye must only take care not to push 
 such a law too far, and make it the foundation for much 
 besides. We shall go more safely if we only apply it by 
 analogy." 
 
 We talked of the manner in which Goethe had set forth 
 Iris theory of colours, deducing the whole from great funda- 
 mental laws, and always referring to these the single 
 phenomena ; by which method he had made it very com- 
 prehensible and fitted for the intellect. 
 
 " This may be the case," said Goethe, " and you may 
 praise me on that account ; but, nevertheless, the method 
 
218 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 requires students who do not live amid distractions, and 
 are capable of taking up the matter. Some very clever 
 people have been imbued with my theory of colours ; but, 
 unfortunately, they do not adhere to the straight path, but 
 before I am aware of it they turn aside, and follow an idea 
 instead of keeping their eyes properly fixed on the object. 
 Nevertheless, a good head-piece, when really seeking the 
 truth, can always do a great deal." 
 
 We talked about the professors who, after they had found 
 a better theory, still talked of that of Newton. " This is 
 not to be wondered at," said Goethe ; " such people con- 
 tinue in eiTor because they are indebted to it for their 
 existence. They would otherwise have to learn everything 
 over again, and that would be very inconvenient." " But," 
 said I, "how can their experiments prove the truth when 
 the basis of their doctrine is false ? " " They do not prove 
 the truth," said Goethe, "nor is such the intention; the 
 only point with these professors is to prove their own 
 opinion. On this account, they conceal all those experi- 
 ments which would reveal the truth, and show their doc- 
 trine was untenable. Then, with respect to the scholars — 
 what do they care for the truth ? They, like the rest, are 
 perfectly satisfied if they can prate away about the subject 
 empirically; — that is the whole matter. Men altogether 
 are of a peculiar nature : as soon as a lake is frozen over, 
 they flock to it by hundreds, and amuse themselves on the 
 smooth surface; but which of them thinks of inquiring 
 how deep it is, and what sort of fish are swimming about 
 under the ice ? Niebuhr has just discovered a very ancient 
 commercial treaty between Rome and Carthage, from which 
 it appears that all Livy's history respecting the early condi- 
 tion of the Roman people is a mere fable, and that Rome at 
 a very early period was in a far higher state of civilization 
 than Livy represents ; but if you imagine that this treaty 
 will occasion a great reform in the manner of teaching 
 Roman history, you are mistaken. Think of the frozen 
 lake. I have learned to know mankind : thus it is, and no 
 otherwise." 
 
 " Nevertheless," said I, " you cannot repent of having 
 written your theory of colours, since not only have you laid 
 a firm foundation for this excellent science, but you have 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 219 
 
 produced a model of scientific treatment, which can always 
 be followed in the treatment of similar subjects." 
 
 "I do not repent it at all," said Goethe, "though I have 
 expended half a lif e upon it. Perhaps 1 might have written 
 half a dozen tragedies more, but that is all, and people 
 enough will come after me to do that. 
 
 " After all, you are right ; I think the treatment of the 
 subject is good, there is method in it. In the same manner 
 I have also written a musical theory, and my metamor- 
 phosis of plants is based on the same method of observation 
 and deduction. 
 
 "With my metamorphosis of plants, I went on singu- 
 larly enough. I came to it as Herschel came to his dis- 
 coveries. Herschel was so poor that he could not purchase 
 a telescope, but was obliged to make one for himself. In 
 this his good fortune consisted; for the home-made tele- 
 scope was better than any other, and with it he made his 
 great discoveries. I came to botany by the empirical road. 
 I now know well enough, that with respect to the formation 
 of the sexes, the theory went so far into detail that I had 
 not courage to grasp it. This impelled me to pursue the 
 subject in my own way, and to find that which was common 
 to all plants without distinction, and thus I discovered the 
 law of metamorphosis. 
 
 " To pursue botany further in detail is not my purpose ; 
 this I leave to others who are my superiors in the matter. 
 My only concern was to reduce the phenomena to a general 
 fundamental law. 
 
 "Mineralogy has interested me only for two reasons; 
 first, I valued it for its great practical utility, and then 1 
 thought to find a document elucidating the primary forma- 
 tion of the world, of which Werner's doctrine gave hopes. 
 Since this science has been turned upside down by the 
 death of that excellent man, I do not proceed further in it, 
 but remain quiet with my own convictions. 
 
 "In the theory of colours, I have next to develop the 
 formation of the rainbow. This is an extremely difficult 
 problem, which, however, I hope to solve. On this account, 
 I am glad to go through the theory of colours once more 
 with you, since thus, especially with your interest for the 
 subject, it becomes quite fresh again. 
 
220 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 "I have," continued Goethe, "attempted natural science 
 in nearly every department ; but, nevertheless, my tenden- 
 cies have always been confined to such objects as lay ter- 
 restrially around me, and could be immediately perceived 
 by the senses. On this account, I have never occupied 
 myself with astronomy, because here the senses are not 
 sufficient, and one must have recourse to instruments, cal- 
 culations, and mechanics, which require a whole life, and 
 were not in my line. 
 
 "If I have done anything with respect to the subjects 
 which lay in my way, I had this advantage, that my life 
 fell in a time that was richer than any other in great 
 natural discoveries. As a child, I became acquainted with 
 Franklin's doctrine of electricity, the law of which he had 
 just discovered. Thus through my whole life, down to the 
 present hour, has one great discovery followed another, so 
 that I was not only directed towards nature in my early 
 years, but my interest in it has been maintained in it ever 
 since. 
 
 " Advances such as I could never have foreseen are now 
 made even on paths which I opened, and I feel like one who 
 walks towards the morning dawn, and when the sun rises, 
 is astonished at its brilliancy." 
 
 Among the Germans, Goethe here took occasion to men- 
 tion the names of Carus, D 'Alton, and Meyer of Konigsberg, 
 with admiration. 
 
 "If," continued Goethe, " when the truth was once 
 found, people would not again pervert and obscure it, I 
 should be satisfied ; for mankind requires something 
 positive, to be handed down from generation to generation, 
 and it would be well if the positive were also the true. On 
 this account, I should be glad if people came to a clear 
 understanding in natural science, and then adhered to the 
 truth, not transcending again after all had been done in the 
 region of the comprehensible. But mankind cannot be at 
 peace, and confusion always returns before one is aware of it. 
 / " Thus they are now pulling to pieces the five books of 
 Moses, and if an annihilating criticism is injurious in any- 
 thing, it is so in matters of religion ; for here everything 
 depends upon faith, to which we cannot return when we 
 . have once lost it. 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 223. N 
 
 " In poetry, an annihilating criticism is not so injurious. 
 Wolf has demolished Homer, but he has not been able to 
 injure the poem ; for this poem has a miraculous power 
 like the heroes of Walhalla, who hew one another to pieces 
 in the morning, but sit down to dinner with whole limbs at 
 noon." 
 
 Goethe was in the best humour, and I was delighted to 
 hear him talk once more on such important subjects. 
 " We will quietly keep to the right way," said he, " and let 
 others go as they please ; that is, after all, the best plan." 
 
 Wed., Feb. 7. — To-day Goethe spoke severely of certain 
 critics, who were not satisfied with Lessing, and made un- 
 just demands upon him. " When people," said he, 
 " compare the pieces of Lessing with those of the ancients, 
 and call them paltry and miserable, what do they mean ? 
 Rather pity the extraordinary man for being obliged to live 
 in a pitiful time, which afforded him no better materials 
 than are treated in his pieces; pity him, because in his 
 ' Minna von Barnhelm/ he found nothing better to do than 
 to meddle with the squabbles of Saxony and Prussia. His 
 constant polemical turn, too, resulted from the badness of his 
 time. In ' Emilia Galotti,' he vented his pique against 
 princes ; in ' Nathan,' against the priests." 
 
 Fri., Feb. 16. — I told Goethe that I lately had been 
 reading Winckelmann's work upon the imitation of Greek 
 works of art, and I confessed that it often seemed to mo 
 that Winckelmann was not perfectly clear about his 
 subject. 
 
 " You are quite right," said Goethe ; " we sometimes find 
 him merely groping about ; but what is the great matter, 
 his groping always leads to something. He is like Colum- 
 bus, when he had not yet discovered the new world, yet 
 had a presentiment of it in his mind. We learn nothing"" 
 by reading him, but we become something. 
 
 " JNow, Meyer has gone further, and has carried the 
 knowledge of art to its highest point. , His history of art 
 is an immortal work ; but he would not have become what 
 he is, if, in his youth, he had not formed himself on 
 Winckelmann, and walked in the path which Winckelmann 
 pointed out. 
 
 " Thus you see once again what is done for a man by a 
 
222 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 great predecessor, and the advantage of making a proper 
 use of liini." 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., Feb. 21.— Dined with Goethe. He spoke 
 much, and with admiration, of Alexander von Humboldt, 
 whose work on Cuba and Columbia he had begun to read, 
 and whose views as to the project for making a passage 
 through the Isthmus of Panama appeared to have a 
 particular interest for him. "Humboldt," said Goethe, 
 " has, with a great knowledge of his subject, given other 
 points where, by making use of some streams which flow 
 into the Gulf of Mexico, the end may be perhaps better 
 attained than at Panama. All this is reserved for the 
 future, and for an enterprising spirit. So much, however, 
 is certain, that, if they succeed in cutting such a canal that 
 ships of any burden and size can be navigated through it 
 1 from the Mexican Gulf to the Pacific Ocean, innumerable 
 , benefits would result to the whole human race, civilized and 
 *" uncivilized. But I should wonder if the United States were 
 to let an opportunity escape of getting such work into their 
 own hands. It may be foreseen that this young state, 
 with its decided predilection to the West, will, in thirty or 
 forty years, have occupied and peopled the large tract of 
 land beyond the Rocky Mountains. It may, furthermore, be 
 foreseen that along the whole coast of the Pacific Ocean, 
 where nature has already formed the most capacious and 
 secure harbours, important commercial towns will gradu- 
 1 ally arise, for the furtherance of a great intercourse 
 between China and the East Indies and the United States. 
 In such a case, it would not only be desirable, but almost 
 necessary, that a more rapid communication should be 
 maintained between the eastern and western shores of 
 North America, both by merchant- ships and men-of-war, 
 than has hitherto been possible with the tedious, disagree- 
 able, and expensive voyage round Cape Horn. I therefore 
 repeat, that it is absolutely indispensable for the United 
 States to effect a passage from the Mexican Gulf to the 
 Pacific Ocean ; and I am certain that they will do it. 
 __^ " Would that I might live to see it ! — but I shall not. I 
 should like to see another thing — a junction of the Danube 
 and the Rhine. But this undertaking is so gigantic that I 
 have doubts of its^completion, particularly when I consider 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 223 
 
 our German resources. And thirdly, and lastly, I should 
 wish to see England in possession of a canal through the 
 Isthmus of Suez. Would 1 could live to, see these three great 
 works ! it would be well worth the trouble to last some fifty 
 years more for the very purpose." 
 
 (Sup.*) Thurs.f Mar. 1. — Dined with Goethe. He 
 related to me that he had received a communication from 
 Count Sternberg and Zauper, which had given him great 
 pleasure. We then talked a great deal about the theory 
 of colours, the subjective prismatic experiments, and the 
 laws by which the rainbow is formed. He was pleased 
 with my continually increasing interest in these difficnlt 
 subjects. 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., Mar. 21. — Goethe showed me a little 
 book, by Hinrichs, on the nature of antique tragedy. " I 
 have read it with great interest," said he. " Hinrichs has 
 taken the GEdipus and Antigone of Sophocles as the founda- 
 tion whereon to develop his views. It is very remarkable ; 
 and I will lend it to you that you may read it, and that we 
 may be able to converse upon it. I am by no means of his 
 opinion ; but it is highly instructive to see how a man of 
 such thoroughly philosophical culture regards a poetical 
 work of art from the point of view peculiar to his school, f 
 I will say no more to-day, that I may not influence your 
 opinion. Only read it, and you will find that it suggests 
 all kinds of thoughts." 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., Mar. 28.— I brought back to Goethe the 
 book by Hinrichs, which I had read attentively. I had 
 also gone once more through all the plays of Sophocles, to 
 be in complete possession of my subject. 
 
 "Now," said Goethe, "how did you like him? He 
 attacks a matter well — does he not ? " 
 
 " This book affected me very strangely," said I. " No 
 other book has aroused so many thoughts in me as this ; 
 and yet there is none I have so often been disposed to 
 contradict." 
 
 ■ " That is exactly the point," said Goethe. " What we 
 agree with leaves us inactive, but contradiction makes us 
 productive." 
 
 t That of Hegel.— Trans. 
 
224 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827-. 
 
 " His intentions," said I, " appear to me in tlie highest 
 degree laudable, and he by no means confines himself to the 
 surface of things. J3ut he so often, loses himself in re- 
 finements and motives — and that in so subjective a manner 
 — that he loses tho true aspect of the subject in detail, as 
 well as the survey of the whole : and in such a case one is 
 obliged to do violence both to oneself and the theme to 
 think as he does. Besides, I have often fancied that my 
 organs were not fine enough to apprehend the unusual 
 subtlety of his distinctions." 
 
 "If they were philosophically prepared like his," said 
 Goethe, "it would be better. But, to speak frankly, I am 
 sorry that a man of undoubted [ innate power from the 
 northern coast of Germany, like Hinrichs, should be so 
 spoilt by the philosophy of Hegel as to lose all unbiassed 
 and natural observation and thought, and gradually to get 
 into an artificial and heavy style, both of thought and ex- 
 pression ; so that we find passages in his book where our 
 understanding comes to a standstill, and we no longer 
 know what we are reading." 
 
 " I have fared no better," said I. " Still I have rejoiced 
 to meet with some passages, which have appeared to me 
 perfectly clear and fitted for humanity in general ; such, 
 for instance, as his relation of the fable of CBdipus." 
 
 "Here," said Goethe, "he has been obliged to confine 
 himself strictly to his subject. But there are in his book 
 several passages in which the thought does not progress, 
 but in which the obscure language constantly moves on 
 the same spot and in the same circle, just like the ' Einma- 
 leins ' * of the witch in my ' Faust.' Give me the book 
 again. Of his sixth lecture upon the chorus, I scarcely 
 understood anything. What do you say, for instance, to 
 this passage, which occurs near the end : — 
 
 " ' This realization (i. e. of popular life) is, as the true 
 signification thereof, f on- this account alone its true real- 
 
 * This word, which signifies "multiplication table," refers to the 
 arithmetical jargon uttered by the witch in her kitchen. — Trans. 
 
 f The word "derselben," in the passage as cited, seems to want 
 an antecedent. The reader is requested not to be too critical with 
 this almost unreadable passage, which Goethe only refers to as an 
 instance of obscurity. — Trans. 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 225 
 
 ization, which, as a truth and certainty to itself, there- 
 fore constitutes the universally mental certainty, which 
 certainly is at the same time the atoning certainty of the 
 chorus, so that in this certainty alone, which has shown 
 itself as the result of the combined movement of the tragic 
 action, the chorus preserves its fitting relation to the 
 universal popular consciousness, and in this capacity does 
 not merely represent the people, but is that people ac- 
 cording to its certainty.' 
 
 " I think we have had enough of this. What must the 
 English and French think of the language of our philoso- 
 phers, when we Germans do not understand them our- 
 selves." " And in spite of all this," said I, " we both agree 
 that a noble purpose lies at the foundation of the book, and 
 that it possesses the quality of awakening thoughts." 
 
 " His idea of the relation between family and state," said 
 Goethe, " and the tragical conflicts that may arise from 
 them, is certainly good and suggestive ; still I cannot allow 
 that it is the only right one, or even the best for tragic art. 
 We are indeed all members both of a family and of a state, 
 and a tragical fate does not often befal us which does not 
 wound us in both capacities. Still we might be very good 
 tragical characters, if we were merely members of a family 
 or merely members of a state ; for, after all, the only point 
 is to get a conflict which admits of no solution, and this 
 may arise from an antagonistical position in any relation 
 whatever, provided a person has a really natural foundation, 
 and is himself really tragic. Thus Ajax falls a victim to 
 the demon of wounded honour, and Hercules to the demon 
 of jealousy. In neither of these cases is there the least 
 conflict between family piety and political virtue ; though 
 this, according to Hinrichs, should be the element of Greek 
 tragedy." 
 
 " One sees clearly," says I, " that in this theory he merely 
 had Antigone in his mind. He also appears to have had 
 before his eyes merely the character and mode of action of 
 this heroine, as he makes the assertion that family piety 
 appears most pure in woman, and especially in a sister; 
 and that a sister can love only a brother with perfect purity, 
 and without sexual feeling." 
 
 "I should think," returned Goethe, "that the love of 
 
 Q 
 
226 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 sister for sister was still more pnre and unsexual. As if 
 we did not know that numerous cases have occurred in 
 which the most sensual inclinations have existed between 
 brother and sister, both knowingly and unknowingly ! " 
 
 "You must have remarked generally," continued Goethe, 
 " that Hinrichs, in considering Greek tragedy, sets out from 
 the idea ; and that he looks upon Sophocles as one who, in 
 the invention and arrangement of his pieces, likewise set 
 out from an idea, and regulated the sex and rank of his 
 characters accordingly. But Sophocles, when he wrote his 
 pieces, by no means started from an idea ; on the contrary, 
 he seized upon some ancient ready-made popular tradition 
 in which a good idea existed, and then only thought of 
 adapting it in the best and most effective manner for the 
 theatre. The Atreides will not allow Ajax to be buried ; 
 but as in Antigone the sister struggles for the brother, so 
 in the Ajax the brother struggles for the brother. That 
 the sister takes charge of the unburied Polyneices, and the 
 brother takes charge of the fallen Ajax, is a contingent 
 circumstance, and does not belong to the invention of the 
 poet, but to the tradition, which the poet followed and 
 was obliged to follow." 
 
 "What he says about Creon's conduct," replied I, "ap- 
 pears to be equally untenable. He tries to prove that, in 
 prohibiting the burial of Polyneices, Creon acts from pure 
 political virtue; and since Creon is not merely a man, 
 but also a prince, he lays down the proposition, that, 
 as a man represents the tragic power of the state, this 
 man can be no other than he who is himself the personi- 
 fication of the state itself — namely, the prince ; and that of 
 all persons the man as prince must be just that person who 
 displays the greatest political virtue." 
 
 " These are assertions which no one will believe," returned 
 Goethe with a smile. " Besides, Creon by no means acts 
 out of political virtue, but from hatred towards the dead. 
 When Polyneices endeavoured to reconquer his paternal 
 inheritance, from which he had been forcibly expelled, he 
 did not commit such a monstrous crime against the state 
 that his death was insufficient, and that the further punish- 
 ment of the innocent corpse was required. 
 
 "An action should never be placed in the category of 
 
J 827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 22^ 
 
 political virtue, which, is opposed to virtue in general. 
 When Creon forbids the burial of Polyneices, and not only 
 taints the air with the decaying corpse, but also affords an 
 opportunity for the dogs and birds of prey to drag about 
 pieces torn from the dead body, and thus to defile the altars 
 — an action so offensive both to gods and men is by no 
 means politically virtuous, but on the contrary a political 
 crime. Besides, he has everybody in the play against him. 
 He has the elders of the state, who form the chorus, against 
 him; he has the people at large against him; he has 
 Teiresias against him ; he has his own family against 
 him ; but he hears not, and obstinately persists in his im- 
 piety, until he has brought to ruin all who belong to him, 
 and is himself at last nothing but a shadow." 
 
 "And still," said I, "when one hears him speak, one 
 cannot help believing that he is somewhat in the right." 
 
 "That is the very thing," said Groethe, "in which 
 Sophocles is a master ; and in which consists the very life 
 of the dramatic in general. His characters all possess this 
 gift of eloquence, and know how to explain the motives for 
 their action so convincingly, that the hearer is almost 
 always on the side of the last speaker. 
 
 " One can see that, in his youth, he enjoyed an excellent 
 rhetorical education, by which he became trained to look 
 for all the reasons and seeming reasons of things. Still, 
 Ins great talent in this respect betrayed him into faults, as 
 he sometimes went too far. 
 
 " There is a passage in Antigone which I always look 
 upon as a blemish, and I would give a great deal for an apt 
 philologist to prove that it is interpolated and spurious. 
 
 "After the heroine has, in the course of the piece, ex- 
 plained the noble motives for her action, and displayed the 
 elevated purity of her soul, she at last, when she is led to 
 death, brings forward a motive which is quite unworthy, 
 and almost borders upon the comic. 
 
 " She says that, if she had been a mother, she would not 
 have done, either for her dead children or for her dead 
 husband, what she has done for her brother. For," says 
 she, " if my husband died I could have had another, and if 
 my children died I could have had others by my new hus- 
 band. But with my brother the case is different. I cannot 
 
 Q2 
 
2_'8 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827, 
 
 have another brother ; for since my mother and father are 
 dead, there is no one to beget one. 
 
 " This is, at least, the bare sense of this passage, which 
 in my opinion, when placed in the month of a heroine going 
 to her death, disturbs the tragic tone, and appears to me 
 very far-fetched — to savour too much of dialectical calcula- 
 tion. As I said, I should like a philologist to show us that 
 the passage is spurious." 
 
 We then conversed further upon Sophocles, remarking 
 that in his pieces he always less considered a moral tendency 
 than an apt treatment of the subject in hand, particularly 
 with regard to theatrical effect. 
 
 " I do not object," said Goethe, " to a dramatic poet 
 having a moral influence in view ; but when the point is to 
 bring his subject clearly and effectively before his audience, 
 his moral purpose proves of little use, and he needs much 
 more a faculty for delineation and a familiarity with the 
 stage to know what to do and what to leave undone. If 
 there be a moral in the subject, it will appear, and the poet 
 has nothing to consider but the effective and artistic treat- 
 ment of his subject. If a poet has as high a soul as Sophocles, 
 his influence will always be moral, let him do what he will. 
 Besides, he knew the stage, and understood his craft 
 thoroughly." 
 
 "How well he knew the theatre," answered I, "and how 
 much he had in view a theatrical effect, we see in his 
 ' Philoctetes,' and the great resemblance which this piece 
 bears to ' CEdipus in Colonos,' both in the arrangement and 
 the course of action. 
 
 " In both pieces .we see the hero in a helpless condition - 7 
 both are old and suffering from bodily infirmities. CEdipus 
 has, at his side, his daughter as a guide and a prop ; Phi- 
 loctetes has his bow. The resemblance is carried still 
 further. Both have been thrust aside in their afflictions ; 
 but when the oracle declares with respect to both of them, 
 that the victory can be obtained with their aid alone, an 
 endeavour is made to get them back again ; Ulysses comes 
 to Philoctetes, Creon to CEdipus. Both begin their discourse 
 with cunning and honeyed words ; but when these are of no^ 
 avail they use violence, and we see Philoctetes deprived of 
 Iris bow, and CEdipus of his daughter." 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 229 
 
 " Such, acts of violence," said Goethe, "give an oppor- 
 tunity for excellent altercations, and such situations of 
 helplessness excited the emotions of the audience, on which 
 account the poet, whose object it was to produce an effect 
 upon the public, liked to introduce them. In order to 
 strengthen this effect in the OEdipus, Sophocles brings him 
 in as a weak old man, when he still, according to all cir- 
 cumstances, must have been a man in the prime of life. 
 But at this vigorous age, the poet could not have used him 
 for his play; he would have produced no effect, and he 
 therefore made him a weak, helpless old man." 
 
 ""The resemblance to Philoctetes," continued I, "goes 
 still further. The hero, in both pieces, does not act, but 
 suffers. On the other hand, each of these passive heroes 
 has two active characters against him. CEdipus has Creon 
 and Polyneices, Philoctetes has Neoptolemus and Ulysses ; 
 two such opposing characters were necessary to discuss the 
 subject on all sides, and to gain the necessary body and 
 fulness for the piece." 
 
 "You might add," interposed Goethe, "that both pieces 
 bear this further resemblance, that we see in both the ex- 
 tremely effective situation of a happy change, since one 
 hero, in his disconsolate situation, has his beloved daughter 
 restored to him, and the other, his no less beloved bow." 
 
 The happy conclusions of these two pieces are also 
 similar ; for both heroes are delivered from their sorrows : 
 CEdipus is blissfully snatched away, and as for Philoctetes, 
 we are forewarned by the oracle of his cure, before Troy, 
 by ^Esculapius. 
 
 "When we," continued Goethe, "for our modern pur- 
 poses, wish to learn how to conduct ourselves upon the 
 theatre, Moliere is the man to whom we should apply. 
 
 "Do you know his 'Malade Imaginaire?' There is a 
 scene in it which, as often as I read the piece, appears to 
 me the symbol of a perfect knowledge of the boards. I 
 mean the scene where the ' Malade Imaginaire ' asks his 
 little daughter Louison, if there has not been a young man 
 in the chamber of her eldest sister. 
 
 "jSTow, any other who did not understand his craft so 
 well would have let the little Louison plainly tell the fact 
 at once, and there would have been the end of the matter. 
 
230 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 "But what various motives for delay are introduced by 
 Moliere into this examination, for the sake of life and 
 effect. He first makes the little Louison act as if she did 
 not understand her father ; then she denies that she knows 
 anything ; then, threatened with the rod, she falls down as 
 if dead ; then, when her father bursts out in despair, she 
 springs up from her feigned swoon with roguish hilarity, 
 and at last, little by little, she confesses all. 
 
 "My explanation can only give you a very meagre notion 
 of the animation of the scene ; but read this scene yourself 
 till you become thoroughly impressed with its theatrical 
 worth, and you will confess that there is more practical in- 
 struction contained in it than in all the theories in tho 
 world. 
 
 "I have known and loved Moliere," continued Goethe, 
 "from my youth, and have learned from him during my 
 whole life. I never fail to read some of his plays every year, 
 that I may keep up a constant intercourse with what is ex- 
 cellent. It is not merely the perfectly artistic treatment 
 which delights me ; but particularly the amiable nature, the 
 highly-formed mind, of the poet. There is in him a grace 
 and a feeling for the decorous, and a tone of good society, 
 which his innate beautiful nature could only attain by 
 daily intercourse with the most eminent men of his age. 
 Of Menander, I only know the few fragments ; but these 
 give me so* high an idea of him, that I look upon 
 this great Greek as the only man who could be compared 
 to Moliere." 
 
 " I am happy," returned I, " to hear you speak, so highly 
 of Moliere. This sounds a little different from Herr von 
 Schlegel ! I have to-day, with great repugnance, swallowed 
 what he says concerning Moliere in his lectures on dra- 
 matic poetry. He quite looks down upon him, as a vulgar 
 buffoon, who has only seen good society at a distance, and 
 whose business it was to invent all sorts of pleasantries 
 for the amusement of his lord. In these low pleasantries,. 
 Schlegel admits he was most happy, but he stole the best 
 of them. He was obliged to force himself into the higher 
 school of comedy, and never succeeded in it." 
 
 " To a man like Schlegel," returned Goethe, " a genuine- 
 nature like Moliere's is a veritable eyesore ; he feels that he 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 231 
 
 lias nothing in common with him, he cannot endure him. 
 The ' Misanthrope,' which I read over and over again, as 
 one of my most favourite pieces, is repugnant to him ; he 
 is forced to praise ' Tartuffe ' a little, but he lets him down 
 again as much as he can. Schlegel cannot forgive Moliere 
 for ridiculing the affectation of learned ladies ; he feels, 
 probably as one of my friends has remarked, that he him- 
 self would have been ridiculed if he had lived with Moliere. 
 
 "It is not to be denied," continued Goethe, "that Schlegel 
 knows a great deal, and one is almost terrified at his extra- 
 ordinary attainments and his extensive reading. But this 
 is not enough. All the learning in the world is still no 
 judgment. His criticism is completely one-sided, because 
 in all theatrical pieces he merely regards the skeleton of 
 the plot and arrangement, and only points out small points 
 of resemblance to great predecessors, without troubling 
 himself in the least as to what the author brings forward of 
 graceful life and the culture of a high soul. But of what 
 use are all the arts of a talent, if we do not find in a 
 theatrical piece an amiable or great personality of the 
 author. This alone influences the cultivation of the people. 
 
 " I look upon the manner in which Schlegel has treated 
 the French drama as a sort of recipe for the formation of 
 a bad critic, who is wanting in every organ for the vene- 
 ration of excellence, and who passes over a sound nature 
 and a great character as if they were chaff and stubble." 
 
 " Shakspeare and Calderon, on the other hand," I replied, 
 " he treats justly, and even with decided affection." 
 
 "Both," returned Goethe, "are of such a kind that one 
 cannot say enough in praise of them, although I should not 
 have wondered if Schlegel had scornfully let them down 
 also. Thus he is also just to .zEschylus and Sophocles ; but 
 this does not seem to arise so much from a lively con- 
 viction of their extraordinary merit as from the tradition 
 among philologists to place them both very high ; for, in fact, 
 Schlegel's own little person is not sufficient to comprehend 
 and appreciate such lofty natures. If this had been the 
 case, he w r ould have been just to Euripides too, and would 
 have gone to work with him in a different manner. But he 
 knows that philologists do not estimate him very highly, 
 and he therefore feels no little delight that he is permitted 
 
232 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETRE. [1827. 
 
 upon such liigh authority, to fall foul of this mighty ancient, 
 and to schoolmaster him as much as he can. I do not deny 
 that Euripides has his faults ; but he was always a very 
 respectable competitor with Sophocles and ^Eschylus. If 
 he did not possess the great earnestness and the severe 
 artistic completeness of his two predecessors, and as a dra- 
 matic poet treated things a little more leniently and 
 humanely, he probably knew his Athenians well enough to 
 be aware that the chord which he struck was the right one 
 for his contemporaries. A poet whom Socrates called his 
 friend, whom Aristotle lauded, whom Menander admired, 
 and for whom Sophocles and the city of Athens put on 
 mourning on hearing of his death, must certainly have 
 been something. If a modern man like Schlegel must I 
 pick out faults in so great an ancient, he ought only to do I 
 it upon his knees." 
 
 (Sup.) Sim., April 1. — In the evening with Goethe. 1 
 conversed with him upon the yesterday's performance of 
 his "Ipkigenia," in which Herr Kriiger, from the Theatre 
 Royal at Berlin, played Orestes with great applause. 
 
 " The piece," said Goethe, "has its difficulties. It is rich 
 in internal but poor in external life : the point is to make 
 the internal life come out. It is full of the most effective 
 means, arising from the various horrors which form the 
 foundation of the piece. The printed words are indeed 
 only a faint reflex of the life which stirred within me during 
 the invention ; but the actor must bring us back to this 
 first fire which animated the poet with respect to his sub- 
 ject. We wish to see the vigorous Greeks and heroes, with 
 the fresh sea-breezes blowing upon them, who, oppressed 
 and tormented by various ills and dangers, speak out 
 strongly as their hearts prompt them. But we want none 
 of those feeble, sentimental actors who have only just 
 learned their part by rote, and still less do we want those 
 who are not even perfect in their parts. 
 
 " 1 must confess that I have never succeeded in witness- 
 ing a perfect representation of my ' Iphigenia.' That was 
 the reason why I did not go yesterday ; for I suffer dread- 
 fully when I have to do with these spectres who do not 
 manifest themselves as they ought." 
 
 "You would probably have been satisfied with Orestes as 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 233 
 
 CTerr Kriiger represented him," said I. " There was such 
 perspicuity in his acting, that nothing could be more com- 
 prehensible or tangible than his part : it seems to comprise 
 everything ; and I shall never forget his words and 
 gestures. 
 
 " All that belongs to the higher intuition — to the vision 
 in this part, was so brought forward by his bodily move- 
 ments, and the varying tones of his voice, that one could 
 fancy one saw it with one's own eyes. At the sight of this 
 Orestes, Schiller would certainly not have missed the furies 
 — they were behind him, they were around him. 
 
 " The important place where Orestes, awakening from his 
 swoon, believes himself transported to the lower regions, 
 succeeded so as to produce astonishment* We saw the 
 rows of ancestors engaged in conversation : we saw Orestes 
 join them, question them, and become one of their number. 
 We felt ourselves transported into the midst of those blessed 
 persons, so pure and deep was the feeling of the artist, and 
 so great was his power of bringing the impalpable before 
 our eyes." 
 
 "You are just the people to be worked upon," said 
 Goethe, laughing : " but go on. He appears then to have 
 been really good, and his physical capabilities to have 
 been great." 
 
 " His organ," said I, " was clear and melodious, besides 
 being well practised, and therefore capable of the highest 
 flexion and variety. He has at command physical strength 
 and bodily activity in the execution of every difficulty. It 
 seemed that, during his whole life, he had never neglected 
 to cultivate and exercise his body in the most various 
 ways." 
 
 "An actor," said Goethe, "should properly go to school 
 to a sculptor and a painter ; for, in order to represent a 
 Greek hero, it is necessary for him to study carefully the 
 antique sculptures which have come down to us, and to 
 impress on his mind the natural grace of their sitting, 
 standing, and going. But the merely bodily is not enough. 
 He must also, by diligent study of the best ancient and 
 modern authors, give a great cultivation to his mind. This 
 will not only assist him to understand his part, but will 
 also give a higher tone to his whole being and his whole 
 
234 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827, 
 
 deportment. But tell me more ! What else did you see 
 good in him ? " 
 
 "It appeared to me," said I, "that he possessed great 
 love for his subject. He had by diligent study made every 
 detail clear to himself, so that he lived and moved in his 
 hero with great freedom ; and nothing remained which he 
 had not made entirely his own. Thence arose a just ex- 
 pression and a just accentuation for every word ; together 
 with such certainty, that the prompter was for him a 
 person quite superfluous." 
 
 " I am pleased with this," said Goethe ; " this is as it 
 ought to be. Nothing is more dreadful than when the 
 actors are not masters of their parts, and at every new sen- 
 tence must listen to the prompter. By this their acting 
 becomes a mere nullity, without any life and power. When 
 the actors are not perfect in their parts in a piece like my 
 'Iphigenia,' it is better not to play it; for the piece can 
 have success only when all goes surely, rapidly, and with 
 animation. However, I am glad that it went off: so well 
 with Kriiger. Zelter recommended him to me, and I 
 should have been annoyed if he had not turned out so well 
 as he has. I will have a little joke with him, and will 
 present him with a prettily bound copy of my 'Iphigenia,' 
 with some verses inscribed in reference to his acting." 
 
 The conversation then turned upon the " Antigone " of 
 Sophocles, and the high moral tone prevailing in it : and. 
 lastly, upon the question — how the moral element came 
 into the world ? 
 
 "Through God himself," returned Goethe, "like every- 
 thing else. It is no product of human reflection, but a 
 beautiful nature inherent and inborn. It is, more or less, 
 inherent in mankind generally, but to a high degree in a 
 few eminently gifted minds. These have, by great deeds 
 or doctrines, manifested their divine nature ; which, then, 
 by the beauty of its appearance, won the love of men, and 
 powerfully attracted them to reverence and emulation." 
 
 " A consciousness of the worth of the morally beautiful 
 and good could be attained by experience and wisdom, in- 
 asmuch as the bad showed itself in its consequences as a 
 destroyer of happiness, both in individuals and the whole 
 body, while the noble and right seemed to produce and 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 235 
 
 secure the happiness of one and all. Thus the morally 
 beautiful could become a doctrine, and diffuse itself over 
 whole nations as something plainly expressed." 
 
 "I have lately read somewhere," answered I, "the 
 opinion that the Greek tragedy had made moral beauty a 
 special object." 
 
 "Not so much morality," returned Goethe, "as pure 
 humanity in its whole extent ; especially in such positions 
 where, by falling into contact with rude power, it could 
 assume a tragic character. In this region, indeed, even 
 the moral stood as a principal part of human nature, 
 
 " The morality of Antigone, besides, was not invented by 
 Sophocles, but was contained in the subject, which 
 Sophocles chose the more readily, as it united so much 
 dramatic effect with moral beauty." 
 
 Goethe then spoke about the characters of Creon and 
 Ismene, and on the necessity for these two persons for the 
 development of the beautiful soul of the heroine. 
 
 "All that is noble," said he, "is in itself of a quiet 
 nature, and appears to sleep until it is aroused and sum- 
 moned forth by contrast. Such a contrast is Creon, who 
 is brought in, partly on account of Antigone, in order that 
 her noble nature and the right which is on her side 
 may be brought out by him, partly on his own account, in 
 order that his unhappy error may appear odious to us. 
 
 " But, as Sophocles meant to display the elevated soul of 
 his heroine even before the deed, another contrast was 
 requisite by which her character might be developed ; and 
 this is her sister Ismene. In this character, the poet has 
 given us a beautiful standard of the commonplace, so that 
 the greatness of Antigone, which is far above such a stand- 
 ard, is the more strikingly visible." 
 
 The conversation then turned upon dramatic authors in 
 general, and upon the important influence which they ex- 
 erted, and could exert, upon the great mass of the people. 
 
 " A great dramatic poet," said Goethe, " if he is at the 
 same time productive, and is actuated by a strong noble 
 purpose, which pervades all his works, may succeed in 
 making the soul of his pieces become the soul of the people. 
 1 should think that this was something well worth the 
 trouble. From Corneille proceeded an influence capable of 
 
236 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 forming heroes. This was something for Napoleon, who 
 had need of an heroic people ; on which account, he said of 
 Corneille, that if he were still living, he would make a 
 prince of him. A dramatic poet who knows his vocation, 
 should therefore work incessantly at its higher develop- 
 ment, in order that his influence on the people may be 
 noble and beneficial. 
 
 " One should not study contemporaries and competitors, 
 but the great men of antiquity, whose works have, for cen- 
 turies, received equal homage and consideration. Indeed, 
 a man of really superior endowments will feel the necessity 
 of this, and it is just this need for an intercourse with 
 great predecessors, which is the sign of a higher talent. 
 Let us study Moliere, let us study Shakspeare, but above all 
 things, the old Greeks, and always the Greeks. " 
 
 "For highly endowed natures," remarked I, "the study 
 of the authors of antiquity may be perfectly invaluable ; 
 but, in general, it appears to have little influence upon 
 personal character. If this were the case, all philologists 
 and theologians would be the most excellent of men. But 
 this is by no means the case ; and such connoisseurs of the 
 ancient Greek and Latin authors are able people or pitiful 
 creatures, according to the good or bad qualities which 
 God has given them, or which they have inherited from 
 their father and mother." 
 
 " There is nothing to be said against that," returned 
 Goethe ; " but it must not, therefore, be said, that the study 
 of the authors of antiquity is entirely without effect upon 
 the formation of character. A worthless man will always 
 remain worthless, and a little mind will not, by daily inter- 
 course with the great minds of antiquity, become one inch 
 greater. But a noble man, in whose soul God has placed 
 the capability for future greatness of character, and ele- 
 vation of mind, will, by a knowledge of, and familiar inter- 
 course with, the elevated natures of ancient Greeks and 
 Romans, every day make a visible approximation to similar 
 greatness." 
 
 (Sup.) Wed., April 11. — I went to-day about one 
 o'clock to Goethe, who had invited me to take a drive with 
 him before dinner. We took the road to Erfurt. The 
 weather was very fine ;, the corn-fields on both sides of the 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 237 
 
 way refreshed the eye with the liveliest green. Goethe 
 seemed in his feelings gay and young as the early spring, 
 but in his words old in wisdom. 
 
 "I ever repeat it," he began, "the world could not 
 exist, if it were not so simple. This wretched soil has 
 been tilled a thousand years, yet its powers are always 
 the same ; a little rain, a little sun, and each spring it 
 grows green and so forth." 
 
 I could make no answer or addition to these words. 
 Goethe allowed his eyes to wander over the verdant 
 fields, and then, turning again to me, continued thus on 
 other subjects : — 
 
 " I have been lately reading something odd, — the let- 
 ters of Jacobi and his friends. This is a remarkable 
 book, and you must read it; not to learn anything from, 
 it, but to take a glance into the state of education and 
 literature at a time of which people now have no idea. 
 We see men who are to a certain extent important, but 
 no trace of a similar direction and a common interest ; 
 each one as an isolated being goes his own way, without 
 sympathizing at all in the exertions of others. They seem 
 to me like billiard balls, which run blindly by one 
 another on the green cover, without knowing anything 
 of each other ; and which, if they come in contact, only 
 recede so much the farther from one another." 
 
 I smiled at this excellent simile. I asked about the 
 corresponding persons, and Goethe named them to me, 
 with some special remark about each. 
 
 " Jacobi was really a born diplomatist, a handsome man 
 of slender figure, elegant and noble mien — who, as an am- 
 bassador, would have been quite in his place. As a poet, a 
 philosopher, he had deficiencies. 
 
 " His relation to me was peculiar. He loved me person- 
 ally, without taking interest in my endeavours, or even ap- 
 proving of them : friendship was necessary to bind us 
 together. But my connection with Schiller was very 
 peculiar, because we found the strongest bond of union in 
 our common efforts, and had no need of what is commonly 
 called friendship." 
 
 I asked whether Leasing appeared in this correspondence. 
 
 " No," said he, " but Herder and Wieland do. Herder, 
 
238 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 however, did not enjoy sneh connections ; he stood so high 
 that this hollowness conld not fail to weary him in the long 
 run. Hamann, too, treated these people with marked 
 superiority of mind. 
 
 " Wieland, as usual, appears in these letters quite cheer- 
 ful and at home. Caring for no opinion in particular, he 
 was adroit enough to enter into all. He was like a reed, 
 moved hither and thither by the wind of opinion, yet al- 
 ways adhering firmly to its root. 
 
 "My personal relation to Wieland was always very 
 pleasant, especially in those earlier days when he belonged 
 to me alone. His little tales were written at my sug- 
 gestion ; but, when Herder came to Weimar, Wieland was 
 false to me. Herder took him away from me, for this 
 man's power of personal attraction was very great." 
 
 The carriage now began to return. We saw towards 
 the east many rain-clouds driving one into another. 
 
 " These clouds," said I, " threaten to descend in rain 
 every moment. Do you think they could possibly dissipate, 
 if the barometer rose ? " 
 
 " Yes," said he, " they would be dispersed from the top 
 downwards, and be spun off like a distaff at once. So 
 strong is my faith in the barometer. Nay, I always say 
 and maintain, that if, in the night of the great inundation 
 of Petersburg, the barometer had risen, the waves would 
 not have overflowed. 
 
 " My son believes that the moon influences the weather, 
 and you perhaps think the same, and I do not blame you ; 
 the moon is so important an -orb that we must ascribe 
 to it a decided influence on our earth ; but the change 
 of the weather, the rise and fall of the barometer, arc 
 not effected by the changes of the moon ; they are purely 
 telluric. 
 
 "I compare the earth and her atmosphere to a great 
 living being perpetually inhaling and exhaling. If she 
 inhale, she draws the atmosphere to her, so that, coming 
 near her surface, it is condensed to clouds and rain. This 
 state I call water-affirmative (Wasser-bejaliung). Should it 
 continue an irregular length of time, the earth would be 
 drowned. This the earth does not allow, but exhales again, 
 and sends the watery vapours upwards, when they are dis- 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 239 
 
 sipated through the whole space of the higher atmosphere, 
 and become so rarified, that not only does the sun penetrate 
 them with his brilliancy, but the eternal darkness of infinite 
 space is seen through as a fresh blue. This state of the 
 atmosphere I call the water-negative (Wasser-vemeinung) . 
 For as, under the contrary influence, not only water comes 
 profusely from above, but also the moisture of the earth 
 cannot be dried and dissipated, — so, on the contrary, in this 
 state, not only no moisture comes from above, but the damp 
 of the earth itself flies upwards ; so that, if this should con- 
 tinue an irregular length of time, the earth, even if the 
 sun did not shine, would be in danger of drying up." 
 
 Thus spoke Goethe on this important subject, and I 
 listened to him with great attention. 
 
 " The thing is very simple, and I abide by what is simple 
 and comprehensive, without being disturbed by occasional 
 deviations. High barometer, dry weather, east wind ; low 
 barometer, wet weather, and west wind ; this is the general 
 rule by which I abide. Should wet clouds blow hither now 
 and then, when the barometer is high, and the wind east, 
 or, if we have a blue sky, with a west wind, this does not 
 disturb me, or make me lose my faith in the general 
 rule. I merely observe that many collateral influences 
 exist, the nature of which we do not yet understand. 
 
 " I will tell you something, by which you may abided 
 during your future life. There is in nature an accessible 
 and inaccessible. Be careful to discriminate between the 
 two, be circumspect, and proceed with reverence. 
 
 " We have already done something, if we only know this 
 in a general way, though it is always difficult to see where 
 the one beoins and the other leaves off. He who does not 
 
 O 
 
 know it torments himself, perhaps his life long, about the 
 inaccessible, without ever coming near the truth. But he 
 who knows it and is wise, will confine himself to the ac- 
 cessible ; and, while he traverses this region in every direc- 
 tion, and confirms himself therein, will be able to win 
 somewhat even from the inaccessible, though he must at 
 last confess that many things can only be approached to a 
 certain degree, and that nature has ever something pro- 
 blematical in reserve, which man's faculties are insufficient 
 to fathom." 
 
240 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 During this discourse we had returned into the town. 
 Conversation turned npon unimportant subjects, so that 
 those high views conld still dwell for a while within me. 
 
 We had returned too early for dinner, and Goethe had 
 time to show me a landscape, by Rubens, representing a 
 summer's evening. On the left of the foreground, yon saw 
 ti eld-labourers going homewards ; in the midst of the pic- 
 ture, a flock of sheep followed their shepherd to the hamlet; 
 a little farther back, on the right, stood a hay-cart, which 
 people were busy in loading ; while the horses, not yet put 
 in, were grazing near ; afar off, in the meadow and 
 thickets, mares were grazing with their foals, and appear- 
 ances indicated that they would remain there all night. 
 Several villages and a town bordered the bright horizon of 
 the picture, in which the ideas of activity and repose were 
 expressed in the most graceful manner. 
 
 The whole seemed to me pnt together with such truth, 
 and the details painted with such fidelity, that I said, 
 Rubens mnst have copied the picture from nature. 
 
 " By no means," said Goethe, " so perfect a picture has 
 never been seen in natnre ; but we are indebted for its com- 
 position to the poetic mind of the painter. Still, the great 
 Rubens had such an extraordinary memory, that he carried 
 all nature in his head, and she was always at his command, 
 in the minntest particulars. Thence comes this truth in 
 the whole, and the details, so that we think it is a mere 
 copy from nature. No such landscapes are painted now-a- 
 days. That way of feeling and seeing nature no longer 
 exists. Our painters are wanting in poetry. 
 
 " Then our young talents are left to themselves ; they are 
 without living masters, to initiate them into the mysteries 
 of art. Something, indeed, may be learned from the dead, 
 but this is rather a catching 01 details than a penetration 
 into the deep thoughts and method of a master." 
 
 Fran and Herr von Goethe came in, and we sat down to 
 dinner. The lively topics of the day, such as the theatre, 
 balls, and the conrt, were lightly discussed ; but soon we 
 came to more serions matters, and found ourselves 
 deeply engaged in conversation on the religious doctrines 
 of England. 
 
 " Yon ought, like me," said Goethe, " to have studied 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 241 
 
 Church history for fifty years, to understand how all this \ 
 hangs together. On the other hand, it is highly remarkable 
 to see with what doctrines the Mahometans commence the 
 work of education. As a religious foundation, they confirm 
 their youth in the conviction that nothing can happen to 
 man, except what was long since decreed by an all-ruling 
 divinity. With this they are prepared and satisfied for a 
 whole life, and scarce need anything further. 
 
 " I will not inquire what is true or false, useful or per- 
 nicious, in this doctrine ; but really something of this faith 
 is held in us all, even without being taught. ' The ball on 
 which my name is not written, cannot hit me,' says the 
 soldier in the battle-field ; and, without such a belief, how 
 could he maintain such courage and cheerfulness in the 
 most imminent perils ? The Christian, doctrine, ' No spar- 
 row falls to the ground without the consent of our Father,' 
 comes from the same source, intimating that there is a 
 Providence, which keeps in its eye the smallest things, 
 and without whose will and permission nothing can happen. 
 
 " Then the Mahometans begin their instruction in 
 philosophy, with the doctrine that nothing exists of which 
 the contrary may not be affirmed. Thus they practise 
 the minds of youth, by giving them the task of detecting 
 and expressing the opposite of every proposition ; from 
 which great adroitness in thinking and speaking is sure to 
 arise. 
 
 " Certainly, after the contrary of any proposition has 
 been maintained, doubt arises as to which is really true. 
 But there is no permanence in doubt ; it incites the mind 
 to closer inquiry and experiment, from which, if rightly 
 managed, certainty proceeds, and in this alone can man find 
 thorough satisfaction. 
 
 " You see that nothing is wanting in this doctrine ; that 
 with all our systems, we have got no further; and that, 
 generally speaking, no one can get further." 
 
 "You remind me of the Greeks," said I, "who made use 
 of a similar mode of philosophical instruction, as is obvious 
 from their tragedy, which, in its course of action, rests 
 wholly upon contradiction, not one of the speakers ever 
 maintaining any opinion of which the other cannot, with 
 equal dexterity, maintain the contrary." 
 
 it 
 
242 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 " Yon are perfectly right," said G-oethe ; " and that 
 donbt is brought in which is awakened in the spectator or 
 reader. Thns, at the end, we are brought to certainty 
 by fate, which attaches itself to the moral, and espouses 
 its cause." 
 
 We rose from table, and Goethe took me down with 
 him into the garden, to continue our conversation. 
 
 "It is remarkable in Lessing," said I, "that in his 
 theoretical writings, for instance, in the ' Laocoon,' he 
 never leads us directly to results, but always takes us by the 
 philosophical way of opinion, counter opinion, and doubt, 
 before he lets us arrive at any sort of certainty. We 
 rather see the operation of thinking and seeking, than 
 obtain great views and great truths that can excite our 
 own powers of thought, and make ourselves productive." 
 
 "You are right," said Goethe; "Lessing himself is 
 reported to have said, that if God would give him truth, he 
 would decline the gift, and prefer the labour of seeking it 
 for himself. 
 
 " That philosophic system of the Mahometans is a 
 good standard, which we can apply to ourselves and 
 others, to ascertain the degree of mental progress which 
 we have attained. 
 
 " Lessing from his polemical nature, loved best the 
 region of doubt and contradiction. Analysis is hi?, pro- 
 vince, and there his fine understanding aided him most 
 nobly. You will find me wholly the reverse. I have 
 always avoided contradictions, have striven to dispel the 
 doubts within me, and have uttered only the results I have 
 discovered." 
 
 I asked Goethe which of the new philosophers he 
 thought the highest. 
 
 "Kant," said he, "beyond a doubt. He is the one 
 whose doctrines still continue to work, and have penetrated 
 most deeply into our German civilization. He has influenced 
 even you, although you have never read him ; now you 
 need him. no longer, for what he could give you, you 
 possess already. If you wish, by and by, to read something 
 of his, I recommend to you his ' Critique on the power of 
 Judgment,' in which he has written admirably upon rhetoric, 
 tolerably upon poetry, but unsatisfactorily on plastic art." 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 243 
 
 " Has your Excellency ever had any personal connection 
 with Kant ? " 
 
 " No," he replied ; " Kant never took any notice of me, 
 though from my own nature I went a way like his own. I 
 wrote my ' Metamorphosis of Plants ' before I knew any- 
 thing about Kant ; and yet it is wholly in the spirit of 
 his doctrine. The separation of subject from object, and 
 further, the opinion that each creature exists for his own 
 sake, and that cork trees do not grow merely that we may 
 stop our bottles — this Kant shared with me, and I rejoiced 
 to meet him on such ground. Afterwards I wrote my 
 ' doctrine of experiment,' * which is to be regarded as 
 criticism upon subject and object, and a mediation of both. 
 
 " Schiller was always wont to advise me against the 
 study of Kant's philosophy. He usually said Kant could 
 give me nothing ; but he himself studied Kant with great 
 zeal ; and I have studied him too, and not without profit." 
 
 While talking thus, we walked up and down the garden : 
 the clouds had been gathering ; and it began to rain, so 
 that we were obliged to return to the house, where we 
 continued our conversation for some time. 
 
 (Sup.) Wed., April 18. — Before dinner, I took a ride 
 with Goethe some distance along the road to Erfurt. 
 
 We were met by all sorts of vehicles laden with wares 
 for the fair at Leipsic ; also a string of horses, amongst 
 which were some very fine animals. 
 
 " I cannot help laughing at the sesthetical folks," said 
 Goethe, " who torment themselves in endeavouring, by 
 some abstract words, to reduce to a conception that inex- 
 pressible thing to which we give the name of beauty. 
 Beauty is a primeval phenomenon, which itself never makes 
 its appearance, but the reflection of which is visible in a 
 thousand different utterances of the creative mind, and is 
 as various as nature herself." 
 
 " I have often heard it said that nature is always 
 beautiful," said I; "that she causes the artists to despair, 
 because they are seldom capable of reaching her com- 
 pletely." 
 
 * The title of this paper, which appeared in 1793, and is contained 
 in Goeihe's -works, is " Der Yersuch als Yermittlcr von Object und 
 Subject." — Trans. 
 
 b2 
 
24.4 CONVEKSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 "I know well," returned Goethe, "that nature often 
 reveals an unattainable charm ; but I am by no means of 
 opinion that she is beautiful in all her aspects. Her inten- 
 tions are, indeed, always good ; but not so the conditions 
 which are required to make her manifest herself completely. 
 
 " Thus, the oak is a tree which may be very beautiful ; 
 but how many favourable circumstances must concur 
 before nature can succeed in producing one truly beautiful ! 
 If an oak grow in the midst of a forest, encompassed 
 with large neighbouring trunks, its tendency will always be 
 upwards, towards free air and light ; only small weak 
 branches will grow on its sides ; and these will in the 
 course of a century decay and fall off. But if it has at 
 last succeeded in reaching the free air with its summit, it 
 will then rest in its upward tendency, and begin to spread 
 itself from its sides and form a crown. But it is by this 
 time already past its middle age : its many years of 
 upward striving have consumed its freshest powers, and its 
 present endeavour to put forth its strength by increasing 
 in breadth will not now have its proper results. When 
 full grown, it will be high, strong and slender stemmed, 
 but still without such a proportion between its crown and 
 its stem as would render it beautiful. 
 
 " Again ; if the oak grow in a moist, marshy place, and 
 the earth is too nourishing, it will, with proper space, pre- 
 maturely shoot forth many branches and twigs on all sides : 
 but it will still want the opposing, retarding influences ; it 
 will not show itself gnarled, stubborn, and indented, and 
 seen from a distance, it will have the appearance of a weak 
 tree of the lime species ; and it will not be beautiful — at 
 least, not as an oak. 
 
 " If, lastly, it grow upon mountainous slopes, upon poor, 
 stony soil, it will become excessively gnarled and knotty ; 
 but it will lack free development : it will become prema- 
 turely stunted, and will never attain such perfection that 
 one can say of it, ' there is in that oak something which 
 creates astonishment.' " 
 
 I rejoiced at these words. " I saw very beautiful oaks," 
 said I, " when, some years ago, I made short tours from 
 Grottingen into the valley of the "Weser. I found them par- 
 ticularly magnificent in the neighbourhood of Hoxter." 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 245 
 
 " A sandy soil, or one mixed with sand," continued 
 Goethe, " where the oak is able to spread its strong roots 
 in every direction, appears to be most favourable ; and then 
 it needs a situation where it has the necessary space to feel 
 the effects on all sides of light, sun, rain, and wind. If it 
 grows up snugly sheltered from wind and weather, it 
 becomes nothing ; but a century's struggle with the 
 elements makes it strong and powerful, so that, at its full 
 growth, its presence inspires us with astonishment and 
 admiration." 
 
 " Cannot one, from these remarks of yours," returned I, 
 " draw a conclusion and say, ' a creature is beautiful when 
 it has attained the summit of its natural development ?' " 
 
 " Certainly," returned Goethe; u but still one must first 
 explain what one means by the summit of its natural 
 development." 
 
 " I would by that," returned I, " signify the period of 
 growth in which the character peculiar to any creature 
 appears perfectly impressed on it." 
 
 " In that sense," said Goethe, " there would be nothing 
 to object, especially if we add that, for such a perfect 
 development of character, it is likewise requisite that the 
 build of the different members of a creature should be 
 conformable to its natural destination. 
 
 " In that case, a marriageable girl, whose natural destiny 
 is to bear and suckle children, will not be beautiful without 
 the proper breadth of the pelvis and the necessary fulness 
 of the breasts. Still, an excess in these respects would not 
 be beautiful, for that would go beyond conformity to an end. 
 
 " On this account, we might call some of the saddle 
 horses which we met a little time ago beautiful, even 
 according to the fitness of their build. It is not merely 
 the elegance, lightness, and gracefulness of their move- 
 ments, but something more, of which a good horseman 
 and judge of horses alone can speak, and of which we 
 others merely receive the general impression." 
 
 " Might we not, on the other hand," said I, " call a cart- 
 horse beautiful, like those strong specimens which we 
 met a little time asro drawing the wagons of the Brabant 
 carriers ? " 
 
 " Certainly," said Goethe; "and why not ? A painter 
 
24G CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 would probably find a more varied display of all kinds 01 
 beauties in the strongly-marked character and powerful 
 development of bone, sinew, and muscle, in such, an 
 animal, than in the softer and more equal character of an 
 elegant saddle-horse." 
 
 " The main point is," continued Goethe, "that the race 
 is pure, and that man has not applied his mutilating hand. 
 A horse with his mane and tail cut, a hound with cropped 
 ears, a tree from which the strongest branches have been 
 lopped and the rest cut into a spherical form, and, above 
 all, a young girl whose youthful form has been spoiled 
 and deformed by stays, are things from which good taste 
 revolts, and which merely occupy a place in the Philistine's 
 catechism of beauty." 
 
 During this and similar conversations, we had returned. 
 We walked about a little in the garden of the house before 
 dinner. The weather was very beautiful ; the spring sun 
 had begun to grow powerful, and to bring out all sorts of 
 leaves and blossoms on bushes and hedges. Goethe was 
 full of thought and hopes of a delightful summer. 
 
 At dinner we were very cheerful. Young Goethe had 
 read his father's " Helena," and spoke upon it with much 
 judgment and natural intelligence. He showed decided 
 delight at the part conceived in the antique spirit, while 
 we could see that he had not fully entered into the operatic, 
 romantic half. 
 
 " You are right," said Goethe ; " it is something peculiar. 
 One cannot say that the rational is always beautiful ; but the 
 beautiful is always rational, or at least, ought to be so. The 
 antique part pleases you because it is comprehensible, 
 because you can take a survey of the details, and approach 
 my reason with your own. In the second half, all sorts 
 of understanding and reason are likewise employed and 
 expended ; but it is difficult, and requires some study, 
 before the reader can approach the meaning, and with his 
 own reason discover the reason of the author." 
 
 Goethe then spoke with much praise and acknowledg- 
 ment of the poems of Madame Tastu, with which he had 
 been lately occupied. 
 
 When the rest had departed, and I also prepared to go, 
 he begged of me to remain a little longer. He ordered a 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 247 
 
 portfolio, with engravings and etchings by Dutch masters, 
 to be brought in. 
 
 "I will treat you with something good, by way of 
 dessert," said he. With these words, he placed before me 
 a landscape by Rubens. 
 
 " You have," said he, " already seen this picture ; but one 
 cannot look often enough at anything really excellent ; — 
 besides, there is something very particular attached to this. 
 Will you tell me what you see ? " 
 
 " I begin from the distance," said I. " T see in the 
 remotest background a very clear sky, as if after sunset. 
 Then, still in the extreme distance, a village and a town, 
 in the light of evening. In the middle of the picture 
 there is a road, along which a flock of sheep is hastening to 
 the village. At the right hand of the picture are several 
 haystacks, and a waggon which appears well laden. Un- 
 harnessed * horses are grazing near. On one side, among 
 the bushes, are several mares with their foals, which 
 appear as if they were going to remain out of doors all 
 night. Then, nearer to the foreground, there is a group of 
 large trees ; and lastly, quite in the foreground to the left, 
 there are various labourers returning homewards." 
 
 " Good," said Goethe, " that is apparently all. But the 
 principal point is still wanting. All these things, which we 
 see represented, the flock of sheep, the waggon with hay, the 
 horses, the returning labourers, — on which side are they 
 lighted ? " 
 
 " They receive light," said I, "from the side turned to us, 
 and the shadow is thrown into the picture. The returning 
 labourers in the foreground are especially in the light> 
 which produces an excellent effect." 
 
 " But how has Rubens produced this beautiful effect ? " 
 
 " By making these light figures appear on a dark ground," 
 said I. 
 
 " But this dark ground," said Goethe, " whence does it 
 arise?" 
 
 " It is the powerful shadow," said I, " thrown by the 
 
 * The original says "harnessed" (angeschirrt), but as this is 
 evidently the same engraving as the one mentioned at p. 240, where 
 the horses are described as " unharnessed " (abgespannt), I assume 
 that " angeschirrt " is a misprint for " abgeschirrt." — Trans. 
 
248 ' CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. ['827. 
 
 group of trees towards the figures. But how ? " con- 
 tinued I, with surprise, " the figures cast their shadows into 
 the picture ; the group of trees, on the contrary, cast their's 
 towards the spectator. "We have, thus, light from two 
 different sides, which is quite contrary to Nature." 
 
 " That is the point," returned (xoethe, with a smile. " It 
 is by this that Rubens proves himself great, and shows to 
 the world that he, with a free spirit, stands above Nature, 
 and treats her conformably to his high purposes. The 
 double light is certainly a violent expedient, and you 
 certainly say that it is contrary to nature. But if it is 
 contrary to nature, I still say it is higher than nature ; I say 
 it is the bold stroke of the master, by which he, in a genial 
 manner, proclaims to the world that art is not entirely 
 subject to natural necessities, but has laws of its own. 
 
 " The artist," continued Goethe, " must, indeed, in his 
 details faithfully and reverently copy nature ; he must not, 
 arbitrarily, change the structure of the bones, or the 
 position of the muscles and sinews of an animal, so that the 
 peculiar character is destroyed. This would be annihilating 
 nature. But in the higher regions of artistical production, 
 by which a picture really becomes a picture, he has freer 
 play, and here he may have recourse to fictions, as Rubens 
 has done with the double Kght in this landscape. 
 
 " The artist has a twofold relation to nature ; he is at 
 once her master and her slave. He is her slave, inasmuch 
 as he must work with earthly things, in order to be under- 
 stood ; but he is her master, inasmuch as he subjects these 
 earthly means to his higher intentions, and renders them 
 subservient. 
 
 " The artist would speak to the world through an 
 entirety ; however, he does not find this entirety in nature ; 
 but it is the fruit of his own mind, or, if you like it, of the 
 aspiration of a fructifying divine breath. 
 
 " If we observe this landscape by Rubens only slightly 
 everything appears as natural to us as if it had been copied 
 exactly from nature. But this is not the case. So beau- 
 tiful a picture has never been seen in nature, any more than 
 a landscape by Poussin or Claude Lorraine, which appears 
 very natural to us, but which we vainly seek in the actual 
 world." 
 
l8z;.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 249" 
 
 " Are there not," said I, " bold strokes of artistic fiction 
 similar to this double light of Rubens, to be found in 
 literature ? " 
 
 "We need not go far," said Goethe, after some reflection ; 
 " I could show you a dozen of them in Shakspeare. Only 
 take Macbeth. When the lady would animate her husband 
 to the deed, she says — 
 
 ' I have given suck,' &c. 
 
 Whether this be true or not does not appear ; but the lady 
 says it, and she must say it, in order to give emphasis to 
 her speech. But in the course of the piece, when Macduff 
 hears of the account of the destruction of his family, he 
 exclaims in mid rage — 
 
 ' He has no children ! ' 
 
 These words of Macduff contradict those of Lady Macbeth ; 
 but this does not trouble Shakspeare. The grand point 
 with him is the force of each speech ; and as the lady, in 
 order to give the highest emphasis to her words, must say 
 ' I have given suck,' so, for the same purpose, Macduff 
 must say ' he has no children.' 
 
 " Generally," continued Goethe, " we must not judge too- 
 exactly and narrowly of the pencil touches of a painter, or 
 the words of a poet ; we should rather contemplate and 
 enjoy a work of art that has been produced in a bold and 
 free spirit, and if possible with the same spirit. 
 
 " Thus it would be foolish, if, from the words of 
 Macbeth— 
 
 1 Bring forth men children only ! ' &c, 
 
 the conclusions were drawn that the lady was a young 
 creature who had not yet borne any children. And it 
 would be equally foolish if we were to go still further, and 
 say that the lady must be represented on the stage as a 
 very youthful person. 
 
 " Shakspeare by no means makes Macbeth say these 
 words to show the youth of the lady ; but these words, like 
 those of Lady Macbeth and Macduff, which I quoted just 
 now, are merely introduced for rhetorical purposes, and 
 prove nothing more than that the poet always makes his 
 character say whatever is proper, effective, and good in 
 each particular place, without troubling himself to calculate 
 
250 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [ l82 7« 
 
 whether these words may, perhaps, fall into apparent con- 
 tradiction with some other passage. 
 
 " Shakspeare, in writing his pieces, conld hardly have 
 thought that they would appear in print, so as to be told 
 over, and compared one with another ; he had rather the 
 stage in view when he wrote ; he regarded his plays as a 
 lively and moving scene, that would pass rapidly before 
 the eyes and ears upon the stage, not as one that was to be 
 held firmly, and carped at in detail. Hence, his only point 
 was to be effective and significant for the moment." 
 
 (Sup.) Tues., April 24. — August Wilhelm von Schlegel 
 is here. Before dinner, Goethe took a drive with him 
 round the "Webicht, and this evening gave a great tea-party 
 in honour of him, at which Schlegel's fellow-traveller, 
 Doctor Lassen, was present. All in Weimar, of any rank 
 and name, were invited, so that the press in Goethe's room 
 was very great. Herr von Schlegel was quite surrounded 
 by ladies, to whom he showed thin rolled-up strips with 
 Indian idols, as well as the whole text of two great Indian 
 poems, of which no one but himself and Doctor Lassen 
 probably understood anything. Schlegel was dressed with 
 extreme neatness, and had an extremely youthful and 
 blooming appearance, so that some of the assembled guests 
 were pleased to maintain that he appeared not unskilled in 
 the use of cosmetic means. 
 
 Goethe drew me to the window. "Now, how does he 
 please you?" "Not better than I expected," returned I. 
 " He is truly, in many respects, no true man," continued 
 Goethe ; " but still, one must bear with him a little, on 
 account of his extensive knowledge and great deserts." 
 
 (Sup.) Wed., April 25. — Dined with Goethe and Dr. 
 Lassen. Schlegel had once more gone to dine at the court. 
 Here Lassen displayed great knowledge of Indian poetry, 
 which seemed highly acceptable to Goethe, as he could 
 thus complete his own very deficient knowledge of these 
 things. 
 
 In the evening I again spent a few moments with 
 Goethe. He related to me that Schlegel had been with 
 him. at twilight, and that they had carried on a very im- 
 portant conversation on historical and literary subjects, 
 which had been very iustructive to bim. " Only," said he, 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 251 
 
 "one must not expect grapes from thorns, or figs from 
 thistles ; for the rest, all is very excellent." 
 
 (Sup.) Thitrs., May 3. — The highly successful transla- 
 tion of Goethe's dramatic works, by Stapfer, was noticed by 
 Monsieur J. J. Ampere in the "Parisian Globe" of last 
 year, in a manner no less excellent, and this affected Goethe 
 so agreeably that he very often recurred to it, and ex- 
 pressed his great obligations to it. 
 
 " Ampere's point of view is a very high one," said he. 
 "When German critics on similar occasions start from 
 philosophy, and in the consideration and discussion of a 
 JDoetical production proceed in a manner that what they 
 intend as an elucidation is only intelligible to philosophers 
 of their own school, while for other people it is far more 
 obscure than the work upon which they intended to throw 
 a light, M. Ampere, on the contrary, shows himself quite 
 practical and popular. Like one who knows his profession 
 thoroughly, he shows the relation between the production 
 and the producer, and judges the different poetical produc- 
 tions as different fruits of different epochs of the poet's life. 
 
 " He has studied most profoundly the changing course of 
 :ny earthly career, and of the condition of my mind, and 
 has had the faculty of seeing what I have not expressed, 
 and what, so to speak, could only be read between the lines. 
 How truly has he remarked that, during the first ten years 
 of my official and court life at Weimar, I scarcely did any- 
 thing ; that despair drove me to Italy ; and that I there, 
 with new delight in producing, seized upon the history of 
 Tasso, in order to free myself, by the treatment of this 
 agreeable subject, from the painful and troublesome impres- 
 sions and recollections of my life at Weimar. He therefore 
 very happily calls Tasso an elevated Werther. 
 
 " Then, concerning Faust, his remarks are no less clever, 
 since he not only notes, as part of myself, the gloomy, dis- 
 contented striving of the principal character, but also the 
 scorn and the bitter irony of Mephistophiles." 
 
 In this, and a similar spirit of acknowledgment, Goethe 
 often spoke of M. Ampere. We took a decided interest in 
 him ; we endeavoured to picture to ourselves his personal 
 appearance, and, if we could not succeed in this, we at 
 Least agreed that he must be a man of middle age to under- 
 
252 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827, 
 
 stand the reciprocal action of life and poetry on each other. 
 We were, therefore, extremely surprised when M. Ampere 
 arrived in Weimar a few days ago, and proved to be a 
 lively youth, some twenty years old ; and we were no less 
 surprised when, in the course of further intercourse, he 
 told us that the whole of the contributors to the " Globe,"' 
 whose wisdom, moderation, and high degree of cultivation 
 Ave had often admired, were only young people like himself. 
 
 " I can well comprehend," said I, " that a person may be 
 young and may still produce something of importance — like 
 Merimee, for instance, who wrote excellent pieces in his 
 twentieth year ; but that any one at so early an age should 
 have at his command such a comprehensive view, and such 
 deep insight, as to attain such mature judgment as the 
 gentlemen of the ' Globe,' is to me something entirely new." 
 
 " To you, in your Heath," * returned Goethe, " it has not 
 been so easy ; and we others also, in Central Germany, have 
 been forced to buy our little wisdom dearly enough. Then 
 we all lead a very isolated miserable sort of life ! From 
 the people, properly so called, we derive very little culture. 
 Our talents and men of brains are scattered over the whole 
 of Germany. One is in Vienna, another in Berlin, another 
 in Konigsberg, another in Bonn or Diisseldorf — all about a 
 hundred miles apart from each other, so that personal con- 
 tact and personal exchange of thought may be considered 
 as rarities. I feel what this must be, when such men as 
 Alexander von Humboldt come here, and in one single day 
 lead me nearer to what I am seeking, and what I require 
 to know, than I should have done for years in my own 
 solitary way. 
 
 " But now conceive a city like Paris, where the highest 
 talents of a great kingdom are all assembled in a single spot, 
 and by daily intercourse, strife, and emulation, mutually 
 instruct and advance each other ; where the best works, both 
 of nature and art, from all the kingdoms of the earth, are 
 open to daily inspection ; — conceive this metropolis of the 
 world, I say, where every walk over a bridge or across a 
 square recalls some mighty past, and where some historical 
 event is connected with every corner of a street. In ad- 
 
 * This doubtless refers to the Heath country in which Eckermann 
 was born. — Trans. 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 253 
 
 dition to all this, conceive not the Paris cf a dull, spiritless 
 time, but the Paris of the nineteenth century, in which, 
 during three generations, such men as Moliere, Voltaire, 
 Diderot, and the like, have kept up such a current of 
 intellect as cannot be found twice in a single spot on the 
 whole world, and you will comprehend that a man of talent 
 like Ampere, who has grown up amid such abundance, can 
 easily be something in his four-and-twentieth year. 
 
 "You said just now," said Goethe, "that you could well 
 understand how any one in his twentieth year could write 
 pieces as good as those of Merimee. I have nothing to 
 oppose to tins ; and I am, on the whole, quite of your 
 opinion that good productiveness is easier than good judg- 
 ment in a youthful man. But in Germany, one had better 
 not, when so young as Merimee, attempt to produce any- 
 thing so mature as he has done in his pieces of ' Clara 
 Gazul.' It is true, Schiller was very young when he wrote 
 his 'Robbers,' his 'Love and Intrigue,' his ' Fiesco ; ' but, 
 to speak the truth, all three pieces are rather the utterances 
 of an extraordinary talent than signs of mature cultivation 
 in the author. This, however, is not Schiller's fault, but 
 rather the result of the state of culture of his nation, and 
 the great difficulty which we all experience in assisting 
 ourselves on our solitary way. 
 
 " On the other hand, take up Beranger. He is the son 
 of poor parents, the descendant of a poor tailor; at one 
 time a poor printer's apprentice, then placed in some office 
 with a small salary : he has never been to a classical school 
 or university; and yet his songs are so full of mature 
 cultivation, so full of , wit and the most refined irony, and 
 there is such artistic perfection and masterly handling of 
 the language, that he is the admiration, not only of France, 
 but of all civilized Europe. 
 
 " But imagine this same Beranger — instead of being born 
 in Paris, and brought up in this metropolis of the world — 
 the son of a poor tailor in Jena or Weimar, and let him 
 commence his career, in an equally miserable manner, in 
 such small places, ask yourself what fruit would have been 
 produced by this same tree grown in such a soil and in such 
 in atmosphere. 
 
 " Therefore, my good friend, I repeat that, if a talent ia 
 
254 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. W827. 
 
 to be speedily and happily developed, the great point is 
 that a great deal of intellect and sonnd culture should bo 
 current in a nation. 
 
 "We admire the tragedies of the ancient Greeks; but, 
 to take a correct view of the case, we ought rather to 
 admire the period and the nation in which their production 
 was possible than the individual 'authors ; for though these 
 pieces differ a little from each other, and though one of 
 these poets appears somewhat greater and more finished 
 than the other, still, taking all things together, only one 
 decided character runs through the whole. 
 
 "This is the character of grandeur, fitness, soundness, 
 human perfection, elevated wisdom, sublime thought, pure, 
 strong intuition, and whatever other qualities one might 
 enumerate. But when we find all these qualities, not only 
 in the dramatic works that have come down to us, but also 
 in lyrical and epic works, in the philosophers, the orators, 
 and the historians, and in an equally high degree in the 
 works of plastic art that have come down to us, we must 
 feel convinced that such qualities did not merely belong to 
 individuals, but were the current property of the nation 
 and the whole period. 
 
 "Now, take up Burns. How is he great, except through 
 the circumstance that the whole songs of his predecessors 
 lived in the mouth of the people, — that they were, so to 
 speak, sung at his cradle ; that, as a boy, he grew up 
 amongst them, and the high excellence of these models so 
 pervaded him that he had therein a living basis on which 
 he could proceed further? Again, why is he great, but 
 from this, that his own songs at once |ound susceptible ears 
 amongst his compatriots ; that, sung by reapers and sheaf- 
 binders, they at once greeted him in the field ; and that his 
 boon-companions sang them to welcome him at the ale- 
 house ? Something was certainly to be done in this way. 
 
 " On the other hand, what a pitiful figure is made by us 
 Germans ! Of our old songs — no less important than those 
 of Scotland — how many lived among the people in the days 
 of my youth ? Herder- and his successors first began to 
 collect them and rescue them from oblivion; then they 
 were at least printed in the libraries. Then, more lately, 
 what songs have not Burger and Voss composed! Who 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 255 
 
 can say that they are more insignificant or less popular than 
 those of the excellent Burns ? but which of them so lives 
 among us that it greets us from the mouth of the people ? 
 — they are written and printed, and they remain in the 
 libraries, quite in accordance with the general fate of 
 German poets. Of my own songs, how many live ? Per- 
 haps one or another of them may be sung by a pretty girl 
 to the piano ; but among the people, properly so called, they 
 have no sound. - With what sensations must I remember 
 the time when passages from Tasso were sung to me by 
 Italian fishermen ! 
 
 " We Germans are of yesterday. We have indeed been 
 properly cultivated for a century ; but a few centuries more 
 must still elapse before so much mind and elevated culture 
 will become universal amongst our people that they will 
 appreciate beauty like the Greeks, that they will be inspired 
 by a beautiful song, and that it will be said of them ' it is 
 long since they were barbarians.' " 
 
 (Suj).) Fri., May 4. — A grand dinner at Goethe's in 
 honour of Ampere and his friend Stapfer. The conversa- 
 tion was loud, cheerful, and varied. Ampere told Goethe 
 a great deal about Merimee, Alfred de Vigny, and other 
 talents of importance. A great deal also was said about 
 Beranger, whose inimitable songs are daily in Goethe's 
 thoughts. There was a discussion as to whether Beranger's 
 cheerful amatory songs or Ins political ones merited the 
 preference ; whereupon Goethe expressed his opinion that, 
 in general, a purely poetical subject is as superior to a 
 political one as the pure everlasting truth of nature is to 
 party spirit. 
 
 "However," continued he, "Beranger has, in his 
 political poems, shown himself the benefactor of his nation. 
 After the invasion of the allies, the French found in him 
 the best organ for their suppressed feelings. He directed 
 their attention by various recollections to the glory of their 
 arms under the Emperor, whose memory still lives in every 
 cottage, and whose great qualities the poet loved, without 
 desiring a continuance of his despotic sway. Now, under 
 the Bourbons, he does not seem too comfortable. They are, 
 indeed, a degenerate race ; and the Frenchman of the pre- 
 sent day desires great qualities upon the throne, although 
 
256 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 he likes to take part in the government, and pnt in his own 
 word." 
 
 After dinner the company dispersed in the garden, and 
 Goethe beckoned me to take a drive ronnd the wood, on the 
 road to Tiefnrt. 
 
 Whilst in the carriage he was very pleasant and affable. 
 He was glad that he had formed so pleasant an intimacy 
 with Ampere, promising himself, as a result, the fairest 
 consequences with respect to the acknowledgment and 
 diffusion of German literature in France. 
 
 " Ampere," continued he, " stands indeed so high in 
 culture that the national prejudices, apprehensions, and 
 narrow-mindedness of many of his countrymen lie far be- 
 hind him ; and in mind he is far more a citizen of the 
 world than a citizen of Paris. But I see a time coming 
 when there will be thousands in Trance who think like 
 him." 
 
 (Sujj.) Sun,, May 6. — A second dinner party at Goethe's, 
 to which the same people came as the day before yesterday. 
 Much was said about " Helena " and " Tasso." Goethe re- 
 lated to us that in the year 1797, he had formed the plan 
 of treating the tradition concerning Tell as an epic poem 
 in hexameters. 
 
 " In the same year," said he, "I visited the small cantons, 
 and the lake of the four cantons, and this charming, magni- 
 ficent, grand nature made once more such an impres- 
 sion upon me, that it induced me to represent in a poem 
 the variety and richness of so incomparable a landscape. 
 But, in order to throw more charm, interest, and life into 
 my representation, I considered it good to people this 
 highly-striking spot with equally striking human figures, 
 for which purpose the tradition concerning Tell appeared to 
 me admirably fitted. 
 
 " I pictured Tell to myself as a heroic man, possessed of 
 native strength, but contented with himself, and in a state 
 of childish unconsciousness. He traverses the canton as a 
 carrier, and is everywhere known and beloved, everywhere 
 ready with his assistance. He peacefully follows his calling, 
 providing for his wife and child, and not troubling himself 
 who is lord or who is serf. 
 
 " Gessler, on the contrary, I pictured to myself as a 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE, 257 
 
 tyrant ; but as one of the comfortable sort who occasionally 
 does good when it suits him, and occasionally harm when it 
 suits him, and to whom the people, with its weal and woe, 
 is as totally indifferent as if it did not exist. 
 
 " The higher and better qualities of human nature, on 
 the contrary, the love of native soil, the feeling of freedom 
 and security under the protection of the laws of the 
 country, the feeling, moreover, of the disgrace of being 
 subjugated, and occasionally ill-treated, by a foreign de- 
 bauchee, and lastly, strength of mind matured to a deter- 
 mination to throw off so obnoxious a yoke, — all these great 
 and good qualities I had shared between the well-known 
 noble-minded men, Walter Furst, Stauffacher, Winkelried, 
 and others ; and these were my proper heroes, my higher 
 powers, acting with consciousness, whilst Tell and Gressler, 
 though occasionally brought into action, were, upon the 
 whole, rather figures of a passive nature. 
 
 "I was quite full of this beautiful subject, and was 
 already humming my hexameters. I saw the lake in the 
 quiet moonlight, illuminated mists in the depths of the 
 mountains. I then saw it in the light of the loveliest 
 morning sun — a rejoicing and a life in wood and meadow. 
 Then I described a storm — a thunder-storm, which swept 
 from the hollows over the lake. Neither was there any 
 lack of the stillness of night, nor of secret meetings ap- 
 proached by bridges. 
 
 " I related all this to Schiller, in whose soul my land- 
 scapes and my acting figures formed themselves into a 
 drama. And as I had other things to do, and the execution 
 of my design was deferred more and more, I gave up my 
 subject entirely to Schiller, who thereupon wrote his admir- 
 able play." 
 
 We were pleased with this communication, which was 
 interesting to us all. I remarked that it appeared to me as 
 if the splendid description of sunrise, in the first scene of 
 the second act of " Faust," written in terza rima, was 
 founded upon the recalled impressions of the lake of the 
 four cantons. 
 
 " I will not deny," said Goethe, " that these contempla- 
 tions proceed from that source; nay, without the fresh im- 
 pressions of those wonderful scenes, I could never have 
 
258 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1S27. 
 
 conceived the subject of that terza rima. But that is all 
 which I have coined from the gold of my Tell-localities. 
 The rest 1 left to Schiller, who, as we know, made the most 
 beautiful use of it." 
 
 The conversation now turned upon " Tasso," and the idea 
 which Goethe had endeavoured to represent by it. 
 
 "Idea!" said Goethe, "as if I knew nothing about it. 
 I had the life of Tasso, I had my own life ; and whilst I 
 brought together two odd figures with their peculiarities, 
 the image of Tasso arose in my mind, to which I opposed, 
 as a prosaic contrast, that of Antonio, for whom also I 
 did not lack models. The further particulars of court life 
 and love affairs were at Weimar as they were in Ferrara ; 
 and I can truly say of my production, it is bone of my hone, 
 and flesh of my flesh. 
 
 " The Germans are, certainly, strange people. By their 
 deep thoughts and ideas, which they seek in eveiything and 
 fix upon everything, they make life much more burdensome 
 than is necessary. Only have the courage to give yourself 
 up to your impressions, allow yourself to be delighted, 
 moved, elevated, nay, instructed and inspired for something 
 great ; but do not imagine all is vanity, if it is not abstract 
 thought and idea. 
 
 " Then they come and ask, ' What idea I meant to em- 
 body in my Faust ? ' as if I knew myself and could inform 
 them. From heaven, through the world, to hell, would indeed 
 be something ; but this is no idea, only a course of action. 
 And further, that the devil loses the wager, and that a man, 
 continually struggling from difficult errors towards some- 
 thing better, should be redeemed, is an effective, and to 
 many, a good enlightening thought ; but it is no idea which 
 lies at the fowidation of the whole, and of every individual 
 scene. It would have been a fine thing, indeed, if I had 
 strung so rich, varied, and highly diversified a life as I have 
 brought to view in Faust upon the slender string of one 
 pervading idea. 
 \ "It was, in short," continued Goethe, "not in my line, 
 
 as a poet, to strive to embody anything abstract. I received 
 in my mind impressions, and those of a sensual, animated, 
 charming, varied, hundredfold kind, just as a lively imagi- 
 nation presented them ; and I had, as a poet, nothing more 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 259 
 
 to do than artistically to round off and elaborate such views 
 and impressions, and by means of a lively representation 
 so to bring them forward that others might receive the 
 same impression in hearing or reading my representation of 
 them. 
 
 " If I still wished, as a poet, to represent any idea, I 
 wonld do it in short poems, where a decided nnity could 
 prevail, and where a complete survey would be easy, as, for 
 instance, in the Metamorphosis of Animals, that of the 
 plants, the poem 'Bequest' (Vermachtniss), and many 
 others. The only production of greater extent, in which I 
 am conscious of having laboured to set forth a pervading 
 idea, is probably my ' Wahlverwandtschaften.' This novel 
 has thus become comprehensible to the understanding ; but 
 I will not say that it is therefore better. I am rather of 
 the opinion, that the more incommensurable, and the more 
 incomprehensible to the understanding, a poetic production 
 is, so much the better it is." 
 
 (Sup.) Tues., May 15. — Herr von Holtey, from Paris, has 
 been here for some time, and has been very well received 
 everywhere, on account of his person and talent. A very 
 friendly intimacy has also been formed between him and 
 Goethe, and his family. 
 
 Goethe has for some days been drawn into his garden, 
 where he is very happy with his quiet activity. I called 
 upon him there to-day, with Herr von Holtey and Count 
 Schulenburg, the former of whom took his leave, in order 
 to go to Berlin with Ampere. 
 
 Wed., June 20. — The family table was covered for five ; 
 the rooms were vacant and cool, which was very pleasant, 
 considering the great heat. I went into the spacious room 
 next the dining-hall, where are the worked ctu-pet and the 
 colossal bust of Juno. 
 
 After I had walked up and down alone for a short time, 
 Goethe soon came in from his work-room, and greeted me 
 in his cordial manner. He seated himself on a chair by the 
 window. " Take a chair too," said he, " and sit down by 
 me ; we will talk a little before the others arrive. I am 
 glad that you have become acquainted with Count Stern- 
 berg at my house ; he has departed, and I am now once 
 more in my wonted state of activity and repose." 
 
 S 2 
 
260 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 " The present appearance and manner of the Connt," 
 said I, "seemed to me very remarkable, as well as his 
 great attainments. Whatever the conversation turned 
 on, he was always at home, and talked about everything 
 with the greatest ease, though with profundity and cir- 
 cumspection." 
 
 "Yes," said Goethe, "he is a highly remarkable man, 
 and his influence and connections in Germany are very 
 extensive. As a botanist, he is known throughout Europe 
 by his ' Flora Subterranea,' and he also stands high as a 
 mineralogist. Do you know his history ? " 
 
 "ISTo," said I, "but I should like to hear something 
 about him. I saw him as a Count and a man of the world, 
 and also a person profoundly versed in various branches of 
 science. This is a riddle I should like to see solved." 
 
 Goethe told me that the Count in his youth had been des- 
 tined for the priesthood, and had commenced his studies at 
 Rome ; but that afterwards, when Austria had withdrawn 
 certain favours, he had gone to Naples. Goethe then pro- 
 ceeded in the most profound and interesting manner, to set 
 forth a remarkable life, which would have adorned the 
 " Wander jahre," but which I do not feel I can repeat here. 
 I was delighted to listen to him and thanked him with all 
 my soul. The conversation now turned upon the Bohemian 
 schools, and their great advantages, especially for a thorough 
 a3sthetic culture. 
 
 Frau von Goethe, young Goethe, and Fraulein Ulrica now 
 came in, and we sat down to table. The conversation was 
 gay and varied, the pietists of some cities in Northern 
 Germany being a subject to which we often reverted. It 
 was remarked that these pietistical separations had de- 
 stroyed the harmony of whole families. 
 
 I was able to give an instance of the kind, having nearly 
 lost an excellent friend because he could not convert me to 
 his opinions. He, as I stated, was thoroughly convinced 
 that good works and one's own merits are of no avail, and 
 that man can only win favour with the divinity by the 
 grace of Christ. 
 
 "A female friend," observed Frau von Goethe, "said 
 something of the sort to me ; but even now I scarcely know 
 what is meant by grace and what by good works." 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 261 
 
 " According to the present course of the world, in con- 
 versing on all such topics," said Goethe, " there is nothing- 
 hut a medley ; and perhaps none of you know whence it 
 conies. I will tell you. The doctrine of good works — 
 namely, that man, by good actions, legacies, and beneficent 
 institutions, can avoid the penalty of sin, and rise in the 
 favour of God — is Catholic. But the reformers, out of 
 opposition, rejected this doctrine, and declared, in lieu of it, 
 that man must seek solely to recognize the merits of Christ, 
 and become a partaker of his grace ; which indeed leads to 
 good works. But, nowadays, all this is mingled together, 
 and nobody .knows whence a thing comes." 
 
 I remarked, more in thought than openly, that difference 
 of opinion in religious matters had always sown dissension 
 among men, and made them enemies ; nay, that the first 
 murder had been caused by a difference in the mode of 
 worshipping God. I said that I had lately been reading 
 Byron's " Cain," and had been particularly struck by the 
 third act, and the manner in which the murder is brought 
 about. 
 
 " It is indeed admirable," said Goethe. " Its beauty is 
 such as we shall not see a second time in the world." 
 
 " Cain," said I, "was at first prohibited in England; but 
 now everybody reads it, and young English travellers 
 usually carry a complete Byron with them." 
 
 " It was folly," said Goethe ; " for, in fact, there is 
 nothing in the whole of Cain which is not taught by the 
 English bishops themselves." 
 
 The Chancellor was announced. He came in and sat 
 down with us at table. Goethe's grandchildren, Walter 
 and Wolfgang, also came in, jumping on© after the other. 
 Wolf pressed close to the Chancellor. 
 
 " Bring your album," said Goethe, " and show the Chan- 
 cellor your princess, and what Count Sternberg wrote for 
 you." 
 
 Wolf sprang up and brought the book. The Chancellor 
 looked at the portrait of the princess, with the verses 
 annexed by Goethe. Turning over the leaves, he came to 
 Zelter's inscription, and read aloud, Lerne geliorclicn 
 (" Learn to obey"). 
 
 " Those are the only rational words in the whole book," 
 
262 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 said Goethe, laughing ; " as indeed, Zelter is always ma- 
 jestic and to the point. I am now looking over his letters 
 with Riemer ; and they contain invaluable things. Those 
 letters which he has written me on his travels are especially 
 of worth ; for he has, as a sound architect and musician, the 
 advantage that he can never want interesting subjects for 
 criticism. As soon as he enters a city, the buildings stand 
 before him, and tell him their merits and their faults. 
 
 " Then the musical societies receive him at once, and 
 show themselves to the master with their virtues and their 
 defects. If a short-hand writer could but have recorded 
 his conversations with his musical scholars, we. should pos- 
 sess something quite unique in its way. In such matters 
 is Zelter great and genial, and always hits the nail on the 
 head." 
 
 Thurs., July 5. — Towards evening, I met Goethe in the 
 park, returning from a ride. As he passed he beckoned to me 
 to come and see him. I went immediately to his house, 
 where I found Coudray. Goethe alighted, and we went up 
 the steps with him. We sat down to the round table in the 
 so-called Juno-room, and had not talked long before the Chan- 
 cellor came in and joined us. The conversation turned on 
 political subjects — Wellington's embassy to St. Petersburg, 
 and its probable consequences, Capo d'lstria, the delayed 
 liberation of Greece, the restriction upon the Turks to Con- 
 stantinople, and the like. 
 
 We talked, too, of Napoleon's times, especially about the 
 Duke d'Enghein, whose incautious revolutionary conduct 
 was much discussed. 
 
 We then came to more pacific topics, and Wieland's 
 tomb at Osmannstedt was a fruitful subject of discourse. 
 Coudray told us that he was engaged with an iron en- 
 closure of the tomb. He gave us a clear notion of his 
 intention by drawing the form of the iron-railing on a piece 
 of paper. 
 
 When the Chancellor and Coudray departed, Goethe 
 asked me to stay with him a little while. " Eor one who, 
 like me, lives through ages," said he, " it always seems odd 
 when I hear about statues and monuments. I can never 
 think of a statue erected in honour of a distinguished man 
 without already seeing it cast down and trampled upon by 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 263 
 
 future warriors. Already I see Coudray's iron-railing 
 about Wieland's grave forged into horse-shoes, and shining 
 under the feet of future cavalry ; and I may even say that 
 I have witnessed such a case at Frankfort. Wieland's 
 grave is, besides, much too near the Ilm ; the stream in less 
 than a hundred years will have so worn the shore by its 
 sudden turn, that it will have reached the body." 
 
 We had some good-humoured jests about the terrible in- 
 constancy of earthly things, and then, returning to Couu- 
 ray's drawing, were delighted with the delicate and strong 
 strokes of the English pencils, which are so obedient 
 to the draughtsman, that the thought is conveyed im- 
 mediately to the paper, without the slightest loss. This 
 led the conversation to drawing, and Goethe showed me a 
 fine one, by an Italian master, representing the boy Jesus 
 in the temple with the doctors ; he then showed me an en- 
 graving after the finished picture on this subject ; and 
 many remarks were made, all in favour of drawings. 
 
 " I have lately been so fortunate," said he, "as to buy, 
 at a reasonable rate, many excellent drawings by celebrated 
 masters. Such drawings are invaluable, not only because 
 they give, in its purity, the mental intention of the artist, 
 but because they bring immediately before us the mood of 
 his mind at the moment of creation. In every stroke of 
 this drawing of the boy Jesus in the temple, we perceive 
 the great clearness, and quiet, serene resolution, in the 
 mind of the artist ; and this beneficial mood is extended to 
 us while we contemplate the work. The arts of painting 
 and sculpture have, moreover, the great advantage that 
 they are purely objective, and attract us without violently 
 exciting our feelings. Such a work either speaks to us not 
 at all, or in a very decided manner. A poem, on the other 
 hand, makes a far more vague impression, exciting in each 
 hearer different emotions, according to his nature and 
 capacity." 
 
 "I have," said 1, " been lately reading Smollett's excel- 
 lent novel of ' Roderick Random.' It gave me almost the 
 same impression as a good drawing. It is a direct re- 
 presentation of the subject, without a trace of a leaning 
 towards the sentimental ; actual life stands before us as it 
 is, often repulsive and detestable enough, yet, as a whole, 
 
2G-A CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 giving a pleasant impression on account of the decided 
 reality." 
 
 " I have often heard the praises of ' Roderick Random,' 
 and believe what you say of it, but have never read it. Do 
 yon know Johnson's ' Rasselas? ' Just read it, and tell me 
 what yon think of it." 
 
 I promised to do so. 
 
 "In Lord Byron," said I, "I frequently find passages 
 which merely bring objects before us, without affecting our 
 feelings otherwise than the drawing of a good painter. 
 'Don Juan ' is, especially, rich in sach passages." 
 
 "Yes," said Goethe, "here Lord Byron was great; his 
 pictures have an air of reality, as lightly thrown oh as if 
 they were improvised. I know but little of ' Don Juan,' 
 but I remember passages from his other poems, especially 
 sea scenes, with a sail peeping out here and there, which 
 are quite invaluable, for they make us seem to feel the sea- 
 breeze blowing." 
 
 "In his 'Don Juan,'" said I, "I have particularly 
 admired the representation of London, which his careless 
 verses bring before our very eyes. He is not very 
 scrupulous whether an object is poetical or not ; but he 
 seizes and uses all just as they come before him, down to 
 the wigs in the haircutter's window, and the men who fill 
 the street-lamps with oil." 
 
 " Our German assthetical people," said Goethe, " are 
 always talking about poetical and unpoetical objects ; and, 
 in one respect, they are not quite wrong ; yet, at bottom, 
 no real object is unpoetical, if the poet knows how to use 
 it properly." 
 
 " True," said I ; "and I wish this view were adopted as 
 a general maxim." 
 
 We then spoke of the " Two Foscari," and I remarked 
 that Byron drew excellent women. 
 
 "His women," said Goethe, "are good. Indeed, this is 
 the only vase into which we moderns can pour our ideality ; 
 nothing can be done with the men. Homer has got all be- 
 forehand in Achilles and Ulysses, the bravest and the most 
 prudent." 
 
 " There is something terrible in the ' Foscari,' " I con- 
 tinued, " on account of the frequent recurrence of the rack. 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 2G5 
 
 One can hardly conceive how Lord Byron conld dwell so 
 long on this torturing subject, for the sake of the piece." 
 
 " That sort of thing," said Goethe, " was Byron's 
 element ; he was always a self-tormentor ; and hence such 
 subjects were his darling theme, as you see in all his works, 
 scarce one of which has a cheerful subject. But the exe- 
 cution of the 'Foscari' is worthy of great praise — is it 
 not ? " 
 
 " Admirable ! " said I ; " every word is strong, signifi- 
 cant, and subservient to the aim ; indeed, generally speak- 
 ing, I have hitherto found no weak lines in Byron. I 
 always fancy I see him issuing from the sea-waves, fresh, 
 and full of creative power. The more I read him, the 
 more I admire the greatness of his talent ; and I think you 
 were quite right to present him with that immortal monu- 
 ment of love in ' Helena.' " 
 
 "I could not," said Goethe, "make use of any man as 
 the representative of the modern poetical era except him, 
 who undoubtedly is to be regarded as the greatest genius 
 of our century. Again, Byron is neither antique nor ro- 
 mantic, but like the present day itself. This was the sort 
 of man I required. Then he suited me on account of his 
 unsatisfied nature and his warlike tendency, which led to 
 his death at Missolonghi. A treatise upon Byron would 
 be neither convenient nor advisable ; but I shall not fail to 
 pay him honour and to point him out at proper times." 
 
 Goethe spoke further of " Helena " now it had again be- 
 come a subject of discourse. " I at first intended a very 
 different close," said he. " I modified it in various ways, 
 and once very well, but I will not tell you how. Then this 
 conclusion with Lord Byron and Missolonghi was sug- 
 gested to me by the events of the day, and I gave up all 
 the rest. You have observed the character of the chorus is 
 quite destroyed by the mourning song : until this time it 
 has remained thoroughly antique, or has never belied its 
 girlish nature ; but here of a sudden it becomes nobly re- 
 flecting, and says things such as it has never thought or 
 could think. 
 
 "Certainly," said I, "I remarked it; but, since I have 
 seen Rubens's landscape with the double shadow, and have 
 got an insight into the idea of fiction, such things do not 
 
c 
 
 266 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 disturb me. These little inconsistencies are of no conse- 
 quence, if by their means a higher degree of beauty is ob- 
 tained. The song had to be sung, somehow or other ; and 
 as there was no other chorus present, the girls were forced 
 to sing it." 
 
 " I wonder," said Goethe, laughing, " what the German 
 critics will say ? Will they have freedom and boldness 
 enough to get over this ? Understanding will be in the 
 way of the French ; they will not consider that the imagi- 
 nation has its own laws, to which the understanding can- 
 not, and should not, penetrate. 
 
 "If imagination did not originate things which must 
 ever be problems to the understanding, there would be but 
 little for the imagination to do. It is this which separates 
 poetry from prose ; in which latter understanding always 
 is, and always should be, at home." 
 
 I was pleased with this important remark, which I 
 treasured up. I now took leave, for it was ten o'clock. 
 We had been sitting without candles ; the clear summer 
 evening shining from the north over the Ettersberg. 
 
 Mon. evening, July 9. — I found Geothe alone, examining 
 the plaster casts which had been taken from the Stosch cabi- 
 net. " My Berlin friends," said he, "have had the kindness 
 to send me this whole collection to look at. I am already 
 acquainted with most of these fine things ; but now I see 
 them in the instructive arrangement of Winckelmann. I 
 use his description, and consult him in cases where I my- 
 self am doubtful." 
 
 We had not long talked before the Chancellor came in 
 and joined us. He told us the news from the public 
 papers, and, among other things, the story of a keeper of a 
 menagerie, who, out of a longing for lion's flesh, had killed 
 a lion, and dressed a large piece of him. 
 
 " I wonder," said Goethe, " he did not rather try an ape ; 
 that would have been a tender, relishing morsel." 
 
 We talked of the ugliness of these beasts, remarking that 
 they were the more unpleasant the more they were like men. 
 
 "I do not understand," said the Chancellor, "how 
 princes can keep these animals near them, and, indeed, 
 take pleasure in them." 
 
 " Princes," said Goethe, " are so much tormented by 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 267 
 
 disagreeable men, that they regard these more disagreeable 
 animals as a means of balancing the other unpleasant im- 
 pressions. We common people naturally dislike apes and 
 the screaming of parrots, because we see them in circum- 
 stances for which they were not made. If we could ride 
 upon elephants among palm-trees, we should there find apes 
 and parroquets quite in their place, perhaps pleasant. But, 
 as I said, princes are right to drive away one repulsive 
 thing with something still more repulsive. 
 
 " On this point," said he, "a scrap of verse occurs to me, 
 which perhaps you do not remember : — 
 
 If men should ever beasts become, 
 Bring only brutes into your room, 
 And less disgust you'll surely feel : 
 We all are Adam's children still. * 
 
 The Chancellor turned the conversation on the present 
 state of the opposition, and the ministerial party at Paris, 
 repeating, almost word for word, a powerful speech, which 
 an extremely bold democrat had made against the minister, 
 in defending himself before a court of justice. We had an 
 opportunity once more to marvel at the happy memory of the 
 Chancellor. There was much conversation upon this sub- 
 ject, and especially upon the censure of the press, between 
 Goethe and the Chancellor; the theme proved fertile, 
 G-oethe showing himself, as usual, a mild aristocrat, and 
 his friend, as usual, apparently taking his ground on the 
 side of the people. 
 
 "I have no fears for the French," said Goethe ; "they 
 stand upon such a height from a world-historical point of 
 view, that their mind cannot by any means be suppressed. 
 The law restraining the press, can have only a beneficial 
 effect, especially as its limitations concern nothing 
 essential, but are only against personalities. An opposition 
 which has no bounds is a flat affair, while limits sharpen 
 its wits, and this is a great advantage. To speak out an 
 opinion directly and coarsely is only excusable when one is 
 perfectly right ; but a party, for the very reason that it is 
 a party, cannot be wholly in the right ; therefore the indi- 
 rect method in which the French have ever been great 
 models is the best. I say to my servant plainly, ' Hans, 
 
 * An anecdote which follows here is purposely omitted. — Trans. 
 
268 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 pull off my boots,' and he understands ; but if I am with 
 a friend, and wish the service from him, I must not speak 
 so bluntly, but must find some pleasant, friendly way, to 
 ask him to perform this kind office. This necessity excites 
 my mind ; and, for the same reason as I have said, I like 
 some restraint upon the press. The French have always 
 had the reputation of being the most spiriiuel of nations, 
 and they ought to preserve it. We Germans speak out 
 our opinions without ceremony, and have not acquired 
 much skill in the indirect mode. 
 
 11 The parties at Paris would be still greater than they 
 are, if they were more liberal and free, and understood 
 each other better than they do. They stand upon a higher 
 grade, from a world-historical point of view than the 
 English; whose parliament consists of strong opposing 
 powers, which paralyze one another, and where the great 
 penetration of an individual has a difficulty in working 
 its way, as we see by Canning, and the many annoyances 
 which beset that great statesman." 
 
 We rose to go, but Goethe was so full of life that the 
 conversation was continued a while standing. At last 
 he bid us an affectionate farewell, and I accompanied the 
 Chancellor home to his residence. It was a beautiful 
 evening, and we talked much of Goethe as we went along, 
 especially repeating his remark that an unlimited opposi- 
 tion becomes a flat affair. 
 
 Sun., July 15. — I went at eight o'clock this evening to 
 see Goethe, whom I found just returned from his garden. 
 
 " See what lies there ? " said he ; "a romance, in three 
 volumes ; and by whom, think you ? by Manzoni." 
 
 I looked at the books, which were very handsomely 
 bound, and inscribed to Goethe. " Manzoni is industrious," 
 said I. "Yes, there is movement there," said Goethe. 
 
 " I know nothing of Manzoni," said I, " except his ode 
 to Napoleon, which I lately read again in your translation, 
 and have admired to a high degree. Each strophe is a 
 picture." 
 
 " You are right," said Goethe, " the ode is excellent ; but 
 do you find any one who speaks of it in Germany ? It 
 might as well not have existed, although it is the best 
 poem which has been made upon the subject." 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 2G9 
 
 Goethe continued reading the English newspapers, with 
 which I had found him engaged when I came in. I took 
 up that volume of Carlyle's translation of " German Ro- 
 mance " which contains Musasus and Fouque. The 
 Englishman, who is intimately acquainted with our 
 literature, had prefixed to every translation a memoir and 
 a criticism of the author. I read that upon Fouque, and 
 remarked with pleasure that the biography was written 
 with much thought and profundity, and that the critical 
 point of view, from which this favourite author was to be 
 contemplated, was indicated with great understanding, 
 and a tranquil, mild penetration into poetic merits. At- 
 one time the clever Englishman compares Fouque to the 
 voice of a singer, which has no great compass and but few 
 notes, but those few are good and beautifully melodious. 
 To illustrate his meaning further, he takes a simile from 
 ecclesiastical polity, saying that Fouque does not hold in the 
 poetic church the place of a bishop or dignitary of the 
 first rank, but rather satisfies himself with the duties of 
 a chaplain, and looks very well in this humble station. 
 
 While I was reading this, Goethe had gone into the 
 back chamber. He sent his servant, who invited me to 
 come to him there. 
 
 " Sit down," said he, " and let us talk awhile. A new 
 translation of Sophocles has just arrived. It reads well, 
 and seems to be excellent ; I will compare it with Solger. 
 Now, what say you to Carlyle ? " 
 
 I told him what I had been reading upon Fouque. 
 
 " Is not that very good ? " said Goethe. " Ay, there 
 are clever people over the sea, who know us and can 
 appreciate us. 
 
 " In other departments," continued Goethe, " there is no 
 lack of o-ood heads even amono; us Germans. I have been 
 reading in the Berlin Register, the criticism of an historian 
 upon Schlosser, which is very great. It is signed by 
 Heinrich Leo, a person of whom I never heard, but about 
 whom we must inquire. ITe stands higher than the French, 
 which, from an historical point of view, is saying some- 
 thing. They stick too much to the real, and cannot get 
 the ideal into their heads ; the German has this quite at 
 his command. Leo has admirable views upon the castes of 
 
270 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [^27 
 
 India. Much, is said of aristocracy and democracy ; bnt 
 the whole affair is simply this : in youth, when we either 
 possess nothing, or know not how to value tranquil pos- 
 session, we are democrats ; but, when in a long life we 
 have acquired property, we wish not only to be secure of it 
 ourselves, but also that our children and grandchildren shall 
 be secure of inheriting it, and quietly enjoying it. There- 
 fore, in old age, we are always aristocrats, to whatever 
 opinions we may have been inclined in youth. Leo speaks 
 with a great deal of thought upon this point. 
 
 " "We are weakest in the aesthetic department, and may 
 wait long before we meet such a man as Carlyle. It is 
 pleasant to see that intercourse is now so close between 
 the French, English, and Germans, that we shall be able 
 to correct one another. This is the greatest use of a world- 
 literature, which will show itself more and more. 
 
 " Carlyle has written a life of Schiller, and judged him 
 as it would be difficult for a German to judge him. On 
 the other hand, we are clear about Shakspeare and Byron, 
 and can, perhaps, appreciate their merits better than the 
 English themselves." 
 
 Wed., July 18. — " I must announce to you," was Goethe's 
 first salutation at dinner, " that Manzoni's novel soars far 
 above all that we know of the kind. I need say to you 
 nothing more, except that the interior life — all that comes 
 from the soul of the poet, is absolutely perfect ; and that 
 the outward — the delineation of localities, and the like, is 
 in no way inferior. That is saying something." I was 
 astonished and pleased to hear this. " The impression in 
 reading," continued Goethe, "is such, that we are con- 
 stantly passing from emotion to admiration, and again 
 from admiration to emotion ; so that we are always subject 
 to one of those great influences ; higher than this, I think, 
 one cannot go. In this novel we have first seen what 
 Manzoni is. Here his perfect interior is exhibited, which 
 he had no opportunity to display in his dramatic works. I 
 will now read the best novel by Sir Walter Scott, — per- 
 haps "Waverley, which I do not yet know, — and I shall see 
 how Manzoni will come out in comparison with this great 
 English writer. 
 
 " Manzoni's internal culture here appears so high, that 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 271 
 
 scarcely anything can approach, it. It satisfies ns like 
 perfectly ripe fruit. Then, in his treatment and exhibition 
 of details, he is as clear as the Italian sky itself." 
 
 " Has he any marks of sentimentality ? " said I. 
 
 " None at all," replied Goethe ; " he has sentiment, but is 
 perfectly free from sentimentality ; his feeling for every 
 situation is manly and genuine ; but I will say no more 
 to-day. I am still in the first volume ; soon you shall hear 
 more." 
 
 Sat., July 21. — When I came into Goethe's room this 
 evening, I found him reading; Manzoni's novel. 
 
 "I am in the third volume already," said he, as he laid 
 aside the book, M and am thus getting many new thoughts. 
 You know Aristotle says of tragedy, ' It must excite fear, 
 if it is to be good.' This is true, not only of tragedy, but 
 of many other sorts of poetry. You find it in my ' Gott 
 nnd die Bayadere.' You find it in very good comedy, 
 even in the ' Sieben Madchen in Uniform' (Seven Girls 
 in Uniforn), as we do not know how the joke will turn out 
 for the dear creatures. 
 
 " This fear may be of two sorts ; it may exist in the 
 shape of alarm (Angst), or in that of uneasiness (Bangig- 
 Izeii). The latter feeling is awakened when we see a moral 
 evil threatening, and gradually overshadowing, the per- 
 sonages,'.as, for instance, in the ' Elective Affinities ; ' but 
 alarm is awakened, in reader or spectator, when the 
 personages are threatened with physical danger, as, for 
 instance, in the ' Galley Slave,' and in ' Der Freyschiitz ;' — 
 nay, in the scene of the Wolf's-glen, not only alarm, but a 
 sense of annihiliation, is awakened in the spectators. Now, 
 Manzoni makes use of this alarm with wonderful felicity, 
 by resolving it into emotion, and thus leading us to admira- 
 tion. The feeling of alarm is necessarily of a material 
 character, and will be excited in every reader ; but that 
 of admiration is excited by a recognition of the writer's 
 skill, and only the connoisseur will be blessed with this 
 feeling. What say you to these aesthetics of mine ? If 
 I were younger, I would write something according to 
 this theory, though perhaps not so extensive a work as 
 this of Manzoni. 
 
 " I am now really curious to know what the gentlemen 
 
272 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 cf the * Globe ' will say to this novel. They are clever 
 enough to perceive its excellencies ; and the whole tendency 
 o£ the work is so much grist to the mill of these liberals, 
 although Manzoni has shown himself very moderate. 
 Nevertheless, the French seldom receive a work with such 
 pure kindliness as we ; they cannot readily adapt themselves 
 to the author's point of view, but, even in the best, always 
 find something which is not to their mind, and which the 
 author should have done otherwise." 
 
 Goethe then described to me some parts of the novel, 
 in order to show me in what spirit it was written. 
 
 " There are four things," said he, " which have contri- 
 buted especially to the excellence of Manzoni's works. 
 First, he is an excellent historian, and consequently gives 
 his inventions a depth and dignity which raise them far 
 above what are commonly called novels. Secondly, the 
 Catholic religion is favourable to him, giving him many 
 poetical relations, which he could not have had as a 
 Protestant. Thirdly, it is to the advantage of the book 
 that the author has suffered much in revolutionary col- 
 lisions, which, if they did not affect him, have wounded 
 his friends, and sometimes ruined them. Fourthly, it is 
 in favour of this novel that the scene is laid in the charming 
 country near Lake Como, which has been stamped on the 
 poet's mind, from youth upwards, and which he therefore 
 knows by heart. Hence arises also that distinguishing 
 merit of the work — its distinctness and wonderful accuracy 
 in describing localities." 
 
 Mon., 23rd July. — When I asked for Goethe, about eight 
 o'clock this evening, I heard that he had not yet returned 
 from the garden. I therefore went to meet him, aud found 
 him in the park, sitting on a bench in the shade of the 
 lindens ; his grandson, Wolfgang, at his side. He seemed 
 glad to see me, and motioned me to sit down by him. We 
 had no sooner exchanged salutations, than the conversation 
 again turned upon Manzoni. 
 
 " I told you lately," Goethe began, " that the historian 
 had been of great use to the poet in this novel ; but now, 
 in the third volume, I find that the historian hurts the poet, 
 for Signor Manzoni throws off at once the poet's mantle, 
 and stands for some time as a naked historian. This 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 273 
 
 happens in his descriptions of war, famine, and pestilence — 
 things which are repnlsive, and are now made insufferable 
 by the circumstantial details of a dry chronicle. 
 
 " The German translator must seek to avoid this fault ; 
 ho must get rid of a great part of the war and famine, 
 and two-thirds of the plague, so as only to leave what is 
 necessary to carry on the action. If Manzoni had had at 
 his side a friendly adviser, he might easily have 
 shunned this fault ; but, as a historian, he had too great a 
 respect for reality. This gives him trouble even in his 
 dramatic works, where, however, he helps himself through 
 by adding the superfluous historical matter in the shape of 
 notes. Here, however, he could not get rid of his historical 
 furniture in the same manner. This is very remarkable. 
 Nevertheless, as soon as the persons of the romance reap- 
 pear, the poet stands once more before us in all his glory, 
 and compels us to our accustomed admiration." 
 
 We rose and directed our steps towards the house. 
 
 "You will hardly understand," said Goethe, "how a poei 
 like Manzoni, capable of such admirable compositions, 
 could even for a moment sin against poetry. Yet the cause 
 is simple — it is this: Manzoni, like Schiller, was born a 
 poet ; but our times are so bad, that the poet can find no 
 nature fit for his use in the human life which surrounds 
 him. To build himself up, Schiller seized on two great 
 subjects,iphilosophy and history ; Manzoni, on history alone. 
 Schiller's ' Wallenstein ' is so great, that there is nothing 
 else like it of the same sort ; yet you will find that even 
 these two powerful helpers — history and philosophy — have 
 injured various parts of the work, and hinder a purely 
 poetical success. And so Manzoni suffers from too great a 
 load of history." 
 
 "Your excellency," said I, "speaks great things, and I 
 am happy in hearing you." 
 
 " Manzoni," said Goethe, " helps us to good thoughts." 
 
 He was proceeding with his remarks, when the Chan- 
 cellor met us at the gate of Goethe's house-garden, and the 
 conversation was then interrupted. He joined us as a 
 welcome friend, and we accompanied Goethe up the little 
 stairs, through the chamber of busts, into the long saloon, 
 where the curtains were let down, and two lights were 
 
 T 
 
274 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 burning on the table near the window. We sat down by 
 the table, and Goethe and the Chancellor talked upon sub- 
 jects of another kind. 
 
 (Sup.) Wed., July 25. — Goethe has lately received 
 a letter from Walter Scott, which has given him great 
 pleasure. He showed it to me to-day, and as the English 
 handwriting was very illegible to him, he begged me to 
 translate the contents to him. It appears that Goethe had 
 first written to the renowned English poet, and that this 
 letter was in reply. 
 
 " I feel myself highly honoured," writes Walter Scott, 
 " that any of my productions should have been so fortunate 
 as to attract the attention of Goethe, to the number of 
 whose admirers I have belonged since the year 1798, when, 
 notwithstanding my slight knowledge of the German 
 language, I was bold enough to translate into English the 
 ' Gotz von Berlichingen.' In this youthful undertaking, I 
 had quite forgotten that it is not enough to feel the 
 beauty of a work of genius, but that one must also 
 thoroughly understand the language in which it is 
 written before one can succeed in making such beauty 
 apparent to others. Nevertheless, I still set some value on 
 that youthful effort, because it at least shows that I knew 
 how to choose a subject which was worthy of admira- 
 tion. 
 
 " I have often heard of you, through my son-in-law, 
 Lockhart, a young man of literary eminence, who, some 
 years before he became connected with my family, had the 
 honour of being introduced to the father of German 
 literature. It is impossible that you should recollect every 
 individual of the great number of those who feel them- 
 selves urged to pay you their respects ; but I believe no one 
 is more heartily devoted to you than that young member of 
 my family. 
 
 "My friend Sir John Hope, of Pinkie, has lately had the 
 honour of seeing you, and I hoped to write to you by him ; 
 I afterwards took this liberty through two of his relations, 
 who designed to travel over Germany; but illness pre- 
 vented them putting their project into execution, so that 
 after two or three months my letter returned to me. I also, 
 at an earlier period, dared to seek Goethe's acquaintance, 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE, 275 
 
 and that before tlie flattering notice which he has been so 
 kind as to take of me. 
 
 "It is highly gratifying to all admirers of genius to 
 know that one of the greatest European models enjoys a 
 fortunate and honourable retreat, at an age when he sees 
 himself resjDected in so remarkable a manner. Poor Lord 
 Byron's destiny did not grant him so fortunate a lot, since 
 it carried him off in the prime of life, and cut short all 
 that had been hoped and expected from him. He esteemed 
 himself fortunate in the honour which you paid him, and 
 felt how much he was indebted to a poet to whom all the 
 writers of the present generation owe so much, that they 
 feel themselves bound to look up to him with childlike 
 veneration. 
 
 " I have taken the liberty of requesting MM. Treuttel 
 and Wurtz to send to you my attempt at a biography of 
 that remarkable man who for so many years had so terrible 
 an influence in the world which he governed. Besides, I 
 do not know whether I am not under some obligation to him, 
 inasmuch as he made me carry arms for 12 years, during 
 which time I served in a corps of our militia, and, in spite 
 of a long standing lameness, became a good horseman, 
 huntsman, and shot. These good qualities have latterly 
 a little forsaken me ; rheumatism, that sad torment 
 of our northern climate, having affected my limbs. How- 
 ever, I do not complain ; for I see my sons join in the 
 pleasures of the chase, since I have been obliged to give 
 them up. 
 
 " My eldest son has a squadron of hussars, which is a 
 great deal for a young man of five-and-twenty. My 
 younger son has lately taken the degree of Bachelor of 
 Arts at Oxford, and is now going to spend some months at 
 home, before he enters into the world. As it has pleased 
 God to take their mother from me, my youngest daughter 
 manages my domestic affairs. My eldest daughter is 
 married, and has a family of her own. 
 
 "This is the domestic condition of a man concerning 
 whom you have so kindly inquired. For the rest, I possess 
 enough to live quite as I wish, notwithstanding some very 
 heavy losses. I inhabit a stately old mansion, where every 
 friend of Goethe's will at all times be welcome. The hall 
 
 t2 
 
270 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 is filleo with armour, which would even have suited Jax- 
 thausen ; a large bloodhound guards the entrance. 
 
 "I have, however, forgotten him who contrived that 
 people should not forget him while alive. I hope you will 
 pardon the faults of the work, whilst you consider that the 
 author was animated by the wish to treat the memory of 
 this extraordinary man as sincerely as his island prejudices 
 would allow. 
 
 " As this opportunity of writing to you : ias suddenly and 
 accidentally been afforded me by a traveller, and admits of 
 no delay, I have not time to say more, excepting that I wish 
 you a continuance of good health and repose, and subscribe 
 myself, with the most sincere and deepest esteem, Walter 
 Scott. 
 
 " Edinburgh, July 9, 1827." 
 
 Goethe w T as, as I said, delighted with this letter. He 
 was, however, of opinion that it paid him so much respect 
 that he must put a great deal to the account of the 
 courtesy of a man of rank and refined cultivation. 
 
 He then mentioned the good and affectionate manner 
 in which Walter Scott spoke of his family connections, 
 which pleased him highly, as a sign of brotherly confi- 
 dence. 
 
 "I am really quite impatient," continued he, "for his 
 ' Life of Napoleon,' which he announces to me. I hear so 
 many contradictions and vehement protestations concern- 
 ing the book, that I am already certain it will, in any case, 
 be very remarkable." 
 
 I asked about Lockhart, and whether he still recollected 
 him. 
 
 " Perfectly well ! " returned Goethe. " His personal 
 appearance makes so decided an impression that one can- 
 not easily forget him. From all I hear from Englishmen, 
 and from my daughter-in-law, he must be a young man 
 from whom great things in literature are to be expected. 
 
 "I almost wonder that Walter Scott does not say a word 
 about Carlyle, who has so decided a German tendency thai 
 he must certainly be known to him. 
 
 " It is admirable in Carlyle that, in his judgment of out 
 German authors, he has especially in view the mental and 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 277 
 
 moral core as that which is really influential. Carlyle is a 
 moral force of great importance. There is in him much 
 for the future, and we cannot foresee what he will produce 
 and effect." 
 
 Mon. 9 Sep. 24. — I went with Goethe to Berka. We drove 
 off soon after eight o'clock ; the morning was very beautiful. 
 The road is up-hill at first, and, as there was nothing in the 
 scenery worth looking at, Goethe talked on literary subjects. 
 A well-known German poet had lately passed through. 
 Weimar, and shown Goethe his album. 
 
 " You cannot imagine what stuff it contains," said Goethe. 
 "All the poets write as if they were ill, and the whole 
 world were a lazaretto. They all speak of the woe and 
 the misery of this earth, and of the joys of a hereafter ; all 
 are discontented, and one draws the other into a state of 
 still greater discontent. This is a real abuse of poetry, 
 which was given to us to hide the little discords of life, and 
 to make man contented with, the world and his condition. 
 But the present generation is afraid of all such strength, 
 and only feels poetical when it has weakness to deal with. 
 
 "I have hit on a good word," continued Goethe, "to 
 tease these gentlemen. I will call their poetry ' Lazaretto- 
 poetry,' and I will give the name of Tyrtoean-poetry to that 
 which not only sings war-songs, but also arms men with 
 courage to undergo the conflicts of life." 
 
 Goethe's words received my full assent. 
 
 At the bottom of the carriage lay a basket made of rushes, 
 with two handles, which attra cted my attention. "I brought 
 it with me from Marienbad," said Goethe, "where there 
 are baskets of the sort of every variety of size, and I am 
 so accustomed to it that I cannot travel without it. You 
 see when it is empty it folds up, and occupies but little 
 room, but when it is full it stretches out very wide, and 
 holds more than you would imagine. It is soft and pliant, 
 and at the same time so tough and strong, that the heaviest 
 things can be carried in it." 
 
 " It has a very picturesque and even an antique appear- 
 ance," said I. 
 
 "You are right," said Goethe; "it does approach the 
 antique character, since it is not only as fit for its purpose 
 as possible ; but it has the simplest and most pleasing form, 
 
278 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 bo that we may say it stands on the highest point of perfec- 
 tion. During my mineralogical excursions in the Bohemian 
 mountains, I have found it especially serviceable ; now, it 
 contains our breakfast. If I had a hammer, I should not 
 lack an opportunity to-day to knock off a piece here and 
 there, and bring home the basket full of stones." 
 
 "We had now reached the heights, and had a free prospect 
 towards the hills behind which Berka lies. A little to the 
 left we saw into the valley which leads to Hetschburg, and 
 where, on the other side of the Ilm, is a hill, which now 
 turned towards us its shadowy side, and, on account of the 
 vapours of the valley which hovered before it, seemed blue 
 to my eye. I looked at the same spot through my glass, 
 and the blue was obviously diminished. I observed this to 
 Goethe. "Thus you see," said I, "what a great part the 
 subject plays with these purely objective colours ; a weak 
 eye increases the density, while a sharpened one drives it 
 away, or, at any rate, makes it diminish." 
 
 "Your remark is perfectly just," said Goethe; "a good 
 telescope dispels the blue tint of the most distant moun- 
 tains. The subject is, in all the phenomena, far more 
 important than is supposed. Even Wieland knew this very 
 well, for he was wont to say, ( One could easily amuse people, 
 if they were only amusable.' " 
 
 We laughed at the pleasant meaning of these words. We 
 had, in the meanwhile, descended the little valley where the 
 road passes over a roofed wooden bridge, under which the 
 rain torrents, which flow down to Hetschburg, had made a 
 channel, which was now dry. Highway labourers were 
 employed in setting up against the bridge some reddish 
 sandstones, which attracted Goethe's attention. At about 
 a stone's throw over the bridge, where the road goes 
 gradually up the hill which separates the traveller from 
 Berka, Goethe bade the coachman stop. 
 
 "We will get out here," said he, "and see whether we 
 shall not relish a little breakfast in the open air." 
 
 We got out and looked about us. The servant spread a 
 napkin upon a four-cornered pile of stones, such as usually 
 lie by the road-side, and brought the osier basket from the 
 carriage, out of which he took roast partridges, new wheaten 
 rolls, and pickled cucumbers. Goethe cut a partridge, and 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 27£ 
 
 gave me half; I ate, standing up and walking about. 
 Goethe had seated himself on the corner of a heap of 
 stones. The coldness of the stones, on which the ni^ht- 
 dew was still resting, must hurt him, I thought, and I 
 expressed my anxiety. Goethe, however, assured me it- 
 would not hurt him at all, and then I felt quite tranquil, 
 regarding it as a new token of the inward strength he must 
 feel. In the meanwhile, the servant had brought a bottle 
 of wine from the carriage, and filled for us. 
 
 " Our friend Schiitze," said Goethe, " is quite right to fly 
 to the country every week ; we will take pattern by him, and 
 if this fine weather continues for a while, this shall not b3 
 our last excursion." 
 
 I was rejoiced by this assurance. 
 
 I passed, afterwards, with Goethe, a most interesting 
 day, partly in Berka, partly in Tonndorf. He was inex- 
 haustible in intellectual communications, and talked much 
 of the second part of "Faust," on which he was just 
 beginning to work in earnest ; I therefore lament so much 
 the more, that nothing is noted down in my journal beyond 
 this introduction. 
 
 (Sup.) Wed., Sep. 26. — Goethe had invited me to take a 
 drive this morning to the Hottelstedt Ecke, the most western 
 summit of the Ettersberg, and thence to the Ettersburg 
 hunting lodge. The day was very fine, and we drove early 
 out of the Jacob's gate. Behind Lutzendorf, where the 
 journey was up-hill, and we could only drive leisurely, we 
 had an opportunity for various observations. Goethe ob- 
 served in the hedges a number of birds, and asked me if 
 they were larks. Thou great and beloved one, thought I, 
 though thou hast investigated nature as few others have, 
 in ornithology thou appearest a mere child. 
 
 " These are yellow-hammers and sparrows," returned I, 
 " and some late grasm/iicken* which, after moulting, come 
 from the thicket of the Ettersberg down to the gardens 
 and fields, and prepare for their migration ; but there are 
 no larks. It is not in the nature of larks to settle upon 
 bushes. The field or sky-larks, rise upwards into the air, 
 End dart down again to the earth ; they also, in the autumn, 
 
 * A kind of small singing bird. — Trans. 
 
280 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 fly through the air in flocks, and settle themselves some- 
 where in a stubble-field ; but they do not settle upon hedges 
 and bushes. The tree-lark, on the contrary, lives on the 
 summit of high trees, whence it rises singing into the air, 
 and then drops down again to its tree-top. There is still 
 another lark, which is found in woodland glades, and 
 which has a soft, flute-like, but rather melancholy, song. 
 It is not found on the Ettersberg, which is too lively, and 
 too near the dwellings of man ; neither does it perch upon 
 bushes." 
 
 " Humph ! " said Goethe, "you appear to be no novice in 
 these things." 
 
 " I have pursued the subject with ardour from my youth," 
 returned I, " and have always had my eyes and ears open 
 to it. In the whole wood of the Ettersberg, there are few 
 spots through which I have not repeatedly rambled. Now, 
 when I hear any note, I can venture to say from what bird 
 it proceeds. I have also gone so far that, if any one brings 
 me a bird that has lost its feathers in captivity through 
 bad treatment, I will undertake very soon to restore it to 
 health and full feather." 
 
 " That certainly shows," returned Goethe, " that you 
 have already made much progress in these matters ; I would 
 advise you to pursue the study earnestly ; it must, with your 
 decided inclination, lead to very good results. But tell me 
 something about moulting. You just now spoke of gras- 
 miiclien, which, after the completion of their moulting, 
 come down into the fields from the thickets of the Etters- 
 berg. Is moulting, then, confined to a certain time, and do 
 all birds moult at once ? " 
 
 "Most birds," returned I, "commence at the end of the 
 breeding season ; that is to say, as soon as the young of the 
 last brood are so far advanced as to be able to take care of 
 themselves. But now the question is, whether the bird has 
 time to moult between this period and that of its migration ? 
 If it has, it moults, and migrates with fresh feathers ; 
 but if it has not, it migrates with its old feathers, and 
 moults later, in the warm south. Birds do not all return 
 to us at the same time in the spring, neither do they 
 migrate at the same time in the autumn. And this proceeds 
 from the circumstance that some are less affected by cold 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 281 
 
 and rough weather, and can bear it better than oth< 
 But a bird which conies to us early migrates late, and a bird 
 which conies to us late migrates early. 
 
 "Thus, even amongst the grasTrwcken, though they 
 belong to one class, there is a great difference. The 
 chattering grasmilclce, or the rnsiLllerchen,* are heard 
 the end of March ; a fortnight after comes the black- 
 headed one, or the monk (Monch) ; then, a week after- 
 wards, the nightingale; and quite at the end of April, or 
 the beginning of May, the grey one. All these bird 1 
 moult in August with us, as well as the young of the first 
 brood ; wherefore, at the end of August, young monks are 
 caught, which have already black heads. The youug of 
 the last brood, however, migrate with their first feathers, 
 and moult later in the southern countries, for which reason 
 young monks are caught at the beginning of September, 
 especially young male birds, which have red heads like 
 then* mother." 
 
 " Is, then," asked Goethe, " the grey grasmuche the 
 latest bird that returns to us, or are there others later ? " 
 
 " The so-called yellow spottvogel (mocking-bird), and 
 the magnificent golden pirol (yellow thrush)," returned I, 
 " do not appear till about Whitsuntide. Both migrate in 
 the middle of August, after the breeding season, aud 
 moult, with then' young, in the south. If they are kept 
 in cages, they moult with us in the winter ; on which 
 account they are very difficult to rear. They require much 
 warmth, yet if we hang them, near the stove they pine 
 from the want of fresh air 5 while if, on the contrary, we 
 place them near the window, they pine in the cold of the 
 long nights." 
 
 " It is supposed, then," said Goethe, " that moulting is 
 a disease, or at least is attended by bodily weakness." 
 
 "I would not say that," said I. "It is a state of in- 
 creased productiveness, which is gone through without 
 difficulty in the open air, and with somewhat strong birds 
 perfectly well in a room. I have had grasmilchen which 
 have not ceased singing during their moulting, a sign that 
 they were thoroughly well. But if a bird kept in a room 
 
 * Literally, " little miller."— Trans. 
 
282 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [182'/. 
 
 appears at all sickly during its moulting, it may be con- 
 cluded that it has not been properly treated, with respect 
 either to food, water, or fresh air. If, in the course of 
 time, a bird kept in a room has grown so weak from want 
 of air and freedom, that it has not the productive power 
 to moult, and if it is then taken into the fruitful, fresh air, 
 the moulting will go on as well as possible. With a bird 
 at liberty, on the other hand, it passes off: so gently and 
 gradually that it is scarcely felt." 
 
 " But, still, you just now seemed to hint," added Groethe, 
 "that during their moulting the grasmilclcen retire into 
 the depths of the forest." 
 
 "During that time," returned I, "they certainly need 
 shelter ; 'and in this case nature proceeds with such wisdom 
 and moderation, that a bird during its moulting never 
 loses so many feathers at once as to render it incapable 
 of flying sufficiently to reach its food. But it may still 
 happen that it loses, for instance, at the same time the 
 fourth, fifth, and sixth principal feathers of the left wing, 
 and the fourth, fifth, and sixth feathers of the right one, 
 so that, although it can still fly very well, it cannot fly 
 well enough to escape from the pursuing birds of prey 
 — especially the swift and active tree falcon — and then a 
 bushy thicket is very useful." 
 
 " Grood," returned Groethe. " But," continued he, 
 " does the moulting take place in both wings equally and 
 symmetrically ? " 
 
 "As far as my observation extends, quite so," returned 
 I; "and that is very beneficial. For if a bird lost, for 
 instance, three principal feathers from the left wing and 
 not so many from the right, the wings would be without 
 equilibrium, and the bird would have no proper control 
 over itself or its movements. It would be like a ship, 
 the sails of which are too heavy on one side, and too 
 light on the other." 
 
 "I see," returned Goethe, "we may penetrate into 
 nature on whatever side we please, and always come to 
 some wisdom." 
 
 We were, meantime, continually going up-hill, and were 
 now on the edge of a pine wood. We came to a place 
 where some stones had been broken, and lay in a heap. 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 28:J 
 
 Goethe ordered the coachman to stop, and begged me to 
 alight and see if I could discover any petrifactions. I 
 found some shells, and also some broken ammonites, which 
 I handed to him when I again took my seat. We drove on. 
 
 "Always the old story," said Goethe; "always the old 
 bed of the sea ! When one looks down from this height 
 upon Weimar, and npon the numerous villages around, 
 it appears wonderfnl w r hen one thinks that there was a 
 time when whales sported in the broad valley below. And 
 yet there was snch a time — at least it is highly probable. 
 Bnt the mew that flew over the sea which then covered 
 this mountain certainly never thought that we two should 
 drive here to-day. And who knows whether, in some 
 thousands of years, the mew may not again fly over 
 this mountain." 
 
 We were now npon the height, and drove quickly along. 
 On our right were oaks, beeches, and other leafy trees : 
 Weimar was behind us, but out of sight. We had reached 
 the western height ; — the broad valley of the Unstrut with 
 many villages and small towns, lay before us, in the clearest 
 morning sun. 
 
 "This is a good resting-place," said Goethe, as he 
 ordered the coachman to stop. " I think we may as well 
 try how a little breakfast would suit us in this good air." 
 
 We alighted, and walked np and down for a few minutes 
 upon the dry earth, at the foot of some half-grown oaks, 
 stunted by many storms, whilst Frederick unpacked the 
 breakfast we had brought with us, and spread it upon a 
 turfy hillock. The view from this spot, in the clear morn- 
 ing light of the autumn sun, was truly magnificent. On 
 the south and south-west we saw the whole range of the 
 Thii ringer- wald mountains ; on the west, beyond Erfurt, 
 the towering Castle Gotha and the Inselsberg; farther 
 north, the mountains behind Langensalza and Miihlhausen, 
 until the view was bounded on the north by the blue Hartz 
 Mountains. I thought of the verses — 
 
 " Far, high, splendid the view, 
 Around into life ! 
 From mountain to mountain, 
 Soars the eternal spirit, 
 Presaging endless life." 
 
284 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 We seated ourselves with, our backs against the oak ; so 
 that, during breakfast, we had constantly before us the 
 extensive view over half Thuringia. In the meanwhile we 
 demolished a brace of roast partridges, with new white 
 bread, and drank a flask of very good wine, out of a cup 
 of pure gold which Goethe always carried with, him on 
 such excursions in a yellow leather case. 
 
 " I have very often been in this spot," said he, " and of 
 late years I have often thought it would be the last time 
 that I should look down hence on the kingdoms of the 
 world, and their glories ; but it has happened still once 
 again, and I hope that even this is not the last time that 
 we shall both spend a pleasant day here. We will, for tho 
 future, often come hither. One shrinks in the narrow 
 confinement of the house. Here one feels great and free, 
 as the great nature which, one has before one's eyes, and 
 as one ought, properly, always to be." 
 
 "From this spot," continued Goethe, "I look down 
 upon many points which are bound up with the richest 
 recollections of a long life. What have I not, in my 
 youth, gone through yonder in the mountains of Ilmenau ? 
 Then, how many adventures have I had down below there, 
 in dear Erfurt ! In early times, too, I often liked to be at 
 Gotha; but for many years I have scarcely been there at 
 all." 
 
 " Since I have been in Weimar," remarked I, " I do not 
 recollect you going there." 
 
 " There is a reason for that," returned Goethe, laughing, 
 "I am not in the best favour there. I will tell you the 
 story. When the mother of the present ruler was in the 
 bloom of youth, I was very often there. I was sitting- 
 one evening alone with her at the tea-table, when the two 
 princes, of ten and twelve years of age, two pretty, fair- 
 haired boys, burst in and came to the table. With great 
 audacity, I put a hand through the hair of each prince, 
 with the words — 'Now, you floury heads, what do you want ? ' 
 The boys stared in the greatest astonishment at my bold- 
 ness, and they have never forgotten the affair ! I will not 
 boast of it now; but so it was, and it lay deep in my 
 nature. I never had much respect for mere princely rank 
 as such, when there was not behind it sound human 
 
1827.], CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE, 285 
 
 nature, and sound human worth. Nay, I felt so satisfied 
 with myself, that if I had been made a prince I should not 
 have thought the change so very remarkable. When the 
 diploma of nobility was given me, many thought that I 
 should feel elevated by it ; but, between ourselves, it was 
 nothing to me — really nothing ! We Frankfort patricians 
 always considered ourselves equal to the nobility ; and when 
 I held the diploma in my hands I had nothing more, in my 
 own opinion, than I had possessed long ago." 
 
 We took another good draught from the golden cup, and 
 then drove round the northern side of the Ettersberg to the 
 Ettcrsberg hunting-lodge. Goethe had all the chambers 
 opened, which were hung with beautiful tapestry and 
 pictures. He told me that Schiller had for some time 
 inhabited the chamber at the western ano-le of the first 
 story. 
 
 " In early times," continued he, " we have here spent 
 many a good day, and wasted many a good day. We were 
 all young and wanton : in the summer we had impromptu 
 comedies, and in the winter many a dance and sledge-race 
 by torch-light." 
 
 We returned into the open air, and Goethe led me, in a 
 westerly direction, along a footpath into the wood. 
 
 " I will show you the beech," said he, " on which we cut 
 our names fifty years ago. But how it has altered, and 
 how everything has grown ! That must be the tree ; you 
 see that it is still in the fullest vigour. Even our names 
 are still to be traced ; but they are so confused and distorted 
 that they are scarcely to be made out. This beech then 
 stood upon a dry, open spot. It was quite sunny and 
 pleasant around it, and here, in the beautiful summer 
 evenings, we played our impromptu farces. Now the spot 
 is damp and cheerless. What were then only low bushes 
 have now grown up into shady trees, so that one can 
 scarcely distinguish in the thicket the magnificent beech 
 of one's youth." 
 
 We returned to the lodge, and after we had scon tho 
 tolerably rich collection of arms, we drove back to Weimar. 
 
 (Sup.) Thurs., Sept. 27. — This afternoon spent a short, 
 time with Goethe, when I made the acquaintance of Privy- 
 councillor Streckfuss, of Berlin, who had taken a drive 
 
286 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 with Lira in the forenoon, and had then stayed to dinner. 
 When Streckfuss went, I accompanied him, and took a 
 walk through the park. On niy return across the market- 
 place, I met the Chancellor and Raupach, xwith whom I 
 went into the " Elephant." In the evening I returned to 
 Goethe, who talked with me about a new number of 
 " Kunst und Alterthum " (Art and Antiquity), and also 
 about a dozen pencil-drawings, in which the brothers 
 Eiepenhausen endeavoured to represent the painting of 
 Polygnotus, in the Lesche at Delphi, according to the 
 description of Pausanias, an attempt which Goethe could 
 not sufficiently praise. 
 
 (Sup.) Mon., Oct. 1.— -At the theatre, "Das Bild" (the 
 Picture), by Houwald. I saw two acts, and then went to 
 Goethe, who read to me the second scene of his new Faust. 
 
 "In the emperor," said he, "I have endeavoured to 
 represent a prince who has all the necessary qualities for 
 losing; his land, and at last succeeds in so doing*. 
 
 " He does not concern himself about the welfare of his 
 kingdom and his subjects ; he only thinks of himself, and 
 how he can amuse himself from day to day with something 
 new. The land is without law and justice ; the judge binn 
 self is on the side of the criminals ; the most atrocious 
 crimes are committed without check and with impunity. 
 The army is without pay, without discipline, and roams 
 about plundering, in order to provide its own pay, and help 
 itself as it can. The state treasury is without money, and 
 without hope of replenishment. In the emperor's own 
 household, things are no better ; there is scarcity both in 
 kitchen and cellar. The marshal, who cannot devise means 
 how to get on from day to day, is already in the hands of 
 usurious Jews, to whom everything is pawned, so that 
 bread already eaten comes to the emperor's table. 
 
 " The councillor of state wishes to remonstrate with his 
 Majesty upon all these evils, and advises as to their remedy; 
 but the gracious sovereign is very unwilling to lend his 
 Sublime ear to anything so disagreeable ; he prefers 
 amusing himself. Here now is the true element for 
 Mephisto, who quickly supplants the former fool, and is at 
 once at the side of the emperor as new fool and counsellor." 
 
 Goethe read the scene and the interspersed murmuring 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. _' - 7 
 
 of the crowd excellently, and I had a very pleasant 
 evening. 
 
 (Snp.) Sun., Oct. 7. — This morning, the weather being 
 very beautiful, I found myself in the chariot with Got 
 before eight o'clock, and on the road to Jena, where be 
 intended to stay until the next evening. 
 
 Having arrived there early we first called at the bo- 
 tanical garden, where Goethe surveyed all the shrubs 1 
 plants, and found them all thriving and in beautiful order. 
 We also looked over the mineralogical cabinets, and some 
 other collections of natural objects, and then drove to Herr 
 von Knebel's, who expected us to dinner. 
 
 Knebel, who had attained a great age, almost stumbled 
 towards Goethe at the door, to fold him in his arms. At 
 dinner all were very lively and hearty, although there was 
 no conversation of any importance. The two old friends 
 were quite enough occupied with the pleasure of their 
 friendly meeting. After dinner we took a drive in a 
 southerly direction, up the Saale. I had known this 
 charming region in earlier times, but everything appeared 
 as fresh as if I had never seen it before. 
 
 When we returned into the streets of Jena, Goethe gave 
 orders to drive along a brook, and to stop at a house the 
 external appearance of which was not very striking. 
 
 " This "was the dwelling of Voss," said he, " and I will 
 conduct you on this classic ground." We walked through 
 the house, and entered the garden. There were but few 
 traces of flowers and the finer species of culture; we 
 walked on the turf completely under fruit trees. 
 
 " This was something for Ernestine," said Goethe, "who 
 could not even here forget her excellent Eutiner apples, 
 which she praised to me as incomparable. But they were 
 the apples of her childhood, there w T as the charm ! I have 
 spent many pleasant evenings here with Voss and his ex- 
 cellent Ernestine, and I still like to think of the old time. 
 Such a man as Voss will not soon come again. There arc 
 few who have had such influence as he upon the higher 
 German culture. With him everything w T as sound and 
 solid; and on this account he had no artificial, bnt a 
 purely natural relation to the Greeks, which p-odnced the 
 noblest fruits for us. One who is so penetrated with his 
 
2S^ CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 worth as I am scarcely knows how to honour his memory 
 sufficiently." 
 
 It was by this time about six o'clock, and Goethe con- 
 sidered it time to go to our night quarters, which he had 
 bespoken at the " Bear." 
 
 We were accommodated with a roomy chamber, together 
 with an alcove containing two beds. The sun had not lony; 
 set — the evening light reposed upon our windows, and it 
 was pleasant to sit for some time without a candle. 
 
 Goethe brought the conversation back to Yoss. "He 
 was very valuable to me," said he, "and I would willingly 
 have retained him for the University and myself ; but the 
 advantages offered from Heidelberg were too important for 
 us, with our limited means, to be "able to outweigh them. 
 I was obliged, with mournful resignation, to let him go. 
 It was, however, fortunate for me at that time," continued 
 Goethe, "that I had Schiller; for, different as our natures 
 were, our tendencies were still towards one point, which 
 made our connection so intimate that one really could not 
 live without the other." 
 
 Goethe related me some anecdotes of his friend, which 
 appeared to me very characteristic. 
 
 " Schiller was, as you may imagine from his high 
 character," said he, "a decided enemy to all the hollow 
 reverence, and all the vain idolatry, which people paid 
 him, or wished to pay him. When Kotzebue proposed to 
 get up a public demonstration in his house, it was so dis- 
 tasteful to him that he was almost ill with inward disgust. 
 It was also repulsive to him when a stranger was announced. 
 If he were hindered for a moment from seeing him, and 
 made an appointment for four o'clock in the afternoon, it 
 generally happened that at the appointed hour he was ill 
 from mere apprehension. On these occasions he could now 
 and then be very impatient, and sometimes even rude. I 
 was witness of his impetuous conduct toward a foreign 
 surgeon, who entered unannounced to pay him a visit. 
 The poor man, quite put out of countenance, did not know 
 how he could retreat rapidly enough. 
 
 " However, as I have said, and as we all know," continued 
 Goethe, " we were, in spite of the similarity of our ten- 
 dencies, very different in our natures, and that not merely 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 289 
 
 in mental but also in physical matters. An air that was 
 beneficial to Schiller acted on me like poison. I called on 
 him one day, and as I did not find him at home, and his 
 wife told me that he would soon return, I seated myself at 
 his work-table to note down various matters. I had not 
 been seated long before I felt a strange indisposition steal 
 over me, which gradually increased, until at last 1 nearly 
 fainted. At first I did not know to what cause I should 
 ascribe this wretched and, to me, unusual state, until I 
 discovered that a dreadful odour issued from a drawer near 
 me. When I opened it, I found to my astonishment that it 
 was full of rotten apples. I immediately went to the 
 window and inhaled the fresh air, by which I felt myself 
 instantly restored. In the mean time his wife had re- 
 entered, and told me that the drawer was always filled with 
 rotten apples, because the scent was beneficial to Schiller, 
 and he could not live or work without it. 
 
 " To-morrow morning," continued Goethe, " I will also 
 show you where Schiller lived in Jena." 
 
 In the mean time lights were brought in; we took a little 
 supper, and afterwards sat for a little time engaged in 
 various conversations and recollections. 
 
 I related to Goethe a wonderful dream of my boyish \/ 
 years, which was literally fulfilled the next morning. 
 
 "I had," said I, "brought up three young linnets, to 
 which I devoted my whole heart, and which I loved above 
 all things. They flew freely about my chamber, and came 
 towards me and settled on my hand as soon as I entered at 
 the door. One day at noon, I had the misfortune, that, on 
 my entrance into the chamber, one of the birds flew over 
 me, out of the house — I knew not whither. I sought it the 
 whole afternoon, on all the roofs, and was inconsolable 
 when evening came and I had discovered no traces of it. I 
 went to sleep with sad thoughts in my heart, and towards 
 morning I had the following dream : — Methought I 
 roamed about the neighbouring houses in search of my lost 
 bird. All at once I heard the sound of its voice, and saw 
 it behind the garden of our cottage, seated upon the roof of 
 a neighbour's house. I called to it, and it approached me, 
 moved its wings towards me as if asking for food, but still 
 it could not venture to fly down to my hand. I ran 
 
 U 
 
290 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 quickly through our garden into my chamber, and returned 
 with a cup of soaked rape seed ! I held the favourite food 
 towards it, and it perched upon my hand, when, full of joy, 
 I carried it back into my chamber to the other two. 
 
 " With this dream I awoke ; and as it was then broad 
 daylight, I quickly put on my clothes, and with the utmost 
 haste ran down through our little garden to the house 
 where 1 had seen the bird. But how great was my 
 astonishment when the bird was really there ! Every- 
 thing happened literally as I had seen it in the dream. I 
 called the bird, it approached, but it hesitated to fly to my 
 hand. I ran back and brought the food, when it flew 
 upon my hand, and I took it back to the others." 
 
 " This boyish adventure of yours," said Goethe, "is cer- 
 \/ tainly very remarkable. But there are many such things in 
 nature, though we have not the right key to them. We all 
 walk in mysteries. We are surrounded by an atmosphere of 
 which we do not know what is stirring in it, or how it is 
 connected with our own spirit. So much is certain, — that 
 in particular cases we can put out the feelers of our soul 
 beyond its bodily limits, and that a presentiment, nay, an 
 actual insight into the immediate future, is accorded to it." 
 
 "I have lately experienced something similar," returned 
 I. " As I was returning from a walk along the Erfurt 
 road, about ten minutes before I reached Weimar, I had the 
 mental impression that a person whom I had not seen, and 
 of whom I had not even thought for a length of time, 
 would meet me at the corner of the theatre. It troubled 
 me to think that this persou might meet me, and great was 
 my surprise when, as I was about to turn the corner, this 
 very person actually met me, in the same place which I 
 had seen in my imagination ten minutes before." 
 
 " That is also very wonderful, and more than chance," 
 7 returned Groethe. " As I said, we are all groping among 
 
 mysteries and wonders. Besides, one soul may have a de- 
 cided influence upon another, merely by means of its silent 
 presence, of which I could relate many instances. It has 
 often happened to me that, when I have been walking with 
 an acquaintance, and have had a living image of something 
 in my mind, he has at once begun to speak of that very 
 thing. I have also known a man who, without saying a 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE '201 
 
 word, could suddenly silence a party engaged in cheerful 
 conversation, by the mere power of his mind. Nay, 1 • 
 could also introduce a tone which would make everybody 
 feel uncomfortable. We have all something of electrical 
 and magnetic forces within us, and we put forth, like the 
 magnet itself, an attractive or repulsive power, accordingly 
 as we come in contact with, something similar or dissimilar. 
 It is possible, nay, even probable, that if a young girl were, 
 without knowing it, to find herself in a dark chamber with 
 a man who designed to murder her, she would have an un- 
 easy sense of his unknown presence, and that an anguish 
 would come over her, which would drive her from the 
 room to the rest of the household." 
 
 " I know a scene in an opera," returned I, "in which two 
 lovers, who had long been separated by a great distance, 
 find themselves together in a dark room without knowing 
 it ; but they do not remain long together before the mag- 
 netic power begins to work ! one feels the proximity of the 
 other — they are involuntarily attracted towards each other 
 — and it is not long before the young girl is clasped in the 
 arms of the youth." 
 
 "With lovers," answered Goethe, "this magnetic power 
 is particularly strong, and acts even at a distance. In my 
 younger days I have experienced cases enough, when, 
 during solitary walks, I have felt a great desire for the 
 company of a beloved girl, and have thought of her till she 
 has really come to meet me. ' I was so restless in my 
 room,' she has said, ' that I could not help coming here.' 
 J " I recollect an instance during the first years of my 
 residence here, where I soon fell in love again. I had 
 taken a long journey, and had returned some days ; but, 
 being detained late at night by court affairs, I had not been 
 able to visit my limstress"; besides, our mutual affection 
 had already attracted attention, and I was afraid to pav 
 my visits by day, lest I should increase the common talk. 
 On the fourth or fifth evening, however, I could resist 
 longer, and I was on the road to her, and stood before In r 
 house, before I had thought of it. I went softly upstairs, 
 and was upon the point of entering her room, when I heard, 
 by the different voices, that she was not alone. I went 
 down again unnoticed, and was quickly in the dark strc 
 
292 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 which at that time were not lighted. In an impassioned 
 and angry mood I roamed about the town in all directions, 
 for about an hour, and passed the house once more, full of 
 passionate thoughts of my beloved. At last I was on the 
 point of returning to my solitary room, when I once more 
 went past her house, and remarked that she had no light. 
 ' She must have gone out,' said I to myself, ' but whither, 
 in this dark night ? and where shall I meet her ? ' I after- 
 wards went through many streets — I met many people, and 
 was often deceived, inasmuch as I often fancied I saw her 
 form and size ; but, on nearer approach invariably found 
 that it was not she. I then firmly believed in a strong 
 mutual influence, and that I could attract her to me by a 
 strong desire. I also believed myself surrounded by in- 
 visible beings of a higher order, whom I entreated to direct 
 her steps to me, or mine to her. ' But what a fool thou 
 art ! ' I then said to myself ; ' thou wilt not seek her and 
 go to her again, and yet thou desirest signs and wonders ! ' 
 " In the mean time I had gone down the esplanade, and 
 had reached the small house in which Schiller afterwards 
 lived, when it occurred to me to turn back towards the 
 palace, and then go down a little street to the right. I had 
 scarcely taken a hundred steps in this direction, when I 
 saw a female form coming towards me which perfectly re- 
 sembled her I expected. The street was faintly lighted by 
 the weak rays which now and then shone from a window, 
 and since I had been already often deceived in the course 
 of the evening with an apparent resemblance, I did not feel 
 courage to speak to her in doubt. We passed quite close 
 to each other, so that our arms touched. I stood still and 
 looked about me ; she did the same. ' Is it you ? ' said she, 
 and I recognised her beloved voice. 'At last! ' said I, 
 and was enraptured even to tears. Our hands clasped each 
 other. ' Now,' said I, 'my hopes have not deceived me ; I 
 have sought you with the greatest eagerness ; my f eelings 
 told me that I should certainly find you ; now I am happy, 
 and I thank God that my forebodings have proved true.' 
 ' But, you wicked one ! ' said she, ' why did you not come ? 
 I heard to-day, by chance, that you had been back three 
 days, and I have wept the whole afternoon, because I 
 thought you had forgotten me. Then, an hour ago, I was 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 293 
 
 seized -with a longing and uneasiness on your account, such 
 as I cannot describe. There were two female friends with 
 me, whose visit appeared interminable. At last, when they 
 were gone, I involuntarily seized my hat and cloak, and 
 was impelled to go out into the air and darkness, I knew 
 not whither ; you were constantly in my mind, and I could 
 not help thinking that I should meet you.' "Whilst she 
 thus spoke truly from her heart, we still held each other's 
 hands, and pressed them, and gave each other to under- 
 stand that absence had not cooled our love. I accompanied 
 her to her door, and into the house. She went up the dark 
 stairs before me, holding my hand and drawing me after 
 her. My happiness was indescribable ; both because I at 
 last saw her again, and also because my belief had not de- 
 ceived me, and I had not been deluded in my sense of an 
 invisible influence." 
 J Goethe was in a most amiable mood ; I could have 
 listened to him for hours ; but he seemed to be gradually 
 growing tired, and so we very soon went to bed in our 
 alcove. 
 
 (Sup.) Jena, Mon., Oct. 8. — "We arose early. "Whilst we 
 were dressing, Goethe related to me a dream of the 
 previous night, in which he imagined himelf at Gottingen, 
 where he had various pleasant conversations with the pro- 
 fessors of his acquaintance. 
 
 We drank a few cups of coffee, and then drove to the 
 building which contains a collection of natural objects. 
 We saw the anatomical cabinet, various skeletons of ani- 
 mals, modern and primeval, as well as skeletons of men of 
 former ages, on which Goethe remarked that their teeth 
 showed them to have been a very moral race. We then 
 drove to the observatory, where Dr. Schron showed and 
 explained to us the most important instruments. We also 
 examined the adjacent meteorological cabinet with great 
 interest, and Goethe praised Dr. Schron, on account of the 
 great order which prevailed in all these things. 
 
 We then went down into the garden, where Goothe had 
 caused a little breakfast to be laid out upon a stone table 
 in an arbour. "You scarcely know," said Goethe, k * in 
 what a remarkable place we are now seated. Here it was 
 that Schiller dwelt. In this arbour, upon these benches, 
 
294 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1&27, 
 
 which are now almost broken, we have often sat at 
 this old stone table, and have exchanged many good and 
 great words. He was then in the thirties, I in the forties ; 
 both were fnll of aspirations, and indeed it was something. 
 Everything passes away ; I am no more what I was ; but 
 the old earth still remains, and air, water, and land are 
 still the same. 
 
 "Afterwards you shall go upstairs with Schron, who 
 will show you the room in the mansarde, which Schiller 
 occupied." 
 
 In the mean time we relished our breakfast very much 
 in this pleasant air, and on this delightful spot. Schiller 
 was present, at least in our minds ; and Goethe devoted to 
 him many kind words of affectionate remembrance. 
 
 I then went with Schron to the mansarde, and enjoyed 
 the magnificent prospect from Schiller's windows. The 
 direction was dne south, so that one might see the beautiful 
 stream, interrupted by thickets and windings, flowing 
 along for miles. There was also a wide expanse of sky. 
 One could admirably observe the rising and setting of the 
 planets ; and it could not be denied that this locality was 
 very favourable for the conception of the astronomical 
 and astrological part of Wallenstein. 
 
 I returned to Goethe, who drove to Hofrath Dobereiner, 
 whom he highly esteems, and who showed him some new 
 chemical experiments. 
 
 It was by this time noon. We were again seated in the 
 carriage. 
 
 " I think," said Goethe, " we will not return to ' The 
 Bear,' to dinner, but will enjoy the splendid day in the 
 open air. I think we will go to Burgau. "We have wine 
 with us, and, in any case, we shall find there some good 
 fish, which can be either boiled or broiled." 
 
 We did so, and the plan proved splendid. We drove 
 along the bank of the Saale, by the thickets and the wind- 
 ings, the pleasantest way, as I had already seen from 
 Schiller's ■mansarde. We were soon in Burgau. We 
 alighted at the little inn near the river, and the bridge, 
 where there is a crossing to Lobeda, a little town which was 
 close before our eyes across the meadows. 
 
 At the little inn we found all as Goethe had said. The 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 
 
 hostess apologized for having nothing preparecn but . 
 we should have some soup and some good fish. 
 
 In the mean time we walked in the sunshine, up and 
 down the bridge, amusing ourselves by looking at 
 river, which was animated by raftmen, who, upon plunks 
 of pine- wood bound together, glided under the bridge from 
 time to time, and were very noisy and merry over their 
 troublesome, wet occupation. 
 
 We ate our fish in the open air, and then remained sit- 
 ting over a little wine, and had all sorts of pleasant con- 
 versation. A small hawk flew past, which in its flight and 
 its form bore a strong resemblance to the cuckoo. 
 
 "There was a time," said Goethe, "when the study of 
 natural history was so much behindhand that the opinion 
 was universally spread that the cuckoo was a cuckoo only 
 in summer, but in winter a bird of prey." 
 
 " This opinion still exists amongst the people," returned 
 I. " And it is also laid to the charge of this good bird, 
 that as soon as it is full grown, it devours its own parents. 
 It is, therefore, used as a simile of shameful ingratitude. 
 I know people at the present moment who will not allow 
 themselves to be talked out of these absurdities, and who 
 cling to them as firmly as to any article of their Christian 
 belief." 
 
 "As far as I know," said Goethe, "the cuckoo is cla 
 with the woodpecker." 
 
 " That is sometimes done," returned I, " probably be- 
 cause two of the toes of its weak feet have a backward 
 inclination. I, however, should not so class it. For the 
 woodpecker's life it has neither the strong beak, capable of 
 breaking the decayed bark of a tree, nor the sharp and 
 very strong feathers in the tail, winch are fit to support it 
 during the operation. Its toes, also, want the sharp 
 claws necessary to sustain it; and I, therefore, consider its 
 small feet as not actually, but only apparently, made for 
 chmbing." 
 
 " The ornithologists," added Goethe, " are probably de- 
 lighted when they have brought any peculiar bird under 
 some head ; but still nature carries on her own free sport, 
 without troubling herself with the classes marked out by 
 limited men." 
 
296 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 "The nightingale, too," continued I, "is numbered 
 amongst the grasmuchen, whilst in the energy of its nature, 
 its movements, and its mode of life, it bears far more 
 resemblance to the thrush. But still, I would not class it 
 among the thrushes. It is a bird between the two ; a bird 
 by itself, as the cuckoo is a bird by itself, with a strongly 
 expressed individuality." 
 
 "All that I have heard concerning the cuckoo," said 
 Goethe, " excites in me a great interest in this wonderful 
 bird. It is of a highly problematical nature, a manifest 
 mystery, but not the less difficult to interpret because it is 
 so manifest. And with how many things do we not find 
 ourselves in the same predicament ? We stand in mere 
 wonderment, and the best part of things is closed to us. 
 Let us take the bees. "We see them fly for miles after honey, 
 and always in a different direction. Now they fly west- 
 ward for a week, to a field of blooming rape-seed ; then, for 
 a long time, northward, to a blooming heath ; then in 
 another direction to the blossom of the buckwheat ; then 
 somewhere else, to a blooming clover-field ; and at last, in 
 some other direction, to a blossoming lime. But who has 
 said to them, ' Now fly thither, there is something for 
 you ? ' and ' now thither, there is something fresh ? ' And 
 who has led them back to their village and their cell ? 
 They go hither and thither, as if in invisible leading- 
 strings ; but what these really are we do not know. It is 
 the same with the lark. She rises, singing, from a corn- 
 field ; she soars over a sea of corn, which the wind blows 
 backwards and forwards, and in which one wave looks like 
 the other ; she then returns to her young, and drops 
 down, without fail, upon the little spot where her nest is 
 placed. All these outward things are as clear as the day 
 to us ; but their inward, spiritual tie is concealed." 
 
 "With the cuckoo," said I, "it is not otherwise. We 
 know that it does not brood itself, but lays its egg in the 
 nest of some other bird. We know, furthermore, that it 
 lays it in the nest of the grasmuche, the yellow wagtail, 
 the monk ; also in the nests of the braunelle, the robin, and 
 the wren. This we know. We also know that these are 
 all insect-eating birds ; and must be so, because the cuckoo 
 itself is an insect-eating bird, and the young cuckoo cannot 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 207 
 
 be brought up by a seed-eating bird. But how docs the 
 cuckoo find out that these are all actually insect-eating 
 birds ? For all the above-mentioned birds differ extremely 
 from each other, both in form and colour ; and also in their 
 song and their call- note. Further, how comes it that the 
 cuckoo can trust its egg audits tender young to nests which 
 are as different as possible with respect to structure, tem- 
 perature, dryness, and moisture ? The nest of the araS' 
 miicke is built so lightly, with dry hay and horse-hair, that all 
 cold penetrates into it, and every breeze blows through it ; it 
 is also open at the top, and without shelter ; still, the young 
 cuckoo thrives in it excellently. The nest of the wren, on 
 the other hand, is on the outside built firmly and thickly, 
 with moss, straw, and leaves, and carefully lined within 
 with all sorts of wool and feathers ; so that not a breeze 
 can pierce through it. It is also covered at the top, and 
 arched over, only a small aperture being left for the 
 very small birds to slip in and out. One would think that 
 in the hot days of June, the heat in such an enclosed hole 
 must be suffocating ; but the young cuckoo thrives there 
 best. Then how different is the nest of the yellow-wagtail. 
 This bird lives by the water, by brooks, and in various 
 damp places. It builds its nest upon damp commons, in a 
 tuft of rushes. It scrapes a hole in the moist earth, and 
 lines it scantily with some blades of grass, so that the 
 young cuckoo is hatched, and must grow up in the damp 
 and cold ; and still it thrives excellently. But what a bird 
 this must be, to which, at the most tender age, varieties of 
 heat and cold, dryness and damp, which would be fatal to 
 any other bird, are indifferent. And how docs the old 
 cuckoo know that they are so, when it is so susceptible to 
 damp and cold at an advanced age." 
 
 " This is a mystery," returned Goethe ; "but tell me, if 
 you have observed it, how the cuckoo places its egg in the 
 nest of the wren, when this has so small an opening that 
 she cannot enter, and sit upon it." 
 
 " The cuckoo lays it upon a dry spot," returned I, " and 
 takes it to the nest with her beak. I believe, too, that Bhe 
 does this not only with the wren's nest, but with every 
 other. For the nests of the other insect-eating birds, even 
 when they are open at the top, are still so small or so 
 
298 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1827, 
 
 closely surrounded by twigs, that the great long-tailed cuckoo 
 cannot sit upon them. This can well be imagined; but 
 how it happens that the cuckoo lays so unusually small an 
 egg, nay, so small that it might be the egg of a small in- 
 sect-eating bird, is a new riddle which one may silently 
 admire without being able to unravel. The egg of the 
 cuckoo is only a little larger than that of the grasmucke ; 
 and, indeed, it ought not to be larger, as it has to be 
 hatched by the small insect-eating birds. This is good 
 and rational ; but that nature, to be wise in a particular 
 instance, should deviate from a great pervading law, ac- 
 cording to which there exists a certain proportion between 
 the size of the egg and that of the bird, from the humming- 
 bird to the ostrich, this arbitary proceeding, I say, is 
 enough to inspire us with astonishment." 
 
 " It certainly astonishes us," said Goethe, " because our 
 point of view is too small for us to comprehend it. If more 
 were revealed to us, we should probably find that these 
 apparent deviations are really within the compass of the 
 law. But go on, and tell me something more. Is it known 
 how many eggs the cuckoo lays ? " 
 
 " Whoever tried to say anything definite on that point 
 would be a great blockhead. The bird is very fleeting, 
 She is now here, now there ; there is never more than one 
 of her eggs found in a single nest. She certainly lays 
 several ; but who knows where these are, and who could 
 look for them? But, supposing that she lays five eggs, 
 and that all these are properly hatched, and brought up by 
 affectionate foster-parents, we must still wonder that 
 nature can resolve to sacrifice at least fifty of the young 
 of our best singing birds for five young cuckoos. 
 
 " In such things, as well as others," returned Groethe> 
 " nature does not appear to be very scrupulous. She has 
 a good fund of life to lavish, and she does so now and then 
 without much hesitation. But how does it happen that so 
 many young singing birds are lost for a single young 
 cuckoo ? " 
 
 "In the first place," I replied, "the first brood is gener- 
 ally lost ; for even if it should happen that the eggs of the 
 singing bird are hatched at the same time with that of the 
 cuckoo, which is very probable, the parents are so much 
 
1 32/.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 299 
 
 delighted with the larger bird, and show it such fondness, 
 that the j think of and feed that alone, whilst their own 
 young are neglected, and vanish from the nest. Besides, 
 the young cuckoo is always greedy, and demands as much 
 nourishment as the little insect-eating birds can procure. 
 It is a very long time before it attains its full size and 
 plumage, and before it is capable of leaving the nest, and 
 soaring to the top of a tree. And even long after it has 
 flown it requires to be fed continually, so that the whole 
 summer passes away, while the affectionate foster-parents 
 constantly attend upon their great child, and do not think 
 of a second brood. It is on this account that a single 
 young cuckoo causes the loss of so many other young 
 birds." 
 
 " That is very convincing," said Goethe. " But tell me, 
 is the young cuckoo, as soon as it has flown, fed also 
 other birds which have not hatched it ? I fancy I have 
 heard something of the kind." 
 
 " It is so," answered I. "As soon as the young cuckoo 
 has left its lower nest, and has taken its seat on the top of 
 a tall oak, it utters a loud sound, which says that it is 
 there. Then all the small birds in the neighbourhood, 
 which have heard it, come up to greet it. The grasrrmche 
 and the monk come, the yellow wagtail flics up, and even 
 the wren, whose nature it is constantly to slip into low hedges 
 and thick bushes, conquers its nature, and rises towards the 
 beloved stranger to the top of the tall oak. But the pair 
 which has reared it is more constant with food, whilst 
 the rest only occasionally fly to it with a choice morsel." 
 
 " There also appears to be," said Goethe, " a great 
 affection between the young cuckoo and the small insect- 
 eating birds." 
 
 " The affection of the small insect-eating birds for the 
 young cuckoo," returned I, "is so great, that if one 
 approaches a nest in which there is a young cuckoo, the 
 little foster-parents do not know how to contain themselves 
 for terror or anxiety. The monk especially expresses 
 deepest despair, and flutters on the ground almost as if it 
 were in convulsions." 
 
 " This is wonderful enough," returned Goethe ; ' ; but it 
 can be readily conceived. Still it appears very problem- 
 
300 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 atical to me, that a pair of grasmilcJcen, for instance, on 
 the point of hatching their own eggs, should allow the old 
 cuckoo to approach their nest, and lay her egg in it." 
 
 " That is truly very enigmatical," returned I ; " but not 
 quite inexplicable. For, from the very circumstance that 
 all small insect-eating birds feed the cuckoo after it has 
 flown, and that even those feed it which did not hatch it ; 
 from this circumstance, I say, arises a sort of affinity be- 
 tween the two, so that they continue to know each other, 
 and to consider each other members of one large family. 
 Indeed, it may happen that the same cuckoo which was 
 hatched and reared by a pair of grasmiicken last year, may 
 this year bring her egg to them." 
 
 " There is something in that," returned Goethe, " little 
 as one can comprehend it. But it still appears to me a 
 wonder, that the young cuckoo is fed by those birds which 
 have neither hatched it nor reared it." 
 
 " That is, indeed, a wonder," returned I ; " but still it 
 is not without analogy. I foresee, in this inclination, a 
 great law which pervades all nature. 
 
 " I had once caught a young linnet, which was too big 
 to be fed by man, but still too young to eat by itself. I 
 took a great deal of trouble about it for half a day ; but as 
 it would not eat anything at all, I placed it with an old 
 linnet, a good singer, which I had kept for some time in a 
 cage, and which hung outside my window. 1 thought to my- 
 self, if the young bird sees how the old one eats, perhaps it 
 will go to its food and imitate it. However, it did not do so, 
 but opened its beak towards the old one, and fluttered its 
 wings, uttering a beseeching cry ; whereupon the old linnet 
 at once took compassion on it, and adopting it as a child, 
 fed it as if it had been its own. 
 
 " Afterwards, some one brought me a grey grasmiiche 
 and three young ones, which I put together in a large cage, 
 and which the old one fed. On the following day, some 
 one brought me two young nightingales already fledged, 
 which I put in with the yrasmiicJce, and which the mother 
 bird likewise adopted and fed. Some days afterwards, I 
 added a nest of young miillerchen nearly fledged, and then 
 a nest with five young plattmbnchen. The grasmiiche 
 adopted all these and fed them, and tended them like a true 
 
1827.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETIIE. 301 
 
 mother. She had her beak always full of ant's eggs, and 
 was now in one corner of the roomy cage, and now in the 
 other, so that whenever a hungry throat opened, there she 
 was. Nay, still more. One of the young grasmuck&n. 
 which had grown up in the mean time, began to feed some 
 of the less ones. This was, indeed, done in rather a play- 
 ful, childish manner ; but still with a decided inclination 
 to imitate the excellent mother." 
 
 " There is certainly something divine in this," said 
 Goethe, " which creates in me a pleasing sense of wonder. 
 If it were a fact that this feeding by strangers was an uni- 
 versal law of nature, it would unravel many enigmas, and 
 one could say with certainty, that God pities the desertcd / 
 young ravens that call upon him." 
 
 " It certainly appears to be an universal law," returned 
 I ; " for I have observed this assistance in feeding, and this 
 pity for the forlorn, even in a wild state. 
 
 " Last summer, in the neighbourhood of Ticf urt, I took 
 two young wrens, which had probably only just left their 
 nest, for they sat upon a bush on a twig with seven other 
 young ones in a row, and the old bird was feeding them. I 
 put the young birds in my silk pocket-handkerchief, and 
 went towards Weimar, as far as the shooting house ; I 
 then turned to the right towards the meadow, down along 
 the Ilm, and passed the bathing-place, and then again to the 
 left to the little wood. Here I thought I had a quiet spot 
 to look once more at the wrens. But when I opened my 
 handkerchief they both slipped out, and disappeared in tho 
 bushes and grass, so that I sought them in vain. Three 
 days afterwards, I returned by chance to the same place, 
 and hearing the note of a robin, guessed there was a nest in 
 the neighbourhood, which, after looking about for some 
 time, I really found. But how great was my astonishment, 
 when I saw in this nest, besides some young robins nearly 
 fledged, my two young wrens, which had established them- 
 selves very comfortably, and allowed themselves to be fed 
 by tho old robins. I was highly delighted at this very 
 remarkable discovery. Since you are so cunning, thought 
 I to myself, and have managed to help yourselves so 
 nicely, and since the good robins have taken such care of 
 you, I should be very sorry to destroy this hospitable 
 
•302 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1827. 
 
 intimacy ; 011 the contrary, I wish you the greatest possible 
 prosperity." 
 
 " That is one of the best ornithological stories I have ever 
 heard," said Goethe. " I drink success to yon, and good 
 luck to your investigations. Whoever hears that, and does 
 not believe in God, will not be aided by Moses and the 
 prophets. That is what I call the omnipresence of the 
 Deity, who has everywhere spread and implanted a portion 
 of his endless love, and has intimated even in the brute as 
 a germ, that which only blossoms to perfection in noble 
 man. Continue your observations and your studies ! You 
 appear to be particularly successful with them, and may 
 arrive at invaluable results." 
 
 "Whilst we thus conversed on good and deep matters over 
 our dinner in the open air, the sun had declined towards 
 the summit of the western hills, and Goethe thought it 
 time to retrace our steps. We drove quickly through Jena, 
 and after we had settled our account at " The Bear," and 
 had paid a short visit to Frommann, we drove at a rapid 
 rate to Weimar. 
 
 (Sup.) Thiers., Oct. 18. — Hegel is here, whom Goethe 
 personally esteems very highly, though he does not much 
 relish some of the fruits produced by his philosophy. 
 Goethe gave a tea-party in honour of him this evening, at 
 which Zelter was also present, who intended to take his 
 departure again to-night. 
 
 A great deal was said about Hamann, with respect to 
 whom Hegel was chief spokesman, displaying a deep 
 insight into this extraordinary mind, such as could only 
 have arisen from a most earnest and scrupulous study of 
 the subject. 
 
 The discourse then turned upon the nature of dialectics. 
 "They are, in fact," said Hegel, " nothing more than the 
 regulated, methodically- cultivated spirit of contradiction 
 "which is innate in all men, and which shows itself great as 
 a talent in the distinction between the true and the false." 
 
 " Let us only hope," interposed Goethe, " that these 
 intellectual arts and dexterities are not frequently misused, 
 and employed to make the false true, and the true false." 
 
 "That certainly happens," returned Hegel; "but only 
 with people who are mentally diseased." 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 303 
 
 " I therefore congratulate myself," said Goethe, " upon 
 the study of nature, which preserves me from such a 
 disease. For here we have to deal with the infinitely and 
 eternally true, which throws off as incapable everyone who 
 does not proceed purely and honestly with the treatment 
 and observation of his subject. I am also certain that 
 many a dialectic disease would find a wholesome remedy in 
 the study of nature." 
 
 We were still discoursing in the most cheerful manner, 
 when Zelter arose and went out, without saying a word. 
 We knew that it grieved him to take leave of Goethe, 
 and that he chose this delicate expedient for avoiding a 
 nainful moment. 
 
 1828. 
 
 (Sup.) Tues., Marcli 11. — For several weeks I have not 
 been quite well. I sleep badly, and have the most 
 harassing dreams from night to morning, in which I see 
 myself in the most various states, carry on all sorts of 
 conversation with known and unknown persons, get into 
 disputes and quarrels, and all this in such a vivid manner, 
 that I am perfectly conscious of every particular next 
 morning. But this dreamy life consumes the powers of my 
 brain, so that I feel weak and unnerved in the day-time, 
 and without thought or pleasure for any intellectual activity 
 
 I had frequently complained of my condition to Goethe, 
 and he had repeatedly urged me to consult my physician. 
 "Your malady," said he, "is certainly not very serious; 
 it is probably nothing but a little stagnation, which a glai 
 or two of mineral water or a little salts would remove. 
 But do not let it linger any longer ; attack it at once." 
 
 Goethe may have been right, and I said to myself that 
 he was right ; but my indecision and disinclination operated 
 in this case, so that I again allowed many restless nights 
 and wretched days to pass, without making the least effort 
 to remove the indisposition. 
 
 As I did not appear to Goethe very gay and cheerful to- 
 day after dinner, he lost his patience, and could not ref r 
 from smiling at me ironically, and bantering me a little. 
 
304 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 "You are a second Shandy," said he, "the father of 
 that renowned Tristram, who was annoyed half his life 
 by a creaking door, and who could not come to the resolu- 
 tion of removing the daily annoyance with a few drops 
 of oil. 
 
 " But so it is with us all ! The darkness and enlighten- 
 ment of man make his destiny. The demon ought to lead 
 us every day in leading strings, and tell us and direct us 
 what we ought to do on every occasion. But the good 
 spirit leaves us in the lurch, and we grope about in the dark. 
 
 " Napoleon was the man ! Always enlightened, always 
 clear and decided, and endowed at every hour with 
 sufficient energy to carry into effect whatever he considered 
 advantageous and necessary. His life was the stride of a 
 demi-god, from battle to battle, and from victory to victory. 
 It might well be said of him, that he was found in a state 
 of continual enlightenment. On this account, his destiny 
 was more brilliant than any the world had seen before 
 him, or perhaps will ever see after him. 
 
 " Yes, yes, my good friend, that was a fellow whom we 
 cannot imitate." 
 
 Groethe paced up and down the room. I had placed my- 
 self at the table, which had been already cleared, but upon 
 which there was left some wine with some biscuits and 
 fruit. Groethe filled for me, and compelled me to partake 
 of both. "You have, indeed," said he, " not condescended 
 to be our guest at dinner to-day, but still a glass of this 
 present from good friends ought to do you good." 
 
 I did not refuse these good things, and Goethe continued 
 to walk up and down the room, murmuring to himself in 
 an excited state of mind, and from time to time uttering 
 unintelligible words. 
 
 What he had just said about Napoleon was in my mind, 
 and I endeavoured to lead the conversation back to that 
 subject. " Still it appears to me," I began, " that 
 Napoleon was especially in that state of continued en- 
 lightenment when he was young, and his powers were yet 
 on the increase, — when, indeed, we see at his side divine 
 protection and a constant fortune. In later years, on the 
 contrary, this enlightenment appears to have forsaken him, 
 as well as his fortune and his good star." 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 30? 
 
 "What would you have?" returned Goethe. "I did 
 not write my 'love songs,' or my 'Werther,' a second 
 time. That divine enlightenment, whence everything pro- 
 ceeds, we shall always find in connection with youth and 
 productiveness, as in the case of Napoleon, who was one 
 of the most productive men that ever lived. 
 
 " Yes, yes, my good friend, one need not write poems 
 and plays to bo productive ; there is also a productiveness 
 of deeds, which in many cases stands an important degree 
 higher. The physician himself must "be productive, if he 
 really intends to heal ; if he is not so, he will only succeed 
 now and then, as if by chance ; but, on the whole, he will 
 be only a bungler." 
 
 "You appear," added I, "in this case, to call productive- 
 ness that which is usually called genius." 
 
 " One lies very near the other," returned Goethe. "For 
 what is genius but that productive power by which deeds 
 arise that can display themselves before God and nature, 
 and are therefore permanent, and produce results. All 
 Mozart's works are of this kind ; there lies in them a pro- 
 ductive power which operates upon generation after genera- 
 tion, and still is not wasted or consumed. 
 
 " It is the same with other great composers and artists. 
 What an influence have Phidias and Raphael had upon 
 succeeding centuries, and Diirer and Holbein also. He 
 who first invented the forms and proportions of the old 
 German architecture, so that in the course of time a 
 Strasburg minster and a cathedral of Cologne were 
 possible, was also a genius ; for his thoughts have a power 
 continually productive, and operate even to the present 
 hour. Luther was a genius of a very important kind ; he- 
 has already gone on with influence for many a, long day, 
 and we cannot count the days when he will cease to be 
 productive in future ages. Lessing would not allow him- 
 self the lofty title of a genius ; but his permanent influence \ 
 bears witness against him. On the other hand, wo have, 
 in literature, other names, and those of importance, the 
 possessors of which, whilst they lived, were deemed great 
 geniuses, but whose influence ended with their life, and 
 who were therefore less than they and others thought. 
 For, as I said before, there is no genius without a pr<>- 
 
306 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [182S. 
 
 ductive power of permanent influence ; and furthermore, 
 genius does not depend upon the business, the art, or the 
 trade which one follows, but may be alike in all. Whether 
 one shows oneself a man of genius in science, like Oken 
 and Humboldt, or in War and statesmanship, like Frederick, 
 Peter the Great, and Napoleon, or whether one composes a 
 song like Beranger, it all comes to the same thing ; the 
 only point is, whether the thought, the discovery, the deed, 
 is living, and can live on. 
 
 " Then I must add, it is not the mass of creations and 
 deeds which proceed from a person, that indicates the pro- 
 ductive man. We have, in literature, poets who are con- 
 sidered very productive, because volume after volume of 
 their poems has appeared. But, in my opinion, these 
 people ought to be called thoroughly unproductivo ; for 
 what they have written is without life and durability. 
 Goldsmith, on the contrary, has written so few poems that 
 their number is not worth mentioning ; but, nevertheless, I 
 must pronounce him to be a thoroughly productive poet, 
 and, indeed, even on that account, because the little that 
 he has written has an inherent life which can sustain 
 itself." 
 
 A pause ensued, during which Goethe continued to pace 
 up and down the room. In the mean time, I was desirous 
 of hearing something more on this weighty point, and 
 therefore endeavoured to arouse Groethe once more. 
 
 "Does this productiveness of genius," said I, "lie 
 merely in the mind of an important man, or does it also 
 lie in the body ? " 
 
 " The body has, at least," said Goethe, " the greatest 
 influence upon it. There was indeed a time when, in 
 Germany, a genius was always thought of as short, weak, 
 or hunch-backed ; but commend me to a genius who has a 
 well-proportioned body. 
 
 " When it was said of Napoleon that he was a man of 
 granite, this applied particularly to his body. What was 
 it, then, which he could not and did not venture ? From 
 the burning sands of the Syrian deserts, to the snowy 
 plains of Moscow, what an incalculable amount of marches, 
 battles, and nightly bivouacs did he go through ? And 
 what fatigues and bodily privations was he forced to 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 307 
 
 endure? Little sleep, little nourishment, and yet alwayl 
 in the highest mental activity. After the awful exertion 
 and excitement of the eighteenth Brumaire, it was mid- 
 night, and he had not tasted anything during the whole 
 day, and yet, without thinking of strengthening his body, 
 he felt power enough in the depth of the night to draw up 
 the w T ell-known proclamation to the French people. When 
 one considers what he accomplished and endured, one might 
 imagine that when he was in his fortieth year not a sound 
 particle was left in him ; but even at that age he still 
 occupied the position of a perfect hero. 
 
 " But you are quite right : the real focus of his lustre 
 belongs to his youth. And it is something to say that one 
 of obscure origin, and at a time which set all capacities in 
 motion, so distinguished himself as to become, in his seven- 
 and-twentieth year, the idol of a nation of thirty millions ! 
 Yes, yes, my good friend, one must be young to do great 
 things. And Napoleon is not the only one ! ' 
 
 " His brother Lucien," remarked I, " also did a great 
 deal at an early age. We see him as president of the five 
 hundred, and afterwards as minister of the interior, when 
 he had scarcely completed his five-and-twentietk year." 
 
 " Why name Lucien ? " interposed Goethe. " History 
 presents to us hundreds of clever people, who, whilst still 
 young, have, both in the cabinet and in the field, 
 superintended the most important matters with great 
 renown. 
 
 "If I were a prince," continued he, with animation, "1 
 wT>uld never place in the highest offices people who have 
 gradually risen by mere birth and seniority, and who in 
 their old age move on leisurely in their accustomed track, 
 for in this way but little talent is brought to light. I would 
 have young men ; but they must have capacities, and be 
 endowed with clearness and energy, and also with the best 
 will and the noblest character. Then there would be 
 pleasure in governing and improving one's people. But 
 where is there a prince who would like this, and who 
 would be so well served ? 
 
 " 1 have great hopes of the present Crown Prince of 
 Prussia. From all that I hear and know of him, he is a 
 very distinguished man ; and this is essential to recognize 
 
 x -2 
 
303 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 and choose qualified and clever people. For, say what we 
 will, like can only be recognized by like ; and only a prince 
 who himself possesses great abilities can properly acknow- 
 ledge and valne great abilities in his subjects and servants. 
 ' Let the path be open to talent ' was the well-known maxim 
 of Napoleon, who really had a particular tact in the choice 
 of his people, who knew how to place every important 
 power where it appeared in its proper sphere, and who, 
 therefore, during his lifetime, was served in all his great 
 undertakings as scarcely any one was served before him." 
 
 Goethe delighted me particularly this evening. The 
 noblest part of his nature appeared alive in him, while the 
 sound of his voice and the fire of his eyes were of such 
 power, as if he were inspired by a fresh gleam of the best 
 days of youth. 
 
 It was remarkable to me that he, who at so great an age 
 himself superintended an important post, should speak so 
 decidedly in favour of youth, and should desire the first 
 offices in the state to be rilled, if not by youths, at least by 
 men still young. I could not forbear mentioning some 
 Germans of high standing, who at an advanced age did not 
 appear to want the necessary energy and youthful activity 
 for the direction of the most important and most various 
 affairs. 
 
 " Such men are natural geniuses," returned Goethe, 
 " whose case is peculiar ; they experience a renewed puberty, 
 whilst other people are young but once. 
 
 " Every Mntelecliia * is a piece of eternity, and the few 
 years during which it is bound to the earthly body does not 
 make it old. If this Bntelecliia is of a trivial kind, it will 
 exercise but little sway during its bodily confinement ; on 
 the contrary, the body will predominate, and when this 
 otows old the Entelechia will not hold and restrain it. But 
 if the JEntelechia is of a powerful kind, as is the case with 
 all men of natural genius, then with its animating penetra- 
 tion of the body it will not only act with strengthening and 
 ennobling power upon the organization, but it will also 
 endeavour with its spiritual superiority to confer the 
 
 * If for this Aristotelian word the reader substitutes the popular 
 expression " soul," he will not go far wrong as far as this passage is 
 concerned. — Trans. 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. GOD 
 
 privilege of perpetual youth. Thence it conies that in 
 men of superior endowments, even during their old age> wo 
 constantly perceive fresh epochs of singular productiveni ; 
 they seem constantly to grow young again for a time, and 
 that is what I call a repeated puberty. Still youth is youth, 
 and however powerful an Entelechia may prove, it will 
 never become quite master of the corporeal, and it makes a 
 wonderful difference whether it finds in the body an ally or 
 an adversary. 
 
 " There was a time in my life when I had to furnish a 
 printed sheet every day, and I accomplished it with facility. 
 I wrote my " Geschwister " (Brother and Sister) in threo 
 days ; my " Clavigo," as you know, in a week. Now it 
 seems I can do nothing of the kind, and still I can by no 
 means complain of want of productiveness even at my 
 advanced age. But w T hereas in my youth I succeeded daily 
 and under all circumstances, I now succeed only periodically 
 and under certain favourable conditions. When ten or 
 twelve years ago, in the happy time after the war of 
 independence, the poems of the " Divan " had me in their 
 power, I was often productive enough to compose two or 
 three in a day, and it was all the same to me whether 
 I was in the open air, in the chariot, or in an inn. Now, I 
 can only work at the second part of my "Faust" during 
 the early part of the day, w T hen I feel refreshed ami 
 revived by sleep, and have not been perplexed by the trifles 
 of daily life. And, after all, what is it I achieve ? Under 
 the most favourable circumstances, a page of writing, but 
 generally only so much as one could write in the space of 
 a hand-breadth, and of ten, when in an unproductive humour, 
 still less." 
 
 "Are there, then, no means," said I, "to call forth a 
 productive mood, or, if it is not powerful enough, of in- 
 creasing it ? " 
 
 " That is a curious point," said Goethe, " and a great 
 deal might be thought and talked about it. 
 
 " No productiveness of the highest kind, no remarkable 
 discovery, no great thought which bears fruit and has 
 results, is in the power of any one; but such things are 
 elevated above all earthly control. Man must consider them 
 as an unexpected gift from above, as pure children of (Jod, 
 
810 CONVEESATIONS OF GOETHE. [182&. 
 
 which he must receive and venerate with joyful thanks. 
 They are akin to the demon, which does with him what 
 it pleases, and to which he unconsciously resigns himself, 
 whilst he believes he is acting from his own impulse. 
 In such cases, man may often be considered as an instru- 
 ment in a higher government of the world, — as a vessel 
 found worthy for the reception of a divine influence. I 
 say this, whilst I consider how often a single thought 
 has given a different form to whole centuries, and how 
 individual men have, by their expressions, imprinted a 
 stamp upon their age, which has remained uneffaced, and 
 
 V has operated beneficially upon succeeding generations. 
 
 " There is, however, a productiveness of another kind 
 subjected to earthly influences, and which man has more in 
 his power, although he here also finds cause to bow before 
 something divine. Under this category I place all that 
 appertains to the execution of a plan, all the links of a 
 chain of thought, the ends of which already shine forth ; T 
 also place there all that constitutes the visible body of a 
 work of art. 
 
 " Thus, Shakspeare was inspired with the first thought 
 of his Hamlet, when the spirit of the whole presented itself 
 to his mind as an unexpected impression, and he surveyed 
 the several situations, characters, and conclusion, in an 
 elevated mood, as a pure gift from above, on which he had no 
 immediate influence, although the possibility of conceiving 
 such a thought certainly presupposed a mind such as his. 
 But the individual scenes, and the dialogue of the 
 characters, he had completely in his power, so that he 
 might produce them daily and hourly, and work at them 
 for weeks if he liked. And, indeed, we see in all that 
 he has achieved, constantly the same power of production ; 
 and in all his plays we never come to a passage of 
 which it could be said ' this was not written in the 
 proper humour, or with the most perfect faculty.' Whilst 
 we read him, we receive the impression of a man thoroughly 
 strong and healthy, both in mind and body. 
 
 *** " Supposing, however, that the bodily constitution of a 
 
 dramatic poet were not so strong and excellent, and that he 
 
 were, on the contrary, subject to frequent illness and weak- 
 
 . ness, the productiveness necessary for the daily construction 
 
I S28.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 311 
 
 of his scenes would very frequently cease, and would 
 often fail him for whole days. If now, by some spirituous 
 drink, he tried to force his failing productiveness, and 
 supply its deficiencies, the method would certainly answer, 
 but it would be discoverable in all the scenes which he had 
 written under such an influence, to their great disadvantage. 
 My counsel is, therefore, to force nothing, and rather to 
 trifle and sleep away all unproductive days and hours, than 
 on such days to compose something which will afterwards 
 give one no pleasure." 
 
 "You express," returned I, "what I myself have very 
 often experienced and felt, and what one must respect as 
 thoroughly true and just. But still it appears to me that a 
 person might, by natural means, heighten his productive 
 mood, without exactly forcing it. It has often been the 
 case in my life to be unable to arrive at any right conclusion 
 in certain complicated circumstances. But if, in such a 
 case, I have drunk a few glasses of wine, I have at once 
 seen clearly what was to be done, and have come to a 
 resolution on the spot. The adoption of a resolution is, 
 after all, a species of productiveness, and if a glass or two 
 of wine will bring about this good effect, such means are 
 surely not to be rejected altogether." 
 
 " I will not contradict your remark," returned Goethe ; 
 "but what I said before is also correct, by which you see 
 that truth may be compared to a diamond, the rays of 
 which dart not to one side, but to many. Since you know 
 my ' Divan ' so well, you know also that I myself have 
 said — 
 
 When we have drunk 
 We know what's right ; 
 
 and therefore that I perfectly agree with you. Productive- 
 making powers of a very important kind certainly are con- 
 tained in wine ; but still, all depends upon time and circum- 
 stances, and what is useful to one is prejudicial to another. 
 Productive-making powers are also contained in sleep and ^ 
 repose ; but they are also contained in movement. Such 
 powers lie in the water, and particularly in the atmosphere. 
 The fresh air of the open country is the proper place to 
 which we belong ; it is as if the breath of God were there 
 wafted immediately to men, and a divine power exerted its 
 
.312 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 influence. Lord Byron, -vvho daily passed several liours in 
 the open air, now riding on horseback along the sea-shore, 
 now sailing or rowing in a boat, now bathing in the sea, 
 and exercising his physical powers in swimming, was one of 
 the most productive men who ever lived." 
 
 Goethe had seated himself opposite to me, and we spoke 
 about all sorts of subjects. Then we again dwelt upon 
 Lord Byron, and touched upon the many misfortunes which 
 had embittered his later life, until at last a noble will, but 
 an unhappy destiny, drove him into Greece, and entirely 
 destroyed him. 
 
 "You will generally find," continued Goethe, "that in 
 his middlo age a man frequently experiences a change ; and 
 that, while in his youth everything has favoured him, and 
 has prospered with him, all is now completely reversed, 
 and misfortunes and disasters are heaped one upon another 
 
 "But do you know my opinion on this matter ? Man 
 must be ruined again ! Every extraordinary man has a 
 certain mission which he is called upon to accomplish. If 
 he has fulfilled it, he is no longer needed upon earth in 
 the same form, and Providence uses him for something 
 else. But as everything here below happens in a natural 
 way, the demons keep tripping him up till he falls at last. 
 Thus it was with Napoleon and many others. Mozart 
 died in his six-and- thirtieth year. Raphael at the same age 
 Byron only a little older. But all these had perfectly 
 fulfilled their missions, and it was time for them to depart, 
 that other people might still have something to do in a 
 world made to last a long while." 
 
 It was now late ; Goethe gave me his dear hand, and 
 I departed. 
 
 (Sup.) Wed., March 12. — After I had quitted Goethe 
 yesterday evening, the important conversation I had carried 
 on with him remained constantly in my mind. The dis- 
 course had also been upon the sea and sea air ; and Goethe 
 had expressed the opinion, that he considered all islanders 
 and inhabitants of the sea-shore in temperate climates far 
 more productive, and possessed of more active force, than 
 the people in the interior of large continents. 
 
 Whether or not it was that I had fallen asleep with these 
 thoughts, and with a certain longing for the inspiring 
 
l8z8. CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 313 
 
 powers of the sea ; suffice it to say, I had in the night tlui 
 following pleasant, and to me very remarkable, dream : — 
 
 I saw myself in an unknown region, amongst strange 
 men, thoroughly cheerful and happy. The most beautiful 
 summer day surrounded me in a charming scene, such as 
 might be witnessed somewhere on the shores of the 
 Mediterranean, in the south of Spain or France, or in the 
 neighbourhood of Genoa. We had been drinking at noon 
 round a merry table, and I went with some others, rather 
 young people, to make another party for the afternoon. 
 
 We had loitered along through bushy and pleasant low 
 lands, when we suddenly found ourselves in the sea, upon 
 the smallest of islands, on a jutting rock, where there was 
 scarcely room for five or six men, and where one could not 
 stir for fear of slipping into the water. Behind us, whence 
 we had come, there was nothing to be seen but sea ; but 
 before us lay the shore at about a quarter of an hour's 
 distance, spread out most invitingly. The shore was in 
 some places flat, in others rocky and somewhat elevated ; 
 and one might observe, between green leaves and white 
 tents, a crowd of joyous men in light-coloured clothes, 
 recreating themselves with music, which sounded from the 
 tents. " There is nothing else to be done," said one of us 
 to the other, " we must undress and swim over." " It is 
 all very "well to say so," said I, "you are young, handsome 
 fellows, and good swimmers ; but I swim badly, and I do 
 not possess a shape fine enough to appear, with pleasure 
 and comfort, before the strange people on shore." "You 
 are a fool," said one of the handsomest, " undress your- 
 self, give me your form, and you shall have mine." At 
 these words I undressed myself quickly, and was soon in 
 the water, and immediately found myself in the body of 
 the other as a powerful swimmer. I soon reached the 
 shore, and, naked and dripping, stepped with the most 
 easy confidence amongst the men. I was happy in the 
 sensation of these fine limbs ; my deportment was uncon- 
 strained, and I at once became intimate with the strangi 
 at a table before an arbour, where there was a great deal 
 of mirth. My comrades had now reached land one by 
 one, and had joined us, and the only one missing was 
 the youth with my form, in whose limbs I found myself 
 
314 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 so comfortable. At last lie also approached tlie shore, 
 and I was asked if I was not glad to see rny former 
 self? At these words I experienced a certain discomfort, 
 partly because I did not expect any great joy from my- 
 self, and partly because I feared that my young friend 
 would ask for his own body back again. However, I 
 turned to the water, and saw my second self swimming 
 close up to me, and laughing at me with his head turned 
 a little on one side. " There is no swimming with those 
 limbs of yours," exclaimed he, " I have had a fine 
 struggle against waves and breakers, and it is not to be 
 wondered at that I have come so late, and am last of 
 all." I at once recognized the countenance; it was my 
 own, but grown young, and rather fuller and broader, 
 with the freshest complexion. He now came to land, and 
 whilst he raised himself, and first stepped along the sand, 
 I had a view of his back and legs, and was delighted 
 with the perfection of the form. He came up the rocky 
 shore to us, and as he came up to me he had completely 
 my new stature. " How is it," thought I to myself, 
 "that your little body has grown so handsome. Have 
 the primeval powers of the sea operated so wonderfully 
 upon it, or is it because the youthful spirit of my friend 
 has penetrated the limbs ? " Whilst Ave enjoyed ourselves 
 together for some time, I silently wondered that my 
 friend did not show any inclination to resume his own 
 body. " Truly," thought I, " he looks bravely, and it 
 may be a matter of indifference to him in which body 
 he is placed, but it is not the same thing to me ; for I 
 am not sure whether in that body I may not shrink and 
 become as diminutive as before." In order to satisfy 
 myself on this point, I took my friend aside, and asked 
 him how he felt in my limbs ? " Perfectly well," said 
 he ; "I have the same sensation of my own natural 
 power as before ; I do not know what you have to com- 
 plain of in your limbs. They are quite right with me; 
 and you see one only has to make the best of oneself. 
 Remain in my body as long as you please ; for I am 
 perfectly contented to remain in yours through all futurity." 
 I was much pleased by this explanation, and as in all my 
 sensations, thoughts, and recollections, 1 felt quite as usual, 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 815 
 
 my dream gave me the impression of a perfect independ- 
 ence of the soul, and the possibility of a future existenc ■ 
 in another body. 
 
 "That is a very pretty dream," said Goethe, when, 
 after dinner to-day, I imparted to him the principal features. 
 "We see," continued he, "that the muses visit you c 
 in sleep, and, indeed, with particular favour ; for you mus; 
 confess that it would be difficult for you to invent any- 
 thing so peculiar and pretty in your waking moments." 
 
 " I can scarcely conceive how it happened to me," re- 
 turned I ; " for I had felt so dejected all day, that the con- 
 templation of so fresh a life was far from my mind." 
 
 " Human nature possesses wonderful powers," returned 
 Goethe, " and has something good in readiness for us when 
 we least hope for it. There have been times in my life 
 when I have fallen asleep in tears ; but in my dreams 
 the most charming forms have come to console and to 
 cheer me, and I have risen the next morning fresh and 
 joyful. 
 
 " There is something more or less wrong among us old 
 Europeans ; our relations are far too artificial and compli- 
 cated, our nutriment and mode of life are without their 
 proper nature, and our social intercourse is without proper 
 love and goodwill. Every one is polished and courteous ; 
 but no one has the courage to be hearty and true, so 
 that an honest man, with natural views and feelings, stands 
 in a very bad position. Often one cannot help wishing 
 that one had been born upon one of the South Sea Islands, 
 a so-called savage, so as to have thoroughly enjoyed human 
 existence in all its purity, without any adulteration. 
 
 " If in a depressed mood one reflects deeply upon the 
 wretchedness of our age, it often occurs to one that the 
 world is gradually approaching the last day. And the 
 evil accumulates from generation to generation ! For it 
 is not enough that we have to suffer for the sins of our 
 fathers, but" we hand down to posterity these inherited 
 vices increased by our own." 
 
 " Similar thoughts often occur to me," answered I ; "bnt 
 if , at such a time, I see a regiment of German dragoonB 
 ride by me, and observe the beauty and power of bl 
 young people, I again derive some consolation, and say to 
 
316 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 myself, that the durability of mankind is after all not in 
 such a desperate plight." 
 
 " Our country people," returned Goethe, "have certainly 
 kept up their strength, and will, I hope, long be able not 
 only to furnish us with good horsemen, but also to secure 
 us from total decay and destruction. The rural population 
 may be regarded as a magazine, from which the forces of 
 declining mankind are always recruited and refreshed. 
 But just go into our great towns, and you will feel quite 
 differently. Just take a turn by the side of a second 
 (liable boiteux, or a physician with a large practice, and 
 he will whisper to you tales which will horrify you at the 
 misery, and astonish you at the vice with which human 
 nature is visited, and from which society suffers. 
 
 " But let us banish these hypochondriacal thoughts. 
 How are you going on ? What are you doing ? What 
 else have you seen to-day ? Tell me, and inspire me with 
 good thoughts." 
 
 " I have been reading Sterne," returned I, " where 
 Yorick is sauntering about the streets of Paris, and makes 
 the remark that every tenth man is a dwarf. I thought 
 of that when you mentioned the vices of great towns. 1 
 also remember to have seen, in Napoleon's time, among 
 the French infantry, one battalion which consisted entirely 
 of Parisians, who were all such puny, diminutive people, 
 that one could not comprehend what could be done with 
 them in battle." 
 
 " The Scotch Highlanders under the Duke of Welling- 
 ton," rejoined Goethe, "were doubtless heroes of another 
 description." 
 
 " I saw them in Brussels a year before the battle of 
 Waterloo," returned I. " They were, indeed, fine men ; all 
 strong, fresh, and active, as if just from the hand of their 
 Maker. They all carried their heads so freely and gallantly, 
 and stepped so lightly along with their strong bare legs, 
 that it seemed as if there were no original sin, and no 
 ancestral failing, as far as they were concerned." 
 
 " There is something peculiar in this," said Goethe. 
 "Whether it lies in the race, in the soil, in the free political 
 constitution, or in the healthy tone of education, — certainly, 
 the English in general appear to have certain advantages over 
 
l82^.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 317 
 
 many others. Hero in Weimar, we see only a few of them, 
 and, probably, by no means the best; but what fine, 
 handsome people they are. And however young they come 
 here, they feel themselves by no means strange or em- 
 barrassed in this foreign atmosphere ; on the contrary, their 
 deportment in society is as full of confidence, and as easy 
 as if they were lords everywhere, and the whole world 
 belonged to them. This it is which pleases our women, 
 and by which they make such havoc in the hearts of our 
 young ladies. As a German father of a family, who is 
 concerned for the tranquillity of his household, I often 
 feel a slight shudder, when my daughter-in-law announces 
 to me the expected arrival of some fresh, young islander. 
 I already see in my mind's eye, the tears which will one 
 day flow when he takes his departure. They are dangerous 
 young people ; but this very quality of being dangerous 
 is their virtue." 
 
 " Still, I would not assert," answered I, " that the young 
 Englishmen in Weimar are more clever, more intelligent, 
 better informed, or more excellent at heart than other 
 people." 
 
 " The secret does not lie in these things, my good 
 friend," returned Goethe. " Neither does it lie in birth 
 and riches ; it lies in the courage which they have to be 
 that for which nature has made them. There is nothing 
 vitiated or spoilt about them, there is nothing half- 
 way or crooked ; but such as they are, they are thoroughly 
 complete men. That they are also sometimes complete 
 fools, I allow with all my heart ; but that is still something, 
 and has still always some weight in the scale o£ nature. 
 
 " The happiness of personal freedom, the consciousness 
 of an English name, and of the importance attached to 
 it by other nations, is an advantage even to the children; 
 for in their own family, as well as in scholastic establish- 
 ments, they are treated with far more respect, and enjoy a 
 far freer development, than is the case with us Germans. 
 
 " In our own dear Weimar, I need only look out of the 
 window to discover how matters stand with us. Lately, 
 when the snow was lying upon the ground, and my neigh- 
 bour's children were trying their little sledges in the 
 street, the police w r as immediately at hand, and 1 saw the 
 
 v 
 
318 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1828- 
 
 poor little things fly as quickly as they could. Now, when 
 the spring sun tempts them from the houses, and they 
 would like to play with their companions before the door, 
 I see them always constrained, as if they were not safe, 
 and feared the approach of some despot of the police. 
 Not a boy may crack a whip, or sing or shout ; the police 
 is immediately at hand to forbid it. This has the effect 
 with us all of taming youth prematurely, and of driving- 
 out all originality and all wildness, so that in the end 
 nothing remains but the Philistine. 
 
 " You know that scarcely a day passes in which I am 
 not visited by some travelling foreigner. But if I were to 
 say that I took great pleasure, in the personal appearance, 
 especially of young, learned Germans from a certain north- 
 eastern quarter, I should tell a falsehood. 
 
 " Short-sighted, pale, narrow-chested, young without 
 youth ; that is a picture of most of them as they appear 
 to me. And if I enter into a conversation with any of 
 them, I immediately observe that the things in which one 
 of us takes pleasure seem to them vain and trivial, that 
 they are entirely absorbed in the Idea, and that only the 
 highest problems of speculation are fitted to interest them. 
 Of sound senses or delight in the sensual, there is no trace ; 
 all youthful feeling and all youthful pleasure are driven 
 out of them, and that irrecoverably ; for if a man is not 
 young in his twentieth year, how can he be so in his 
 fortieth?" 
 
 Goethe sighed and was silent. 
 
 I thought of the happy time in the last century, in which 
 Goethe's youth fell ; the summer air of Sesenheim passed 
 before my soul, and I reminded him of the verses — 
 In the afternoon we sat, 
 Young people, in the cool. 
 
 " Ah/' sighed Goethe, " those were, indeed, happy times. 
 But we will drive them from our minds, that the dark 
 foggy days of the present may not become quite insup- 
 portable." 
 
 " A second Redeemer," said I, " would be required to 
 remove from us the seriousness, the discomfort, and the 
 monstrous oppressiveness of the present state of things." 
 
 " If he came," answered Goethe, " he would be crucified 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 319 
 
 a second time. Still, we by no means need anything so 
 great. If we could only alter the Germans after the 
 model of the English, if we conld only have less philosophy 
 and more power of action, less theory and more practice, 
 we might obtain a good share of redemption, without 
 waiting for the personal majesty of a second Christ. 
 Much may be done from below by the people by mean 
 of schools and domestic education ; much from above by 
 the rulers and those in immediate connection with them. 
 
 " Thus, for instance, I cannot approve the requisition, in 
 the studies of future statesmen, of so much theoretically- 
 learned knowledge, by which young people are ruined before 
 their time, both in mind and body. When they enter into 
 practical service, they possess, indeed, an immense stock of 
 philosophical and learned matters ; but in the narrow circle 
 of their calling, this cannot be practically applied, and must 
 therefore be forgotten as useless. On the other hand, what 
 they most needed they have lost ; they are deficient in the 
 necessary mental and bodily energy, which is quite indis- 
 pensable when one would enter properly into practical life. 
 
 "And then, are not love and benevolence also needed in 
 the life of a statesman, — in the management of men ? And 
 how can any one feel and exercise benevolence towards 
 another, when he is ill at ease with himself ? 
 
 " But all these people are in a dreadfully bad case. The 
 third part of the learned men and statesmen, shackled to 
 the desk are ruined in body, and consigned to the demon of 
 hypochondria. Here there should be action from above, 
 that future generations may at least be preserved from a 
 like destruction. 
 
 "In the mean time," continued Goethe, smiling, "let na 
 remain in a state of hopeful expectation as to the condition 
 of us Germans a century hence, and whether we shall then 
 have advanced so far as to be no longer savants and philo- 
 sophers, but men." 
 
 (Sup.*) Fri., May 16. — I took a drive with Goethe. He 
 amused himself with recollections of his disputes with 
 Kotzebue and Co., and recited some very lively epigrams 
 against the former, which were certainly more jocular than 
 cutting. I asked him why he had not included them in his 
 works. 
 
320 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 " I have a whole collection of such little poems," returned 
 Goethe, " which I keep secret, and only show occasionally 
 to niy most intimate friends. This was the only innocent 
 weapon which I had at command against the attacks of my 
 enemies. I thus quietly found a vent by which I freed and 
 purified myself from the horrid feeling of malevolence 
 which I must otherwise have felt and fostered against the 
 public and often malicious cavillings of my opponents. I 
 have, therefore, by these little poems clone myself an essen- 
 tial and personal service ; but I do not want to occupy the 
 public with my private squabbles, or to injure any living 
 person. In later times, some of these things may be brought 
 out without hesitation." 
 
 (Sup.*) Fri., June 6. — The King of Bavaria, some time 
 ago, sent his court painter, Stieler, to Weimar, in order to 
 take Goethe's portrait. Stieler brought with him, as a sort 
 of letter of introduction, and as a proof of his skill, a 
 finished portrait, the size of life, of a very beautiful young 
 lady, namely, the young Munich actress, Fraulein von 
 Hagen. Goethe gave Stieler all the necessary sittings, and 
 his portrait had now been finished for some days. 
 
 To-day, I dined with him alone. At dessert he rose, and 
 conducting me into the cabinet adjoining the dining-room, 
 showed me Stieler's newly completed work. Then, very 
 cautiously, he led me further on into the so-called Majolica 
 chamber, where we saw the portrait of the beautiful actress. 
 " That is worth something," said he, after we had observed 
 it for some time, "is it not ? Stieler was no fool. He 
 employed this beautiful morsel as a bait for me, and whilst 
 by such arts he induced me to sit, he flattered me with the 
 hope that, under his pencil, another angel would appear, 
 whilst he was only painting the head of an old man." 
 
 Sun., June 15. — We had not been long at table before 
 Herr Seidel was announced, accompanied by the Tyrolese. 
 The singers remained in the garden-room, so that we could 
 see them perfectly through the open doors, and their song 
 was heard to advantage from that distance. Herr Seidel 
 sat down with us. These songs and the Gejodelf of the 
 cheerful Tyrolese, with their peculiar burden, delighted us 
 
 + The peculiar Tyrolese burden. — Trans. 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 321 
 
 young people. Fraulein Ulrica and I were particularly 
 pleased with the "Strauss," and "Du, du liegst mir im 
 Herzen," and asked for a copy of them. Goethe seemed 
 by no means so much delighted as we. 
 
 " One must ask children and birds," said he, " how 
 cherries and strawberries taste." 
 
 Between the songs the Tyrolese played various national 
 dances, on a sort of horizontal guitar, accompanied by a 
 clear-toned German flute. 
 
 Young Goethe was called out, but soon returned and 
 dismissed the Tyrolese. He sat down with us again. We 
 talked of " Oberon," and the great concourse of people who 
 had come together from all quarters to see that opera ; so 
 that even at noon there were no more tickets to be got. 
 Young Goethe proposed that we should leave the table. 
 
 "Dear father," said he, "our friends will wish to go 
 somewhat earlier to the theatre this evening." 
 
 Goethe thought such haste very odd, as it was scarcely 
 four o'clock ; however, he made no opposition, and we dis- 
 persed through the apartments. Seidel came to me and 
 some others, and said softly, and with a troubled brow, 
 
 "You need anticipate no pleasure at the theatre; there 
 will be no performance ; the Grand Duke is dead ; he died 
 on his journey hither from Berlin." 
 
 A general shock went through the company. Goethe 
 came in ; we went on as if nothing had happened, and 
 talked of different things. Goethe called me to the window, 
 and talked about the Tyrolese and the theatre. 
 
 "You have my box to-day," said he, "and need not go 
 till six ; stay after the others, that we may have a little 
 chat." 
 
 Young Goethe was trying to send the guests away, that 
 he might break the news to his father before the return of 
 the Chancellor, who had brought it to him. Goethe could 
 not understand his son's strange conduct, and seemed 
 annoyed. 
 
 " Will you not stay for coffee ? " said he ; " it is scarcely 
 four o'clock." 
 
 The others all departed ; and I, too, took my hat. 
 
 " "What ! are you going too ? " said he, astonished. 
 " Yes," said young Goethe ; " Eckermann has something 
 
 I 
 
322 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 to do before going to the theatre." "Yes," said I, "I 
 have something to do." " Go along, then," said Goethe, 
 shaking his head with a suspicious air; "still, I do not 
 understand you." 
 
 We went with Fraulein Ulrica into the upper rooms, 
 while young Goethe remained below, and communicated 
 the sad tidings to his father. 
 
 I saw Goethe late in the evening. Before I entered his 
 chamber, I heard him sighing and talking aloud to himself : 
 he seemed to feel that an irreparable rent had been torn in 
 his existence. All consolation he refused, and would hear 
 nothing of the sort. 
 
 " 1 thought," said he, " that I should depart before him ; 
 but God disposes as he thinks best ; and all that we poor 
 mortals have to do, is to endure and keep ourselves upright 
 as well and as long as we can." 
 
 The Dowager Grand Duchess received the melancholy 
 news at her summer residence of Wilhelmsthal, the younger 
 members of the family received it in Russia. Goethe went 
 soon to Dornburg, to withdraw himself from daily saddening 
 impressions, and to restore himself by fresh activity in a 
 new scene. 
 
 By important literary incitements on the part of the 
 French, he had been once more impelled to his theory of 
 plants ; and this rural abode, where, at every step into the 
 pure air, he was surrounded by the most luxurious vegeta- 
 tion, in the shape of twining vines and sprouting flowers, 
 was very favourable to such studies. 
 
 I sometimes visited him there, in company with his 
 daughter-in-law and grandchildren. He seemed very happy, 
 and could not refrain from repeatedly expressing his delight 
 at the beautiful situation of the castle and gardens. 
 
 And, indeed, there was, from windows at such a height, 
 an enchanting prospect. Beneath was the variegated 
 valley, with the Saale meandering through the meadows. 
 On the opposite side, toward the east, were woody hills, 
 over which the eye could wander afar, so that one felt that 
 this situation was, in the day time, favourable to the obser- 
 vation of passing showers losing themselves in the distance. 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 323 
 
 and at night to the contemplation of the eastern stars and 
 the rising snn. 
 
 "I enjoy here," said Goethe, "both good days and good 
 nights. Often before dawn I am already awake, and lie 
 down by the open window, to enjoy the splendour of the 
 three planets, which are at present to be seen together, and 
 to refresh myself with the increasing brilliancy of the 
 morning-red. I then pass almost the whole day in the open 
 air, and hold spiritual communion with the tendrils of the 
 vine, which say good things to me, and of which I could 
 tell you wonders. I also write poems again, which arc not 
 bad, and, if it were permitted me, I should like always to 
 remain in this situation." 
 
 Thurs., Sep. 11. — At two o'clock to-day, in the very finest 
 weather, Goethe returned from Dornburg. He looked very 
 well, and was quite browned by the sun. We soon sat 
 down to dinner, in the chamber next the garden, the doors 
 of which stood open. He told us of many visits and 
 presents which he had received ; and seemed to take pleasure 
 in interspersing his conversation with light jests. If, how- 
 ever, one looked deeper, one could not but perceive a certain 
 embarrassment, such as a person feels who returns to a 
 former situation, conditioned by manifold relations, views, 
 and requisitions. 
 
 During the first course, a message came from the 
 Dowager Grand Duchess, expressing her pleasure at 
 Goethe's return, and announcing that she would have the 
 pleasure of visiting him on the following Tuesday. 
 
 Since the death of the Grand Duke, Goethe had seen 
 no member of the reigning family. He had, indeed, 
 corresponded constantly with the Dowager Grand Duchess, 
 so that they had sufficiently expressed their feelings upon 
 their common loss. Still, the personal interview could 
 not but awake painful emotions, and could not be antici- 
 pated without some apprehension. Neither had Goetue 
 yet seen the young Duke and Duchess, nor paid his 
 homage to them as new rulers of the land. All this he 
 had now to undergo, and even, though it could not disturb 
 him as an accomplished man of the world, it was an im- 
 pediment to his talent, which always loved to move in 
 innate directions, and in its own activity. Visits, too, 
 
 t2 
 
324 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [182S. 
 
 threatened hini froni all parts. The meeting at Berlin, of 
 celebrated natural philosophers, had set in motion many 
 important personages, who, passing through Weimar on 
 their way, had, some of them, announced themselves, and 
 were soon expected. "Whole weeks of disturbance, which 
 would take the inner sense out of its usual track, and 
 other annoyances connected with visits otherwise so 
 valuable ; — all this was foreseen like a coming spectre by 
 Goethe, when he again set his foot on the threshold, and 
 paced his rooms. What made all these coming evils still 
 worse, was a circumstance which I cannot pass over. The 
 fifth section of his works, which was to contain the 
 " Wander jahre," had been promised for the press at 
 Christmas. Goethe had begun entirely to remodel this 
 novel, which originally appeared in one volume, combining 
 so much new matter with the old, that in the new edition 
 it would occupy three volumes. 
 
 Much is done, but there is also much to do. The 
 manuscript has everywhere gaps of white paper, which are 
 yet to be filled up. Here something is wanting to the 
 introduction ; here is to be* found a suitable link to render 
 the reader less sensible that this is a collective work ; here 
 are fragments of great interest, some of which want a 
 beginning, others an end ; so that altogether there is 
 much to do to all the three volumes, to make the important 
 work at once attractive and graceful. 
 
 Last spring Goethe gave me this manuscript to look 
 over. We then both in words and writing discussed the 
 subject at great length. I advised him to devote the 
 whole summer to the completion of this work, and to lay 
 aside all others for the time. He was likewise convinced 
 of the necessity of the case, and had resolved to do so ; 
 but the death of the Grand Duke had caused a gap in his 
 existence ; the tranquillity and cheerfulness necessary to 
 such a composition were not now to be thought of, and 
 he needed all his strength merely ito sustain the blow 
 and revive from it. Now, when with the commencement 
 of autumn, returning from Dornburg, he again paced the 
 rooms of his Weimar residence, the thought of completing 
 his " Wanderjahre," for^which he had now only the space of a 
 few months, came vividly before his mind, in conflict with 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 325 
 
 the various interruptions which awaited him, and impeded 
 the free action of his talent. When all these matters arc 
 taken into consideration, I shall be understood when I say 
 that Goethe was ill at ease within himself, although he 
 jested lightly at dinner. I have another reason for 
 mentioning these circumstances, they are connected with 
 an observation of Goethe's, which appeared to me very 
 remarkable, which expressed his situation and peculiar 
 character, and of which I will now speak. 
 
 Professor Abekcn of Osnaburg had sent me, shortly 
 before the 28th of August, an enclosure, requesting me to 
 give it to Goethe on his birth-day, and saying it was a 
 memorial relating to Schiller, which would certainly give 
 him pleasure. When Goethe was speaking to-day at 
 dinner, of the various presents which had been sent to him 
 at Dornburg in honour of his birth-day, I asked him what 
 Abeken's packet contained. 
 
 "It was a remarkable present," said Goethe, " which 
 really gave me great pleasure. An amiable lady, with 
 whom Schiller took tea, conceived the happy idea of 
 writing down all he said. She comprehended it well, and 
 related it with accuracy, and after so long a time, it still 
 reads well, inasmuch as one is transplanted immediately 
 into a situation which is now passed by with a thousand 
 others as interesting, while the living spirit of this one 
 only has been felicitously caught and fixed upon paper. 
 
 " Schiller appears here, as always, in perfect possession 
 of his sublime nature. He is as great at the tea-table as 
 he would have been in a council of state. Nothing con- 
 strains him, nothing narrows him, nothing draws down- 
 ward the flight of his thoughts ; the great views which 
 lie within him are ever expressed freely and fearlessly. 
 He was a true man, such as one ought to be. We others 
 always feel ourselves subject to conditions. The persons, 
 the objects that surround us have their influence upon 
 us. The tea-spoon constrains us, if it is of gold, when it 
 should be of silver, and so, paralyzed by a thousand 
 considerations, we do not succeed in expressing freely 
 whatever may be great in our nature. We arc the slaws 
 of objects round us, and appear little or important 
 according as thc^e contract or give us room to expand.' 
 
32G CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 Goetlie was silent. The conversation turned on other 
 subjects ; but I continued to meditate on these important 
 words, which had touched and expressed my own inmost 
 soul. 
 
 (Sup.*) Fri., Sept. 26. — Goethe showed me to-day his 
 rich collection of fossils, which he keeps in the detached 
 pavilion in his garden. The collection was begun by 
 himself ; but his son has greatly increased it ; and it is 
 particularly remarkable for a long series of petrified bones, 
 all of which were found in the neighbourhood of Weimar. 
 
 Wed., Oct. 1. — Herr Honninghansen of Crefeld, head of 
 a great mercantile house, and also an amateur of natural 
 science, especially mineralogy, — a man possessed of varied 
 information, through extensive travels and studies — dined 
 with Goethe to-day. He had returned from the meeting 
 of natural philosophers at Berlin, and a great deal was said 
 about things connected with the subject, especially 
 mineralogical. matters. 
 
 There was also some talk about the Vulcanists, and the 
 way in which men arrive at views and hypotheses about 
 nature. On this occasion, several great natural philoso- 
 phers were mentioned, including Aristotle, concerning 
 whom Goethe spoke thus : — 
 
 " Aristotle observed nature better than any modern, 
 but he was too hasty in his opinions. We must go 
 slowly and gently to work with nature, if we would get 
 anything out of her. 
 
 " If, on investigating natural objects, I formed an opinion 
 I did not expect nature to concede the point at once, but 
 I pursued her with observations and experiments, and was 
 satisfied if she were kind enough to confirm my opinion 
 when occasion offered.' If she did not do this, she at any 
 rate brought me to some other view, which I followed out, 
 and which I perhaps found her more willing to confirm." 
 
 Fri., Oct. 3. — To-day, at dinner, I talked with Goethe 
 about Fouque's " Sangerkrieg auf der Wartburg," t which 
 I had read, in compliance with his wish. We agreed that 
 this poet had spent his life in old- German studies, without 
 drawing from them any real culture in the end. 
 
 f The " War of the Singers of the Wartburg " was a famous 
 poetical contest in the days of the old Minnesangers. — Trans. 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 327 
 
 " From these old-German gloomy times," said Goethe, - 
 " we can obtain as little as from the Servian songs, and 
 similar barbaric popular poetry. We can read it and be 
 interested about it for a while, but merely to cast rt> -aside, 
 and let it lie behind us. Generally speaking, a, man is 
 quite sufficiently saddened by his own passions and destiny, 
 and need not make himself more so by the darkness of a 
 barbaric past. He needs enlightening and cheering 
 influences, and should therefore turn to those eras in art 
 and literature, during which remarkable men obtained 
 perfect culture, so that they were satisfied with themselves, 
 and able to impart to others the blessings of their culture. 
 
 " But if you would have a good opinion of Fouque, " 
 read his ' Undine,' which is really charming. The subject 
 is, indeed, very good, and one cannot even say that the 
 writer has done with it all that was possible ; however, 
 1 Undine ' is good, and will give you pleasure." 
 
 " I have been unfortunate in my acquaintance with the 
 most modern German literature," said I. " I came to the 
 poems of Egon Ebert from Voltaire, whose acquaintance 
 I had just made by those little poems which are addressed 
 to individuals, and which certainly belong to the best he 
 ever wrote. And now, I have fared no better with 
 Fouque. While deeply engaged in Walter Scott's ' Fair 
 Maid of Perth,' the first work of this great writer which 
 I had ever read, I am induced to put it aside, and give . 
 myself up to the ' Siingerkrieg auf der Wartburg.' " 
 
 "Against these great foreigners," said Goethe, "the 
 modern Germans certainly cannot keep their ground ; but 
 it is desirable that you should, by degrees, make yourseli' 
 acquainted with all writers, foreign and domestic, that 
 you may see how that higher world-culture, which the 
 poet needs, is really to be obtained." 
 
 Frau von Goethe came in, and sat down to the table with 
 us. 
 
 "But," continued Goethe, with animation, "Walter 
 Scott's ' Fair Maid of Perth ' is excellent, is it not ? There 
 is finish ! there is a hand ! What a firm foundation for the 
 whole, and in particulars not a touch which docs not lead 
 to the catastrophe ! Then, what details of dialogue and 
 description, both of which are excellent. 
 
328 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 " His scenes and situations are like pictures by Teniers ; 
 in the arrangement they show the summit of art, the in- 
 dividual figures have a speaking truth, and the execution 
 is extended with artistical love to the minutest details, so 
 that not a stroke is lost. How far have you read ? " 
 
 "I have come," said I, "to the passage where Henry- 
 Smith carries the pretty minstrel girl home through the 
 streets, and round about lanes ; and where, to his great 
 vexation, Proudfoot and D wining met him." 
 
 " Ah," said Goethe, "that is excellent ; that the obstinate, 
 honest blacksmith should be brought at last to take with 
 him not only the suspicious maiden, but even the little dog, 
 is one of the finest things to be found in any novel. It 
 shows a knowledge of human nature, to which the deepest 
 mysteries are revealed." 
 
 "It was also," said I, "an admirable notion to make the 
 heroine's father a glover, who, by his trade in skins, must 
 have been long in communication with the Highlanders." 
 
 "Yes," said Goethe, "that is a touch of the highest 
 order. From this circumstance spring the relations and 
 situations most favourable for the whole book, and these 
 by this means also obtain a real basis, so that they have an 
 air of the most convincing truth. You find everywhere in 
 Walter Scott a remarkable security and thoroughness in 
 his delineation, which proceeds from his comprehensive 
 knowledge of the real world, obtained by life-long studies 
 and observations, and a daily discussion of the most im- 
 portant relations. Then come his great talent and his com- 
 prehensive nature. You remember the English critic, who 
 compares the poets to the voices of male singers, of which 
 some can command only a few fine tones, while others have 
 the whole compass, from the highest to the lowest, com- 
 pletely in their power. Walter Scott is one of this last 
 sort. In the 'Fair Maid of Perth' you will not find a 
 single weak passage to make you feel as if his knowledge 
 and talent were insufficient. He is equal to his subject in 
 every direction in which it takes him ; the king, the royal 
 brother, the prince, the head of the clergy, the nobles, the 
 magistracy, the citizens and mechanics, the Highlanders, 
 are all drawn with the same sure hand, and hit off with . 
 equal truth." 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 329 
 
 "The English," said Fran von Goethe, "particularly like 
 the character of Henry Smith, and Walter Scott seems to 
 have made him the hero of the hook ; however, ho is not 
 my favourite ; I like the Prince." 
 
 "The Prince," said I, "is, indeed, amiahle enough with 
 all his wildness, and is as well drawn as any of the rest." 
 
 "The passage," said Goethe, "where, sitting on horse- 
 back, he makes the pretty minstrel girl step upon his foot, 
 that he may raise her up for a kiss, is in the boldest Englisl 1 
 style. But you ladies are wrong always to take sides. 
 Usually, you read a book to find nutrition for the heart ; 
 to find a hero whom you could love. This is not the way to 
 read ; the great point is, not whether this or that character 
 pleases, but whether the whole book pleases." 
 
 "We women were made so, dear father," said she, affec- 
 tionately leaning over the table to press his hand. 
 
 "Well, we must let you have your own way in your 
 amiability," replied Goethe. 
 
 The last number of the " Globe " lay by him, and he tool: 
 it up. I talked, in the mean while, with Frau von Goethe, 
 about some young Englishmen, whose acquaintance I ] 
 made at the theatre. 
 
 " What men these writers in the ' Globe ' are ! " resumed 
 Goethe, with animation. " One has scarcely a notion how 
 it is they become greater and more remarkable every day, 
 and how much, as it were, they are imbued with one spirit. 
 Such a paper would be utterly impossible in Germany. We 
 are mere individuals ; harmony and concert are not to be 
 thought of ; each has the opinions of his province, his city, 
 and his own idiosyncracy; and it will be a long while before 
 we have attained an universal culture." 
 
 (Sup.*) Man., Oct. 6. — Dined with Goethe, in company 
 with Herr von Martius, who has been here for some dn \ 
 and who spoke with Goethe on botanical subjects. It is 
 especially the spiral tendency of plants, about which Herr 
 von Martius has made important discoveries ; these he 
 imparted to Goethe, to whom they open a new field. Goeth< • 
 appeared to take up his friend's idea with a sort of youthful 
 ardour. "For the physiology of plants," said he, ''much 
 is gained by it. The new discovery of the spiml tendency 
 is thoroughly conformable to my doctrine of metamorphoses ; 
 
330 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 it has been found on the same path, but is a considerable 
 step in advance of it." 
 
 Tues., Oct. 7. — There was the most lively party at dinner 
 to-day. Besides the Weimar friends, there were some 
 natural philosophers returned from Berlin, among whom, 
 Herr von Martius, from Munich, who sat next Goethe, 
 was known to me. There was joking and conversations 
 on the most various subjects. Goethe was particularly 
 good-humoured and communicative. The theatre was 
 then talked about, and much was said of the opera 
 last given — Rossini's " Moses." They found fault with 
 the subject, and both praised and found fault with the 
 music. 
 
 Goethe said, "I do not understand how you can separate 
 the subject from the music, and enjoy each by itself. You 
 say the subject is not a good one ; but you can set that 
 aside, and enjoy the excellent music. I really admire this 
 arrangement in your natures, by which your ears are able 
 to listen to pleasant sounds, while the most powerful sense, 
 vision, is tormented by the absurdest objects. And that 
 this ' Moses ' is absurd you will not deny. When the 
 curtain rises you see the people standing at prayer. This 
 is very wrong. It is written ' When thou prayest, go into 
 thy closet, and shut the door.' But there ought to be no 
 praying on the stage. 
 
 " I would have made a wholly different ' Moses,' and have 
 begun the piece quite otherwise. I would have first shown 
 you how the children of Israel in their hard bondage suffered 
 from the tyranny of the Egyptian task-masters, in order 
 to render more conspicuous the merit of Moses in freeing 
 his people from this shameful oppression." 
 
 Goethe then cheerfully went through the whole opera 
 step by step, through all the scenes and acts, full of life 
 and intelligence, and with a historical feeling for the sub- 
 ject, to the delighted astonishment of the whole company, 
 who could not but admire the irrepressible flow of his 
 thoughts, and the wealth of his invention. It passed before 
 Hie too quickly for me to seize it ; but I remember the dance 
 of the Egyptians, which Goethe introduced to express their 
 joy at the return of light, after the darkness had been 
 overcome. 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 331 
 
 The conversation turned from Moses to the deluge, and 
 took a scientific turn. 
 
 "It is said," observed Herr von Martius, "they have 
 found on Ararat a petrified piece of Noah's ark, and I shrill 
 be surprised if they do not also find petrified skulls of the 
 first men." 
 
 This remark led to others of a similar kind, and the con- 
 versation turned upon the various races of men — how as 
 black, brown, yellow, and white, they inhabit the different 
 countries of the earth. The question finally arose whether 
 we ought to assume that all men are descended from the 
 single pair, Adam and Eve. 
 
 Von Martius was for the biblical account, which he sought 
 to confirm by the maxim, that nature goes to work as 
 economically as possible in her productions. 
 
 "I cannot agree to that opinion," said Goethe ; " I main- 
 tain rather that nature is always lavish, even prodigal ; and 
 that it would show more acquaintance with her to believe 
 she has, instead of one paltry pair, produced men by dozens 
 or hundreds. 
 
 "When the earth had arrived at a certain point of ma- 
 turity, the water had ebbed away, and the dry land was 
 sufficiently verdant, came the epoch for the creation of 
 man, and men rose, through the omnipotence of God, 
 wherever the ground permitted; perhaps on the heights 
 first. 
 
 " To believe that this happened I esteem reasonable ; but 
 to attempt to decide how it happened I deem an use' 
 trouble, which we will leave to those who like to busy 
 themselves with insolvable problems, and have nothing 
 better to do." 
 
 "Even," said Herr von Martius, archly, "if I could, as 
 a naturalist, willingly yield to your excellency's opinion, I 
 should, as a good Christian, find some difficulty in adop: 
 a view which cannot well be reconciled with the account 
 given us in the Bible." 
 
 "Holy writ," replied Goethe, "speaks, certainly, only of 
 one pair of human beings, whom God made on the sixth day ; 
 but the gifted men who wrote down the Word of God, as 
 recorded in the Bible, had first in view their own ch< 1 
 people; and as far as that people is concerned, we will not 
 
332 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 dispute the honour of a descent froni Adam and Eve. But 
 we, as well as the Negroes and Laplanders, and slender 
 men, who are handsomer than any of ns, had certainly- 
 different ancestors ; and this worthy company must confess 
 that we at present differ in a variety of particulars from 
 the genuine descendants of Adam, and that they, especially 
 J where money is concerned, are superior to us all." 
 
 We laughed ; the conversation became general. Goethe, 
 excited by Von Martins to argument, said many interesting 
 things, which, under the appearance of jesting, had a 
 deeper meaning at bottom. 
 
 After dinner, the Prussian minister, Herr Yon Jordan, 
 was announced, and we went into the next room. 
 
 Wed., Oct. 8. — Tieck, returning from a journey to the 
 Rhine, with his wife, his daughters, and Countess Finken- 
 stein, was expected to dine with Goethe to-day. I met 
 them in the anteroom. Tieck looked very well ; the Rhine 
 baths seemed to have had a favourable effect upon him. 
 I told him that since I had seen him I had been reading Sir 
 "Walter Scott's new novel, and what pleasure this extraor- 
 dinary talent had given me. 
 
 "I suspect," said Tieck, "that this last novel of Scott's, 
 which I have not yet read, is the best he has ever written ; 
 however, he is so great a writer, that the first work of his 
 which you read always excites astonishment, approach him 
 on what side you will." 
 
 Professor Gottling came in, just fresh from his Italian 
 tour. I was extremely glad to see him again, and drevf 
 him to a window that he might tell me what he had seen. 
 
 "To Rome!" said he; "you must to Rome, if you 
 would become anything ! That is indeed a city ! that is a 
 life ! that is a world ! Whatever is small in our nature 
 cannot be eradicated while we are in Germany, but as soon 
 as we enter Rome a transformation takes place in us, and 
 we feel ourselves great, like the objects which surround us." 
 
 "Why," said I, " did you not stay there longer ? " 
 
 "My money and my leave of absence were at an end," 
 he replied, " but I felt very uncomfortable when I again 
 crossed the Alps, leaving fair Italy behind me." 
 
 Goethe came in, and greeted his guests. He talked on 
 various subjects with Tieck and his family, and then offered 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 333 
 
 the countess his arm to take her to the dining-room. We 
 followed, and when we took our seats at the table mad 
 motley group. The conversation was lively and uncon- 
 strained, but I remember little of what was said. 
 
 After dinner, the Princes von Oldenburg were announced. 
 We then went up to Frau von Goethe's apartment, where 
 Fraulein Agnes Ticck seated herself at the piano, and gave 
 us the song " Im Felde schleich' ich still und wild," with a 
 fine alto voice, and so thoroughly in the spirit of the situa- 
 tion, that it made quite an ineffaceable impression on the 
 mind. 
 
 Thurs., Oct, 9. — I dined to-day with Goethe and Frau 
 von Goethe alone ; and as it often happens that a conversa- 
 tion begun on one day is continued on another, so was it 
 on this occasion. Rossini's " Moses " was again spoken of, 
 and we recalled with pleasure Goethe's lively invention I 
 day before yesterday. 
 
 " What I said, in the merriment and good-humour of the 
 moment, about * Moses,' " said he, " I cannot recall ; for 
 such things are done quite unconsciously. But of this I am 
 certain, that I cannot enjoy an opera unless the story is as 
 perfect as the music, so that the two may keep pace one 
 with another. If you ask what opera I consider good, I 
 would name the ' Wassertrager ' (Water-Carrier) ; for here 
 the subject is so perfect, that, if given as a mere drama, 
 without music, it could be seen with pleasure. Compos 
 either do not understand the importance of a good four 
 tion, or they have not intelligent poets who know to as 
 them with good stories. If ' Der Freischiitz' had not been 
 so good a subject, the mere music would hardly have drawn 
 such crowds; and therefore Herr Kind should have some 
 share in the honour." 
 
 After various discussion on this subject, we spoke of 
 Professor Gottling, and his travels in Italy. 
 
 " I cannot blame the good man," said Goethe, " for speak- 
 ing of Italy with such enthusiasm ; I well know what I 
 experienced myself. Indeed, I may say that only in Borne 
 have I felt what it really is to be a man. To this elevation, 
 to this happiness of feeling, I have never since arisen ; in- 
 deed, compared with my situation at Rome, I have never 
 since felt real gladness. 
 
334 C0NVEKSATI0NS OF GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 " But," continued Goethe, after a pause, " we will not 
 give ourselves up to melancholy thoughts. How do you 
 get on with your ' Fair Maid of Perth ? ' How far have 
 you read ? Tell me all about it." 
 
 " I read slowly," said I. " However, I am now as far as 
 the scene where Proudfoot, when in Henry Smith's armour 
 he imitates his walk and whistle, is slain, and on the follow- 
 ing morning is found in the streets of Perth by the citi- 
 zens, who, taking him for Smith, raise a great alarm 
 through the city." 
 
 "Ay," said Goethe, "that scene is remarkable; it is one 
 of the best." 
 
 "I have been particularly struck," said I, "with Walter 
 Scott's great talent for disentangling confused situations, 
 so that the whole separates itself into masses and quiet 
 pictures, which leave on our minds an impression as if, like 
 omniscient beings, we had looked down and seen events 
 which were occurring at the same time in various places." 
 
 " Generally," said Goethe, " he shows great understanding 
 of art ; for which reason we, and those like us, who always 
 particularly look to see how things are done, find a double 
 interest and the greatest profit in his works. 
 
 " I will not anticipate, but you will find in the third 
 volume an admirable contrivance. You have already seen 
 how the prince in council makes the wise proposal to let 
 the rebel Highlanders destroy one another in combat, and 
 how Palm Sunday is appointed for the day when the hostile 
 clans are to come down to Perth, and to fight for life or 
 death, thirty against thirty. You will see with admiration 
 how Scott manages to make one man fail on one side on the 
 decisive day, and with what art he contrives to bring his 
 hero Smith from a distance into the vacant place among 
 the combatants. This is admirably done ; and you will be 
 delighted when you come to it. 
 
 "But, when you have finished the 'Fair Maid of Perth,' 
 you must at once read ' Waverley,' which is indeed from 
 quite a different point of view, but which may, without 
 hesitation, be set beside the best works that have ever been 
 written in this world. We see that it is the same man who 
 wrote the ' Fair Maid of Perth,' but that he has yet to gain 
 the favour of the public, and therefore collects his forces 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 335 
 
 so that he may not give a touch that is short of excellence. 
 The 'Fair Maid of Perth,' on the other hand, is from a 
 freer pen ; the author is now sure of his public, and he pro- 
 ceeds more at liberty. After reading ' Waverley,' you will 
 understand why Walter Scott still designates himself the 
 author of that work ; for there he showed what he could 
 do, and he has never since written anything to surpass, or 
 even equal, that first published novel." 
 
 Thurs. evening, Oct. 9. — In honour of Tieck, a very 
 pleasant tea-party was given this evening in the apartments 
 of Frau von Groethc. I made the acquaintance of Count 
 and Countess Medem. The latter told me that she had seen 
 Goethe to-day, and had been highly delighted by the im- 
 pression he had made. The count was especially interested 
 about " Faust " and its continuation, and conversed with 
 me about it for some time with much animation. 
 
 We had hoped that Tieck would read something aloud, 
 and he did so. The party retired into a more remote room, 
 and after all had comfortably seated themselves in a wide 
 circle on chairs and sofas, he read " Clavigo." 
 
 I had often read and felt this drama ; but now it ap- 
 peared to me quite new, and produced an effect such as I 
 had scarcely experienced before. It seemed as if I heard it 
 from the stage, only better ; every character and situation 
 was more perfectly felt : it produced the impression of a 
 theatrical representation in which each part is well per- 
 formed. 
 
 It would be hard to say what parts Tieck read best ; 
 whether those in which the powers and passions of the male 
 characters are developed; or the quiet clear scenes ad- 
 dressed to the understanding ; or the moments of tortured 
 love. For giving expression to passages of this last sort, Ik 
 had especial qualifications. The scene between Marie and 
 Clavigo is still ringing in my ears ; the oppressed bosom ; 
 the faltering and trembling of the voice ; the broken half- 
 stifled words and sounds ; the panting and sighing of a hot 
 breath accompanied with tears ; — all this is still present 
 with me, and will never be forgotten. Every one was ab- 
 sorbed in listening, and wholly carried away. The lights 
 burned dim ; nobody thought of that, or ventured to Bm 
 them, for fear of the slightest interruption. Tears con- 
 
336 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 stantly dropping from the eyes of the ladies showed the 
 deep effect of the piece, and were the most hearty tribute 
 that could be paid to the reader of the poet. 
 
 Tieck had finished, and rose, wiping the perspiration from 
 his forehead ; but the hearers seemed still fettered to their 
 chairs. Each man appeared too deeply engaged with what 
 had just been passing through his soul, to have ready the 
 suitable words of gratitude for him who had produced so 
 wonderful an effect upon us all. Gradually, however, we 
 recovered ourselves. The company arose, and talked cheer- 
 fully with one another. Then we partook of a supper 
 which stood ready on little tables in the adjoining rooms. 
 
 Goethe himself was not present this evening ; but his 
 spirit and a remembrance of him were living among us all. 
 He sent an apology to Tieck ; and to his daughters, Agnes 
 and Dorothea, two handkerchief-pins, with his own picture 
 and red ribbons, which Frau von Goethe gave them, and 
 fastened to their dresses like little orders. 
 
 Fri., Oct. 10. — From Mr. William Frazer, of London, 
 editor of the "Foreign Review," I received, this morning, 
 two copies of the third number of that periodical, and gave 
 one of them to Goethe at dinner. 
 
 I found again a pleasant dinner party, invited in honour 
 of Tieck and the Countess, who, at the urgent request of 
 Goethe and their other friends, had remained another day, 
 the rest of the family having set off in the morning for 
 Dresden. 
 
 At table a special subject of conversation was English 
 literature, and particularly Walter Scott, on which occasion 
 Tieck said, that he brought to Germany the first copy of 
 Waverley ten years ago. 
 
 Sat, Oct. 11. — The above-mentioned number of the 
 " Foreign Review " contained, with a variety of other im- 
 portant and interesting articles, a very fine essay by Carlyle, 
 upon Goethe, which I studied this morning. 
 
 I went to Goethe a little earlier to dinner, that I might 
 have an opportunity of talking this over with him before 
 the arrival of the other guests. I found him, as I wished, 
 still alone, expecting the company. He wore his black coat 
 and star, with which I so much like to see him. He ap- 
 peared to-day in quite youthful spirits, and we began im- 
 
1 828.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 337 
 
 mediately to speak on topics interesting to both. Goof lie 
 told me that he likewise had been looking at Carlyle's 
 article this morning, and thus we were both in a position 
 to exchange commendations of these foreign attempts. 
 
 " It is pleasant to see," said Goethe, "how the earlier 
 pedantry of the Scotch has changed into earnestness and 
 profundity. When I recollect how the ' Edinburgh Re- 
 viewers ' treated my works not many years since, and when 
 I now consider Carlyle's merits with respect to German 
 literature, I am astonished at the important step for the 
 better." 
 
 "In Carlyle," said I, " I venerate most of all the mind 
 and character which lie at the foundation of his tendencies. 
 The chief point with him is the culture of his own nation ; 
 and, in the literary productions of other countries, which 
 he wishes to make known to his contemporaries, he pays 
 less attention to the arts of talent, than to the moral eleva- 
 tion which can be attained through such works." 
 
 "Yes," said Goethe, "the temper in which he works is 
 always admirable. What an earnest man he is ! and how 
 he has studied us Germans ! He is almost more at home 
 in our literature than ourselves. At any rate, we cannot 
 vie with him in our researches in English literature." 
 
 " The article," said I, "is written with a fire and imprcs- 
 siveness w r hich show that there are many prejudices and 
 contradictions to contend with in Eno-land. 'Wilhclm 
 Meister' especially seems to have been placed in an unfavour- 
 able light by malevolent critics and bad translators. Carlyle, 
 on the contrary, behaves very well. To the stupid objection 
 that no virtuous lady could read 'Wilhelm Meister,' he 
 opposes the example of the late Queen of Prussia, who 
 made herself familiar with the book, and was rightly 
 esteemed one of the first women of her time." 
 
 Some of the guests came in now, whom Goethe received. 
 He then turned tome again, and I continued. 
 
 " Carlyle has, indeed," said I, " studied 'Meister,' and, 
 being so thoroughly penetrated with its value, ho would 
 like to see it universally circulated, — would like to sec 
 every cultivated mind receive similar profit and enjoyment." 
 
 Goethe drew me to a window to answer me. 
 
 " My dear young friend," said he, " I will confide to you 
 
 z 
 
338 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 something which may help you on a great deal. My works 
 cannot be popular. He who thinks and strives to make 
 them so is in error. They are not written for the multitude, 
 but only for individuals who desire something congenial, 
 and whose aims are like my own." 
 
 He wished to say more ; but a young lady who came 
 up interrupted him, and drew him into conversation. I 
 turned to the others, and soon afterwards we sat down to 
 table. 
 
 I could pay no attention to the conversation that was 
 going on ; Goethe's words were impressed upon me, and 
 entirely occupied my mind. 
 
 " Really," thought I, "a writer like him, an intellect 
 so exalted, a nature so comprehensive, how can he be 
 popular ? Can even a small part of him be popular ? even 
 those songs which convivial companies or enamoured 
 maidens sing, and which again are not for others ? 
 
 " And, rightly regarded, is not this the case with every- 
 thing extraordinary ? Is Mozart, is Raphael popular ? and 
 is not the relation of the world towards these great foun- 
 tains of overflowing spiritual life like that of some dainty 
 person, who is pleased now and then to snatch up a little 
 that may for a while afford higher enjoyment. 
 
 " Yes," I continued, in my own mind, " Goethe is right. 
 He cannot be popular to his full extent*; his works are only 
 for individuals who desire something congenial, and whose 
 pursuits are like his own. They are for contemplative 
 / natures, who wish to penetrate into the depths of the world 
 ^ and human nature, and follow in his path. They are for 
 those susceptible of passionate enjoyment, who seek in the 
 poet the bliss and woe of the heart. They are for young- 
 poets who would learn how to express their feelings, and 
 how to treat a subject artistically. They are for critics, 
 who find there a model for the best rules of judgment, and 
 also for the means of making a criticism interesting and 
 attractive, so that it may be read with pleasure. 
 
 " His works are for the artist, inasmuch as they enlighten 
 his mind generally, and teach him particularly what sub- 
 jects are suited to works of art ; what he should use, and 
 what leave aside. They are for the observer of nature, not 
 only because great laws are discovered and taught him, but, 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 339 
 
 still more, because they give him the method by which the 
 intellect must proceed with nature to make her reveal her 
 mysteries. 
 
 " In short, all those who are making efforts in science or 
 art, may be guests at the richly-provided banquet of his 
 works, and in their productions bear witness to the great 
 general source of light and life from which they have 
 drawn." 
 
 These and similar thoughts were in my head all dinner- 
 time. 1 thought of individuals, of many a good German 
 artist, of natural philosophers, poets, and critics, who owed 
 to Goethe a great part of their culture. I thought of intel- 
 lectual Italians, Frenchmen, and Englishmen, who have 
 their eyes upon him, and who have worked in his spirit. 
 
 In the mean while, all around me were jesting and talk- 
 ing, and partaking of the good fare. I spoke now and then 
 a word, but without exactly knowing what I said. A lady 
 put a question to me, to which, it seems, I did not render a 
 very approjDriate answer : they all laughed at me. 
 
 " Let Eckermann alone," said Goethe. " He is always 
 absent, except when he is at the theatre." 
 
 They laughed at me again ; but I did not regard it. I 
 felt myself, to-day, peculiarly happy. I blessed my fate, 
 which, after many singular dispensations, had associated 
 me with the few who enjoy the conversation and intimacy 
 of a man whose greatness I had deeply felt only a few mo- 
 ments since, and whom I now had personally before my 
 eyes, in all his amiability. 
 
 Biscuits and some very fine grapes were brought for 
 dessert. The latter had been sent from a distance, and 
 Goethe would not say whence they came. He divided 
 them, and handed me a very ripe branch across the table. 
 
 " Here, my good friend," said he, " eat these sweets, and 
 much good may they do you." 
 
 I highly enjoyed the grapes from Goethe's hand, and 
 was now quite near hini both in body and soul. 
 
 They talked of the theatre, and of Wolff's great merits, 
 and of what had been done by that excellent artist. 
 
 " I know very well," said Goethe, " that our earlier actors 
 learned much from me, but I can properly call none but 
 Wolff my pupil. I will give you an instance, which I am 
 
 z2 
 
340 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 very fond of repeating, to show how thoroughly he was 
 penetrated with rny principles, and how fully he acted in 
 my spirit. I was once very angry with Wolff for various 5 
 reasons. He played one evening, and I was sitting in my 
 box. ' Now,' thought I to myself, ' you can keep a sharp 
 look out upon him ; for there is not, to-day, a spark of af- 
 fection within you, which can speak out for him and excuse 
 him. Wolff acted, and I kept my sharp eye fixed upon 
 him. And how did he act ! How safe — how firm he was ! 
 It was impossible to find out in him even the shadow of an 
 offence against the rules which I had implanted in him, and 
 I saw that a reconciliation with him was inevitable.' " 
 
 (Sup.*) FrL, Oct. 17. — Goethe has, for some time past, 
 been reading the " Globe " very eagerly, and he often 
 makes this paper the subject of his conversation. The en- 
 deavours of Cousin and his school appear to him especially 
 important. 
 
 "These men," said he, "are quite on the way to effect 
 an approximation between France and Germany, inasmuch 
 as they form a language which is entirely fitted to facilitate 
 the interchange of ideas between the two nations." 
 
 The " Globe " has also a particular interest for Goethe, 
 because the newest productions in French belles-lettres are 
 reviewed, and the freedom of the romantic school, or rather 
 the emancipation from the fetters of unmeaning rules, is 
 often defended in a very animated manner. 
 
 " What is the use of the whole lumber of rules belonging 
 to a stiff antiquated time," said he to-day, " and what is 
 the use of all the noise about classical and romantic ! The 
 point is for a work to be throughly good and then it is sure 
 to be classical." 
 
 Mori., Oct. 20. — Oberbergrathf Nceggerathof Bonn, on his 
 return from the meeting of natural philosophers at Berlin, 
 was a very welcome guest to-day at Goethe's table. There 
 was much talk about mineralogy, and the worthy stranger 
 gave us some profound information about the mineralogical 
 phenomena in the neighbourhood of Bonn. 
 
 After dinner we went into the room where there is tbe 
 colossal bust of Juno. Goethe showed the guests a long 
 
 f Literally, " Upper.lMine.Councillor " — a superior officer in a 
 raining office. — Trans. 
 
1 828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 341 
 
 slip of paper, with outlines of the frieze of the temple at 
 Phigalia. While we were looking at these, the remark was 
 made that the Greeks, in representing animals, adhered less 
 to nature than to certain conventional rules, and there was 
 an attempt to prove, that in rejDresentations of this kind 
 they are inferior to nature, and that then' rams, oxen, and 
 horses, as they appear in bas-relief, are often very stiff, 
 shapeless, and imperfect creatures. 
 
 "I will not dispute with you about that point," said 
 Goethe ; " but before all things, we must distinguish the 
 time and the artist from which such works proceed. For 
 numbers of masterpieces have been found, in which the 
 Greek artists, in representing animals, have not only 
 equalled, but even far surpassed nature. The English, who 
 understand horses better than any nation in the world, are 
 now compelled to acknowledge that two antique heads of 
 horses are more perfect in their forms than those of any race 
 now existing upon earth. 
 
 " These heads are from the best Greek period, and while 
 we are astonished at such works, we should not so much 
 infer that the artists have copied from a more perf ect nature 
 than we now possess, as that they themselves had become 
 of some value in the progress of art, so that they turned to 
 nature with their own personal greatness." 
 
 While all this was said, I stood on one side, looking at an 
 engraving with a lady, at one of the tables, and could only 
 lend half an ear to Goethe's words ; but so much the deeper 
 did they sink into my mind. 
 
 After the company had gradually departed, and I was 
 alone with Goethe, who stood by the stove, I approached 
 him. 
 
 "Your excellency," said I, "made an excellent remark a 
 little while ago, when you said that the Greeks turned to 
 nature with their own greatness, and I think that we cannot 
 be too deeply penetrated with this maxim." 
 
 "Yes, my good friend," said Goethe, "all depends upon 
 this ; one must he something in order to do something. 
 Dante seems to us great ; but he had the culture of centuries 
 behind him. The house of Rothschild is rich ; but it has 
 taken more than one generation to accumulate such trea- 
 sures. All these things lie deeper than is thought. 
 
342 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 " Our worthy artists who imitate the old German school 
 know nothing of all this; they proceed to the imitation 
 of nature with their own personal weakness and artistic 
 incapacity, and fancy they are doing something. They 
 stand below nature. But whoever will produce anything 
 great, must so improve his culture that, like the Greeks, 
 he will be able to elevate the mere trivial actualities of 
 nature to the level of his own mind, and really carry out 
 that which, in natural phenomena, either from internal 
 weakness or external obstacles, remains a mere intention." 
 
 Wed., Oct. 22. — To-day at dinner we talked about ladies, 
 and Goethe expressed himself very beautifully. " Women," 
 said he, "are silver dishes into which we put golden 
 apples. My idea of women is not abstracted from the 
 phenomena of actual life, but has been born with me, or 
 arisen in me, God knows how. The female characters 
 which I have drawn have therefore all turned out well ; 
 they are all better than could be found in reality." 
 
 (Sup.) Thurs., Oct. 23. — Goethe spoke to-day with grea^ 
 respect of a little paper of the Chancellor's, on the subject 
 of the Grand-Duke Charles Augustus, which reviews, in a 
 short compass, the active life of this remarkable prince. 
 
 "He has been very happy with this little work," said 
 Goethe; "the materials are brought together with great 
 circumspection and care ; then all is animated with the 
 breath of the heartiest love, while at the same time the 
 style is so close, that one act follows immediately upon 
 another, and we almost feel a mental giddiness in the 
 contemplation of such fulness of life and action. The 
 Chancellor has also sent his work to Berlin, and received 
 some time ago a highly remarkable letter from Alexander 
 von Humboldt, which I could not read without deep 
 emotion. Humboldt was on the most intimate terms 
 with the Grand-Dnke during a long life ; which certainly 
 is not to be wondered at, since the profound and highly 
 endowed nature of the Prince was always athirst for fresh 
 knowledge, and Humboldt, with his great universality, 
 was just the man to be always ready with the best and 
 prof oundest answer to every question. 
 
 " Now, it is a singular fact that the Grand-Duke passed 
 the very last days before his death at Berlin, in almost 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 343 
 
 constant intercourse with Humboldt, and that he was 
 at last able to obtain from his friend the solution of m: 
 important problems which lay upon his heart. Furt! 
 the circumstance that one of the greatest princes whonv 
 Germany had ever possessed had such a man as Humboldt 
 to witness his last days and hours, could not fail of pro- 
 ducing a favourable effect. I have made a copy of tho 
 letter, and will impart some passages to you." 
 
 Goethe rose and went to his desk, whence he took the 
 letter, and then reseated himself at the table. He read 
 for some time in silence. I saw tears in his eyes. " Read 
 it for yourself," said he, whilst he handed it to me. He 
 rose and walked up and down the room whilst I read : — 
 
 " Who could have been more shocked at the sudden 
 departure of the illustrious deceased," writes Humboldt, 
 "than I, whom he treated during thirty years with such 
 kind distinction, I may say with such sincere predilection. 
 Even here he would have me near him almost every hour; 
 and as if this great brightness, as with the lofty snow 
 capped Alps, were the forerunner of departing light, 
 never have I seen the great humane prince more animated, 
 more intelligent, more mild, more sympathizing with the 
 further development of the people, than in the last days 
 when we had him here. I frequently said to my friends, 
 anxiously and full of misgivings, that this animation, 
 this mysterious clearness of intellect, combined with so 
 much bodily weakness, was to me a fearful phenomenon. 
 He himself evidently vacillated between hope of recovery 
 and expectation of the great catastrophe. 
 
 "When I saw him at breakfast four-and-twenty hours 
 previously to this, though he was ill and without appetite, 
 he still questioned me cheerfully upon the granite of the 
 shores of the Baltic which had just been brought from 
 Sweden, upon the tails of the comets which might dim our 
 atmosphere, and upon the cause of the extreme severity of 
 the winter on all the eastern coasts. 
 
 "When I saw him for the last time, he pressed my hand 
 at my departure, and cheerfully said — ' Do you believe, 
 Humboldt, that Toplitz and all the warm springs are liko 
 water artificially heated ? We will discuss that at Toplitz, 
 when you come there with the king. You will Bee 
 
344 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 that your old kitchen fire will still make me hold together 
 for a while.' Strange ! for with such a man everything is 
 of importance. 
 
 " In Potsdam, I sat many hours alone with him upon his 
 couch ; he drank and slept alternately, then drank again, 
 then rose to write to his consort, and then slept again. He 
 was cheerful, but much exhausted. In the intervals, he 
 overpowered me with the most difficult questions upon 
 physics, astronomy, meteorology, and geognosy ; upon the 
 transparency of the nucleus of a comet ; upon the atmo- 
 sphere of the moon ; upon the coloured double stars ; upon 
 the influence of the spots in the sun upon temperature ; upon 
 the appearance of organized forms in the primitive world ; 
 and upon the internal warmth of the earth. He slept at 
 intervals during his discourse and mine, was often restless, 
 and then said, mildly and kindly excusing his apparent 
 inattention, ' You see, Humboldt, it is all over with me ! ' 
 
 " Suddenly, he began to talk desultorily upon religious 
 matters. He regretted the increase of pietism, and the 
 connection of this species of fanaticism with a tendency 
 towards political absolutism, and a suppression of all free 
 mental action. ' Then,' he exclaimed, ' there are false- 
 hearted fellows who think that by means of pietism they 
 can make themselves agreeable to princes, and obtain places 
 and ribbons. They have smuggled themselves in with a 
 poetical predilection for the middle ages.' 
 
 " His anger soon abated, and he said that he now found 
 much consolation in the Christian religion. 'It is a 
 human doctrine,' said he, 'but has been distorted from the 
 beginning. The first Christians were the free-thinkers 
 among the ultras.' " 
 
 I expressed to Groethe my delight at this noble letter. 
 " You see," said Goethe, "what an extraordinary man he 
 was. But how good it is of Humboldt to have taken up 
 these last few traits, which may certainly serve as a symbol 
 in which the whole nature of this eminent prince is 
 reflected. Yes, such he was ! — I can say it better than 
 any one, for no one knew him so thoroughly as I did. But 
 is it not lamentable that there is no distinction, and that 
 such a man must depart from us so early ! Had he staid 
 with us only a poor century more, how, in his high position, 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. &$5 
 
 could lie have advanced his age ! But mark this. The 
 world will not attain its goal so speedily as wc expect and 
 desire. There are always retarding demons, who start in 
 oj^position at every point, so that although the whole 
 progresses, it is but slowly. Only live on, and you will find 
 that I am right." 
 
 "The development of mankind," said I, "appears to bo 
 laid out as a work for thousands of years." 
 
 "Perhaps millions," said Goethe — "who knows? But 
 let mankind last as long as it may, it will never lack 
 obstacles to give it trouble, and never lack the pressure of 
 necessity to develop its powers. 
 
 " Men will become more clever and more acute, but not 
 better, happier, and stronger in action, or at least only at 
 epochs. I foresee the time when God will have no more 
 joy in them, but will break up everything for a renewed 
 creation. I am certain that everything is planned to this 
 end, and that the time and hour are already feed in the 
 distant future for the occurrence of this renovating epoch. 
 But a long time will elapse first, and we may still for 
 thousands and thousands of years amuse ourselves in all 
 sorts of ways on this dear old surface." 
 
 Goethe was in a particularly good and elevated mood. 
 He ordered a bottle of wine, and filled for himself and me. 
 Our conversation again turned upon the Grand Dnke 
 Charles Augustus. 
 
 "You see," said Goethe, "how his extraordinary mind 
 embraced the whole kingdom of nature. Physics, astronomy, 
 geognosy, meteorology, vegetable and animal formations 
 of the primitive world, and everything of the sort ; — he had 
 a mind for all and took interest in them all. He was 
 eighteen years of age when I came to Weimar ; but even 
 then the buds showed what the tree w r ould one day become . 
 He soon attached himself most intimately to me, and took a 
 deep interest in all that I did. It was advantageous to our 
 intercourse that I was ten years older than he. He sat whole 
 evenings with me, in earnest conversation on the subjects 
 of art and nature, and othea excellent topics. We often sat 
 together deep into the night, and not unfrequently we both 
 fell asleep on one sofa. We worked together for fifty years, 
 and it is no w r onder that we at last achieved something:." 
 
346 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 " So thorough a cultivation as the Grand Duke seems to 
 have received is probably rare among princes." 
 
 " Very seldom ! " returned Goethe. " There are, indeed, 
 many who are capable of conversing very cleverly on every 
 subject, but they have it not at heart, and only dabble upon 
 the surface. And it is no wonder, if one considers the 
 frightful dissipations and distractions which accompany a 
 court life, and to which a young prince is exposed. He 
 must take notice of everything ; he must know a bit of this 
 and a bit of that. Under such circumstances, nothing can 
 take root ; and it requires a strong natural foundation not 
 to end in smoke in the face of such constant demands. The 
 Grand-Duke was indeed a born great man ; and in this all 
 is said, and all is done." 
 
 "With all his highly scientific and intellectual tenden- 
 cies," said I, " he appears to have understood the art of 
 o-overnment." 
 
 o 
 
 "He was a man of one piece," returned Goethe, "and 
 with him everything flowed from one single great source. 
 And as the whole was good, so the individual parts were 
 good, let him do as he might. But he possessed three 
 especially useful qualities for carrying on a government. 
 He had the talent of discriminating; between minds and 
 characters, and of placing every one in his proper place. 
 That was a great point. Then he possessed another gift as 
 great, if not greater : he was animated by the noblest 
 benevolence, by the purest philanthropy, and with his 
 whole soul aimed only at what was best. He always 
 thought first of the happiness of his country, and only at 
 last a little of himself. His hand was always ready and 
 open to meet noble men, and to assist in promoting worthy 
 objects. There was a great deal that was divine in him. 
 He would have liked to promote the happiness of all man- 
 kind. Love engenders love, and one who is loved can 
 easily govern. 
 
 "Thirdly, he was greater than those who surrounded 
 him. After ten voices which he heard on a certain 
 occasion, he perceived an eleventh, and that a better one, in 
 himself. Strange whispers passed him unheeded, and he 
 was not easily led to commit anything unprincely, by setting 
 aside real merit on which a doubt had been cast, and 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. :'-! 
 
 taking worthless ragamuffins under his protection. Ho 
 surveyed everything himself, judged for himself, and had 
 in all cases the surest basis in himself. Moreover, he was 
 of a silent nature, and his words were always followed by 
 action." 
 
 "How it grieves me," said I, "that I knew nothing of 
 him but his exterior ; still that made a deep impression upon 
 me. I see him still in his old drosky, in a worn-out grey 
 cloak and military cap, smoking a cigar, as he drove to the 
 chase, with his favourite hound by his side. I have never 
 seen him ride otherwise than in this ugly old drosky. And 
 never with more than two horses. An equipage with six 
 horses, and coats with orders, do not seem to have been 
 much according to his taste." 
 
 " That sort of thing," returned Goethe, "is now almost 
 out of date with princes generally. The only point now is 
 what a man weighs in the scale of humanity ; all the rest 
 is nought. A coat with a star, and a chariot with six 
 horses, at all events, imposes on the rudest multitude only, 
 and scarcely that. Then the Grand Duke's old drosky 
 barely hung upon springs. Whoever rode with him had to 
 put up with some desperate shocks. But that was in his 
 way ; he liked the rough and inconvenient, and was an 
 enemy to all effeminacy." 
 
 " We see traces of that in your poem of ' Ilmcnau,' ' 
 said I, "in which you appear to have drawn him to the 
 life." 
 
 "He was then very young," returned Goethe, "and we 
 certainly led rather a mad life. He was like a fine wine, 
 still in a high state of fermentation. He did not know how 
 to expend his powers, and we often nearly broke our necks. 
 Fagging all day long on horseback, over hedges and 
 ditches, through rivers, up hill and down hill ; and then at 
 night encamping in the open air, by a fire in the wood ; — 
 this was what he liked. To have inherited a dukedom was 
 in him nothing ; but to have taken one by storm, he would 
 have considered something. 
 
 " The poem of ' Ilmenau,' " continued Goethe, " contains, 
 as an episode, an epoch which, in the year 1783, when I 
 wrote it, had happened many years before, so that I could 
 describe myself in it as an historical personage, and could 
 
348 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 hold a conversation with the self of former years. There 
 occnrs in it, as you know, a nightly scene after one of the 
 break-neck chases in the mountain. We had built our- 
 selves at the foot of a rock some little huts, and covered 
 them with fir branches, that we might pass the night on 
 dry ground. Before the huts we burned several fires, and 
 we cooked and spread out the produce of the chase. 
 Knebel, whose tobacco pipe was not then cold, sat next to 
 the fire, and enlivened the company with various dry 
 jokes, whilst the wine-flask passed from hand to hand. 
 Seckendorf the slender, with his long thin limbs, had 
 comfortably stretched himself out by the trunk of a tree, 
 and was humming all sorts of poetics. On one side, in a 
 similar little hut, lay the Grand Duke, in a deep slumber. 
 I myself sat before him, by the glimmering light of the 
 coals, absorbed in various grave thoughts, suffering acces- 
 sions of regret for the mischief which had been done by 
 my writings. Knebel and Seckendorf do not appear to me 
 to be badly drawn, neither is the young prince, in the 
 gloomy impetuosity of his twentieth year. 
 
 ' He hurries onwards, inconsiderate, 
 
 No rock appears too steep, no bridge too small, 
 Ghastly mischances ever on him wait, 
 
 And into Pain's hard arms he oft must fall. 
 The wild unruly impulse in his breast, 
 
 Now here, now there, still sets him roving ; 
 At last he takes his gloomy rest, 
 
 When weary of his gloomy moving. 
 Joyless, though feeling no control, 
 
 Sullen, though wild in happiest days, 
 Wounded and fagged in body and in soul, 
 
 On a hard couch his frame he lays.' 
 
 " That is he exactly. Not the slightest touch is ex- 
 aggerated. Nevertheless, the Duke soon worked himself 
 out of this ' storm-and-stress period,'* into a state of 
 useful clearness, so that on his birthday, in the year 1783, 
 I could well remind him of this image of his earlier days. 
 
 " I will not deny that in the beginning he caused me 
 
 * The " storm-and-stress (Sturm und Drang) period " of German 
 literature, which takes its name from one of Klinger's plays, is that 
 period of unfettered impulse which is particularly represented by 
 Schiller's " Robbers." — Trans. 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 349 
 
 much trouble and anxiety. Yet his noble nature soon 
 cleared itself, and formed itself to the highest degree of 
 perfection, so that it was a pleasure to live and act with 
 him." 
 
 " In these early times you made a tour with him through 
 Switzerland," remarked I. 
 
 " He was fond of travelling altogether," returned Goethe, 
 " not so much for the sake of amusing himself as to have 
 his eyes and ears open, and notice whatever was good and 
 useful, in order to introduce it into his own country. On 
 this account, agriculture, cattle-breeding, and industry 
 altogether, are infinitely indebted to him. His tendencies 
 were not generally personal or egotistical, but of a purely 
 productive kind ; and, indeed, productive for the general 
 good. He has thus acquired a name which has extended 
 far beyond this little country." 
 
 "His careless, simple exterior," said I, "appeared to in- 
 timate that he did not seek renown, and that he set little 
 store by it. It seemed as if he had become renowned with- 
 out any effort of his own, merely by means of his own 
 passive excellence." 
 
 "There is something peculiar in that," returned Goethe. 
 " Wood burns because it has the proper stuff for that pur- 
 pose in it ; and a man becomes renowned because he has 
 the necessary stuff in him. Renown is not to be sought, 
 and all pursuit of it is vain. A person may, indeed, by 
 skilful conduct and various artificial means, make a sort of 
 name for himself. But if the inner jewel is wanting, all is 
 vanity, and will not last a day. Just the same is it with 
 popular favour. He did not seek it, and he by no means 
 nattered people ; but the nation loved him, because it felt 
 that he had a heart for it." 
 
 Goethe then mentioned the other members of the Grand 
 Duke's family, and how the mark of a noble character ran 
 through them all. He si>oke of the benevolence of the 
 present Regent, and of the great hopes which were enter- 
 tained of the young Prince, and expatiated with evident 
 love upon the rare qualities of the now reigning Princess, 
 who, in the noblest spirit, was applying great means to 
 alleviate sufferings and to bring forth germs of goodness. 
 " She has at all times been a good angel to her country," 
 
350 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 said lie, "and she becomes so more and more the longer she 
 is nnited to it. I have known the Grand Duchess since the 
 year 1805, and have had many opportunities of admiring 
 her mind and character. She is one of the best and most 
 distinguished women of our time, and would be so if she 
 were not a princess. And this is the great point, that 
 even when the purple has been laid aside, much that is 
 great, nay, what is really the best, still remains." 
 
 We then spoke of the unity of Germany, and in what 
 sense it was possible and desirable. 
 
 "I am not uneasy," said Goethe, "about the unity of 
 Germany ; our good high roads and future railroads will of 
 themselves do their part. But, above all, may Germany be 
 one in love ! and may it always be one against the foreign 
 foe ! May it be one, so that German dollars and groschen 
 may be of equal value throughout the whole empire ! one, 
 so that my travelling-chest may pass unopened through all 
 the six-and-thirty states ! May it be one, so that the town 
 passport of a citizen of Weimar may not be considered in- 
 , sufficient, like that of a mere foreigner, by the frontier 
 officer of a large neighbouring state ! May there be no 
 tore talk about inland and outland among the German 
 states ! In fine, may Germany be one in weight and mea- 
 sure, in trade and commerce, and a hundred similar things 
 (ivhich I will not name ! 
 
 But if we imagine that the unity of Germany consists 
 in this, that the very great empire should have a single 
 great capital, and that this one great capital would conduce 
 to the development of great individual talent, or to the 
 welfare of the great mass of the people, we are in error. 
 
 " A state has been justly compared to a living body with 
 many limbs, and thus the capital of a state may be compared 
 to the heart, from which life and prosperity flow to the 
 individual members, near and far. But if the members be 
 very distant from the heart, the life that flows to them will 
 become weaker and weaker. A clever Frenchman, I think 
 Dupin, has sketched a chart of the state of culture in France, 
 and has exhibited the greater or less enlightenment of the 
 different departments by a lighter or darker colour. Now, 
 some departments, particularly in the southern provinces 
 remote from the capital, are represented by a perfectly 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 351 
 
 black colour, as a sign of the great darkness winch prevails 
 there. But would that be the case if la belle France, instead 
 of one great focus, had ten foci, whence life and light mi "-lit 
 proceed ? 
 
 " Whence is Germany great, but by the admirable culture 
 of the people, which equally pervades all parts of the king- 
 dom ? But does not this proceed from the various seats 
 government, and do not these foster and support it? 
 Suppose, for centuries past, we had had in Germany only the 
 two capitals, Vienna and Berlin, or only one of these, I 
 should like to see how it would have fared with German 
 culture, or even with that generally diffused opulence which 
 goes hand in hand with culture. Germany has about 
 twenty universities distributed about the whole empire, and 
 about a hundred public libraries similarly distributed. 
 There is also a great number of collections of art, and col- 
 lections of objects belonging to all the kingdoms of nature ; 
 for every prince has taken care to bring around him 
 these useful and beautiful objects. There are gymnasia 
 and schools for arts and industry in abundance, — nay, 
 there is scarcely a German village without its school. 
 And how does France stand with respect to this last point ! 
 
 " Then look at the quantity of German theatres, the 
 number of which exceeds seventy, and which are not to be 
 despised as supporters and promoters of a higher cultivation 
 of the people. In no country is the taste for music and 
 singing, and the practice of it so widely spread, as in 
 Germany ; and even that is something ! 
 
 " And now tliink of such cities as Dresden, Munich, 
 Stuttgard, Cassel, Brunswick, Hanover, and the like ; think 
 of the great elements of life comprised within these cities ; 
 think of the effect which they have upon the neighbouring 
 provinces ; and ask yourself if all this would have been the 
 case if they had not for a long time been the residences of 
 princes ? 
 
 " Frankfort, Bremen, Hamburg, and Lubeck, are great 
 and brilliant ; their effect upon the prosperity of Germany 
 is incalculable. But would they remain what they are, it' 
 they lost their own sovereignty and became incorj 
 with any great German kingdom as a provincial town 't I 
 see reason to doubt this." 
 
352 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 Tues., Nov. 18. — Goethe spoke of a new article in the 
 "Edinburgh Review." " It is a pleasure to me," said he, 
 " to see the elevation and excellence to which the English 
 critics now rise. There is not a trace of their former 
 pedantry, but its place is occupied by great qualities. 
 In the last article — the one on German literature — you 
 will find the following remarks : — ' There are people among 
 poets who have a tendency always to occupy themselves 
 with things which another likes to drive from his mind.' 
 What say you to this ? There we know at once where we 
 are, and how we have to classify a great number of our 
 most modern literati." 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., Dec. 3. — To-day, I had with Goethe a 
 pleasant joke of a very particular kind. Madame Duval, of 
 Centigny, in the Canton of Geneva, who is very skilful in 
 preserving, had sent me, as the produce of her art, some 
 citrons, for the Grand Duchess and Goethe, fully convinced 
 that her preserves as far surpassed all others as Goethe's 
 poems did those of most of his German contemporaries. 
 
 The eldest daughter of this lady had long wished for 
 Goethe's autograph ; it therefore occurred to me that it 
 would be a good plan to decoy Goethe into writing a poem 
 for my young friend, by using the citrons as a sweet bait. 
 
 With the air of a diplomatist charged with an important 
 mission I went to him, and treated with him as one power 
 with another, stipulating for an original poem in his own 
 handwriting, as the price of the offered citrons. Goethe 
 laughed at this joke, which he took in very good part, and 
 immediately asked for the citrons, which he found excellent. 
 A few hours afterwards, I was much surprised to see the 
 following verses arrive as a Christmas present to my young 
 friend : — 
 
 " That must be a land of bliss 
 Where the citrons grow like this ! 
 And where ladies find employment 
 Sweetening them for our enjoyment," &c. 
 
 When I saw him again he joked about the great advan- 
 tages which he could now derive from his poetic profession, 
 whereas in his youth he could not find a purchaser for his 
 " Goetz von Berlichingen." " I adopt your treaty of com- 
 merce," said he; "when my citrons are eaten up do not 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 353 
 
 forget to order some more; I will be punctual with my 
 poetic payment." 
 
 Tues., Vec. 16. — I dined to-day with Goethe alone, in his 
 work-room. We talked on various literary topics. 
 
 "The Germans," said he, " cannot cease to be Philistines. 
 They are now squabbling about some verses, which are 
 printed both in Schiller's works and mine, and fancy it is 
 important to ascertain which really belong to Schiller and 
 which to me ; as if anything could be gained by such in- 
 vestigation — as if the existence of such things were not 
 enough. Friends, such as Schiller and I, intimate for 
 years, with the same interests, in habits of daily intercourse, 
 and under reciprocal obligations, live so completely into 
 one another, that it is hardly possible to decide to which of 
 the two the particular thoughts belong. 
 
 " We have made many distiches together ; sometimes 1 
 gave the thought, and Schiller made the verse ; sometimes 
 the contrary was the case ; sometimes he made one line, 
 and I the other. What matters the mine and thine ? One 
 must be a thorough Philistine, indeed, to attach the 
 slightest importance to the solution of such questions." 
 
 " Something similar," said I, " often happens in the 
 literary world, when people, for instance, doubt the 
 originality of this or that celebrated man, and seek to trace 
 out the sources from whence he obtained his cultivation." 
 
 "That is very ridiculous," said Goethe; "we might as 
 well question a strong man about the oxen, sheep, and 
 swine, which he has eaten, and which have given him 
 strength. 
 
 "We are indeed born with faculties; but we owe our 
 development to a thousand influences of the great world, 
 from which we appropriate to ourselves what we can, and j 
 what is suitable to us. I owe much to the Greeks and 
 French ; I am infinitely indebted to Shakspcare, Sterne, ] 
 and Goldsmith; but in saying this I do not show the' 
 sources of my culture ; that would be an endless as well 
 as an unnecessary task. What is important is to have af 
 soul which loves truth, and receives it wherever it finds it. • 
 
 " Besides, the world is now so old, so many eminent men 
 have lived and thought for thousands of years, that there 
 is little new to be discovered or expressed. Even my 
 
 2 a 
 
354 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 theory of colours is not entirely new. Plato, Leonardo 
 da Vinci, and many other excellent men, have before me 
 fonnd and expressed the same thing in a detached form : 
 my merit is, that I have fonnd it also, that I have said it 
 again, and that I have striven to bring the truth once more 
 1 into a confnsed world. 
 
 " The truth must be repeated over and over again, 
 because error is repeatedly preached among us, not only 
 by individuals, but by the masses. In periodicals and 
 cyclopedias, in schools and universities ; everywhere, in 
 fact, error prevails, and is quite easy in the feeling that 
 it has a decided majority on its side. 
 
 " Often, too, people teach truth and error together, and 
 stick to the latter. Thus, a short time ago, I read in an 
 English cyclopaedia the doctrine of the origin of Blue. 
 First came the correct view of Leonardo da Yinci, but 
 then followed, as quietly as possible, the error of Newton, 
 coupled with remarks that this was to be adhered to 
 because it was the view generally adopted." 
 
 I could not help laughing with surprise when I heard 
 this. "Every wax-taper," I said, "every illuminated 
 cloud of smoke from the kitchen, that has anything dark 
 behind it, every morning mist, when it lies before a steady 
 spot, daily convinces me of the origin of blue colour, and 
 makes me comprehend the blueness of the sky. What 
 the Newtonians mean when they say that the air has the 
 property of absorbing other colours, and of repelling blue 
 alone, I cannot at all understand, nor do I see what use or 
 pleasure is to be derived from a doctrine in which all 
 thought stands still, and all sound observation completely 
 vanishes." 
 
 "My good innocent friend," said Groethe, "these people 
 do not care a jot about thoughts and observations. They 
 are satisfied if they have only words which they can pass 
 as current, as was well shown, and not ill- expressed by my 
 own Mephistophiles : — 
 
 " Mind, above all, yon stick to words, 
 Thns throngh the safe gate yon -will gfc 
 Into the fane of certainty ; 
 For when ideas begin to fail 
 A word will aptly serve yonr tnrn," &c« 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 355 
 
 Goethe recited this passage laughing, and seemed alto- 
 gether in the best humour. " It is a good thing," said he, 
 " that all is already in print, and I shall go on printing as 
 long as I have anything to say against false doctrine, and 
 those who disseminate it. 
 
 "We have now excellent men rising up in natural 
 science," he continued, after a pause, " and I am glad to 
 see them. Others begin well, but afterwards fall off ; their 
 predominating subjectivity leads them astray. Others, 
 again, set too much value on facts, and collect an infinite 
 number, by which nothing is proved. On the whole, there 
 is a want of originating mind to penetrate back to the 
 original phenomena, and master the particulars that make 
 their appearance." 
 
 A short visit interrupted our discourse, but when we 
 were again alone the conversation returned to poetry, and 
 I told Goethe that I had of late been once more study- 
 ing his little poems, and had dwelt especially upon two 
 of them, viz., the ballad * about the children and the old 
 man, and the " Happy Couple " (die glihcldiclien Gatten). 
 
 " I myself set some value on these two poems," said 
 Goethe, " although the German public have hitherto not 
 been able to make much out of them." 
 
 " In the ballad," I said, " a very copious subject is 
 brought into a very limited compass, by means of all sorts 
 of poetical forms and artifices, among which I especially 
 praise the expedient of making the old man tell the 
 children's past history down to the point where the present 
 moment comes in, and the rest is developed before our eyes." 
 
 " I carried the ballad a long time about in my head," 
 said Goethe, "before I wrote it down. Whole years of 
 reflection are comprised in it, and I made three or four 
 trials before I could reduce it to its present shape." 
 
 "The poem of the 'Happy Couple,' continued Goethe, 
 "is likewise rich in motives; whole landscapes and 
 passages of human life appear in it, warmed by the • sun- 
 light of a charming spring sky, which is diffused over the 
 whole." 
 
 " I have always liked that poem," said Goethe, " and I 
 
 * This poem is simply entitled " Ballado," and begins " Herein, 
 O du Guter ! du Alter herein ! " — Trans. 
 
 2a2 
 
356 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 am glad tliat you have regarded it with particular interest. 
 The ending of the whole pleasantry with a double christen- 
 ing is, I think, pretty enough." 
 
 We then came to the " Biirgergeneral " (Citizen- 
 general) ; with respect to which I said that I had been 
 lately reading this piece with an Englishman, and that we 
 had both felt the strongest desire to see it represented on 
 the stage. " As far as the spirit of the work is concerned," 
 said 1, " there is nothing antiquated about it ; and with 
 respect to the details of dramatic development, there is not 
 a touch that does not seem designed for the stage." 
 
 " It was a very good piece in its time," said Goethe, 
 " and caused us many a pleasant evening. It was, indeed, 
 excellently cast, and had been so admirably studied that 
 the dialogue moved along as glibly as possible. Malcolmi 
 played Marten, and nothing could be more perfect. 
 
 " The part of Schnaps," said I, " seems to me no less 
 felicitous. Indeed, I should not think there were many 
 better or more thankful parts in the repertoire. There is 
 in this personage, as in the whole piece, a clearness, an 
 actual presence, to the utmost extent that can be desired 
 for a theatre. The scene where he comes in with the 
 knapsack, and produces the things one after another, 
 where he puts the moustache on Marten, and decks himself 
 with the cap of liberty, uniform, and sword, is among the 
 best." 
 
 "This scene," said Goethe, "used always to be very 
 successful on our stage. Then the knapsack, with the 
 articles in it, had really an historical existence. I found 
 it in the time of the Revolution, on my travels along the 
 French border, when the emigrants, on their night, had 
 passed through, and one of them might have lost it or 
 thrown it away. The articles it contained were just the 
 same as in the piece. I wrote the scene upon it, and the 
 knapsack, with all its appurtenances, was always introduced, 
 to the no small delight of our actors." 
 
 The question whether the " Biirgergeneral " could still 
 be played with any interest or profit, was for a while the 
 Subject of our conversation. 
 
 Goethe then asked about my progress in French literature, 
 and I told him that I still took up Voltaire from tims 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 357 
 
 to time, and that the great talent of this man gave mo 
 the purest delight. 
 
 " I still know but little of him," said I ; " I keep to his 
 short poems addressed to persons, which I read over and 
 over again, and which I cannot lay aside." 
 
 " Indeed," said Goethe, " all is good which is written 
 by so great a genius as Voltaire, though I cannot excuse 
 all his profanity. But you are right to give so much time 
 to those little poems addressed to persons ; they are un- 
 questionably among the most charming of his works. 
 There is not a line which is not full of thought, clear, 
 bright, and graceful." 
 
 "And we see," said I, "his relations to all the great 
 and mighty of the world, and remark with pleasure the 
 distinguished position taken by himself, inasmuch as he 
 seems to feel himself equal to the highest, and we never 
 find that any majesty can embarrass his free mind even for 
 a moment." 
 
 "Yes," said Goethe, "he bore himself like a man of 
 rank. And with all his freedom and audacity, he ever 
 kept within the limits of strict propriety, which is, perhaps, 
 saying still more. I may cite the Empress of Austria as 
 an authority in such matters ; she has repeatedly assured 
 me, that in those poems of Voltaire's, there is no trace of 
 crossing the line of convenance." 
 
 " Does your excellency," said I, " remember the short 
 poem in which he makes to the Princess of Prussia, after- 
 wards Queen of Sweden, a pretty declaration of love, by 
 saying that he dreamed of being elevated to the royal 
 dignity ? " 
 
 " It is one of his best," said Goethe, and he recited the 
 
 lines — 
 
 " Je vous aimais, princesse, et j'osais vons le dire ; 
 Les Dieus a mon reveil ne m'ont pas tout ote, 
 Je n'ai perdu que mon empire." 
 
 " How pretty that is ! And never did poet have his 
 talent so completely at command every moment as Vol- 
 taire. I remember an anecdote, when he had been for some 
 time on a visit to Madame du Chatelet. Just as he was 
 going away, and the carriage was standing at the door, ho 
 received a letter from a great number of young girls in a 
 
358 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1828. 
 
 neighbouring convent, who wished to play the ' Death of 
 Julius Caesar ' on the birth-day of their abbess, and begged 
 him to write them a prologue. The case was too delicate 
 for a refusal ; so Voltaire at once called for pen and paper, 
 and wrote the desired prologue, standing, upon the mantle- 
 piece. It is a poem of perhaps twenty lines, thoroughly 
 digested, finished, perfectly suited to the occasion, and, in 
 short, of the very best class." 
 
 " I am very desirous to read it," said I. 
 
 " I doubt," said Goethe, " whether you will find it in 
 your collection. It has only lately come to light, and, in- 
 deed, he wrote hundreds of such poems, of which many 
 may still be scattered about among private persons." 
 
 " I found of late, a passage in Lord Byron," said I ? 
 "froni which I perceived with delight that even Byron had 
 an extraordinary esteem for Voltaire. We may see in his 
 works how much he liked to read, study, and make use of 
 Voltaire." 
 
 "Byron," said Goethe, " knew too well where anything 
 was to be got, and was too clever not to draw from this 
 universal source of light." 
 
 The conversation then turned entirely upon Byron, and 
 several of his works, and Goethe found occasion to repeat 
 many of his former expressions of admiration for that great 
 talent. 
 
 "To all that your Excellency says of Byron," said I, 
 " I agree from the bottom of my heart ; but, however great 
 and remarkable that poet may be as a talent, I very much 
 doubt whether a decided gain for gure human culture is to 
 be derived from his writings." 
 
 "There I must contradict you," said Goethe; "the 
 audacity and grandeur of Byron must certainly tend to- 
 wards culture. We should take care not to be always 
 looking for it in the decidedly pure and moral. Everything 
 that is great promotes cultivation as soon as we are aware 
 of it." 
 
 (Sit}}.) Sun., Bee. 21. — Last night I had a strange dream, 
 which I related to Goethe this evening, and which he 
 thought very pleasant. I imagined myself in a foreign 
 town, in a broad street, towards the south-east, where I 
 stood with a crowd of men, and watched the heavens, 
 
1828.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 359 
 
 which appeared covered with a light mist and shone with 
 the "brightest yellow. Every one was full of expectation as 
 to what wonld happen, when two fiery points appeared, 
 which, like meteor stones, fell to the ground before us with a 
 crash, not far from the spot where we were standing. We 
 hastened to see what had fallen, and behold ! there stood 
 before me Faust and Mephistophiles. I was both delighted 
 and astonished, and joining them as acquaintance, walked 
 along with them in cheerful conversation, turning the next 
 corner of a street. 
 
 What we said I do not remember, yet the impression of 
 their personal appearance was so peculiar, that it is still 
 perfectly distinct to me, and not easily to be forgotten. 
 Both were younger than one is accustomed to consider them ; 
 and, indeed, Mephistophiles might have been about one- 
 and-twenty years of age, and Faust about seven-and- 
 twenty. The former appeared thoroughly gentlemanlike, 
 cheerful, and free ; and stepped along as lightly as any 
 Mercury. His countenance was handsome, without malice ; 
 and one would not have discerned that he was the devil, 
 had it not been for two elegant horns which sprouted from 
 his youthful forehead, and turned sideways, just as a beau- 
 tiful growth of hair raises itself, and then turns to each 
 side. When, as we went along, Faust, in speaking, turned 
 his countenance towards me, I was astonished at the peculi- 
 arity of the expression ; the noblest moral feeling and bene- 
 volence spoke in every feature, as the prevailing original 
 character of his nature. He appeared as if, in spite of his 
 youth, all human joys, sorrows, and thoughts had already 
 passed through his soul, so careworn was his countenance. 
 He was rather pale, and so attractive that one could not 
 look at him enough. I endeavoured to impress his features 
 upon my mind, in order to draw them. Faust walked on 
 the right, Mephistophiles between us two, and I still retain 
 the impression of the manner in which Faust turned his 
 fine peculiar countenance, in order to speak with Mephis- 
 tophiles or with me. We went through the streets, and 
 the crowd dispersed without taking further notice of us. 
 
360 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [l829. 
 
 1829. 
 
 Wed., Feb. 4. — "I have continued to read Schubart," 
 said Goethe. " He is, indeed, a remarkable man, and he 
 says nmch that is excellent, if we translate it into our own 
 language. The chief tendency of his book is to show that 
 there is a point of view beyond the sphere of philosophy, — 
 namely, that of common-sense ; and that art and science, 
 independently of philosophy, and by means of a free action 
 of natural human powers, have always thriven best. This 
 is grist for our mill. I have always kept myself free from 
 philosophy. The common-sense point of view was also 
 mine ; and hence Schubart confirms what I myself have 
 been saying and doing all my life. 
 
 - " The only thing I cannot commend in him is this, that 
 he knows certain things better than he will confess, and 
 does not therefore go quite honestly to work. Like Hegel, 
 he would bring the Christian religion into philosophy, 
 though it really has nothing to do with it. Christianity has 
 a might of its own, by which dejected, suffering humanity 
 is re-elevated from time to time, and when we grant it this 
 power, it is raised above all philosophy, and needs no sup- 
 port therefrom. Neither does the philosopher need the 
 countenance of religion to prove certain doctrines ; as, for 
 I instance, eternal duration. Man should believe in immor- 
 \ tality ; he has a right to this belief ; it corresponds with 
 the wants of his nature, and he may believe in the promises 
 of religion. But if the philosopher tries to deduce the im- 
 mortality of the soul from a legend, that is very weak and 
 inefficient. To me, the eternal existence of my soul is 
 proved from my idea of activity ; if I work on incessantly 
 till my death, nature is bound to give me another form of 
 existence when the present one can no longer sustain my 
 spirit." 
 
 My heart, at these words, beat with admiration and love. 
 
 "Never," thought I, "was a doctrine spoken more 
 
 inciting to noble minds than this. For who will not work 
 
 and act indef atigably to the end of his days, when he finds 
 
 therein the pledge of an eternal life ? " 
 
 Goethe had a portfolio brought, full of drawings and 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 361 
 
 engravings. After lie had looked at some in silence, ho 
 showed me a fine engraving after a picture of Ostade's. 
 
 "Here," said he, "you have the scene of our goodman 
 and goodwife." 
 
 I looked at the engraving with much pleasure. I saw 
 the interior of a peasant's dwelling, with kitchen, parlour, 
 and bed-room, all in one. Man and wife sat opposite one 
 another ; the wife spinning, the husband winding yarn ; a 
 child at their feet. In the background was a bed, and 
 everywhere there was nothing but the rudest and most 
 necessary household utensils. The door led at once into 
 the open air. This idea of a happy marriage in a very 
 limited condition was perfectly conveyed by this engraving ; 
 comfort, content, and a certain luxuriance in the loving 
 emotions of matrimony, were expressed in the face of both 
 man and wife, as they looked upon one another. 
 
 " The longer one looks," said I, " at' this picture, the 
 happier one feels ; it has quite a peculiar charm." 
 
 " It is the charm of sensuality," said Goethe, " with 
 which no art can dispense, and which in subjects of this 
 kind reigns in all its fulness. On the other hand, in 
 works of a higher kind, when the artist goes into the 
 ideal, it is difficult to keep up the proper degree of sensu- 
 ality, so as not to become dry and cold. Then youth or 
 age may be favourable or impeding, and hence the artist 
 should reflect on his age, and select his subjects accordingly. 
 I succeeded with my ' Iphigenia' and 'Tasso,' because I 
 was young enough to penetrate and animate the ideal of 
 the stuff with sensual feeling. At my present age, such 
 ideal subjects would no longer be suited to me, and I do 
 right in selecting those which comprise within themselves 
 a certain degree of sensuality. If the Genasts stay here, 
 I shall write two pieces for you, both in one act and in 
 prose. One will be of the most cheerful kind, and end 
 with a wedding ; the other will be shocking and terrible, 
 and two corpses will be on the stage at the termination. 
 The latter proceeds from Schiller's time, who wrote a 
 scene of it at my request. I have long thought over both 
 these subjects, and they are so completely present to my 
 mind, that I could dictate either of them in a week, as I 
 did my ' Biirgergeneral.' " 
 
362 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 " Do so," said I ; " write the two pieces at all events ; 
 it will be a recreation to you after the ' Wander jahre,' 
 and will operate like a little journey. And how pleased the 
 world would be, if, contrary to the expectation of every 
 one, you did something more for the stage." 
 
 " As I said," continued Goethe, " if the Genasts stay 
 here, I am not sure that I shall not indulge in this little 
 pleasantry. But without this prospect Hiere is but small 
 inducement ; for a play upon paper is nought. The poet 
 must know the means with which he has to work, and 
 must adapt his characters to the actors who are to play 
 them. If I can reckon upon Genast and his wife, and take 
 besides La Roche, Herr Winterberger, and Madame Seidel. 
 I know what I have to do, and can be certain that my 
 intentions will be carried out. 
 
 "Writing for the stage," he continued, "is something 
 peculiar, and he who does not understand it thoroughly, 
 had better leave it alone. Every one thinks that an 
 interesting fact will appear interesting on the boards, — 
 nothing of the kind ! Things may be very pretty to read, 
 and very pretty to think about ; but as soon as they are 
 put upon the stage the effect is quite different, and that 
 which has charmed us in the closet will probably fall flat 
 on the boards. If any one reads my ' Hermann and 
 Dorothea,' he thinks it might be brought out at the 
 theatre. Topfer has been inveigled into the experiment ; 
 but what is it, what effect does it produce, especially if it 
 is not played in a first-rate manner, and who can say that 
 it is in every respect a good piece ? Writing for the stage 
 is a trade that one must understand, and requires a talent 
 that one must possess. Both are uncommon, and where 
 they are not combined, we shall scarcely have any good 
 result." 
 
 Mon., Feb. 9. — Goethe talked of the " Wahlverwandt- 
 schaften," especially remarking, that a person whom he 
 had never seen or known in his life had supposed the 
 character of Mittler to be meant for himself. 
 
 " There must," said he, " be some truth in the character, 
 and it must have existed more than once in the world. 
 Indeed, there is not a line in the ' Wahlverwandt- 
 schaften ' that is not taken from my own experience, and 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 3rj:; 
 
 there is more in it than can be gathered by any one from 
 a first reading." 
 
 Tues., Feb. 10. — I fonnd Goethe surrounded by maps and 
 plans referring to the building of the Bremen harbour, 
 for which great undertaking he showed an especial interest. 
 
 There was then much talk about Merck, and Goethe 
 read me a poetical epistle written from Merck to Wieland 
 in 1776, in very spirited but somewhat hard, doggrel 
 verse (Kniittel verse). The lively production is especially 
 directed against Jacobi, whom Wieland seems to have 
 over-estimated in a critique in the MerJcur — a fault which 
 Merck cannot pardon. 
 
 We then talked of the state of culture at the time, and 
 how difficult it was to emerge from the so-called storm-and- 
 stress period to a higher culture ; of his first years in 
 Wiemar ; of the poetic talent in conflict with the reality, 
 which he, from his position at court, and the various sorts 
 of service demanded of him, was, for his own higher advan- 
 tage, obliged to encounter. Hence nothing poetical of im- 
 portance was produced during the first ten years. He 
 read several fragments, and snowed how he was saddened 
 by love affairs, and how his father always was impatient 
 of the court life. 
 
 Then we came to the advantage that he did not change 
 his place of abode, and was not obliged to go twice 
 through the same experience ; then came his flight to 
 Italy, in order to revive his poetic power, — the superstitious 
 fancy that he would not succeed if any one knew about 
 it, and the profound secrecy in consequence ; how he 
 wrote to the Grand Duke from Rome, and returned from 
 Italy with great requisitions upon himself. 
 
 Next we talked of the Duchess Amelia — a perfect 
 princess, with perfectly sound sense, and an inclination 
 for the enjoyment of life. She was A r ery fond of Goethe's 
 mother, and wished her to come to Wiemar, but he 
 opposed it. 
 
 Then about the first beginnings of " Faust." — " ' Faust ' 
 sprang up at the same time with * Werther.' I brought it 
 with me in 1775 to Wiemar; I had written it on letter 
 paper, and had not made an erasure, for I took care not to 
 write down a line that was not worthy to remain." 
 
3G4 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 Wed., Feb. 11. — Oberbaudirector Coudray dined with 
 me at Goethe's house. He spoke much of the Female 
 School of Industry and the Orphan's Institute, as the best 
 establishments in their kind of this country. The first was 
 founded by the Grand Duchess ; the latter by the Grand 
 Duke, Charles Augustus. Much was said about theatrical 
 decoration and road-making. Coudray showed Goethe a 
 sketch for a prince's chapel. "With respect to the place 
 of the ducal chair, Goethe made some objections, to which 
 Coudray yielded. 
 
 Soret came after dinner. Goethe showed us once more 
 the pictures of Herr von Reutern. 
 
 Thurs., Feb. 12. — Goethe read me the thoroughly noble 
 poem, " Kein Wesen kann zu nichts zerf alien " (No being 
 can dissolve to nothing), which he had lately written. 
 
 "I wrote this poem," said he, " in contradiction to my 
 lines — 
 
 ' Demi alles muss zu nichts zerfallen 
 Weun es im Seyn beharren will,' &c. 
 
 ' For all must melt away to nothing 
 Would it continue still to be ; ' 
 
 which are stupid, and which my Berlin friends, on the 
 occasion of the late assembly of natural philosophers, set 
 up in golden letters, to my annoyance." 
 
 The conversation turned on the great mathematician, 
 Lagrange, whose excellent character Goethe highly ex- 
 tolled. 
 
 "He was a good man," said he, "and on that very 
 account, a great man. For when a good man is gifted 
 with talent, he always works morally for the salvation of 
 the world, as poet, philosopher, artist, or in whatever way 
 it may be. 
 
 "I am glad," continued Goethe, "that you had an 
 opportunity yesterday of knowing Coudray better. He 
 says little in general society, but, here among ourselves, 
 you have seen what an excellent mind and character 
 reside in the man. He had, at first, much opposition to 
 encounter, but he has now fought through it all, and 
 enjoys the entire confidence and favour of the court. 
 Coudray is one of the most skilful architects of our time. 
 He has adhered to me and I to him, and this has been of 
 
1829.] CONVEESATIONS OF GOETHE. 3G-J 
 
 service to us "both. If I had but known him fifty 
 
 years ago ! " 
 
 We then talked about Goethe's own architect ur.-il 
 knowledge. I remarked that he must have acquired much 
 in Italy. 
 
 " Italy gave me an idea of earnestness and greatness," 
 said he, "but no practical skill. The building of fch 
 castle here in Wiemar advanced me more than anything. 
 I was obliged to assist, and even to make drawings of 
 entablatures. I had a certain advantage over the pro- 
 fessional people, because I was superior to them in in- 
 tention." 
 
 We talked of Zelter. 
 
 " I have a letter from him," said Goethe, "in which he 
 complains that the performance of the oratorio of the 
 Messiah was spoiled for him by one of his female scholars, 
 who sang an aria too weakly and sentimentally. Weak- 
 ness is a characteristic of our age. My hypothesis is, that 
 it is a consequence of the efforts made in Germany to 
 get rid of the French. Painters, natural philosophers, 
 sculptors, musicians, poets, with but few exceptions, all are 
 weak, and the general mass is no better." 
 
 "Yet I do not give up the hope," said T, "of seeing 
 suitable music composed for ' Faust.'" 
 
 " Quite impossible ! " said Goethe. " The awful and 
 repulsive passages which must occasionally occur, are not 
 in the style of the time. The music should be like that 
 of Don Juan. Mozart should have composed for ' Faust.' 
 Meyerbeer would, perhaps, be capable ; but he would not 
 touch anything of the kind ; * he is too much engaged 
 with the Italian theatres." 
 
 Afterwards — I do not recollect in connection to what — 
 Goethe made the following important remark : — 
 
 " All that is great and skilful exists with the minority. 
 There have been ministers who have had both king and 
 people against them, and have carried out their great plans 
 ulone. It is not to be imagined that reason can ever be 
 popular. Passions and feelings may become popular ; but 
 
 * It must be borne in mind that this was said before the appear. 
 ance of " Robert le Diablo," which was first produced in Paris, in 
 November, 1831. — Trans. 
 
366 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [l82Q. 
 
 reason always remains the sole property of a few eminent 
 individuals." 
 
 Fri., Feb. 13. — Dined with Goethe alone. 
 
 " After I have finished the ' Wanderjahre,' " said he, " I 
 shall turn to botany again to continue the translation with 
 Soret ; I only fear it may lead me too far, and at last prove 
 an incubus. Great secrets still lie hidden ; much I know, 
 and of much I have an intimation. I will confide some- 
 thing to you that will sound odd. 
 
 " The plant goes from knot to knot, closing at last with 
 the flower and the seed. In the animal kingdom it is not 
 otherwise. The caterpillar and the tape-worm go from 
 knot to knot, and at last form a head. With the higher 
 animals and man, the vertebral bones grow one upon another, 
 and terminate with the head, in which the powers are con- 
 centrated. 
 
 "With corporations it is the same as with individuals. 
 The bees, a series of individuals, connected one with another, 
 at least as a community, produce something, which is the 
 conclusion, and may be regarded as the head of the whole 
 — the queen-bee. How this is managed is a mystery, hard 
 to be expressed, but I may say that I have my thoughts 
 upon it. 
 
 " Thus does a nation bring forth its heroes, who stand at 
 the head like demigods to protect and save. Thus were 
 the poetic powers of the French concentrated in Voltaire. 
 Such heads of a nation are great in the generation in which 
 they work; many last longer, but the greater part have 
 their places supplied by others, and are forgotten by pos- 
 terity." 
 
 I was pleased with these remarkable thoughts. Goethe 
 then spoke of the natural philosophers, with whom the 
 great point was to prove their opinion. 
 
 " Herr von Buch," said he, " has published a new book, 
 which contains a hypothesis in its very title. He has to 
 treat of the blocks of granite which are scattered about in 
 various directions, without our knowing how or whence 
 they came. But as Herr von Buch entertains the hypothesis 
 that such blocks have been cast forth, and shivered by some 
 internal force, he indicates this in his title, by making men- 
 tion of dispersed (Zerstreuf) granite-blocks, so that the step 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 3G7 
 
 to dispersion (Zerstreuung) is very short, and the unsus- 
 pecting reader finds himself in the toils of error he does 
 not know how. 
 
 " One must be old to see all this, and have money enough 
 to pay for one's experience. Every bon mot that I utter 
 costs me a purseful of money ; half a million of my private 
 fortune has passed through my hands that I might learn 
 what I know now; — not only the whole of my father's 
 fortune, but my own salary, and my large literary income 
 for more than fifty years. I have, besides, seen a million 
 and a half expended for great objects by the princes, with 
 whom I have been intimately connected, and in whose pro- 
 gress, success, and failure I have been interested. 
 
 "More than mere talent is required to become a pro- 
 ficient. One must also live amid important circumstances, 
 and have an opportunity of watching the cards held by 
 the players of the age, and of participating in their gain 
 and loss. 
 
 " Without my attempts in natural science, I should never 
 have learned to know mankind such as it is. In nothing 
 else can we so closely approach pure contemplation and 
 thought, so closely observe the errors of the senses and of 
 the understanding, the weak and the strong points of 
 character. All is more or less pliant and wavering, is 
 more or less manageable ; but nature understands no jesting; 
 she is always true, always serious, always severe ; she is 
 always right, and the errors and faults are always those 
 of man. Him, who is incapable of appreciating her, she 
 despises ; and only to the apt, the pure, and the true, does 
 she resign herself, and reveal her secrets. 
 
 " The understanding will not reach her ; man must be 
 capable of elevating himself to the highest Reason, to come 
 into contact with the Divinity, which manifests itself in the 
 primitive phenomena (Urjphenomenen), which dwells behind 
 them, and from which they proceed. 
 
 " The divinity works in the living not in the dead ; in 
 the becoming and changing, not in the become and the 
 fixed. Therefore reason, with its tendency towards the 
 divine, has only to do with the becoming, the living ; but 
 understanding with the become, the already fixed, that it 
 may make use of it. 
 
368 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 " Hence, mineralogy is a science for the understanding, 
 for practical life ; for its subjects are something dead, which 
 cannot rise again, and there is no room for synthesis. 
 
 " The subjects of meteorology are, indeed, something 
 living, which we daily see working and producing ; they 
 presuppose a synthesis, only so many are the co-operating 
 circumstances, that man is not equal to this synthesis, and 
 therefore uselessly wearies himself in observations and in- 
 quiries. We steer by hypothesis to imaginary islands ; but 
 the proper synthesis will probably remain an undiscovered 
 country ; and J do not wonder at this, when I consider how 
 difficult it is to obtain any synthesis even in such simple 
 things as plants and colours." 
 
 Sun., Feb. 15. — Goethe received me with much praise, 
 on account of my arrangement of the natural-historical 
 aphorisms for the " Wanderjahre." "Devote yourself to 
 nature," said he; "you are born for that purpose, and as 
 the next task, write a compendium of the ' Theory of 
 Colours.' ' We spoke much on this subject. 
 
 A chest arrived from the Lower Rhine, containing some 
 antique coins which had been dug up, minerals, small 
 cathedral-figures, and carnival-poems, all of which were 
 unpacked after dinner. 
 
 Tues., Feb. 17. — We talked a great deal about Goethe's 
 " Grosskophta." 
 
 "Lavater," said Goethe, "believed in Cagliostro and his 
 wonders. When the impostor was unmasked, Lavater 
 maintained, ' This is another Cagliostro, the Cagliostro who 
 did the wonders was a holy person. ' 
 
 " Lavater was a truly good man, but subject to strong 
 delusions ; the whole sole truth was not to his mind ; he 
 deceived himself and others. This made a perfect breach 
 between him and me. The last time I saw him was in 
 Zurich ; and he did not see me. I was coming in disguise 
 down an avenue ; seeing him approach, I stepped aside, and 
 he passed without recognizing me. He walked like a crane, 
 and therefore figures as a crane on the Blocksberg." * 
 
 I asked whether Lavater had a tendency to observe 
 nature, as we might almost infer from the " Physiognomy." 
 
 * That is to say, in the intermezzo in " Faust." — Trans. 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 309 
 
 "Not in the least," said Goethe. "His tendency wag 
 wholly towards the moral — the religions. That part of his 
 1 Physiognomy ' which relates to the skulls of animals he 
 got from me." 
 
 The conversation turned npon the French — npon the 
 lectures of Guizot, Villemain, and Cousin. Goethe spoke 
 with high esteem of the point of view taken by these men ; 
 saying that they observed everything on a free and new 
 side, and always went straight to their aim. 
 
 "It is," said Goethe, "as if till now we had reached a 
 garden through roundabout, crooked ways ; these men, 
 however, have been bold and free enough to pull down a 
 wall, and put a door, so that we get at once into the broadest 
 walk of the garden." 
 
 From Cousin we passed to Indian philosophy. 
 
 " This philosophy," said Goethe, " if what the Englishman 
 tells us is true, has nothing foreign, but, on the contrary, 
 the epochs through which we all pass are repeated in it. 
 When we are children, we are sensualists ; idealists when 
 we love, and attribute to the beloved object qualities which V 
 she does not naturally possess. Love wavers; we doubt 
 her fidelity, and are sceptics before we think of it. The 
 rest of life is indifferent ; we let it go as it will, and end. 
 like the Indian philosophers, with quietism. 
 
 "In the German philosophy there are still two great 
 works to do. Kant did an infinite deal, by writing the 
 ' Critique of Pure Reason ; ' but the circle is not yet com- 
 plete. Now, some able man should write the ' Critique of 
 the Senses and Understanding of Man ; ' and, if this could 
 be as well done, we should have little more to desire in 
 German philosophy. 
 
 "Hegel," continued Goethe, "has written, in the Berlin 
 Jalirhilcher, a criticism upon Hamann, which I, of late, have 
 read over and over again, and must highly praise. Hegel's 
 judgments as a critic have always been excellent. 
 
 "Villemain, too, stands very high in criticism. The 
 French will, indeed, never see another talent to cope with 
 Voltaire ; but we can say of Villemain, that he is so far 
 elevated above Voltaire by his intellectual point of view, as 
 to be able to judge him in his virtues and his faults." 
 
 Wed., Feb. 18— We talked of the Theory of Colours, and 
 
 2 B 
 
370 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1829, 
 
 among other things about drinking glasses, the dull figures 
 on which appear yellow against the light, and blue against 
 the dark, and therefore allow the observation of a primitive 
 phenomenon. 
 
 " The highest which man can attain in these matters," 
 said Goethe, on this occasion, " is astonishment ; if the 
 primary phenomenon causes this, let him be satisfied ; 
 more it cannot bring ; and he should forbear to seek for 
 anything further behind it: here is the limit. But the 
 sight of a primitive phenomenon is generally not enough 
 for people ; they think they must go still further ; and are 
 thus like children who, after peeping into a mirror, turn it 
 round directly to see what is on the other side." 
 
 The conversation turned upon Merck, and I asked 
 whether he had ever meddled with natural science. 
 
 "Yes," said Goethe, "he had even fine collections. 
 Merck was altogether an extremely many-sided man. He 
 loved art also ; and if he saw a good work in the hands of 
 a Philistine, of whom he thought that he did not know 
 how to value it, he used every means to get it for his own 
 collection. In such matters, he had no conscience ; he 
 considered all means fair, and did not despise even a 
 sort of sublime fraud, if he could not attain his object 
 otherwise." 
 
 Goethe related some interesting examples of this pecu- 
 liarity. 
 
 " A man like Merck," continued he, " will not again be 
 born, and if he were, the world would model him into a 
 very different person. That was a good time when Merck 
 and I were young ! German literature was yet a clean 
 tablet, on which one hoped to paint good things with 
 pleasure. ~Now, it is so scribbled over and soiled, that 
 there is no pleasure in looking at it, and a wise man does 
 not know whereabouts he can inscribe anything." 
 
 Thurs., Feb. 19. — Dined with Goethe tete-a-tete in his 
 work-room. He was very cheerful, and told me that much 
 which was good had lately befallen him, and that an affair 
 with Artaria and the court had come to a happy termi- 
 nation. 
 
 We then talked a great deal about "Egmont," which 
 had been represented, according to Schiller's version, on the- 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 371 
 
 preceding evening, and the injury done to the piece by this 
 version was brought under discussion. 
 
 "For many reasons," said I, "the Regent should not 
 have been omitted; on the contrary, she is thoroughly 
 necessary to the piece. Not only does this princess impart 
 to the whole a higher, nobler character, but the political 
 relations especially of the Spanish court are brought 
 much more clearly to view by her conversation with 
 Machiavelli." 
 
 " Unquestionably," said Goethe. " And then Egmont 
 gains in dignity from the lustre which the partiality of this 
 princess casts upon him, while Clara also seems exalted 
 when we see that, vanquishing even princesses, she alone has 
 all Egmont's love. These are very delicate effects, which 
 cannot be obliterated without compromising the whole." 
 
 " It seems to me, too," said I, " that where there are so 
 many important male parts, a single female personage like 
 Clara appears too weak and somewhat overpowered. By 
 means of the Regent the picture is better balanced. It is 
 not enough that the Regent is talked of ; her personal 
 entrance makes the impression." 
 
 "You judge rightly," said Goethe. "When I wrote the 
 piece I well weighed everything, as you may imagine ; and 
 hence it is no wonder that the whole materially suffers, 
 when a principal figure is torn out of it, which has been 
 conceived for the sake of the whole, and through which 
 the whole exists. But Schiller had something violent in 
 his nature ; he often acted too much according to a precon- 
 ceived idea, without sufficient regard to the subject which 
 he had to treat." 
 
 "You may be blamed also," said I, " for allowing the 
 alteration, and granting him such unlimited liberty in so 
 important a matter." 
 
 " We often act more from indifference than kindness," 
 replied Goethe. " Then, at that time, I was deeply occu- 
 pied with other things. I had no interest for Egmont or 
 for the stage, so I let Schiller have his own way. Now it 
 is, at any rate, a consolation for me that the work exists in 
 print, and that there are theatres where people are v. 
 enough to perform it, as it is written, without abbreviation." 
 
 Goethe then asked me about the Theory of Colours, and 
 
 2b2 
 
372 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 whether I had thought any inore of his proposal to write a 
 compendium. I told him how the matter stood, and we 
 fell unadvisedly into a difference of opinion, which I 
 will describe, on account of the importance of the subject. 
 
 Whoever has made the observation, will recollect that on 
 a clear winter's day, and in the sunlight, the shadows cast 
 upon the snow frequently appear blue. This is classed by 
 Goethe, in his Theory of Colours, under the subjective 
 phenomena, for he assumes as a principle that the sunlight 
 comes down to us — who do not live on high mountain-tops 
 — not perfectly white, but, penetrating through an atmo- 
 sphere more or less misty, has a yellowish lustre ; so that 
 the snow, when the sun shines upon it, is not perfectly white, 
 but is a surface tinged with yellow, which charms the eye 
 to opposition, and therefore to the production of the blue 
 colour. The blue shadow seen upon the snow is, according 
 to this view, a demanded colour* under which rubric Goethe 
 places the phenomenon, and then very consistently explains 
 the observations made by Saussure on Mount Blanc. 
 
 When of late I again looked over the first chapters of the 
 Theory of Colours, to try whether I could act upon Goethe's 
 friendly proposal, and write a Compendium of the Theory, 
 I was enabled by the snow and sunshine to observe more 
 closely the phenomenon of the blue shadow, and found to 
 my astonishment that Goethe's inference was founded on 
 error. How I came by this discovery I will explain. 
 
 The windows of my apartment look due south upon a 
 garden, bounded by a building, which, from the lower 
 altitude of the sun in winter, casts towards me a shadow 
 long enough to cover half the garden. 
 
 I looked upon this broad shadow on the snow some days 
 ago, while the sky was quite blue and the sun was bright, 
 and was astonished to see the whole surface perfectly 
 blue. " This," said I to myself, " cannot be a ' demanded 
 colour,' for my eye is not brought into contact with any 
 surface of snow illumined by the sun, so that the required 
 contrast could be produced. On the contrary, I see nothing 
 but the expanse of blue shadow." However, to be quite 
 
 * " Geforderte Faroe," that is to say, a colour called forth by the 
 eye itself, according to Goethe's peculiar theory, as explained above. 
 — Trans, 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 073 
 
 certain, and to prevent the dazzling light of the neigh- 
 bouring houses from affecting my eye, I rolled up a sheet 
 of paper, and looked through it on the shaded surface, 
 when I found that the blue remained unaltered. 
 
 That this blue shadow could be nothing subjective was 
 now established in my mind beyond a doubt. There stood 
 the colour, without me, independent — my subject had no 
 influence upon it. But what was it? And as it was 
 certainly there, how was it produced ? 
 
 I looked once more, and, behold, the riddle was solved 
 for me ! " What can it be," said I to myself, " but the 
 reflection of the blue sky, which is brought down by the 
 shade, and has an inclination to settle there ? For it is 
 written — Colour is akin to shade, readily combines with it, 
 and readily appears to us in it and by it, as soon as an 
 occasion is presented." 
 
 The following days gave me an opportunity to confirm 
 my hypothesis. I walked about the fields ; there was no 
 blue sky, the sun shone through foggy mists, and spread a 
 perfectly yellow light over the snow. It was strong enough 
 to cast a decided shadow, and in this case, according to 
 Goethe's doctrine, the brightest blue should have been pro- 
 duced. However, there was no blue ; the shadows remained 
 grey. 
 
 On the following forenoon, when the atmosphere was 
 cloudy, the sun peeped out from time to time, and cast- 
 decided shadows upon the snow. Again, they were not 
 blue, but grey. In both cases the reflection of the blue sky 
 was wanting to give the shadow its colour. 
 
 I was thus sufficiently convinced that Goethe's deduction 
 of this natural phenomenon was proved to be fallacious, 
 and that the paragraphs in the " Theory of Colours " which 
 treated of this subject were much in need of modification. 
 
 Something similar occurred to me with the colon red 
 double shadows, which are seen to peculiar advantage by 
 taperlight at break of day, or at the beginning of evening 
 twilight, as well as by a clear moonlight. That onr 
 the shadows, namely the yellow one, shone upon by the 
 taper-light is of an objective kind, and belongs to the 
 doctrine of dense media, Goethe has not expressly said, 
 although such is the case; the other one, the bluish or 
 
374 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 bluish-green shadow, shone npon by the purest day or 
 moon light, he declares to be subjective — a " demanded 
 colour," produced in the eye by the yellow light of th< 
 taper diffused over the white paper. 
 
 Now. on a careful observation of the phenomenon, I did 
 not find this doctrine thoroughly confirmed. On the 
 contrary, it appeared to me that the weak day or moon 
 light, acting from without, already brought with it a bluish 
 tone, which is strengthened partly by the shadow, partly 
 by the "demanding " (fordemd) yellow light of the taper, 
 and that therefore we have an objective foundation here also. 
 
 That the dawning day and the moon cast a pale light is 
 well known. A countenance seen at break of day, or by 
 moonlight, appears pale, as is sufficiently proved by ex- 
 periment. Shakspeare seems to have been aware of this 
 fact, for in that remarkable passage, where Romeo leaves 
 his beloved at daybreak, and he and Juliet suddenly appear 
 so pale to each other, the observation of it must assuredly 
 have served as a foundation. The operation of this light 
 in producing paleness would of itself be a sufficient indi- 
 cation that it must bring with it a greenish or bluish tinge, 
 since it has precisely the same effect as a mirror of bluish 
 or greenish glass. The following may serve as a further 
 confirmation : — 
 
 Light, as seen by the mind's eye, may be conceived as 
 completely white ; but the empirical light, as perceived 
 by the corporeal eye, is seldom seen in such purity. On 
 the contrary, it has a tendency to take either the plus or the 
 minus side, and to appear with either a yellowish or a bluish 
 tone. In this case, the immediate sunlight, as well as the 
 taperlight, inclines decidedly to the plus side — the yellow- 
 ish ; but the light of the moon, as well as that of dawn and 
 evening twilight, neither of which are direct, but only re- 
 flected, and are further modified by twilight and night, in- 
 cline to the passive — the minus side, and have a bluish tone 
 to the eye. 
 
 Let any one place a sheet of white paper in the twilight 
 or moonlight, so that one-half of it may be shone upon by 
 the day or moon light, and the other by the taperlight, 
 then one-half will have a bluish, the other a yellowish tone ; 
 and both lights, without any addition of shade, or any sub- 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 375 
 
 jective heightening, will have already ranged themselves on 
 the active or the passive side. 
 
 The result of my observations, therefore, was, that even 
 Goethe's doctrine of the coloured double shadow was not 
 thoroughly correct; that in the production of this phe- 
 nomenon there was more of the objective than he had 
 observed, and that the law of subjective " demand " (For- 
 deriing) could be looked upon as merely secondary. 
 
 Indeed, generally, if the human eye were so sensitive and 
 susceptible, that at the slightest contact of one colour it had 
 an immediate tendency to produce the opposite, it would be 
 constantly transferring one colour into another, so that the 
 most unpleasant mixture would arise. 
 
 Fortunately, however, this is not the case ; but, on the 
 contrary, a healthy eye is so organized that it either does 
 not observe the "demanded" colours, or if its attention 
 is directed towards them, produces them with difficulty ; 
 indeed, this operation requires some practice and dexterity 
 before it can succeed even under favourable circumstances. 
 
 What is really characteristic in such subjective pheno- 
 mena, viz., that the eye to a certain extent requires a stvong 
 incitement to produce them, and that when they are pro- 
 duced they have no permanence, but are transient and 
 quickly fading, has been too little regarded by Goethe, both 
 in the case of the blue shadow in the snow, and in that of 
 the coloured double- shadow., for in both cases the surface in 
 question has a scarcely perceptible tinge, and in both cases 
 the " demanded " colour appears decidedly marked at the 
 very first glance. — 
 
 But Goethe, with his adherence to a law he had once 
 recognized, and with his maxim of applying it even in such 
 cases where it seems concealed, could easily be tempted to 
 extend a synthesis too far, and to discern a favourite law 
 even in cases where a totally different influence is at work. 
 
 When to-day he spoke of his Theory of Colours, and 
 asked how the proposed compendium was going on, I would 
 willingly have passed over my new discoveries in silence, 
 for I felt in some perplexity as to how I should tell him the 
 truth without offending him. 
 
 Nevertheless, as I was really in earnest with respect to the 
 compendium, it was necessary to remove all errors, and to 
 
376 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 rectify all misunderstandings, before I could make a sure 
 progress in the task. 
 
 All that I could do was to make the frank confession to 
 him that, after careful observation, I found myself com= 
 pelled to differ from him in some points, inasmuch as I 
 found that neither his deduction of the blue shadow in the 
 snow, nor his doctrine of the coloured double- shadow, was 
 completely confirmed. 
 
 I communicated to him my thoughts and observations ; 
 but as I have not the gift of describing objects fully and 
 clearly by word of mouth, I confined myself to a statement 
 of the results of my observation, without going into a more 
 minute explanation of details, intending to do this in writing. 
 
 However, I had scarcely opened my mouth, when 
 Goethe's sublimely- serene countenance became clouded 
 over, and I saw but too clearly that he did not approve of 
 my objections. 
 
 " Truly," said I, "he who would get the better of your 
 Excellency must rise early in the morning ; but yet it is 
 possible that the wise may go too far, and the foolish 
 find the spoil." 
 
 "As if, forsooth, you had found it," returned Goethe, 
 with an ironical laugh ; " with your idea of coloured light 
 you belong to the fourteenth century, and with all the rest 
 you are in the very abyss of dialectics. The only thing 
 good about you is that you are, at any rate, honest enough 
 to speak out plainly what you think. 
 
 "My Theory of Colours," he continued, "fares just the 
 same as the Christian religion. One fancies, for a while, 
 that one has faithful disciples ; but, before one is aware, 
 they fall off and form a new sect. You are a heretic like 
 the rest, for you are not the first that has apostatized. I 
 have fallen out with the most excellent men about con- 
 tested points in the Theory of Colours, viz., with about 
 
 , and with about ." Here he mentioned 
 
 some names of eminence. 
 
 We had now finished eating, conversation came to a 
 standstill, and Goethe rose and placed himself against the 
 window. I went up to him and pressed his hand, for I 
 loved him in spite of his taunts, and I felt, moreover, that 
 I was right, and that he was the suffering party. 
 
1S29.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 377 
 
 Before long, we were again talking and joking about in- 
 different subjects; but when I went to him, and told him 
 that he should have my objections in writing for a closer 
 examination, and that the only reason he did not agree with 
 me lay in the clumsiness of my verbal statement, he could 
 not help, half-laughing and half -sneering, throwing in my 
 teeth something about heretics and heresy at the very- 
 doorway. 
 
 If it should appear strange that Goethe could not readily 
 bear contradiction with respect to his Theory of Colours, 
 while with respect to his political works he always showed 
 himself perfectly easy, and heard every well-founded ob- 
 jection with thanks, we may perhaps solve the riddle by 
 reflecting that, as a poet, he received the most perfect satis- 
 faction from without, w T hile, by the Theory of Colours, the 
 greatest and most difficult of his works, he had gained no- 
 thing but censure and disapproval. During half a life ho 
 had been annoyed by the most senseless opposition on every 
 side, and it was natural enough that he should always find 
 himself in a sort of irritable polemic position, and be always 
 fully armed for a passionate conflict. 
 
 His feeling for the Theory of Colours was like that of a 
 mother who loves an excellent child all the more the less it 
 is esteemed by others. 
 
 " As for what I have done as a poet," he would 
 repeatedly say to me, "I take no pride in it whatever. 
 Excellent poets have lived at the same time w r ith myself, 
 poets more excellent have lived before me, and others will 
 come after me. But that in my century I am the only per- 
 son who knows the truth in the difficult science of colours 
 — of that, I say, I am not a little proud, and here I have a 
 consciousness of a superiority to many." 
 
 Fri., Feb. 20. — Dined with Groethe. He is pleased at 
 having finished the " Wander jahre," which he will send off 
 to-morrow. In the Theory of Colours he is coming over a 
 little to my opinion concerning the blue shadow in the 
 snow. He talked of his " Italian journey," which he hud 
 again taken under consideration.* 
 
 * There is no occasion to explain the slight omission here. — Trans. 
 
378 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 He then talked about the fourth volume of his Life, and 
 the method in which he would treat it; saying that my 
 notes on the year 1824, concerning what he had already 
 executed and planned, would be highly useful to him. 
 
 He read Gottling's journal aloud, which treats of the 
 former fencing-masters at Jena in a very kindly spirit. 
 Goethe speaks very well of Gottling. 
 
 Mon., Mar. 23. — " I have found a paper of mine among 
 some others," said Goethe to-day, "in which I call archi 
 tecture 'petrified music' Really there is something in this ; 
 the tone of mind produced by architecture approaches the 
 effect of music. 
 
 " Splendid edifices and apartments are for princes and 
 kingdoms. Those who live in them feel at ease and con- 
 tented, and desire nothing further. 
 
 " To my own nature this is quite repugnant. In a 
 splendid abode, like that which I had at Carlsbad, I am at 
 once lazy and inactive. On the contrary, a small resi- 
 dence, like this poor apartment in which we now are, and 
 where a sort of disorderly order — a sort of gipsy-fashion — 
 prevails, suits me exactly. It allows my inner nature 
 fuU liberty to act, and to create from itself alone." 
 
 Wq talked of Schiller's letters, the life which he and 
 Goethe had led together, and how the two had daily incited 
 each other to activity. 
 
 " Even in ' Faust,'/' said I, " Schiller seems to have taken 
 great interest ; it is pleasant to see how he urges you, or 
 allows himself to be misled by his idea of continuing 
 ' Faust ' himself. I perceive by this that there was some- 
 thing precipitate in his nature." 
 
 "You are right," said Goethe, "he was like all men who 
 proceed too much from the idea. Then he was never in 
 repose, and could never have done ; as you may see by his 
 letters on 'Wilhelm Meister,' which he would have now 
 this way, and now that way. I had enough to do to stand 
 my ground, and keep his works and mine free from such 
 influences." 
 
 " 1 have," said I, " been reading this morning his 
 * Indian Death Dirge,' and have been delighted with its 
 excellence." 
 
 "You see," said Goethe, "what a great artist Schiller 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 379 
 
 was, and how he could manage even the objective, when 
 brought traditionally before his eyes. That ' Indian Death 
 Song ' is certainly one of his very best poems, and I only 
 wish he had made a dozen like it. And yet — can you be- 
 lieve it ? — his nearest friends found fault with this poem, 
 thinking it was not sufficiently tinctured with his ideality. 
 Yes, my good fellow, such things one has to suffer from 
 one's friends. Humboldt* found fault with my Dorothea, 
 because, when assailed by the soldiers, she took up arms and 
 fought. And yet, without that trait, the character of the 
 extraordinary girl, so adapted to the time and circum- 
 stances, is at once destroyed, and she sinks into common- 
 place. But the longer you live, the more you will see how 
 few men are capable of appreciating what must be, and 
 that, on the contrary, they only praise, and would only 
 have that which is suitable to themselves. These of whom 
 I spoke were the first and best ; so you may judge what 
 was the opinion of the multitude, and how, in fact, I always 
 stood alone. 
 
 " Had I not had some solid foundation in the plastic arts 
 and natural science, I should scarce have kept myself up in 
 that evil time, and its daily influences ; but this was my 
 protection, and enabled me to aid Schiller also. 
 
 Tues., Mar. 24. — " The higher a man is," said Goethe, 
 " the more he is under the influence of demons, and he 
 must take heed lest his guiding will counsel him to a wrong 
 path. 
 
 " There was altogether something demoniac in my ac- 
 quaintance with Schiller ; we might have been brought 
 together earlier or later ; but that we met just at the time 
 when I had finished my Italian journey, and Schiller began 
 to be weary of philosophical speculation, — this, I say, led 
 to very important consequences for us both." 
 
 Thurs., April 2. — " I will discover to you," said Goethe, 
 to-day at dinner, " a political secret, which will sooner or 
 later be made public. Capo d'Istria cannot long continue 
 to be at the head of Grecian affairs, for he wants one 
 quality indispensable for such a position ; lie is no soldi' r. 
 There is no instance of a mere cabinet statesman being able 
 
 * W"ilhelm von Humboldt. — Trans. 
 
* 
 
 380 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 to organize a revolutionary state, and bring the military and 
 their leaders under his control. With the sabre in his 
 hand, at the head of an army, a man may command and 
 give laws, secure of being obeyed ; but without this the 
 attempt is hazardous. Napoleon, if he had not been a 
 soldier, could never have attained the highest power ; and 
 Capo d'Istria will not long keep the first place, but will 
 very soon play a secondary part. I tell you this beforehand, 
 and you will see it come. It lies in the nature of things, 
 and must happen." 
 
 Goethe then talked much about the French, especially 
 Cousin, Yillemain, and Guizot. 
 
 "These men," said he, "look into, through, and round * 
 a subject, with great success. They combine perfect know- 
 ledge of the past with the spirit of the nineteenth century ; 
 and the result is wonderful." 
 
 "We then came to the newest French poets, and the mean- 
 ing of the terms " classic " and " romantic." 
 
 "A new expression occurs to me," said Goethe, " which 
 does not ill define the state of the case. I call the classic 
 healthy, the romantic sickly. In this sense, the ' Nibelun- 
 genlied ' is as classic as the 'Iliad,' for both are vigorous 
 and healbhy. Most modern productions are romantic, not 
 because they are new, but because they are weak, morbid, 
 and sickly ; and the antique is classic, not because it is old, 
 but because it is strong, fresh, joyous, and healthy. If we 
 distinguish ' classic ' and ' romantic ' by these qualities, it 
 will be easy to see our way clearly." 
 
 The conversation turned upon the imprisonment of 
 B^ranger — 
 
 " He is rightly served," said Goethe. " His late poems 
 are really contrary to all order ; and he has fully deserved 
 punishment by his offences against king, state, and peaceful 
 citizenship. His early poems, on the contrary, are cheerful 
 and harmless, and are well adapted to make a circle of gay 
 and happy people, which, indeed, is the best that can be 
 said of songs." 
 
 " I am sure," said I, " that he has been injured by the 
 society in which he lives, and that, to please his revolu- 
 
 * This felicitous rendering of " Einsicht, Umsicht, and Durch- 
 sicht," is by Mrs. Fuller.— Trans. 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. ;5~1 
 
 tioiiary friends, he has said many things which he other- 
 wise would not have said. Your excellency should fulfil 
 your intention of writing a chapter on influences ; the sub- 
 ject is the richer and more important, the more one thinks 
 of it." 
 
 "It is only too rich," said Goethe ; " for in truth all is 
 influence except ourselves." 
 
 "We have only to see," said I, " whether an influence is 
 injurious or beneficial — whether it is suitable or repugnant 
 to our nature." 
 
 " That is indeed the point," said Goethe, " but the diffi- 
 culty is for our better nature to maintain itself vigorously, 
 and not to allow the demons more power than is due." 
 
 At dessert, Goethe had a laurel, in full flower, and a 
 Japanese plant, placed before ns on the table. I remarked 
 what different feelings were excited by the two plants ; 
 that the sight of the laurel produced a cheerful, light, mild, 
 and tranquil mood, but that of the Japanese plant, one of 
 barbaric melancholy. 
 
 " You are not wrong," said Goethe ; " and hence great 
 influence over the inhabitants of a country has been con- 
 ceded to its vegetation. And, surely, he who passes his life 
 surrounded by solemn, lofty oaks, must be a different man 
 from him who lives among airy birches. Still we must 
 remember that men, in general, have not such sensitive 
 natures as we, but vigorously pursue their own course of 
 life without allowing so much power to external impres- 
 sions. Nevertheless, this much is certain, — that not only 
 the inborn peculiarities of race, but soil and climate, aliment 
 and occupation, combine to form the character of a people. 
 It is also to be borne in mind, that the primitive races 
 mostly took possession of a soil that pleased them ; and, 
 consequently, where the country was already in harmony 
 with their own inborn character." 
 
 "Just look round," continued Goethe; "behind you, 
 on the desk, there is a paper which I wish you to look at." 
 
 " This blue envelope ? " said I. 
 
 "Yes," said he. "Now, what do yon say to the hand- 
 writing ? Is it not that of a man who felt himself noblo 
 and free, as he wrote the address ? Whose do you think 
 it is ? " 
 
382 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 I looked at the paper with partiality. The hand was 
 indeed free and imposing. "Merck might have written 
 so," said I. 
 
 "No," said Goethe; " he was not sufficiently noble and 
 positive. . It is from Zelter. Pen and paper were favour- 
 able to him in the case of this envelope; so that the 
 writing perfectly expresses his great character. I shall put 
 the paper into my collection of autographs." 
 
 Fri.f April 3. — Dined with Coudray at Goethe's. Coudray 
 gave an account of a staircase in the grand-ducal palace 
 at Belvidere, which had been found inconvenient for many 
 years, — which the old master had always despaired of im- 
 proving, — and which had now been completely rectified 
 under the reign of the young prince. 
 
 Coudray also gave an account of the progress of several 
 highways, saying that the road over the mountains had to 
 be taken round a little, on account of a rise of two feet to 
 the rood (Ruthe), while in some places there were eighteen 
 inches to the rood. 
 
 I asked Coudray how many inches constituted the proper 
 standard for road-making in hilly districts. " Ten inches 
 to the rood," said he, "is a convenient measure." " But," 
 said I, "when we go from Weimar along anyroad — east, 
 south, west, or north — we find some places where the high- 
 way has a rise of far more than ten inches to the rood." 
 " Those are short, unimportant distances," replied Coudray ; 
 " and in road-making we often pass over such spots in the 
 vicinity of a place, that we may not deprive it of its little 
 income from relays." We laughed at this honest fraud. 
 " And in fact," continued Coudray, " it is a mere trifle ; 
 the carriages get easily over the ground, and the passengers 
 are for once and a way inured to a little hardship. Besides, 
 as the relays are usually put on at inns, the drivers have an 
 opportunity of taking something to drink, and they would 
 not thank any one for spoiling their sport." 
 
 " I should like to know," said Goethe, " whether in per- 
 fectly flat countries it would not be better to interrupt the 
 straight line of road, so as to allow it to rise and fall a 
 little. This would not prevent comfortable travelling; 
 and there would be this advantage, that the road would be 
 always kept dry by the draining." . 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 383 
 
 " That might be done," replied Coudray, " and would 
 probably be very useful." 
 
 Coudray then produced a paper, — the scheme of instruc- 
 tions for a young architect whom the Upper-Building Board 
 (Oberbaubehorde) was about to send to Paris to complete 
 his education. He read the instructions, of which Goethe 
 approved. Goethe had obtained the necessary assistance 
 from the minister ; we were pleased at the success of the 
 affair, and talked of the precautionary measures to be 
 adopted in order that the money might be really of use to 
 the young man, and last him for a year. The intention 
 was, on his return, to place him as a teacher at the indus- 
 trial school which was to be established, by which means 
 the clever young man would at once have a suitable sphere 
 of action. All was well devised, and I gave my silent good 
 wishes. 
 
 Plans and studies for carpenters, drawn by Schindel, 
 were then produced and looked over. Coudray considered 
 them of importance, and perfectly fitted for the use of the 
 Industrial school. 
 
 There was then some talk about buildings, the means of 
 avoiding echo, and the great firmness of the edifices 
 belonging to the Jesuits. " At Messina," said Goethe, " all 
 the buildings were thrown down by an earthquake except 
 the church and convent of the Jesuits, which stood unharmed, 
 as if they had been built the day before. There was not 
 a trace that the earthquake had had the slightest effect 
 upon them." 
 
 From the Jesuits and their wealth, conversation turned 
 upon the Catholics and Irish emancipation. " Emancipa- 
 tion will, we see, be granted," said Coudray, " but with so 
 many clauses on the part of Parliament, that it cannot in 
 any way be dangerous to England." 
 
 " All preventive measures," said Goethe, " are ineffectual 
 •with Catholics. The Papal see has interests and means to 
 carry them out quietly, of which we never dream. If I 
 Avere a member of Parliament, I would not hinder emanci- 
 pation ; but I would have it recorded, that when the first 
 distinguished Protestant head fell by a Catholic vote, people 
 might think of me." 
 
 Conversation then turned on the newest French literature, 
 
o84 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 and Goethe spoke again with, admiration of the lectures of 
 MM. Cousin, Villeniain, and Guizot. 
 
 " Instead of the superficial lightness of Voltaire," said he, 
 "they have an erudition, such as, in earlier days, was 
 unknown out of Germany. And such intellect ! such 
 searching and pressing out of the subject ! superb ! It is 
 as if they trod the wine-press. All three are excellent, 
 but I would give the preference to Guizot ; he is my 
 favourite." 
 
 Speaking on topics of universal history, Goethe spoke 
 thus on the subject of rulers : — 
 
 " To be popular, a great ruler needs no other means than 
 his greatness. If he has striven and succeeded in making 
 his realm happy at home and honoured abroad, it matters 
 not whether he ride about in a state coach, dressed in all his 
 orders, or in a bear-skin, with his cigar in his mouth, in a 
 miserable droslcy, he is sure of love and esteem from his 
 people. 
 
 " But if a prince lacks personal greatness, and does not 
 know how to conciliate his subjects by good deeds, he must 
 think of other means, and there is none better and more 
 effective than religion and a sympathy with the customs of 
 his people. To appear at church every Sunday ; to look 
 down upon, and let himself be looked at for an hour by the 
 congregation, is the best means of becoming popular which 
 can be recommended to a young sovereign, and one which, 
 with all his greatness, Napoleon himself did not disdain." 
 
 Conversation again turned upon the Catholics, and it was 
 remarked how great were the silent operation and influence 
 of the ecclesiastics. An anecdote was related of a young 
 writer of Henault, who had made somewhat merry with 
 the rosary in a periodical which he edited. The paper was 
 immediately bought up through the influence of the 
 priests over their several congregations. 
 
 " An Italian translation of my ' Werther,' " said Goethe, 
 " very soon appeared at Milan. Not a single copy of it 
 was to be seen a short time afterwards. The bishop had 
 caused the whole edition to be bought up by the clergy in 
 the various districts. I was not vexed, but pleased with 
 the shrewd gentlemen, who saw, at once, that ' Werther ' 
 was a bad book for the Catholics, and I could not do other- 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 
 
 wise than commend him for taking- immediately the r. 1 
 effective measures quietly to suppress it." 
 
 Sun., April hth. — Goethe said he had driven out to 
 Belvidcre this morning, to look at Coudray's new stain ; 
 in the castle, which he found excellent. He also told me 
 that a great petrified log had been sent him, which he 
 would show me. 
 
 " Such petrified trunks," said he, "are found about the 
 fifty-first degree round about the earth, as far as America, 
 like a girdle. We must always go on wondering. We 
 have no idea whatever of the early organization of the 
 earth, and I cannot blame Herr von Buch for trying to 
 indoctrinate mankind for the sake of spreading his 
 hypothesis. He knows nothing, but nobody knows more ; 
 and, after all, it does not matter what is taught, if it has 
 only some show of reason." 
 
 Goethe told me that Zelter desired to be remembered to 
 me, at which I was greatly pleased. We then talked of his 
 " Travels in Italy ; " and he told me that in one of his 
 letters from that country he had found a song, which he 
 woidd show me. He asked me to hand him a packet of 
 papers w r hich lay before me on the desk. I gave it him : 
 it contained his letters from Italy ; he looked out the poeni,. 
 and read : — 
 
 " Ctipido, loser, eigensinniger Knabe." 
 
 " Cupid, thou wanton, thou self-will'd boy," &c* 
 
 I was highly pleased with this poem, which seemed 
 to me perfectly new. 
 
 '• It cannot be strange to you," said Goethe, " for it is in 
 ' Claudine von Villa Bella,' where it is sung by Rugantino. 
 I have, however, given it there in such a fragmentary state, 
 that one passes it over without observing what it means. 
 I think, however, it stands well. It prettily expresses the 
 situation, and is in the anacreontic vein. This song, and 
 others of the kind from my operas, should properly be 
 reprinted among my ' Poems,' that the composer may have 
 
 * The poem in its complete form will be fonnd in the letters 
 relating to the "Second Stay at Eome " (Zweiter rdmisoher 
 Aufenthalt), under the head of " January, 1788."— Trans. 
 
 2 
 
386 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 them all together." I thought this a good notion, and took 
 it as a hint for the future. 
 
 Goethe had read the poem very beautifully. I could not 
 get it out of my head, and it seemed to have made a lasting 
 impression upon him also. The last lines — 
 
 " So rude thy sport, I fear my poor little soul will 
 Haste away to escape thee, and flee her dwelling," 
 
 he uttered from time to time, as if in a dream. 
 
 He then told me of a book about Napoleon, lately pub- 
 lished, which was written by one who had known the hero 
 in his youth, and contained the most remarkable disclosures. 
 " The book is very tame," said he, " written without any 
 enthusiasm ; but one sees what a grand character there is 
 in the truth when one ventures to speak it." 
 
 Goethe also told me about a tragedy by a young poet. 
 " It is a pathological work," said he ; "a superfluity of sap 
 is bestowed on some parts which do not require it, and 
 drawn out of those which stand in need of it. The subject 
 was good, but the scenes which I expected were not there; 
 while others, which I did not expect, were elaborated with 
 assiduity and love. This is what I call pathological, or 
 even 'romantic,' if you would rather speak after our new 
 theory." 
 
 We remained together a little longer very cheerfully, and 
 at last Goethe gave me some honey and also some dates, 
 which I took with me. 
 
 Mon. t April 6. — Goethe gave me a letter from Egon 
 Ebert, which I read at dinner, and which highly pleased 
 me. We said a great deal in praise of Egon Ebert and 
 Bohemia, and also mentioned Professor Zauper with 
 affection. 
 
 " Bohemia is a peculiar country," said Goethe. " I have 
 always liked to be there. In the culture of the literati 
 'there is still something pure, whioh begins to be rare in the 
 north of Germany ; since here every vagabond writes, with 
 whom moral basis or higher views are not to be thought 
 of." 
 
 Goethe then spoke of Ebert's newest epic poem, of the 
 early female government in Bohemia, and of the origin of 
 the tradition of the Amazons. This brought conversation 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETTTE. 387 
 
 to the epic of another poet, who had taken greal pains to 
 get f avourable notices of his work in the public prrn 
 
 " Such notices," said Goethe, "have appeared in various 
 papers. But at last comes the * Halle Literary Gazette,' 
 telling plainly what the poem is really worth, and thus all 
 the compliments of the other papers are nullified. He who 
 nowadays will not have the truth, is discovered; the time 
 is past for deluding and misleading the public." 
 
 "I wonder," said I, "that man can toil so for a little 
 fame, and even stoop to falsities." 
 
 "My good fellow," said Goethe, "a name is no despicable 
 matter. Napoleon, for the sake of a great name, broke in 
 pieces almost half a world." 
 
 A short pause arose, after which Goethe told me more of 
 the new book about Napoleon, adding — 
 
 "The power of truth is great. Every halo, every 
 illusion which journalists, historians, and poets have con- 
 jured up about Napoleon, vanishes before the terrible 
 reality of this book ; but the hero becomes no less than 
 before ; on the contrary, he grows in stature as he in- 
 creases in truth." 
 
 "His personal influence," said I, "must have had a 
 peculiar magic, that men should so attach themselves to 
 him at once, adhere to him, and suffer themselves to be 
 wholly governed by him." 
 
 "Certainly," said Goethe, "his personal influence was 
 immense. Yet the chief reason was, that men under him 
 were sure of attaining their object. On this account they 
 were drawn towards him, as they are to every one who 
 gives them a like certainty. Thus actors attach themselves 
 to a new manager, of whom they think that he will assign 
 them good parts. This is an old story constantly repeated ; 
 so is human nature constituted. No man serves another 
 disinterestedly, but he does it willingly if he knows he can 
 thus serve himself. Napoleon knew men well; he knew 
 how to make proper use of their weaknesses." 
 
 The conversation turned upon Zelter. 
 
 "You know," said Goethe, "that Zelter received the 
 Prussian Order. But he had no coat of arms, while, from 
 his large family, he might hope for a long continuance of 
 his name. A coat of arms was therefore necessary as an 
 
 ■2 C -J 
 
388 CONVERSATION'S OF GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 honourable basis, and I have taken the fancy to make him 
 one. I wrote to him, and he was pleased, but insisted on 
 having a horse. ' Good,' said I, ' a horse you shall have, 
 but it shall be one with wings.' But turn your head ; a 
 paper lies behind you, upon which I have made the sketch 
 with pencil." 
 
 I took up the paper, and examined the drawing. The 
 arms looked very stately, and I could not but praise the 
 invention. In the lower field were the battlements of a 
 city wall, intimating that Zelter had been, in early days, a 
 skilful mason. A winged horse rose from behind, in- 
 dicating his genius and high aspirations. Above the 
 escutcheon was a lyre, over which shone a star, as a symbol 
 of the art by which our excellent friend, under the influence 
 and protection of favouring stars, had won his fame. 
 Beneath was annexed the Order which his kins', in recos;- 
 nition of his great merits, had bestowed upon him. 
 
 " I have had it engraved by Facius," said Goethe, " and 
 you shall see an impression. Is it not pleasant for one 
 friend to make a coat of arms for another, and thus, as it 
 were, bestow nobility upon him ? " 
 
 We sat a while longer at table, taking some glasses of 
 old Rhenish wine, with some good biscuits. Goethe 
 hummed to himself unintelligibly. The poem of yesterday 
 came into my head again. I recited the lines — 
 
 " My goods and chattels hast thou knock'd about sadly ; 
 I seek, and only seem to wander in blindness." 
 
 " I cannot get that poem out of my head," said I. " It 
 is quite unique, and most admirably expresses the disorder 
 which love occasions in our life." 
 
 "It brings a gloomy condition before our eyes," said 
 Goethe. 
 
 " On me," said I, "it makes the impression of a Dutch 
 picture." 
 
 " There is something in it of the ' Good man and good 
 wife,'" said Goethe. 
 
 "You have just anticipated me," said I; "for I have 
 been forced to keep on thinking of that Scottish subject, 
 and Ostade's picture was before my eyes." 
 
 "Yet, strange to say," observed Goethe, "neither of these 
 
£829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 3 .■ 
 
 two poems could be painted; they convey the impression of 
 a picture — they produce a similar mood; but, once painted, 
 they would be nothing." 
 
 " It is," said I, " a fine instance of poetry verging as 
 nearly on painting as possible, without going out of its own 
 sphere. Such poems are my favourites, as they inspire 
 both contemplation and feeling. But I hardly understand 
 how you could obtain the feeling of such a situation ; the 
 penem is as if from another time and another world." 
 
 "I shall not write such another," said Goethe; "and 
 know not how it came to me, as is often the case." 
 
 "One peculiarity of this poem," said I, "is, that it 
 has upon me the effect of rhyme, and yet it is not in 
 rhyme. How is this ? " 
 
 " That is the result of the rhythm," he replied. " The 
 lines begin with a short syllable, and then proceed in 
 trochees till the dactyle near the close, which has a pecu- 
 liar effect, and gives a sad, bewailing character to the poem." 
 
 He took a pencil, and divided the line, — 
 
 " Yon ] meinem | breiten | Lager | bin icIi ver [ trleben." 
 
 We then talked of rhythm in general, and came to the 
 conclusion that no certain rules can be laid down for 
 such matters. 
 
 " The measure," said Goethe, " flows, as it were, uncon- 
 sciously from the mood of the poet. If he thought about 
 it while writing the poem he would go mad, and produce 
 nothing of value." 
 
 I was waiting for the impression of the seal. Goethe 
 began to speak of Guizot. 
 
 "I am going on with his lectures, which continue to be 
 excellent. Those of the present year go about as far as the 
 eighth century. I know no historian more profound or 
 more penetrating. Things of which no one thinks have 
 the greatest significance in his eyes, as sources of important 
 events. For instance, what influence certain religious 
 opinions have had upon history ; how the doctrine of 
 original sin, grace, and good works has given this or that 
 form to certain epochs, is shown and deduced with the 
 utmost clearness. Then the enduring life of Roman law, 
 which, like a diving duck, hides itself from time to time, 
 
390 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1829, 
 
 but is never quite lost, always coming up again alive, is 
 well set forth ; on which occasion full acknowledgment is 
 given to our excellent Savigny. 
 
 "When Guizot speaks of the influence which other 
 nations exercised on the Gauls in former times, I was par- 
 ticularly struck with what he says of the Germans. 
 
 " ' The Germans, ' says he, ' brought us the idea of per- 
 sonal freedom, which was possessed by that nation more 
 than any other.' 
 
 " Is not that good ? Is he not perfectly right ? and 
 does not this idea work upon us even to the present day ? 
 The Reformation is as much attributable to this source, as 
 the Burschen conspiracy on the Wartburg — wise as well as 
 foolish enterprises. Even the motley character of our 
 literature; the thirst of our poets for originality — the 
 belief of each one that he must strike out a new path ; the 
 separation and isolation among our learned men, each one 
 standing by himself, and working from a point of his own 
 — all comes from this source. 
 
 " The French and English, on the other hand, keep far 
 more together, and guide themselves one by another. They 
 harmonize in dress and manners. They fear to differ from 
 one another, lest they should be remarkable, or even ridicu- 
 lous. But with the Germans each one goes his own way, 
 and strives to satisfy himself; he does not ask about others, 
 for, as Guizot rightly observes, he has within him the idea 
 of personal freedom, from which, as I have said, comes much 
 that is excellent, but also much absurdity." 
 
 Tues., April 7. — As I entered, I found Hofrath Meyer, 
 who had been ill of late, sitting with Goethe at table, and 
 was rejoiced to see him so much better. They spoke of 
 things relating to art, — of Peel, who has given four thou- 
 sand pounds for a Claude Lorraine, and has thus found 
 especial favour in the eyes of Meyer. 
 
 The newspapers were brought in, and we looked over 
 them while waiting for the soup. The emancipation of the 
 Irish was now discussed as the order of the day. 
 
 "It is instructive," said Goethe, " to see how things come 
 to light on this occasion, of which no one ever thought, and 
 which would never have been spoken of but for the present 
 crisis. We cannot, however, get a clear notion of the state 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 301 
 
 of Ireland ; the subject is too intricate. But this we can 
 see, that she suffers from evils which will not be removed 
 by any means, and therefore, of course, not by emancipation. 
 If it has hitherto been unfortunate for Ireland to endure 
 her evils alone, it is now unfortunate that England is 1 
 drawn into them. Then, no confidence can be put in the 
 Catholics. "We see with what difficulty the two million of 
 Protestants in Ireland have kept their ground hitherto 
 against the preponderating five million of Catholics ; and 
 how, for instance, the poor Protestant farmers have been 
 oppressed, tricked, and tormented, when among Catholic 
 neighbours. The Catholics do not agree among themselves, 
 but they always unite against a Protestant. They are like 
 a pack of hounds, who bite one another, but, when a stag 
 comes in view, they all unite immediately to run it down." 
 
 From Ireland conversation turned to the affairs of 
 Turkey. Surprise was expressed that the Russians, with 
 their preponderating power, did not effect more in the late 
 campaign. 
 
 "The fact of the matter is this," said Goethe, "the 
 means were inadequate, and therefore overgreat requisitions 
 were made upon individuals ; this produced great personal 
 deeds and sacrifices, without advancing the cause on the 
 whole." 
 
 "It may be," said Meyer, "& bad locality. TVe see, in 
 the earliest times, that, at this very spot, if an enemy at- 
 tempted to penetrate anywhere from the Danube to the 
 northern mountains, he always encountered the most obsti- 
 nate resistance, and almost invariably failed. If the Russians 
 could only keep the seaside open, to furnish themselves 
 with stores in that way ! " 
 
 "That is yet to be hoped," said Goethe; "I am now 
 reading Napoleon's campaign in Egypt, — namely, what is 
 related by the hero's everyday companion, Bourricnne, 
 which destroys the romantic cast of many scenes, and di ■- 
 plays facts in their naked sublime truth. It is evident that 
 he undertook this expedition merely to fill up an epoch 
 when he could do nothing in Prance to make himself ruler. 
 He was at first undecided what to do ; he visited all the 
 French harbours on the Atlantic coast, to inspect the fit 
 and see whether an expedition against England were pn 
 
392 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 ti cable or not. He found it was not, and then decided on 
 going to Egypt." 
 
 "It raises my admiration," said I, "that Napoleon, at 
 that early age, could play with the great affairs of the 
 world as easily and securely as if many years' practice and 
 experience had gone before." 
 
 " That, my dear friend," said Goethe, " is an inborn 
 quality with great talents. Napoleon managed the world 
 as Hummel his piano ; both achievements appear wonderful, 
 we do not understand one more than the other, yet so it is, 
 and the whole is done before our eyes. Napoleon was in 
 this especially great — that he was at all hours the same. 
 Before a battle, during a battle, after a victory, after a 
 defeat, he stood always firm, was always clear and decided 
 as to what he should do.- He was always in his element, 
 and equal to each situation and each moment, just as it is 
 all alike to Hummel whether he plays an adagio or an 
 allegro, bass or treble. This facility we find everywhere 
 where there is real talent, in the arts of peace as well as in 
 'war ; at the harpsichord as behind the cannon. 
 
 "We see, by this book," continued Goethe, "how many 
 fables have been invented about the Egyptian campaign. 
 Much, indeed, is corroborated, but much is not, and most 
 that has been said is contradicted. That he had eight- 
 hundred Turkish prisoners shot is true ; but the act appears 
 as the mature determination of a long council of war, on 
 the conviction, after a consideration of all the circumstances, 
 that there were no means of saving them. That he descended 
 into the Pyramids is a fable. He stood at his ease on the 
 outside, and let others tell him what they had seen below. 
 In the same way, the tradition that he wore the Eastern 
 dress is inaccurate. He put it on once at home, and ap- 
 peared in it among his followers, to see how it became him. 
 But the turban does not suit such long heads, and he never 
 put on the dress again. 
 
 " He really visited those sick of the plague, and, indeed, 
 in order to prove that the man who could vanquish fear 
 could vanquish the plague also. And he was right ! I can 
 instance a fact from my own life, when I was inevitably 
 exposed to infection from a putrid fever, and warded off: 
 the disease merely by force of will. It is incredible what 
 
S829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 393 
 
 power the moral will has in such cases. It peneti-.i; 
 it were, the body; and puts it into a state of activity which 
 repels all hurtful influences. Fear, on the other hand, i 
 state of indolent weakness and susceptibility, which mal: 
 it easy for every foe to take possession of us. This Napoleon 
 knew well, and he felt that he risked nothing in giving his 
 army an imposing example. 
 
 " But," continued he, gaily, "pay your respects. What 
 book do you think Napoleon carried in his field library ?- — 
 my *Werther!'" 
 
 "We may see by his levee at Erfurt," said I, "that I 
 had studied it well." 
 
 " He had studied it as a criminal judge does his docu- 
 ments," said Goethe, "and in this spirit talked with me 
 about it. In Bourrienne's work there is a list of the books 
 which Napoleon took to Egypt, among which is ' Werther.' 
 But what is worth noticing in this list, is the manner in 
 which the books are classed under different rubrics. Under 
 the head Politique, for instance, we find the Old Testament, 
 the New Testament, the Koran; by which we see from 
 what point of view Napoleon regarded religious matters." 
 
 He told us many other interesting matters from the book. 
 Among others, the incident was mentioned how Napoleon 
 with his army went through part of the dry. bed in the 
 narrow part of the Red Sea, at the time of ebb; but was 
 overtaken by the flood, and the last men waded up to their 
 arms in water, so that the exploit nearly ended in Pharaoh's 
 style. This led Goethe to say much that was new on the 
 rise of the flood. He compared it with that of the clou> 
 which do not come from a great distance, but arise at 
 once in various parts, and pass along symmetrically even- 
 where. 
 
 Wed., April 8. — Goethe was already at table when 1 
 entered ; he received me with a very cheerful air. 
 
 "From whence, think you," said he, "have I received a 
 letter? — From Home. But from whom? — From the Ki 
 of Bavaria." 
 
 "I sympathize in the pleasure you feel," said I. "And 
 is it not odd ? Not an hour since, and during my walk, I 
 bad occupied myself with thinking about the King of 
 Bavaria; and now I receive this pleasant intelligence." 
 
394 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 " We have often internal intimations of that sort," said 
 Goethe. " There is the letter ; take it, sit down by me, and 
 read it." 
 
 I took the letter, Goethe took the newspaper, and so I 
 read undisturbed the royal words. The letter was dated 
 Rome, 26th March, 1829, and was written in a very legible 
 and dignified hand. The King told Goethe that he had 
 bought an estate in Rome, the Villa di Malta, with the 
 adjacent gardens in the neighbourhood of the Villa Ludovisi) 
 at the north-west end of the city. It stands upon a hill, so 
 that he can see over all Rome, and has towards the north- 
 east a full view of St. Peter's. 
 
 " It is a prospect," he writes, " which one would travel a 
 long way to enjoy, and which I have at my command every 
 hour, from the windows of my own house." 
 
 He goes on congratulating himself at being so pleasantly 
 settled at Rome. " I had not seen Rome for twelve years," 
 he writes, " and longed for it as one longs for a mistress ; 
 I shall return with my feelings tranquillized, as one comes 
 to a beloved female friend." He then speaks of the sublime 
 edifices and works of art with the enthusiasm of a con- 
 noisseur, whose heart is set on the really beautiful and its 
 advancement, and who is keenly sensitive to any departure 
 from good taste. The letter altogether was conceived and 
 expressed in a beautiful and thoroughly humane feeling, 
 such as one does not expect from persons of such high rank. 
 I expressed my delight to Goethe. 
 
 " There you see a monarch," said he, "who, while he has 
 his royal majesty, preserves the innate beauty of his nature 
 as a man. This is a rare phenomenon, and therefore the 
 more dehghtfuL" 
 
 I looked again at the letter, and found in it some more 
 excellent passages. " Here in Rome," writes the King, " I 
 refresh myself from the cares of a throne ; Art and Nature 
 are my daily enjoyments — artists my table companions." 
 He also writes how he passed the house where Goethe 
 resided, and how he thought of him at the time. Some 
 passages are cited from the "Roman Elegies," * from which 
 it may be seen that the King keeps them fresh iji his 
 
 * i. e. Goethe's. — Trans. 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 395 
 
 memory, and likes to read them at Rome, from time to 
 time, on the very spot where they were produced. 
 
 " Yes," said Goethe, " ho is particularly fond of those 
 elegies. He has teazed me a great deal to tell him how 
 far they are matter of fact ; the effect of the poems being 
 so pleasant, that it seems as if there must have been some- 
 thing in the reality. People seldom reflect that a poet can 
 generally make something good out of small occasions. 
 
 "I wish," continued Goethe, "that I had the King's 
 poems by me, that I might allude to them in my answer. 
 I should think they were good, to judge from the little I have 
 read. In form and treatment he has much of Schiller, and, 
 if he has put the substance of a lofty soul into so fine a 
 vase, we have a right to expect much excellence. I am 
 glad that the King is so pleasantly settled at Rome. I 
 know the villa — the situation is beautiful, and all tho 
 German artists reside in the vicinity." 
 
 The servant changed the plates, and Goethe bade him 
 spread out the large engraving of Rome on the floor of tho 
 " covered chamber." " I will show you on what a beautiful 
 spot the King has settled, that you may have a right notion 
 of the locality." I felt much obliged to Goethe. 
 
 " Yesterday evening," said I, " I read ' Claudine von 
 Villa Bella,' and was much delighted with it. The foun- 
 dation is so well laid, and it is carried out with so much 
 joyous audacity, that I feel the strongest desire to see it on 
 the stage." 
 
 "If it is well played," said Goethe, "the effect is not 
 bad." 
 
 " I have already cast the piece in my mind," said I, "and 
 distributed the parts. Herr Genast must be Rugantino ; 
 he seems actually made for the part. Herr Franke must 
 be Don Pedro, for he is similarly shaped, and it is good for 
 two brothers to be somewhat alike. Herr La Roche should 
 be Basco, who, with Ins excellent art and making-up, would 
 give the part the wild aspect it requires." 
 
 " Madame Eberwein," continued Goethe, "would make 
 a very good Lucinde, and Mademoiselle Schmidt would 
 be Claudine." 
 
 "For Alonzo," said I, "we ought to have a stately 
 figure — rather a good actor than a singer, and I think 
 
396 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1S29. 
 
 Herr Oels or Herr Graff would be well placed. But 
 by whom, is the opera composed, and what is the music 
 like ? " 
 
 "By Reichardt, and it is excellent," answered Goethe; 
 " onlv, the instrumentation is a little too weak, owinof to 
 the taste of the time. Something should now be done in 
 this respect, so as to make the instrumentation a little 
 stronger and fuller. With our song, ' Cupido, loser, 
 eigensinniger Knabe,' the composer has been particularly 
 happy.;' 
 
 " It is a peculiarity of this song," said I, " that it puts 
 me in a pleasant dreamy mood whenever it is recited." 
 
 "From such a mood it proceeded," said Goethe, "and 
 therefore this effect is the right one." 
 
 We had finished eating. Frederick came in and told us 
 that he had laid out the engraving of Rome in the 
 "covered chamber." We went in to look at it. The 
 picture of the great metropolis of the world lay before us. 
 Goethe soon found the Villa Ludovisi, and near it the 
 King's new purchase — the Yilla di Malta. 
 
 " See," said he, " what a superb situation ! The whole 
 city is spread out before you, and the hill is so high, that 
 you can see quite over the buildings towards south and 
 east. I have been in this villa, and have often enjoyed the 
 view from the windows. Here, where the city extends 
 out in a point towards the north-east beyond the Tiber, 
 lies St. Peter's ; and here, hard by, is the Vatican. The 
 King, you see, has from the windows of his villa a full 
 view of these buildings across the river. The long road 
 here, from the north into the city, comes from Germany ; 
 that is the Porta del Popolo. I lived in one of these first 
 streets near the gate, in a corner house. They show 
 another in Rome as the place where I lived ; but it is not 
 the right one. No matter ; such things are, at bottom, 
 quite indifferent, and we must let tradition take its 
 course." 
 
 We returned into the dining-room. 
 
 "The Chancellor," said I, " would be pleased with that 
 letter from the King." 
 
 " He shall see it," said Goethe. 
 
 "When I read in the Paris newspaper," continued 
 
I 8 2 . ] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 
 
 Goethe, " the speeches and debates of the Chambers, I 
 cannot help thinking of the Chancellor, and how truly he 
 would be in his element there. For such a place it is ] 
 enough to have talent, but an impulse to speak, an- 
 delight in it ; both of which are united in our Chancellor. 
 Napoleon, too, had this impulse to speak ; and when he 
 could not he was forced to write or dictate. We find with 
 Blucher, too, that he liked to speak, and spoke well and with 
 emphasis ; he had cultivated this talent at the lodge. Our 
 Grand Duke, too, liked to speak, though he was by nature 
 laconic ; and when he could not speak, he wrote. He ha". 
 prepared many laws, many treaties, for the most part well ; 
 only princes have not time or quiet to obtain the necessary 
 knowledge of details. Even in his last davs he made an 
 order about paying for the restoration of pictures. This 
 was a happy instance, for, quite like a prince, he had made 
 a mathematical calculation for paying the expenses of 
 restoration by measure; if the restored picture holds 
 twelve square feet, pay twelve dollars ; if four feet, four 
 dollars. This was like a prince, but not like an artist ; 
 for a twelve-foot picture may be in such a state that it can 
 be cleaned without much trouble in a day, while a four- 
 foot picture may be in such a condition that the industry 
 and toil of a Avhole week will scarcely suffice to restore it. 
 But princes, like good military men, are fond of mathe- 
 matical arrangements, and go to work on the strand scale, 
 according to measure." 
 
 I was pleased with this anecdote. We then said a great 
 deal about Art, and kindred subjects. 
 
 " I possess drawings," said Goethe, " after pictures by 
 Raffaelle and Domenichino, upon which Meyer made a 
 remarkable observation, which I will communicate : — 
 
 " ' The drawings,' said Meyer, ' somewhat evince a wan; 
 of practice ; but it is evident that whoever made them had 
 a delicate and just feeling for the pictures which were 
 before him, and this has passed into the drawing, so as to 
 bring the originals faithfully before the mind. If an 
 artist of our day copied those pictures, he would dr 
 everything far better, and perhaps more correctly ; but I 
 can venture to say, that he would want this true feel 
 for the original, and that, therefore, his superior drawing 
 
 KS 
 
398 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 would be far from giving us so pure and perfect a notion 
 of Raffaelle or Domenichino.' 
 
 " Is not that good ?" said Goethe. " And the same may 
 be said of translations. Voss, for instance, has certainly 
 made an excellent translation from Homer ; yet, I am in- 
 clined to think, a person might have had and conveyed a 
 more naive and faithful representation of the original, 
 without being, on the whole, so masterly a translator as 
 Voss." 
 
 I found this all very just, and perfectly agreed with it. 
 As the weather was fine, and the sun was already high, we 
 went a little way down the garden, where Goethe had some 
 trees tied up, which hung too low upon the path. 
 
 The yellow crocuses were in full vigour. We looked 
 upon the flowers and then upon the path, where we had 
 perfectly violet images. " You were lately of opinion," said 
 Goethe, "that green and red mutually called forth each 
 other better than yellow and blue, inasmuch as the former 
 colours stood at a higher degree, and were therefore more 
 perfect, fuller,* and more effective than the latter. I 
 cannot admit this. Every colour, as soon as it is decidedly 
 exhibited to the eye, acts with equal force for the produc- 
 tion of the ' demanded colour.' The only point is, that our 
 eye should be in the right mood, that the sunlight should 
 offer no impediment by overbrightness, and that the ground 
 should not be unfavourable to the reception of the 'de- 
 manded ' image. Generally, we must take care not to make 
 too subtle distinctions and definitions with respect to colours, 
 as we are too easily exposed to the danger of being led 
 from the essential into the non-essential, from the true into 
 the false, and from the simple into the intricate." 
 
 I noted down this as a good doctrine for my studies. In 
 the mean while, the time for the theatre had arrived, and I 
 prepared to set out. " Mind," said Goethe, laughing, as he 
 took leave of me, " that you are able to get over the 
 horrors of t Thirty Years of a Gamester's Life ' this 
 evening." 
 
 Fri., April 10. — " While we are waiting for our soup, I 
 will provide you with refreshment for your eyes." 
 
 * Literally "satiated" (gesattigt). — Travis. 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. ' 
 
 With these friendly words, Goethe placed before me a 
 volume, containing landscapes of Claude Lorraine. 
 
 These were the first productions of this great master 
 which I had seen. The impression they made upon me was 
 extraordinary; and my surprise and rapture rose with 
 every leaf I turned over. 
 
 The power of the shadowy masses on either side, the 
 splendid sunlight from the background, and its reflection in 
 the water, producing a clear and decisive impression, struck 
 me as the always-recurring maxim upon art of the great 
 master. I was also delighted to find each picture quite a 
 little world by itself, in which there was nothing that was 
 not in conformity with, and did not advance, the ruling 
 thought. Whether it was a seaport with vessels at anchor, 
 active fishermen and magnificent buildings on the water's 
 edge, or a lonely barren hill-country, with its grazing goats, 
 little brook and bridge, a few low bushes, and a shady tree, 
 under which a reposing shepherd was piping, or a marshy 
 spot, with standing pools, which in the powerful summer- 
 heat gives a pleasant impression of coolness, there was 
 always complete unity in the picture ; nowhere a trace of 
 anything foreign that did not belong to its element. 
 
 " Here you see, for once, a complete man," said Goethe, 
 " who thought and felt beautifully, and in whose mind lay 
 a world, such as you will not easily find out of doors. The 
 pictures have the highest truth, but no trace of actuality. 
 Claude Lorraine knew the real world by heart, down to the 
 minutest details, and used it only as a means to express the 
 world of his beautiful soul. That is the true ideality which 
 can so use real means that the truth evolved produces an 
 illusion as if it were an actuality." 
 
 "This, I think, is good doctrine," said I, "and would 
 apply as well to poetry as to the plastic arts." 
 
 " Even so," replied Goethe. " Meanwhile, you had better 
 defer the further enjoyment of the admirable Claude till 
 after dinner ; for the pictures are too good to look at many 
 of them at once." 
 
 " That is my feeling," said I, "for a certain fear comes 
 over me when I am about to turn to the following leaf. It 
 is a fear of a peculiar kind which is inspired by these 
 beauties, and we have a similar feeling with an excellent 
 
400 CONVEKSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 book, when a crowd of excellent passages compel us to stop, 
 p.nd we loiter a little as we proceed." 
 
 " I have answered the King of Bavaria," said Goethe, 
 after a pause, " and you shall read my letter." 
 
 " That will be very instructive for me," said I, " and 
 will afford me much pleasure." 
 
 "In the mean while," said Goethe, "there is in the 
 ' Allgemeine Zeitung ' a poem to the King, which the 
 Chancellor read to me yesterday, and which you must see 
 likewise." 
 
 Goethe gave me the paper, and I read the poem to 
 myself. 
 
 " Now, what do you say to it ? " said Goethe. 
 
 " They are," I replied, " the feelings of a dilettante who 
 lias more good-will than talent, and to whom the high 
 etate of literature presents language ready made, which 
 sings and rhymes for him, while he imagines that he 
 himself is speaking." 
 
 "You are perfectly right," said he ; "I also think the 
 poem a ' very weak production. It bears no trace of 
 external observation ; it is wholly mental, and that not in 
 the right way." 
 
 "To write a poem well," said I, " requires great know- 
 ledge of the subject ; and he who has not, like Claude 
 Lorraine, a whole world at command, will seldom produce 
 anything good, with the best ideal tendencies." 
 
 "And then," said Goethe, " only an innate talent knows 
 what is really to be done, while others, more or less, go 
 on blundering." 
 
 " The aesthetic teachers," said I, " are a proof of this ; for 
 scarcely one of them knows what properly should be 
 taught, and hence they complete the perplexity of young 
 poets. Instead of treating of the Real, they treat of the 
 Ideal ; and instead of helping the young poet to what he 
 has not, they confuse him about what he has. He who,, 
 for instance, has by nature wit and humour, will use these 
 powers to the best advantage, if scarcely conscious that 
 he is endowed with them ; but he who allows himself to 
 be influenced by the much-lauded treatises upon theso 
 high qualities, will be disturbed in the innocent use of 
 his powers, consciousness will paralyze these powers, and 
 
I S29.3 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 
 
 instead of the aid he desires, he will find himself in- 
 calculably' impeded." 
 
 "You are quite right," he replied, " and a great deal 
 might be said on that chapter." 
 
 " I have," he continued, " been reading the new epic by 
 Egon Ebert ; and you must read it too, that we may help 
 him out a little. He is really a superior talent, but this 
 new poem lacks the proper poetical foundation — the 
 foundation of reality. The external landscapes, sunset and 
 sunrise — passages where the external world was his own 
 — could not be better done. But the rest, which lies in 
 ages gone by, and belongs to tradition, is not painted with 
 its proper truth, and lacks the right kernel. The Amazons, 
 with their life and actions, are described in that general 
 way which young people esteem poetic and romantic, and 
 which usually passes for such in the aesthetic world." 
 
 " This is a fault," said I, " which pervades the whole of 
 our present literature. Special truth is avoided, for fear it 
 should not be poetical, and thus we fall into common- 
 places." 
 
 "Egon Ebert," said Goethe, "should have adhered to 
 the chronicles ; he would then have made something of 
 his poem. When I remember how Schiller studied tra- 
 dition, what trouble he gave himself about Switzerland 
 when he wrote his ' Tell,' and how Shakespeare used the 
 chronicles, and took into his plays whole passages word for 
 word, I am inclined to prescribe the same course to a 
 young poet of the present day. I have, in my ' Clavigo,' 
 made use of whole passages from the 'Memoirs' of Bean- 
 marchais." 
 
 " But they are so worked up," said I, " that the fact is 
 not observed, and the passages do not stand out like an 
 indigested mass." 
 
 " If it is so," said Goethe, " that is as it should be. 
 Beaumarchais was a mad fellow, and you must read his 
 'Memoirs.' Lawsuits were his element, in which alone he 
 felt truly at home. There are still in existence speeches 
 from one of his lawsuits, which may be ranked among the 
 most remarkable, the most full of talent, and the bold 
 which have ever been known of their kind. Howe\ 
 Beaumarchais lost this same famous lawsuit. As he was 
 
 2d 
 
402 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1S29. 
 
 going down the stairs from the court, he met the Chancellor 
 coming np. Beauruarchais ought to have given place, but 
 he would not, and insisted that each should take half the 
 stair. The Chancellor, insulted in his dignity, commanded 
 his people to push Beaumarchais aside, which they did. 
 Beaumarchais immediately returned into court, and began 
 an action against the Chancellor, which he gained." 
 
 I was pleased with this anecdote, and we continued 
 talking over various things. 
 
 " I have now taken up ' My Second Residence in Rome ' 
 once more," said Goethe, " that I may finally get rid of 
 it, and turn my attention to something else. You know 
 that my published Italian journey was entirely compiled 
 from letters. But the letters which I wrote during my 
 second visit to Rome are not of such a kind that 1 can 
 make an advantageous use of them ; they contain too manj 
 references to home and my connections in Weimar, and 
 show too little of my Italian life. Yet there are many 
 utterances which express my inward life at the same time. 
 !Now, I think of extracting these passages, and inserting 
 them in my narrative, to which they will give tone and 
 harmony." 
 
 I found this plan perfectly judicious, and confirmed 
 Goethe in his intentions. 
 
 " It has at all times been said and repeated, that man 
 should strive to know himself. This is a singular requisi- 
 tion, with which no one complies or indeed ever will com- 
 ply. Man is by all his senses and efforts directed to 
 externals — to the world around him, and he has to know 
 this so far, and to make it so far serviceable, as he requires 
 for his own ends. It is only when he feels joy or sorrow 
 that he knows anything about himself, and only by joy or 
 sorrow is he instructed what to seek and what to shun. 
 Altogether, man is a darkened being ; he knows not 
 whence he comes, nor whither he goes ; he knows little of 
 the world, and least of himself. I know not myself, and 
 God forbid I should ! But what I wish to say is this, that 
 in my fortieth year, while living in Italy, I became wise 
 enough to know thus much of myself — that I had no 
 talent for plastic art, and that this tendency of mine was a 
 false one. If I drew anything, I had not a sufficient 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 
 
 inclination for the corporeal. I felt a certain fear lest 
 objects should press too much upon me, and the weak and 
 moderate was more to my taste. If I drew a landscape, 
 and got through the back and middle ground, I m 
 dared to give force enough to the foreground, so that my 
 pictures never produced the proper effect. Then I mado 
 no progress except by practice, and was always obliged to 
 begin again, if I left off for a while. Yet I was not 
 absolutely destitute of talent, especially for landscape, and 
 Hackert often said, — ' If you will stay with me eighteen 
 months, you will produce something which will give 
 pleasure to yourself and others.' " 
 
 I listened with great interest. 
 
 "But how," said I, "can one be sure that one 
 possesses a real talent for plastic art ? " 
 
 " Real talent," said Goethe, " has an innate sense for 
 form, relations, and colour, so as soon to manage all that 
 well with but little guidance. Especially, it has a sense 
 for the corporeal, and an inclination to make it palpable 
 by judicious distribution of life. Even in the intervals of 
 practice, it progresses and grows inwardly. Such a talent 
 is not hard to recognize, but is best recognized by a master." 
 
 " I visited the palace this morning," continued he, in a 
 lively tone. " The apartments of the Grand Duchess 
 show great taste ; and Coudray has, with his Italii 
 given another proof of his talent. The painters were still 
 busy with the walls ; they were Milanese. I spoke Italian 
 with them, and found that I had not lost the power. The 
 language brings back, as it were, the atmosphere of the 
 country. They told me that they had last painted the 
 chateau of the King of Wurtemburg, and that they had 
 then been summoned to Gotha, where, however, they 
 could not come to any agreement. They had been heard 
 of in Weimar at the same time, and had come here to 
 decorate the apartments of the Grand Duchess. I listened, 
 and was pleased to speak Italian once more, for the 
 language brings with it, as it were, the atmosphere of 
 the country. These worthy people have been absent from 
 Italy three years, but, as they tell me, they intend to go 
 straight home from hence, when they have finished paint- 
 ing a scene for our theatre by order of Herr von Spiegel. 
 
 ._» ,, ._> 
 
404 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 'This, probably, you will deem a piece of good news. 
 They are very clever fellows. One is pupil of the best 
 scene painter in Milan ; and you may therefore expect a 
 good scene." 
 
 After Frederick had cleared the table, Goethe had a 
 small plan of Rome laid before him. 
 
 " Rome," said he, " would not do for the permanent abode 
 of people like us. He who would settle there must marry 
 and turn Catholic, else would he lead an insupportable 
 existence. Hackert is not a little proud of having lived 
 there so long a Protestant." 
 
 Goethe then showed me, on the plan, the most re- 
 markable squares and buildings. " This," said he, " is 
 the Farnese garden." 
 
 "Was it not here," said I, " that you wrote the witch- 
 scene in ' Faust ' ? " 
 
 "No," he replied, " in the Borghese garden." 
 
 I now refreshed myself with more landscapes by Claude, 
 and we said a great deal about this excellent master. 
 
 " Could not now a young artist," said I, " model himself 
 upon him ? " 
 
 "He who had a similar mind," answered Goethe, 
 "would certainly develop great excellence by forming 
 liimself on Claude Lorraine. But he whose soul nature 
 had not endowed with similar gifts, would at most only 
 borrow single peculiarities from this master, and use them 
 as mere phrases." 
 
 Sat., April 11. — 1 found the table laid out to-day in 
 the long hall for several persons. Goetho and Frau von 
 Goethe received me very kindly. The guests gradually 
 arrived, viz.-, Madame Schopenhauer ; young Count 
 Reinhard, of the French embassy ; his brother-in-law, 
 
 Herr von D who was on his way to enter into the 
 
 Russian Service against the Turks ; Fraulein Ulrica ; and, 
 lastly, Hofrath Yogel. 
 
 Goethe was in an especially cheerful mood, and enter- 
 tained the company before dinner with some good Frank- 
 fort jokes, especially relating to Rothschild and Bethmann, 
 showing how one had spoiled the speculations of the other. 
 
 Count Reinhard went to Court ; the rest of us sat down 
 to dinner. Conversation became very animated. They 
 
I S29.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 
 
 talked about travelling and the bathing places ; and 
 Madame Schopenhauer especially interested us about the 
 arrangement of her estate on the Rhine, near the Island of 
 Nonnenwerth. 
 
 At dessert, Count Reinhard reappeared, and was praised 
 for the activity with which, during his short absence, 
 had not only dined at Court, but had changed his dress 
 twice. He brought the intelligence that the new Pope — 
 a Castiglioni — was elected, and Goethe gave the company 
 an account of the traditional ceremonies observed at tho 
 election. 
 
 Count Reinhard, who had passed the winter at Paris, 
 was able to give us a great deal of desirable information 
 about celebrated statesmen, literati, and poets. We talked 
 about Chateaubriand, Guizot, Salvandy, Beranger. 
 Merimee, and others. 
 
 After dinner, when all except myself had departed, 
 Goethe took me into his work-room, and showed me two 
 very interesting papers, with which I was highly pleased - 
 These were two letters written in his youth, one in 1770, 
 from Strasburg, to his friend, Dr. Horn, at Frankfort * 
 one in July, the other in December. In both spoke a 
 young man who had a presentiment of great things which 
 lay before him to do. In the last, traces of " Werther " 
 were already visible ; the Sescnheim connection had been 
 formed, and the happy youth seemed rocked in an ecstasy 
 of the sweetest feelings, and to be lavishing away his di 
 as if half in a dream. The handwriting of the letters \ 
 calm, clear, and elegant; it had already assumed the 
 character it always afterwards preserved. I could not 
 forbear reading again and again these charming letters, 
 and left Goethe full of the happiest and most grateful 
 feelings. 
 
 Sun., April 12. — Goethe read me his answer to the Kiiu_ r 
 of Bavaria. He had represented himself as one who 
 actually ascends the steps of the villa, and expresses his 
 feelings by word of mouth in the King's immediate 
 presence. 
 
 " It must be difficult," said I, " to preserve exactly tho 
 proper tone and manner for such cases." 
 
 "No one," said Goethe, "who, during his whole li: 
 
406 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE, [1829. 
 
 lias had to do with persons of high rank as I have, will 
 find it difficult. The only point is not to be perfectly . 
 natural, but always to keep within the line of a certain 
 conventional propriety." 
 
 Goethe then spoke of the compilation of his " Second 
 Residence at Rome," which now occupied him. 
 
 " From the letters," said he, " which I wrote at that 
 period, I plainly see that we have certain advantages and 
 disadvantages at every time of life, as compared with 
 earlier or later periods. Thus, in my fortieth year, I was 
 as clear and decided on some subjects as at present, and in 
 many respects superior to my present self ; yet now, in 
 my eightieth, I possess advantages which I should not 
 like to exchange for those." 
 
 " While you made that remark," said I, "the metamor- 
 phosis of plants came before my eyes, and 1 can well 
 understand that one would not return from the period of 
 the flower to that of the green leaf, and from that of the 
 fruit or seed to the flower-state." 
 
 " The simile," said Goethe, " expresses my meaning 
 perfectly." 
 
 " Only imagine a perfectly indented leaf," he continued, 
 laughing ; "do you think that it would go back from its 
 state of free development to the dull confinement of the 
 cotyledon ? And, indeed, it is an interesting fact that we 
 have a plant which may serve as a symbol of the most 
 advanced age, since, having passed the period of flower 
 and fruit, it still thrives cheerfully without further founda- 
 tion. 
 
 " It is bad, however, that we are so hindered in life by 
 false tendencies, and never know them to be false until 
 we are already freed from them." 
 
 "But how," said I, " shall we know that a tendency is 
 false ? " 
 
 " A false tendency," replied Goethe, " is not productive ; 
 or if it is, what it produces is of no worth. It is not so 
 difficult to perceive this in others ; but with respect to 
 oneself the case is different, and great freedom of mind is 
 required. And even knowledge of the truth is not always 
 of use ; we delay, doubt, cannot resolve — just as one finds 
 it difficult to leave a beloved girl of whose infidelity one 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. iU7 
 
 has long had repeated proofs. This I say, because I 
 remember how many years were required before I could 
 find out that my tendency to plastic art was a false one, 
 and how many more, after I was sure of this fact, to 
 separate myself entirely from it." 
 
 "But," said I, " that tendency has been of such advan- 
 tage to you, one can hardly call it false." 
 
 "I gained insight by it," said Goethe, " and therefore I 
 can make myself easy about it. That is the advantage 
 we draw from every false tendency. He who with inade- 
 quate talent devotes himself to music, will never, indeed, 
 become a master, but may learn to know and to value a 
 masterly production. With all my toil, I have not become 
 an artist ; but, as I tried every department of art, I have 
 learned to take cognizance of each stroke, and to distinguish 
 merits from defects. This is no small gain ; and, indeed, 
 false tendencies are rarely without gain. Thus the 
 Crusades, for the liberation of the holy sepulchre, 
 manifestly represented a false tendency ; but they did 
 this good, they weakened the Turks, and prevented them 
 from becoming masters of Europe." 
 
 We talked on various subjects, and Goethe then spoke to 
 me of a book on Peter the Great, by Segur, which had 
 interested him, and given him much light. 
 
 " The situation of Petersburg," said he, " is quite un- 
 pardonable, especially when we reflect that the ground rises 
 in the neighbourhood, and that the Emperor could have had 
 a city quite free from all this trouble arising from overflow 
 of the stream, if he had but gone a little higher up, and 
 had only had the haven in this low place. An old ship- 
 master represented this to him, and prophesied that the 
 people would be drowned every seventy years. There stood 
 also an old tree, with various marks from times when the 
 waters had risen to a great height. But all this was in 
 vain ; the Emperor stood to his whim, and had the tree cut 
 down, that it might not bear witness against him. 
 
 " You will confess that such conduct is very strange in 
 so great a man. Do you know how I explain it r — Man 
 cannot cast aside his youthful impressions ; and tins 
 principle goes so far, that even defects to which he is ac- 
 customed in his early years, and in the midst of which he 
 
4-03 CONVERSATIONS .OF GOETHE. [1829, 
 
 has passed his happiest time, remain afterwards so dear to 
 him that he is dazzled by them, and cannot perceive any 
 fault. Thus would Peter the Great repeat Amsterdam, so 
 dear £0 his youth, in a metropolis at the mouth of the 
 Neva; as the Dutch are always tempted to build new 
 Amsterdams over and over again in their new posses- 
 sions." 
 
 Mon., April 13. — To-day, after Goethe had said many 
 good things to me at dinner, I again refreshed myself at 
 dessert with some of Claude's landscapes. 
 
 "The collection," said Goethe, "bears the title Liber 
 Veritatis ; it might as well be styled Liber Naturce et Art is, 
 — for here we find nature and art in the highest state and 
 fairest union." 
 
 I asked Goethe about the origin of Claude Lorraine, and 
 in what school he had formed himself. 
 
 "His immediate master," said Groethe, "was Antonio 
 Tasso, but Tasso was a pupil of Paul Brill, so that the 
 school and maxims of the latter formed the real foundation 
 of Claude, and came to their full blossom in him ; for what 
 Gppeared too earnest and severe in those masters, is, in 
 Claude Lorraine, developed to the most charming grace and 
 loveliest freedom. There was no g-oing^ bevond him. 
 
 " However, it is difficult to say from whom so great a 
 talent, living in so remarkable a time and situation, actually 
 did learn. He looked about, and appropriated to himself 
 everything which could afford nourishment to his designs. 
 ]STo doubt Claude Lorraine was as much indebted to the 
 Caracci school as to his immediate and nominal masters. 
 
 " Thus, it is usual to say Giulio Romano was a pupil of 
 Raff aelle ; but we might, with as much propriety, say he 
 was the pupil of his age. Only Gruido Reni had a pupil, 
 who received so entirely into himself the spirit, soul, and 
 art of his master, that he almost was, and did almost 
 exactly, the same as he. This was a peculiar case, which 
 has scarcely been repeated. 
 
 " The Caracci school, on the contrary, was of a liberating 
 kind, so that each talent was developed by it in its natural 
 direction, and masters proceeded from it all entirely dif- 
 ferent one from another. The Caracci seemed born to be 
 teachers of art ; they lived in a time when the best had 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 40D 
 
 already been done on every side, and hence tliey could 
 present their pupils with models in all departments. They 
 were great artists, great teachers ; hut I could not say they 
 were truly gifted with the spirit (Geistreicli).* It is a some- 
 what hold saying, but so it seems to me." 
 
 After I had looked at a few more landscapes of Claude's, 
 I" opened an artist's lexicon, to see what is said of this 
 great master. We found — " his chief merit was in his 
 palette," 
 
 We looked at one another, and laughed. 
 
 " There, you see," said Goethe, " how much we learn,""" 
 if we rely on books, and take in all we find written." 
 
 Tues., April 14. — When I went in to-day, Goethe was at 
 table with Hofrath Meyer, talking about Italy and art. He 
 ordered a volume of Claude Lorraine to be laid before us, 
 in which Meyer found the landscape of which the news- 
 papers told us that Peel had given four thousand pounds 
 for the original. One must admit that it is a beautiful 
 picture, and that Mr. Peel has made no bad bargain. 
 
 On the right side of the picture is a group of people 
 sitting and standing. A shepherd is leaning over a girl, 
 whom he seems to be instructing to play upon the pipe. 
 In the middle is a lake, in the full light of the sun ; on the 
 left are cattle grazing in the shade of a grove. The two 
 groups balance one another admirably, and the light has a 
 magical effect, in the artist's usual manner. There was 
 then a discussion as to where the original had long been, 
 and in whose possession Meyer had seen it when in Italy. 
 
 Conversation then turned on the new property of the 
 King of Bavaria at Rome. " I know the villa veiy well," 
 said Meyer; " I have often been there, and still think with 
 pleasure of the situation. 
 
 " The house is of moderate size. The King, no doubt, will 
 adorn it, and make it agreeable according to his taste. In 
 my time, the Duchess Amelia lived there, and Herder in 
 the next house. Afterwards the Duke of Sussex and 
 the Earl of Munster lived there. S transfers of hi^h rank 
 
 * " Geistreich " frequently means little more than clever or in- 
 genious ; bnfc it seems here to have a deeper signification, and tho 
 term " gifted with the spirit " has been borrowed from the American. 
 — Trans. 
 
410 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 have always liked it, on account of the hei.lthy situation 
 and superb prospect." 
 
 I asked Meyer how far it was from the Villa, di Malta to 
 the Vatican. 
 
 " From Trinita di Monte, which is near the villa, and 
 where the artists lived," said Meyer, " it is a good half 
 league. We went over the ground daily, and often more 
 than once." 
 
 " The road "by the bridge," said I, " seems somewhat 
 circuitous ; I should think it would be a shorter way to 
 cross the Tiber and go through the fields." 
 
 " It is not so," said Meyer ; " but we had this notion, and 
 often crossed the Tiber. I remember one occasion when 
 we were returning on a fine moonlight night from the 
 Vatican. Of our acquaintance, Bury, Hirt, and Lips were 
 with us, and we were engaged in the customary dispute, — 
 which is the greater, Raifaelle or Michael Angelo? So 
 engaged, we entered the ferry. When we had reached the 
 opposite shore, and the argument was still at its height, 
 some wag — I think it was Bury — proposed we should 
 remain upon the water till the strife was quite settled, and 
 the parties agreed. The proposal was acceded to, and the 
 boatman had to put off and row back. Now the dispute 
 began to grow animated, and when we reached the shore we 
 were always forced to put back, for the contest was not de- 
 cided. Thus we went on, hour after hour, which suited 
 nobody better than the boatman, who had an addition of 
 bajocchi each time. He had with him, as an assistant, a 
 boy of twelve years old, to whom our conduct at last 
 appeared strange. 
 
 " ' Father,' said he, ' what is the matter with these men 
 that they will not land, but we must always keep going- 
 back when we reach the shore ? ' 
 
 " ' I know not, my son,' replied the boatman ; ' but I 
 think they are mad.' 
 
 " At last, in order not to row to and fro the whole night, 
 we came to a forced agreement, and landed." 
 
 We laughed at this pleasant anecdote of artistic madness. 
 Hofrath Meyer was in the best humour ; he continued to 
 tell us about Rome, and Goethe and I took pleasure in 
 listening to him. 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 411 
 
 " This dispute about Raffaelle and Michael Augelo," said 
 Meyer, " was the order of the day, and was introduced 
 whenever a number of artists met together large enough to 
 take the two sides. It generally began at an inn, where we 
 drank cheap good wine. Pictures, and parts of pictures, 
 were referred to, and when the opposition party would not 
 concede this or that, an immediate inspection of the 
 pictures was found requisite. We left the inn and hurried 
 to the Sistine Chapel, the keys of which were in the hands 
 of a shoemaker, who would always open the door for a few 
 groschen. When we were before the pictures the work of 
 demonstration began, and after the dispute had lasted long 
 enough we returned to the inn, to make up our differences 
 over a bottle of wine, and to settle all controversies. Thus 
 we went on every day, and the shoemaker, by the Sistine 
 Chapel, received many a fee of four groschen." 
 
 Mention was then made of another shoemaker, who 
 generally hammered his leather on an antique marble head. 
 " It was the portrait of a Roman Emperor," said Meyer; 
 "the antique work stood before the shoemaker's door, and 
 we often saw him engaged in this laudable occupation as 
 we passed by." 
 
 Wed., April 15. — We talked of people who, without 
 having any real talent, are excited to productiveness, and 
 of others who write about things they do not understand. 
 
 " What seduces young people," said Goethe, "is this — 
 we live in a time in which so much culture is diffused, that 
 it has communicated itself, as it were, to the atmosphere 
 which a young man breathes. Poetical and philosophic 
 thoughts live and move within him, he has sucked them in 
 with his very breath, but he thinks they are his own pro- 
 perty, and utters them as such. But after he has restored 
 to the time what he has received from it, he remains poor. 
 He is like a fountain which plays for a while with the water 
 with which it is supplied, but which ceases to flow as soon 
 as the liquid treasure is exhausted." 
 
 Tues., Sept. 1. — I told Goethe of a person now travelling v 
 through Weimar, who had heard a lecture of Hegel's on 
 the proof of the existence of a God. Goethe agreed with 
 me, that the time for such lectures was gone by. 
 
 "The period of doubt," said he, "is past; men now 
 
412 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1829, 
 
 doubt as little the existence of a God as their own, though 
 the nature of the divinity, the immortality, the peculiarities 
 of our own souls, and their connection with our bodies, arc 
 eternal problems, with respect to which our philosophers 
 take us no farther. A French philosopher, of the most 
 recent times, begins his chapter confidently thus : — 
 
 " ' It is acknowledged that man consists of two parts ? 
 body and soul ; accordingly, we will begin with the body, 
 and then speak of the soul.' 
 
 " Fichte went a little farther, and extricated himself 
 somewhat more cleverly from the dilemma, by saying — ' We 
 shall treat of man regarded as a body, and of man regarded 
 as a soul.' He^ felt too well that a so closely combined 
 whole could not be separated. Kant has unquestionably 
 done the best service, by drawing the limits beyond which 
 human intellect is not able to penetrate, and leaving at rest 
 the insoluble problems. What a deal have people philo- 
 sophized about immortality — and how far have they got ? 
 I doubt not of our immortality, for nature cannot dispense 
 with the entelecheia. But we are not all, in like manner, 
 immortal ; and he who would manifest himself in future 
 as a great entelecheia, must be one now. 
 
 " While the Germans are tormenting themselves with the 
 solution of philosophical problems, the English, with their 
 great practical understanding, laugh at us, and win the 
 world. Everybody knows their declamations against the 
 slave-trade ; and while they have palmed upon us all sorts 
 of humane maxims as the real foundation of their proceed- 
 ings, it is at last discovered that their true motive is a 
 practical object, which the English always notoriously 
 require in order to act, and which should have been known 
 before. In their extensive domains on the western coast of 
 Africa they themselves use the blacks, and it is against 
 their interest for them to be carried off. They have 
 founded large colonies of negroes in America, which are 
 very productive, and yearly return a large profit in blacks. 
 Erom these they can supply the demand in North America, 
 and since they thus carry on a highly profitable trade, an 
 importation from without would be against their commercial 
 interests ; so they preach with a practical view against the 
 inhuman African slave-trade. Even at the Congress of 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 413 
 
 Vienna, the English envoy denounced it with great zeal, 
 but the Portuguese envoy had the good sense to reply 
 ♦(uietly, that he did not know they had come together to sit 
 in judgment on the world, or to decide upon principles of 
 morality. He well knew the object of England ; and he hai I 
 also his own, which he knew how to plead for and obtain." 
 
 Sun., Dec. 6. — To-day, after dinner, Goethe read me the 
 first scene of the second act of " Faust."* The effect was 
 great, and gave me a high satisfaction. We are once more 
 Transported into Faust's study, where Mephistophiles finds 
 /ill just as he had left it. He takes from the hook Faust's 
 old study-gown, and a thousand moths and insects nutter 
 out from it. By the directions of Mephistophiles as to 
 where these are to settle down, the locality is brought very 
 clearly before our eyes. He puts on the gown, while Faust 
 lies behind a curtain in a state of paralysis, intending to 
 play the doctor's part once more. He pulls the bell, which 
 gives such an awful tone among the old solitary convent, 
 halls, that the doors spring open and the walls tremble. 
 The servant rushes in, and finds in Faust's seat Mephis- 
 tophiles, whom he does not recognize, but for whom he has 
 respect. In answer to inquiries he gives news of Wagner, 
 who has now become a celebrated man, and is hoping for 
 the return of his master. He is, we hear, at this moment 
 deeply occupied in his laboratory, seeking to produce a 
 Homunculus. The servant retires, and the bachelor 
 enters, — the same whom we knew some years before as a 
 shy young student, when Mephistophiles (in Faust's gown) 
 made game of him. He is now become a man, and is so 
 full of conceit that even Mephistophiles] can do nothing 
 with him, but moves his chair further and further, and at 
 last addresses the pit. 
 
 Goethe read the scene quite to the end. I was pleased 
 with his youthful productive strength, and with the close- 
 ness of the whole. " As the conception," said Goethe, "is 
 to old — for I have had it in my mind for fifty years — the 
 materials have accumulated to such a degree, that the diffi- 
 cult operation is to separate and reject. The invention of 
 the whole second part is really as old as I say ; but ifc may 
 
 * That is, the second act of the second part of "Faust," which 
 was not published entire till after Goethe's death. — Trans. 
 
414 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 be an advantage that I have not written it down till now, 
 when my knowledge of the world is so much clearer. I am 
 like one who in his youth has a great deal of small silver 
 and copper money, which in the course of his life he con- 
 stantly changes for the better, so that at last the property 
 \) of his yonth stands before him in pieces of pure gold." 
 
 We spoke about the character of the Bachelor. " Is he 
 not meant," said I, "to represent a certain class of ideal 
 philosphers ? " 
 
 "No," said Goethe, " the arrogance which is peculiar to 
 youth, and of which we had such striking examples after 
 our war for freedom, is personified in him. Indeed, every 
 one believes in his youth that the world really began with 
 him, and that all merely exists for his sake. 
 
 " Thus, in the East, there was actually a man who every 
 morning collected his people about him, and would not go 
 to work till he had commanded the sun to rise. But he 
 was wise enough not to speak his command till the sun of 
 its own accord was really on the point of appearing." 
 
 Goethe remained a while absorbed in silent thought ; 
 then he began as follows : — 
 
 " When one is old one thinks of worldly matters other- 
 wise than when one is young. Thus I cannot but think 
 that the demons, to teaze and make sport with men, have 
 placed among them single figures, which are so alluring 
 that every one strives after them, and so great that nobody 
 reaches them. Thus they set up Baffaelle, with whom 
 thought and act were equally perfect ; some distinguished 
 followers have approached him, but none have equalled 
 him. Thus, too, they set up Mozart as something unattain- 
 able in music ; and thus Shakspeare in poetry. I know 
 what you can say against this thought ; but I only mean 
 h natural character, the great innate qualities. Thus, too, 
 Napoleon is unattainable. That the Russians were so 
 moderate as not to go to Constantinople is indeed very 
 great ; but we find a similar trait in Napoleon, for he had 
 the moderation not to go to Rome." 
 
 Much was associated with this copious theme ; I thought 
 to myself in silence that the demons had intended some- 
 thing of the kind with Goethe, inasmuch as he is a form too 
 alluring not to be striven after, and too great to be reached. 
 
7829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETnE. 415 
 
 Wed., Dec. 16. — To-day, after dinner, Goethe read me 
 the second se<me of the second act of " Fanst," where 
 Mephistophiles visits Wagner, who is on the point of 
 making a hnman being by chemical means. The work 
 succeeds ; the Homunculus appears in the phial, as a shin- 
 ing being, and is at once active. He repels Wagner's 
 questions npon incomprehensible subjects ; reasoning is not 
 his business ; he wishes to act, and begins with our hero, 
 Faust, who, in his paralyzed condition, needs a higher aid*, 
 As a being to whom the present is perfectly clear and 
 transparent, the Homunculus sees into the soul of the 
 sleeping Faust, who, enraptured by a lovely dream, beholds 
 Leda visited by swans, while she is bathing in a pleasant 
 spot. The Homunculus, by describing this dream, brings 
 a most charming picture before our eyes. Mephistophiles 
 sees nothing of it, and the Homunculus taunts him with 
 his northern nature. 
 
 " Generally," said Goethe, " you will perceive that 
 Mephistophiles appears to disadvantage beside the 
 Homunculus, who is like him in clearness of: intellect, 
 and so much superior to him in his tendency to the beau- 
 tiful, and to a useful activity. He styles him cousin; 
 for such spiritual beings as this Homunculus, not yet 
 saddened and limited by a thorough assumption of 
 humanity, were classed with the demons, and thus there is 
 a sort of relationship between the two." 
 
 " Certainly," said I, " Mephistophiles appears here in a 
 subordinate situation ; yet I cannot help thinking that he 
 has had a secret influence on the production of the Homun- 
 culus. We have known him in this way before ; and, in- 
 deed, in the ' Helena ' he always appears as a being secretly 
 working. Thus he again elevates himself with regard to 
 the whole, and in his lofty repose he can well afford to put 
 up with a little in particulars." 
 
 "Your feeling of the position is very correct," said 
 Goethe; "indeed, I have doubted whether I ought not to 
 put some verses into the mouth of Mephistophiles as he 
 goes to Wagner, and the Homunculus is still in a state of 
 formation, so that his co-operation may be expressed and 
 rendered plain to the reader." 
 
 "It would do no harm," said I. "Yet this is inti- 
 
416 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1829' 
 
 mated by the words with which Mephistophiles closes the 
 
 scene — 
 
 Am Ende hangen wir doch ab 
 Von Creatnren die wir niachten.' " 
 
 We are dependent after all, 
 On creatures that we make. 
 
 "True," said Goethe, "that would be almost enough 
 for. the attentive ; but I will think about some additional 
 verses." 
 
 "But," said I, "those concluding words are very great, 
 and will not easily be penetrated to their full extent." 
 
 "I think," said Goethe, "I have given them a bone to 
 pick. A father who has six sons is a lost man, let him do 
 what he may. Kings and ministers, too, who have raised 
 many persons to high places, may have something to think 
 about from their own experience." 
 
 Faust's dream about Leda again came into my head, and 
 I regarded this as a most important feature in the compo- 
 sition. 
 
 "It is wonderful to me," said I, "how the several parts 
 of such a work bear upon, perfect, and sustain one another ! 
 By this dream of Leda, ' Helena ' gains its proper founda- 
 tion. There we have a constant allusion to swans and the 
 child of af swan ; but here we have the act itself, and when 
 we come afterwards to ' Helena,' with the sensible impres- 
 sion of such a situation, how much more clear and perfect 
 does all appear! " 
 
 Goethe said I was right, and was pleased that I remarked 
 this. 
 
 " Thus you will see," said he, "that in these earlier acts 
 the chords of the classic and romantic are constantly struck, 
 so that, as on a rising ground, where both forms of- poetry 
 are brought out, and in some sort balance one another, we 
 may ascend to ' Helena.' 
 
 "The French," continued Goethe, "now begin to think 
 justly of these matters. Both classic and romantic, say 
 they, are equally good. The only point is to use these 
 forms with judgment, and to be capable of excellence. 
 You can be absurd in both, and then one is as worthless as 
 the other. This, I think, is rational enough, and may con- 
 tent us for a while." 
 
1829.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 417 
 
 Sun., Bee. 20. — Dined with Goethe. "We spoke of the 
 Chancellor, and I asked whether he did not bring any news 
 .of Manzoni, on his return from Italy. 
 
 " He wrote to me about him," said Goethe. " The Chan- 
 cellor paid Manzoni a visit; he lives on his estate near 
 Milan, and is, I am sorry to say, always indisposed." 
 
 "It is singular," said I, "that we so frequently find 
 persons of distinguished talents, especially poets, with weak 
 constitutions." 
 
 " The extraordinary performances of these men," said 
 Goethe, "presuppose a very delicate organization, which 
 makes them susceptible to unusual emotions, and capable 
 of hearing celestial voices. Such an organization, in con- 
 flict with the world and the elements, is easily disturbed 
 and injured ; and he who does not, like Voltaire, combine 
 with great sensibility an equally uncommon toughness, is 
 easily exposed to perpetual indisposition. Schiller was 
 always ill. When I first knew him, I thought he could 
 not live a month ; but he, too, had a certain toughness ; he 
 sustained himself many years, and would have done so 
 longer, if he had lived in a way more favourable to 
 health." 
 
 We spoke of the theatre, and how far a certain per- 
 formance had been successful. 
 
 " I have seen Unzelmann in the part," said Goethe. " It 
 was always a pleasure to see him, on account of the perfect 
 freedom of his mind, which he imparted to us; for it is 
 with acting as with all other arts. What the artist does 
 or has done excites in us the mood in which he himself was 
 when he did it. A free mood in the artist makes us free ; 
 a constrained one makes us uncomfortable. We usually 
 find this freedom of the artist where he is fully equal to 
 his subject. It is on this account we are so pleased with 
 Dutch pictures ; the artists painted the life around them, 
 of which they were perfect masters. If we are to feel this 
 freedom of mind in an actor, he must, by study, imagina- 
 tion, and natural disposition, be perfect master of his part, 
 must have all bodily requisites at his command, and must 
 be upheld by a certain youthful energy. But study is not 
 enough without imagination, and study and imagination 
 together are not enough without no/tural disposition. Women 
 
 2e 
 
418 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 do the most through imagination and temperament ; thence 
 came the excellence of Madame Wolff." 
 
 We pursued this subject further, talking of many of the 
 chief actors of the Weimar stage, and mentioning their 
 performance in several parts with due acknowledgment. 
 
 In the meanwhile, "Faust" came once more into my 
 head, and I talked of the manner in which the Homunculus 
 could be rendered clear upon the stage. " If we do not see 
 the little man himself," said I, "we must see the light in 
 the bottle, and his important words must be uttered in a 
 way that would surpass the capacity of a child." 
 
 "Wagner," said Goethe, "must not let the bottle go out 
 of his hands, and the voice must sound as if it issued from 
 the bottle. It would be a part for a ventriloquist such as 
 I have heard. A man of that kind would solve the difficulty 
 to a certainty." 
 
 We then talked of the Grand Carnival, and the possi- 
 bility of representing it upon the stage. " It would be a 
 little more than the market-place at Naples," said I. 
 
 "It would require a very large theatre," said Goethe, 
 "and is hardly to be imagined." 
 
 "I hope to see it some day," was my answer. "I look 
 forward with especial delight to the elephant, led by Pru- 
 dence, and surmounted by Victory, with Hope and Fear in 
 chains on each side. This is an allegory that could not 
 easily be surpassed." 
 
 " The elephant would not be the first on the stage," said 
 Goethe. "At Paris there is one, which forms an entire 
 character. He belongs to a popular party, and takes the 
 crown from one king and places it on another, which must 
 indeed have an imposing effect. Then, when he is called 
 at the end of the piece, he appears quite alone, makes his 
 bow, and retires. You see, therefore, that we might reckon 
 on an elephant for our carnival. But the whole scene is 
 much too large, and requires a manager such as is not easily 
 found." 
 
 "Still, it is so brilliant and effective," said I, "that a 
 stage will scarcely allow it to escape. Then how does it 
 build itself up, and become more and more striking ! First,, 
 there are the beautiful gardeners, male and female, who* 
 decorate the stage, and at the same time form a mass, so that 
 
J 82 9. ] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 419 
 
 the various objects, as they increase in importance, are 
 never without spectators and a background. Then there 
 is the team of dragons, which coming from the background, 
 through the air, soars overhead. Then the appearance of 
 the great Pan with the apparent fire, and its extinction 
 by the wet clouds, which roll to the spot. If all this is 
 carried out as you have conceived, the public will, in its 
 amazement, confess that it has not sense and intellect suffi- 
 cient to appreciate such a profusion of phenomena." 
 
 " Pray, no more about the public," said Groethe ; " I wish 
 to hear nothing about it. The chief point is, that the piece 
 is written ; the world may now do with it as it pleases, and 
 use it as far as it can." 
 
 We then talked of the "Boy Lenker." 
 
 " That Faust is concealed under the mask of Plutus, and 
 Mephistophiles under that of Avarice, you will have already 
 perceived. But who is the ' Boy Lenker ' ? " 
 
 I hesitated, and could not answer. 
 
 " It is Euphorion," said Groethe. 
 
 "But how can he appear in the carnival here," asked I, 
 " when he is not born till the third act ? " 
 
 ' : Euphorion," replied Groethe, "is not a human, but an 
 allegorical being. In him is personified poetry, which is 
 bound to neither time, place, nor person. The same spirit 
 who afterwards chooses to be Euphorion, appears here as 
 the 'Boy Lenker,' and is so far like a spectre, that he can 
 be present everywhere, and at all times." 
 
 Sun., Dec. 27. — To-day, after dinner, Goethe read me the 
 scene of the paper-money.* 
 
 "You recollect," said he, "that at the imperial assembly 
 the end of the song is that there is a want of money, and 
 that Mephistophiles promises to provide some. This theme 
 continues through the masquerade, when Mephistophiles 
 contrives that the Emperor, while in the mask of the great 
 Pan, shall sign a paper, which, being thus endowed with a 
 money- value, is multiplied a thousand-fold and circulated. 
 Now, in this scene the affair is discussed before the Emperor, 
 who does not know what he has done. The treasurer hands 
 over the bank-notes, and makes everything clear. The 
 
 * In the second part of " Faust." 
 
 2 F, 2 
 
420 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1829. 
 
 Emperor is at first enraged, but afterwards, on a closer 
 inspection of bis profit, makes splendid presents of paper- 
 money to those around him, and as he retires drops some 
 thousand crowns, which the fat court-fool picks up, and 
 then goes off at once to turn his paper into land." 
 
 While Goethe read this noble scene, I was pleased with 
 the happy notion of deducing the paper-money from 
 Mephistophiles, and thus in so striking a manner bringing 
 in and immortalizing one of the main interests of the present 
 day. 
 
 Scarcely had the scene been read over and discussed, 
 when Goethe's son came down and seated himself with us 
 at the table. He told us of Cooper's last novel, which he 
 had read, and which he now described admirably in his own 
 graphic manner. We made no allusion to the scene we 
 had just read, but he began of his own accord to tell a 
 great deal about Prussian treasury-bills, and to say that 
 they were paid for above their value. While young Goethe 
 went on talking in this way, I looked at the father with a 
 smile, which he returned, and thus we gave each other 
 to understand how very apropos was the subject of the 
 scene. 
 
 Wed., Dec. 30. — To-day, after dinner, Goethe read me 
 the next scene. 
 
 " Now they have got money at the imperial court," said 
 he, " they want to be amused. The Emperor wishes to see 
 Paris and Helen, and they are, through magical art, to 
 appear in person. Since, however, Mephistophiles has 
 nothing to do with Greek antiquity, and has no power over 
 such personages, this task is assigned to Faust, who 
 succeeds in it perfectly. The scene showing the means 
 which Faust must adopt to render the apparition possible 
 is not quite complete yet, but I will read it to you next 
 time. The actual appearance of Paris and Helen you shall 
 hear to-day." 
 
 I was happy in the anticipation of what was coming, and 
 Goethe began to read. I saw the Emperor and his court 
 pass through the ancient hall to witness the spectacle. 
 The curtain rises, and the stage, representing a great 
 temple, is before ray eyes. Mephistophiles is in the 
 prompter's box, the astrologer is on one side of the 
 
183O.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 421 
 
 proscenium, and Faust, with the tripod, on the other. He 
 utters the necessary formula, and Paris appears rising from 
 the fumes of incense. While this handsome youth is 
 moving about to ethereal music, a description of him is 
 given. He sits down, and leans with his arm bent on his 
 head, as we find him in ancient sculptures. He is the 
 delight of the ladies, who express how they are charmed by 
 the bloom of his youth, and is hated by the men, who are 
 moved by jealousy and hatred, and depreciate him as much 
 as they can. Paris goes to sleep, and Helen makes her 
 appearance. She approaches the sleeper, imprints a kiss 
 upon his lips, retires from him, and then turns round to 
 gaze at him. While in the act of turning, she looks 
 especially charming, and makes the same impression on the 
 men which Paris made upon the women. The men are 
 inspired to love and praise, the women to envy, hatred, and 
 detraction. Faust himself is quite enraptured, and at the 
 aspect of the beauty which he has called forth forgets 
 time, place, and circumstance, so that Mephistophiles finds 
 it necessary to remind him every moment that he is getting 
 out of his part. A mutual affection between Paris and 
 Helen seems to increase, the youth clasps her to carry her 
 away ; Faust is about to tear him from her, but, when he 
 turns the key towards him, a violent explosion ensues, the 
 apparitions melt into vapour, and Faust falls paralyzed to 
 the ground. 
 
 1830. 
 
 Sun., Jan. 3. — Goethe showed me the English Annual, 
 u The Keepsake," for 1830, with very fine engravings, and 
 some extremely interesting letters from Lord Byron, which 
 I read after dinner. He himself had taken up the latest 
 French translation of his " Faust," by Gerard, which he 
 turned over, and seemed occasionally to read. 
 
 " Some singular thoughts pass through my head," said 
 he, " on reflecting that this book is now read in a language 
 over which Voltaire ruled fifty years ago. You cannot 
 understand my thoughts upon this subject, and have no 
 
422 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1S3O. 
 
 idea of the influence which Voltaire and his great con- 
 temporaries had in my youth, and how they governed the 
 whole civilized world. My biography does not clearly 
 show what was the influence of these men in my youth, 
 and what pains it cost me to defend myself against 
 them, and to maintain my own ground in a true relation to 
 nature." 
 
 We talked further about Voltaire, and Goethe recited to 
 me his poem " Les Systemes," from which I perceived 
 how he must have studied and appropriated such things in 
 early life. 
 
 He praised Gerard's translation as very successful, 
 although mostly in prose. 
 
 " I do not like," he said, " to read my ' Faust,' any more 
 in German, but in this French translation all seems again 
 fresh, new, and spirited." 
 
 " ' Faust,' " continued he, " is, however, quite incom- 
 mensurable, and all attempts to bring it nearer to the 
 understanding are in vain. Also, it should be considered 
 that the first part is the product of a somewhat dark state 
 in the individual. However, this very darkness has a 
 charm for men's minds, and they work upon it till they are 
 tired, as upon all insoluble problems." 
 
 Sun., Jan. 10. — This afternoon Goethe afforded me great 
 pleasure by reading the scene in which Faust visits the 
 Mothers. 
 
 The novelty and unexpectedness of the subject, and 
 Goethe's manner of reading the scene, struck me so forcibly, 
 that I felt myself wholly transported into the situation of 
 Fausfc when he shudders at the communication from 
 Mephistophiles. 
 
 Although 1 had heard and felt the whole, yet so much 
 remained an enigma to me, that I felt myself compelled ttf 
 ask Goethe for some explanation. But he, in his usual 
 manner, wrapped himself up in mystery, as he looked on 
 me ^ith wide open eyes, and repeated the words — 
 
 '"Die Mutter ! Mutter! 's klingt so mmderlich.' " 
 The Mothers ! Mothers ! nay, it sounds so strange. 
 
 " I can reveal to you no more," said he, " except that I 
 found, in Plutarch, that in ancient Greece mention was 
 
1830.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 423 
 
 made of the Mothers as divinities. This is all that I owe 
 to others, the rest is my own invention. Take the manu- 
 script home with you, study it carefully, and see what yon 
 can make of it." 
 
 I was very happy while studying this remarkable scene 
 once more in quiet, and took the following view of the 
 peculiar character and influence, the abode and outward 
 circumstances, of the Mothers : — 
 
 Could we imagine that that huge sphere our earth had 
 an empty space in its centre, so that one might go 
 hundreds of miles in one direction, without coming in 
 contact with anything corporeal, this would be the abode of 
 those unknown goddesses to whom Faust descends. They 
 live, as it were, beyond all place ; for nothing stands firm 
 in their neighbourhood : they also live beyond all time ; for 
 no heavenly body shines upon them which can rise or set, 
 and mark the alternation of day and night. 
 
 Thus, dwelling in eternal obscurity and loneliness, these 
 Mothers are creative beings ; they are the creating and 
 sustaining principle from which everything proceeds that 
 has life and form on the surface of the earth. Whatever 
 ceases to breathe returns to them as a spiritual nature, and 
 they preserve it until a fit occasion arises to come into 
 existence anew. All souls and forms of what has been, or 
 will be, hover about like clouds in the vast space of their 
 abode. So are the Mothers surrounded, and the magician 
 must enter their dominion, if he would obtain power over 
 the form of a being, and call back former existences to 
 seeming life. 
 
 The eternal metamorphosis of earthly existence, birth 
 and growth, destruction and new formation, are thus the 
 unceasing care of the Mothers ; and, as in everything which 
 receives new life on earth, the female principle is most in 
 operation, these creating divinities are rightly thought of 
 as female, and the august title of Mothers may be given to 
 them not without reason. 
 
 All this is, indeed, no more than a poetic creation ; but 
 the limited human mind cannot penetrate much further, 
 and is contented to find something on which it can repose. 
 Upon earth we see phenomena, and feel effects, of which 
 we do not know whence they come and whither they go. 
 
424 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1830, 
 
 We infer a spiritual origin — something divine, of which, we 
 have no notion, and for which we have no expression, and 
 which we must draw down to ourselves, and anthropomor- 
 phize, that we may in some degree embody and make 
 comprehensible our dark forebodings. 
 
 Thus have arisen all mythi, which from century to 
 
 century have lived among nations, and, in like manner, 
 
 this new one of Goethe's, which has at least the appearance 
 
 of some natural truth, and may be reckoned among the 
 
 , best that was ever devised. 
 
 (Sup.*) Mon., Jan. 18. — Goethe spoke of Lavater, and 
 said a great deal in praise of his character. He also related 
 to me traits of their early intimate friendship, and how in 
 former times they had often slept in the same bed. "It is 
 to be regretted," continued he, " that a weak mysticism sc 
 soon set bounds to the flight of his genius." 
 
 (Sup.*) Fri., Jan. 22. — We spoke about the History of 
 Napoleon by Walter Scott. " It is true," said Goethe, 
 " that the author may be reproached with great inaccuracy 
 and equally great partiality, but even these two defects 
 give to his work particular value in my eyes. The success 
 of the book, in England, was great beyond all expectation 
 and hence we see that Walter Scott, in this very hatred for 
 Napoleon and the French, has been the true interpreter and 
 representative of the English popular opinion and national 
 feeling. His book will not be by any means a document 
 for the history of France, but it will be one for the history 
 of England. At all events, it is a voice which could not 
 be wanting in this important historical process. 
 
 "It is generally agreeable to me to hear the most con' 
 trary opinions of Napoleon. I am now reading the work 
 by Bignon, which appears to me to possess particular 
 merit." 
 
 Sun., Jan. 24. — " I have lately received a letter from a 
 celebrated salt-miner at Stotternheim," said Goethe, "which 
 opens in a remarkable manner, and which I must communi- 
 cate to you. 
 
 " ; I have had an experience,' he writes, 'which will not 
 be lost upon me.' But what follows this introduction ? 
 Nothing less than a loss of at least a thousand dollars. 
 The shaft, whence you go down twelve hundred feet to the 
 
1830.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 425- 
 
 rock-salt, through a soft soil and stone, lie has incautiously 
 neglected to prop up at the sides. The soft soil has de- 
 tached itself, and has so filled up the pit, that an extremely 
 expensive operation is required to get it out again. He 
 will, then, at a depth of twelve hundred feet, put in metal 
 pipes, to be secure against the confluences of a similar 
 mischance. He should have done this at once, and he cer- 
 tainly would have done it, were there not in such people a 
 degree of rashness of which we have no notion, and which 
 is requisite for such enterprises. He is very easy about his 
 misfortune, and writes, ' I have had an experience which 
 will not be lost upon me.' This is quite the sort of man 
 that one likes ; a man who, without complaining, is at once 
 active again, and always on his feet. What say you to it ? 
 Is it not good? " 
 
 " It reminds me of Sterne,'' I replied, " who complains 
 that he had not used his sorrows like a reasonable man." 
 
 "It is something similar," said Goethe. 
 
 " I am also reminded of Behrisch," continued I, " when 
 he tells you what experience is. I have lately been reading 
 the chapter for renewed edification.* 
 
 "'Experience,' says he, 'is nothing else than that one 
 experiences by experience what one would not willingly 
 have experienced.' " 
 
 "Yes," said Goethe, smiling, "such are the old jokes 
 with which we so shamefully wasted our time." 
 
 "Behrisch," said I, "seems to have been a man full of 
 grace and elegance. How pleasant is the joke in the wine- 
 cellar, where he tries to prevent the young man from visit- 
 ing his mistress, and accomplishes this in the pleasantest 
 manner, fastening on his sword — now this way, now that — 
 till he makes everybody laugh, and causes the young man 
 to forget the appointed time." 
 
 " Yes," said Goethe, " that was pleasant ; it would 
 have been one of the most attractive scenes on the stage ; 
 indeed, Behrisch was altogether a good character for the 
 theatre." 
 
 We then talked over all the oddities told of Behrisch in 
 Goethe's "Life "; his grey clothes, where silk, satin, and 
 
 * That is to say, in Goethe's Autobiography (Dichtung und Wahr. 
 heit), Part II. Book vii. — Trans. 
 
426 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1S3O. 
 
 wool made strong contrasts one with another, and his con- 
 stant care always to dress himself in a new grey. Then 
 how lie wrote poems, imitated the compositor, and extolled 
 the dignity of the penman ; and how it was his favourite 
 pastime to lie at the window, to observe the dress of the 
 passers-by, and in his thoughts so to alter it that the people 
 would have been highly ridiculous if so attired. 
 
 " Then his ordinary joke with the postman ; how do you 
 like it ? is not that droll ? " 
 
 " I do not know it," said I ; " there is nothing about it 
 in your memoirs." 
 
 " Strange ! " said Goethe, " then I will tell it you. 
 When we were lying together at the window, and Behrisch 
 saw the letter-carrier coming up the street, and going from 
 one house to another, he would take out a groschen, and 
 lay it by him. on the window-sill. 
 
 " ' Do you see the letter-carrier ? ' said he, turning to me. 
 1 He is coming nearer and nearer, and he will be over here 
 immediately, I can see : he has a letter for you ; and what 
 a letter ! no ordinary affair, but a letter with a check in it ; 
 with a check for — I will not say how much; see, he is 
 coming in. No ! but he will come immediately. There he 
 is again. Now ! Here ! here ! my friend, this is the place ! 
 He goes by — how stupid ! 0, how stupid ! how can one be 
 so stupid, and act so unjustifiably ! Unjustifiably in two 
 respects ! Unjustifiably towards you, to whom he does not 
 bring the check which he had in his hands ; and quite 
 unjustifiably towards himself to lose this groschen, which 
 I had taken out for him, and which I now put up 
 again.' Then, with the greatest dignity, he would put the 
 groschen again into his pocket, and Ave had something 
 to laugh at." 
 
 I was amused with this anecdote, which was quite of a 
 piece with the rest. I asked Goethe whether he had ever 
 seen Behrisch in later days. 
 
 * ; 1 saw Mm again," said Goethe, " soon after my arrival 
 at Weimar, about the year 1776. when in company with 
 the Duke 1 made a visit to Dessau, whither Behrisch had 
 been invited as tutor of the Crown Prince. I found him 
 the same as ever — as a polished courtier of the best 
 humour." 
 
1830.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 4"27 
 
 "What did he say," asked I, " about your becoming so 
 famous in the interval ? " 
 
 " 'Did I not tell you so,' were his first words, 'was it 
 not right that you did not have your verses printed then, 
 and that you waited till you had done something really 
 good ? the things were indeed not so bad, otherwise I 
 should not have written them out. If we had remained 
 together, you should not have had even the others printed. 
 I would have copied them out for you, and they would 
 have gone off quite as well.' You see he was the same as 
 ever. He was liked at Court. I always saw him at the 
 Prince's table. I saw him for the last time in the year 
 1801, when he had become old, but was still in the best 
 humour. He occupied some very handsome apartments in 
 the castle, one of w r hich he completely filled with geraniums, 
 which were then all the rage. iSTow, the botanists had made 
 some distinctions and divisions among the geraniums, 
 and had given a certain class the name of pelargoniums. 
 This the old gentleman could not bear, and he abused the 
 botanists sorely. ' The blockheads ! ' said he, ' I think I 
 have filled my room w T ith geraniums, and now they come 
 in and tell me they are pelargoniums. What have I to do 
 with them if they are not geraniums, and what have I to 
 do Avith pelargoniums ? ' Thus he would go on for the half 
 hour together, and you will see that he quite kept up his 
 old character." 
 
 We then talked about the " Classical Walpurgis-night," * 
 the beginning of which Goethe had lately read me. 
 
 "The mythological figures which crowd upon me," said 
 he, " are innumerable, but I restrain myself, and merely select 
 those that produce the proper pictorial effect. Faust has 
 now met Chiron, and I hope I shall be successful with the 
 scene. If I work hard I shall have done the Walpurgis- 
 night in a couple of months. Nothing more shall take me 
 off ' Faust,' for it will be odd enough if I live to finish it, 
 and yet it is possible. The fifth act is as good as done, and 
 the fourth will almost write itself." 
 
 Goethe then talked about his health, and congratulated 
 himself about keeping so constantly well. "My good state 
 
 * In the second part of " Faust." — Trans. 
 
428 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1830., 
 
 of preservation," said he, " I owe to Yogel — without him. I 
 should have gone off long ago. Yogel was born for a 
 physician, and is one of the most decided geniuses I ever 
 knew. However, we will not say how good he is, for fear 
 he should be taken away from us." 
 
 (Sup.*) Mon., Jan. 25. — I brought Groethe the indexes of 
 Dumont's literary remains, which I had made as a pre- 
 paration for their publication. Groethe read them with 
 great attention, and appeared astonished at the mass of 
 knowledge, interest, and ideas which he had reason to sup- 
 pose existed in the author of such varied and copious 
 manuscripts. 
 
 " Dumont," said he, "must have possessed a mind of 
 great extent. Amongst the subjects which he has treated 
 there is not one which is not interesting and important in 
 itself, and the choice of subjects always shows of what stuff 
 a man is made. It is not desirable that the human intel- 
 lect should possess such universality as to treat all subjects 
 with equal talent and felicity ; but even if the author does 
 not succeed equally with them ail, the mere attempt and 
 desire to treat them give me a very high opinion of him. I 
 consider it particularly remarkable and estimable that a 
 practical, useful, and benevolent tendency prevails in all he 
 does." 
 
 I had also brought him the first chapter of the " Travels 
 to Paris," which I would have read to him, but which he 
 preferred to study alone. 
 
 He then joked upon the difficulty of reading, and the 
 presumption of many people, who, without any previous 
 study and preparatory knowledge, would at once read every 
 philosophical and scientific work, as if it were nothing but 
 a romance. " The good people," continued he, "know not 
 what time and trouble it costs to learn to read. I have been 
 employed for eighteen years on it, and cannot say that I . 
 have reached the goal yet." 
 
 (Sup.) Wed., Jan. 27. — I dined very happily with 
 Goethe. He spoke with great commendation of Herr von 
 Martius. " His discovery of the spiral tendency," said he, 
 " is of the highest importance. If I had anything more 
 to desire in him it would be that he should carry out his 
 discovered primitive phenomenon (Urphanomenon) with 
 
183O.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 429 
 
 decided boldness, and have the courage to announce a fact 
 as a law, without too much seeking its confirmation at a 
 distance." 
 
 He then showed me the transactions of the natural 
 philosophical assembly at Heidelberg, with fac-similes of 
 the handwriting printed on the back, which we observed, 
 and formed our conclusions upon the character. 
 
 "I know very well," said Goethe, " that science does 
 not derive so much benefit from these meetings as one 
 might imagine, but they are excellent, inasmuch as people 
 learn to know and esteem one another ; whence it follows 
 that a new doctrine of a distinguished man gains currency, 
 and he in his turn becomes inclined to acknowledge and 
 assist us in our tendencies of another department. Under 
 every circumstance we see that something happens, and 
 no one can tell what may come of it." 
 
 Goethe then showed me a letter from an English author 
 with the address — To his Highness the Prince Goethe. 
 " For this title I have probably to thank the German journal- 
 ists," said Goethe, laughing, " who, out of too great love, 
 have named me the prince of German poets. And the conse- 
 quence of the innocent German error, is the equally innocent 
 English one." 
 
 Goethe then returned to Herr von Martius, and praised 
 him for possessing imagination. " In fact," continued he, 
 " a great natural philosopher without this high gift is im- 
 possible. 1 do not mean an imagination which goes into 
 the vague and imagines things which do not exist ; but I 
 mean one which does not abandon the actual soil of the 
 earth, and which steps to supposed and conjectured things 
 by the standard of the real and the known. Then it may 
 prove whether this or that supposition be possible, and 
 whether it is not in contradiction with known laws. Such 
 an imagination presupposes an enlarged tranquil mind, 
 which has at its command a wide survey of the living 
 world and its laws." 
 
 Whilst we were speaking, a packet arrived containing 
 a translation of " Die Geschwister " (the Brother and 
 Sister) into Bohemian, which appeared to give Goethe 
 great pleasure. 
 
 Sun.. Jan. 31. — Dined with Goethe. "We talked of Milton. 
 
4oU CONVERSATION'S OF GOETHE. L l8 3°- 
 
 n 
 
 I liave lately," said Goethe, " read his ' Samson,' 
 which, has more of the antique spirit than any production 
 of any other modern poet. He is very great, and his own 
 blindness enabled him to describe with so much truth the 
 situation of Samson. Milton was really a poet ; one to 
 whom we owe all possible respect." 
 
 The newspapers were brought in, and we saw in the 
 Berlin theatrical intelligence that whales and sea monsters 
 had been introduced on the stage there. 
 
 Goethe read in the French paper " Le Temps," an 
 article on the enormous revenue of the English clergy, 
 which amounts to more than in all the rest of Christendom 
 put together. 
 
 " It has been maintained," said Goethe, " that the 
 world is governed by pay ; this I know, that from pay 
 we can find out whether it is well or ill governed." 
 
 (Sup.*) Sun., Jan. 31. — Paid a visit to Goethe, in 
 company with the Prince. He received us in his work- 
 room. 
 
 We spoke of the different editions of his works, when I 
 was surprised to hear that he himself did not possess the 
 greater part of these editions. He had not even the first 
 edition of his "Roman Carnival," with engravings from 
 his own original drawing. He had bid, he said, six dollars 
 for it at an auction, but did not get it. 
 
 He then showed us the first manuscript of his " Gotz von 
 Berlichingen," quite in the original form, just as he had 
 written it fifty years ago, in a few weeks, at the instigation 
 of his sister. The fine strokes of the handwriting already 
 bore completely the free clear character which his later 
 German writing afterwards retained, and retains even 
 now. The manuscript was very clear, whole pages could 
 be read without the least correction, so that one would 
 rather take it for a copy than the first rough draft. 
 
 Goethe wrote his earliest works, as he told us, with 
 his own hand, even his "Werther"; but the manuscript 
 has been lost. In later times, on the contrary, he has 
 dictated almost everything, and there are only poems and 
 lightly noted sketches in his own hand. Very often he 
 did not think of taking a copy of a new production ; but 
 frequently abandoned the most valuable works to chance. 
 
183O.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 431 
 
 often sending the only copy he possessed to the printing- 
 office at Stuttgard. 
 
 After we had sufficiently looked at the manuscript of 
 " Gotz von Berlichingen," Goethe showed us the original 
 of his " Italian Journey." In these daily noted down 
 observations and remarks, there are the same good qualities 
 in the handwriting as in the " Gotz." Ail is decided, 
 firm, and sure ; there are no corrections ; and one sees 
 that the details of his momentary notes were always fresh 
 and clear in the mind of the writer. Nothing could have 
 been changed for the better excepting the paper, which 
 was different in form and colour in every town at which 
 the traveller stopped. 
 
 Towards the end of the manuscript I found a spirited 
 pen-and-ink drawing by Goethe, namely, the representa- 
 tion of an Italian advocate, holding a speech before the 
 court in his robe of office. It was the most remarkable 
 figure that one could imagine, and the dress was so striking, 
 that one would have thought he had chosen it to go to a 
 masquerade. And yet all was but a faithful copy of real 
 life. With his forefinger upon the point of his thumb, 
 and the rest of his fingers stretched out, the stout orator 
 stood comfortablv enough, and this slisrht movement was 
 in perfect accordance with the great perruque with which 
 he had adorned himself. 
 
 Wed., Feb. 3. — Dined with Goethe. We talked of Mozart. 
 
 " I saw him," said Goethe, "at seven years old, when 
 he gave a concert while travelling our way. I myself v. ;<-■ 
 about fourteen years old, and remember perfectly the little 
 man, with his frisure and sword." 
 
 I stared, for it seemed to me almost wonderful that 
 Goethe was old enough to have seen Mozart when a child. 
 
 (Sup. *) Wed., Feb. 3.— We spoke of the " Globe" and 
 the "Temps," and this led to the French literature and 
 literati. 
 
 " Guizot," said Goethe, amongst other things, " is a man 
 after my own heart ; he is solid. He possesses deep 
 knowledge, combined with an enlightened liberality, which 
 being above parties goes its own way. I am curious to 
 see what part he will play in the Chamber, to which he 
 has iust been elected." 
 
432 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1830. 
 
 " People, who only appear to know him superficially," 
 returned I, " have described him as somewhat pedantic." 
 
 "It remains to be known," answered Goethe, "with 
 what sort of pedantry he is reproached. All distinguished 
 men who, in their mode of life adopt a sort of regularity 
 and firm principles, who have reflected much, and who 
 do not trifle with the affairs of life, may very easily 
 appear to be pedants in the eyes of superficial observers. 
 Guizot is a far-seeing, calm, constant man, who in the 
 face of fickleness cannot be sufficiently prized, and is 
 exactly such a man as they want. 
 
 " Villemain," continued Goethe, " is perhaps more 
 brilliant as an orator ; he possesses the art of thoroughly 
 developing a subject from its foundation ; he is never at 
 a loss for striking expressions with which to fix the atten- 
 tion of his hearers, and awaken them to loud applause ; 
 but he is far more superficial than Guizot, and far less 
 practical. 
 
 " As for Cousin, he can indeed give little to us Germans, 
 since the philosophy which he introduces to his country- 
 men as something new has been known to us for years ; 
 but he is of great importance for the French. He will 
 give them an entirely new tendency. 
 
 " Cuvier, the great naturalist, is admirable for his power 
 of representation and his style. No one expounds a 
 fact better than he ; but he has scarcely any philosophy. 
 He will bring up very well informed, but few profound 
 scholars." 
 
 It was the more interesting to me to hear all this, as it 
 accorded with Dumont's view of the persons in question. 
 I promised Goethe to copy the passages relating to this 
 subject from Dumont's manuscript, that he might compare 
 them with his own opinion. 
 
 The mention of Dumont brought the conversation to 
 the intimacy of Dumont with Bentham, on which subject 
 Goethe expressed himself as follows : — 
 
 " It is an interesting problem for me," said he, " when 
 I see that a rational and moderate man like Dumont could 
 be the disciple and faithful worshipper of that madman 
 Bentham." 
 
 "To a certain extent," returned I, "Bentham is to be 
 
1830.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. t33 
 
 looked upon as a twofold person. I distinguish Bentham 
 the genius — who discovered the principles which Dumont 
 rescued from oblivion, by working them out — from Ben- 
 tham the impassioned, who, through an exaggerated zeal 
 for utility, overstepped the limits of his own doctrine, and 
 thus became a radical both in politics and in religion." 
 
 " That is a new problem for me," returned Goethe, " that 
 an old man can close the career of a long life, by becoming 
 a radical in Iris last days." 
 
 I endeavoured to solve this contradiction, by remarking 
 that Bentham, being fully convinced of the excellence of 
 his doctrine and his legislation, and of the impossibility of 
 introducing them into England without an entire change in 
 the system of Government, allowed himself to be carried 
 away so much the more by his passionate zeal, as he came 
 but little into contact with the outward world, and was 
 unable to judge of the danger of violent overthrow. 
 
 " Dumont, on the contrary," continued I, " who possesses 
 more clearness and less passion, has never approved of 
 Bentham's exaggeration, and has been far removed from 
 falling into a like fault himself. Besides, he has had the 
 advantage of applying Bentham's principles in a country 
 which, in consequence of the political events of the times, 
 might be regarded as new — namely, in Geneva, where 
 everything perfectly succeeded, and the fortunate result 
 proved the worth of the principle." 
 
 " Dumont," returned Goethe, "is a moderate liberal, 
 just as all rational people are and ought to be, and as 1 
 myself am. It is in this spirit I have endeavoured to act 
 during a long life. 
 
 " The true liberal," he continued, " endeavours to effect 
 as much good as he can, with the means which he has at 
 command ; but he would not extirpate evils, which are 
 often inevitable, with fire and sword. He endeavours, by 
 a judicious progress, gradually to remove glaring defects, 
 without at the same time destroying an equal amount of 
 good by violent measures. He contents himself in this ever 
 imperfect world with what is good, until time and circum- 
 stances favour his attaining something better." 
 
 (Sup.) Sat., Feb. 6. — Dined with Frau von Goethe. 
 Young Goethe related some pleasant anecdotes of his grand- 
 
 •2 v 
 
434 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [183O. 
 
 mother, " Fran Rath Goethe," of Frankfort, whom he had 
 visited twenty years before as a stndent, and with whom he 
 was one day invited to dine at the Prince Primate's. The 
 Prince, as a mark of particular politeness, had come to 
 meet the Fran Rath on the stairs ; bnt as he wore his nsnal 
 clerical costnme, she took him for an Abbe, and paid him 
 no particular respect. Even when first seated by his side 
 at table, she did not pnt on the most friendly face. In the 
 course of the conversation, however, she gradually per- 
 ceived, from the deportment of the rest of the guests, that 
 he was the Primate. The Prince then drank the health of 
 her and her son, whereupon she rose and proposed the 
 health of his Highness. 
 
 Sun., Feb. 7. — Dined with Goethe. A great deal of con- 
 versation about the Prince Primate — that he had contrived 
 to defend him by a skilful turn at the Empress of Austria's 
 table ; the Prince's deficiency in philosophy ; his dilettante 
 love of painting, without taste ; the picture given to Miss 
 Gore ; his goodness of heart and weak liberality, which at 
 last brought him to povertv. Conversation on the nature 
 of the " Desobligeant." After dinner young Goethe, with 
 Walter and Wolf, appeared in his masquerade dress, in the 
 character of Klingsohr, and then went to Court. 
 
 Wed., Feb. 10. — Dined with Goethe. He spoke with real 
 gratification of the poem written by Riemer, for the festival 
 of the 2nd February. 
 
 " All," added Goethe, " that Riemer does is fit to be seen 
 both by master and journeyman." 
 
 We talked also of the classic Walpurgis-night, and he 
 said that he came to things which surprised even himself. 
 The subject, too, had become more diffuse than he had 
 expected. 
 
 " I am not half through it," said he, " but I will keep to 
 it, and hope to have finished it by Easter. You shall see 
 nothing more of it before, but, as soon as it is done, I will 
 give it to you to take home, that you may examine it 
 quietly. If you made up the thirty- eighth and thirty-ninth 
 volumes,* so that we might send off the last part at Easter, 
 it would be a good arrangement, and we should have the 
 
 * That is, of Goethe's complete works ; 
 
183O.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 435 
 
 summer open for something great. I would occupy my- 
 self with Faust, and endeavour to get over the fourth act." 
 
 I was pleased with this notion, and promised ever; 
 assistance on my part. 
 
 Goethe then sent his servant to inquire after the Grand. 
 Duchess Dowager, who had been very ill, and seemed to 
 hini in a dangerous situation. 
 
 "She should not have seen the masquerade," said he; "but 
 princes are accustomed to have their own way, and thus all 
 the protests of the Court and the physicians were in vain. 
 With the same strong will with which she once confronted 
 Napoleon, she now resists her bodily weakness ; and can 
 foresee already that she will go off, like the Grand Duke, in 
 the full vigour and mastery of her mind, although her 
 body may have ceased to obey it." 
 
 Goethe appeared in low spirits, and remained silent for 
 a while. Soon, however, we again conversed on cheerful 
 subjects ; and he told me of a book written in defence of 
 Sir Hudson Lowe. 
 
 " It contains," he said, " most valuable traits, which can 
 only have been derived from immediate eye-witnesses. 
 You know that Napoleon ordinarily wore a dark-green 
 uniform. It was at last so much worn and sunburnt as 
 entirely to lose its colour, and a necessity was felt of sup- 
 plying its place with another. He wished for the same 
 dark-green colour, but no article of the sort was to bo 
 found in the island. There was indeed a green cloth, but 
 the colour was not pure, and ran into a yellowish tinge. 
 The lord of the world found it intolerable to put such a 
 colour on his body, a nd nothing was left but to turn his 
 old uniform, and wear it in that way. 
 
 "What do you say to that? Is it not a perfectly tragic 
 trait ? Is it not touching to see the master of kings so 
 reduced at last that he must wear a turned uniform ? And 
 yet, when we reflect that such an end befell a man who 
 had trampled underfoot the life and happiness of millions, 
 his fate appears after all very mild. Fate is here a Nemesis, 
 who, in consideration of the hero's greatness, cannot avoid 
 being a little generous. Napoleon affords us an example of 
 the danger of elevating oneself to the Absolute, and 
 .sacrificing everything to the carrying out of an idea." 
 
 2f2 
 
436 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1830- 
 
 We said a good deal more in reference to this sub- 
 ject, and then I went to the theatre to see the " Star of 
 Seville." 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., Feb. 10. — To-day, after dinner, I was for 
 a moment with Goethe. He rejoiced at the approaching 
 spring, and the increasing length of the days. We then 
 spoke of the theory of colours. He appeared to doubt the 
 possibility of opening a path for his simple theory. " The 
 errors of my opponents," said he, " have been too generally 
 spread during a century for me to hope to find any com- 
 panions on my solitary way. I shall remain alone ! I often 
 compare myself to a shipwrecked man, who has seized 
 upon a plank which is only sufficient to bear one per- 
 son. This one is saved, whilst all the rest are miserably 
 drowned." 
 
 Sun., Feb. 14 — To-day, on my way to Goethe, who had 
 invited me to dinner, I heard of the Grand Duchess 
 Dowager's death, which had just happened. " What effect 
 will this news have on Goethe at his advanced age ? " was 
 my first thought, and I entered the house with some appre- 
 hension. The servants said his daughter-in-law was gone 
 to him to tell him the sad news. 
 
 " For more than fifty years," thought I, "he was attached 
 to this princess, and blessed with her especial favour and 
 friendship ; her death must deeply move him." 
 
 With such feelings I entered his room, but was not a 
 little surprised to find him in his usual cheerfulness and 
 vigour, taking his soup with his daughter-in-law and grand- 
 children, as if nothing had happened. 
 
 We went on talking cheerfully of indifferent things. 
 Presently all the bells began to toll; Frau von Goethe 
 looked at me, and we talked louder, that the tone of the 
 death-bells might not shock him ; for we thought he felt 
 like us. However, he did not feel like us ; his mind was in 
 a wholly different position. He sat before us, like a being 
 of a higher order, inaccessible to earthly woes. 
 
 Hofrath Vogel was announced. He sat down, and told 
 us all the circumstances of the last hours of the noble de- 
 parted; to which Goethe listened with the same perfect 
 calmness and composure. Vogel went away, and we con- 
 tinued our conversation at dinner on other subjects. 
 
J 830.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 437 
 
 Wc talked a great deal about the " Chaos," and Goethe 
 praised the "Reflections on Play," in the last number, as 
 excellent. When Frau von Goethe retired with her chil- 
 dren, I was left alone with Goethe. 
 
 He talked to me of his classic Walpurgis-night, saying 
 he was getting forward in it every day, and effecting wonder- 
 ful things, beyond his expectation. 
 
 He then showed me a letter which he had to-day received 
 from the King of Bavaria, and which I read with great 
 interest. The King's true and noble turn of mind was 
 manifested in every line ; and Goethe seemed much 
 pleased by Ins remaining so constantly the same towards 
 him. 
 
 Hofrath Soret was now announced, and joined us ; he 
 came with a message of condolence from her Imperial 
 Highness to Goethe, which contributed to make him even 
 more cheerful. He continued the conversation, and spoke 
 of the celebrated Ninon de l'Enclos, who, in her sixteenth 
 year, and in all her beauty, lay apparently on her deathbed, 
 and with the most perfect composure comforted those who 
 stood around it, saying, " What is it, after all ? I leave 
 mere mortals behind me ! " However, she lived to the age 
 of ninety ; after having to her eightieth year made happy 
 or desperate hundreds of lovers. 
 
 Goethe then talked of Gozzi, and his theatre at "Venice, 
 where the actors had merely subjects given them, and 
 filled up the details impromptu. Gozzi said there were 
 only six- and- thirty tragic situations. Schiller thought 
 there were more, but could never succeed in finding even 
 so many. 
 
 Then many interesting things were said about Grimm ; 
 his life and character, and his distrust of paper-money. 
 
 (Sup.*) Sun., Feb. 14.f — This was a day of mourning for 
 Weimar ; the Grand Duchess Louise died this afternoon, 
 at half-past one o'clock. The reigning Grand Duchess 
 ordered me to pay visits of condolence, in her name, to 
 Traulein von Waldner and Goethe. 
 
 I went first to Fraulein von Waldner. I found her in 
 
 f This conversation, recorded by Soret, is the same as the pre- 
 ceding one recorded by Eckermann, but is given at greater length. — 
 Trans. 
 
438 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1830, 
 
 tears and deep affliction, quite abandoned to the feeling of 
 her loss. " I was," said she, " for more than fifty years in 
 the service of the late Princess. She herself chose me for 
 her maid of honour. And this free choice on her side was 
 my pride and my happiness. I forsook my native land t< > 
 live in her service. Would she had now taken me with 
 her, that I should not have so long to sigh for a reunion ! " 
 
 I then went to Goethe. But how very different was his 
 condition ! He certainly did not feel the loss less deeply ; 
 but he appeared to be perfectly master of his own feelings. 
 I found him sitting at dinner with a good friend, and 
 drinking a bottle of wine. He spoke with animation, and 
 appeared to be altogether in a very cheerful mood. " Well,"' 
 said he, when he saw me, " come here, take your place. 
 The blow which has long menaced us has at last fallen, and 
 at least we have no longer to struggle with cruel uncer- 
 tainty. We must now see how we can reconcile ourselves 
 to life again." 
 
 " These are your comforters," said I, pointing to his 
 papers. " Work is an excellent means of reviving our 
 spirits under trials." 
 
 " As long as it is day," returned Groethe, " we can keep 
 our heads up, and as long as we can produce we shall not 
 fail." 
 
 He then spoke of persons who had attained a great age,, 
 and mentioned the renowned Ninon. 
 
 " Even in her. ninetieth year," said he, " she was young ; 
 but she understood how to maintain her equilibrium, and 
 did not trouble herself with worldly affairs more than she 
 ought. Death itself inspired her with no very great 
 respect. When in her eighteenth * year she was afflicted 
 with a severe illness, and the bystanders represented to her 
 the danger she was in, she said quite calmly — ' What would 
 it be after all ? I should leave only mortals behind me ! r 
 She lived seventy years after that, amiable and beloved, and 
 enjoying all the pleasures of life ; but with this peculiar 
 equanimity constantly upholding herself above every con- 
 suming passion. Ninon knew what she was about ; there> 
 are few who imitate her." 
 
 * "Sixteenth." in Eckermann'3 narrative. — Trans. 
 
I 830. J CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 430 
 
 He then handed me a letter from the King 1 of Bavaria, 
 which he had received to-day, and which probably contri- 
 buted not a little to his cheerful humour. "Read," said 
 he, "and confess that the kindness which the King- 
 continually shows me, and the lively interest which he takes 
 in the progress of literature and the higher human develop- 
 ment, is calculated to give me pleasure. And I thank 
 Heaven, as for a particular favour, that I have received 
 this letter just on this day." 
 
 We then spoke of the theatre, and dramatic poetry. 
 
 " Gozzi," said Goethe, " would maintain that there are 
 only six-and-thirty tragical situations. Schiller took the 
 greatest pains to find more, but he did not find even so 
 many as Gozzi." 
 
 This led to an article in the " Globe," viz., a critical 
 exposition of the " Gustavus Vasa " of Arnault. The style 
 and manner which the critic adopted gave Goethe great 
 pleasure, and received his perfect approbation. The judge 
 has contented himself with mentioning all the reminiscences 
 of the author, without further attacking him or his 
 poetical principles. 
 
 11 The critic of ' Le Temps,' " added Goethe, " has not 
 been so wise. He presumes to point out to the poet the 
 way he should go. This is a great fault ; for one cannot 
 thus make him better. Generally, there is nothing more 
 foolish than to say to a poet : ' You should have done this 
 in this way — and that in that.' I speak from long ex- 
 perience. One can never make anything of a poet but 
 what nature has intended him to be. If you force him to 
 be another, you will destroy him. Xow, the gentlemen of 
 the ' Globe,' as I said before, act very wisely. They print 
 a long list of all the commonplaces which M. Arnault has 
 picked up from every hole and corner ; and by doing tins 
 they very cleverly point out the rock which the author has 
 to avoid in future. It is almost impossible, in the present 
 day, to find a situation which is thoroughly new. It is 
 merely the manner of looking at it, and the art of treat inl- 
 and representing it, which can be new, and one must be 
 the more cautious of every imitation." 
 
 Goethe then related to us how Gozzi managed his 
 "Teatro del Arte" in Venice, and how much his im- 
 
440 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1830. 
 
 provising troop was liked. "I have," said lie, " seen two 
 actresses of that troop, particularly ' La Brighella ' ; and I 
 have seen several other improvised pieces of the sort. The 
 effect produced by these people was extraordinary." 
 
 Goethe then spoke of the Neapolitan " Pulcinella." 
 " One of the chief jokes of this hero of low comedy," said 
 he, " consisted in seeming sometimes to forget his part as 
 an actor. He pretended to have returned home, talked 
 familiarly with his family, told them about the piece in 
 which he had acted, and of another in which he was about 
 to act, — ' But, my dear husband,' his wife would exclaim, 
 'you appear to forget the august company in whose 
 presence you are.' ' E Vero ! E Vero ! ' returned 
 Pulcinella, recollecting himself; and then, amidst the 
 applause of the spectators, he returned to his former part. 
 The theatre of Pulcinella is in such repute, that no one in 
 good society boasts of having been there. Ladies, as you 
 may suppose, never go there at all ; it is only frequented 
 by men. Pulcinella is, in fact, a sort of living newspaper. 
 Everything remarkable that has happened in Naples during 
 the day may be heard from him in the evening. However, 
 these local allusions, combined with his low popular 
 dialect, make it almost impossible for foreigners to under- 
 stand him." 
 
 Goethe turned the conversation to other reminiscences of 
 Iris former days. He spoke of his small confidence in 
 paper currency, and of the experiences he had had in this 
 respect. By way of confirmation, he told us an anecdote 
 of Grimm, about the time of the French Revolution, when 
 thinking it no longer safe to remain in Paris, he returned 
 to Germany, and lived at Gotha. 
 
 "We were one day dining at Grimm's," said Goethe. 
 " I know not now how the conversation led to it, but Grimm 
 said : ' I wager that no monarch in Europe possesses so 
 costly a pair of ruffles as I do ; and that no one has paid so 
 high a price as I have.' You may imagine that we loudly 
 expressed incredulous astonishment, particularly the ladies, 
 and that we were all very curious to see so wonderful a 
 pair of ruffles. Grimm rose accordingly, and brought from 
 his press a pair of lace ruffles, of such beauty, that we all 
 burst into loud admiration. We endeavoured to set a 
 
J 830.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 441 
 
 price upon them, but still we could not value them more 
 highly than at about a hundred or two hundred louis d'or. 
 Grimm laughed and exclaimed : ' You are very far from 
 the mark ; I paid twice a hundred and fifty thousand 
 francs, and was lucky in laying out my assignats so well. 
 The next day they were not worth a groschen.' " 
 
 (Sup.*) Mon., Feb. 15. — I was this morning with 
 Goethe for a moment, to inquire after his health in the 
 name of the Grand Duchess. I found him sad and 
 thoughtful, without a trace of yesterday's rather violent 
 excitement. He appeared to-day to feel deeply the chasm 
 which death had made in the friendly intimacy of fifty 
 years. 
 
 " I must work very hard," said he, " to keep myself up, 
 and to support myself under this sudden separation. Death 
 is something so strange, that, notwithstanding all ex- 
 perience, one thinks it impossible for it to seize a beloved 
 object ; and it always presents itself as something incredible 
 and unexpected. It is, to a certain extent, an impossibility 
 which suddenly becomes a reality. And this transition 
 from an existence which we know, to another of which we 
 know nothing, is something so violent, that it cannot take 
 place without the greatest shock to the survivors." 
 
 Wed. Feb. 17. — We talked of the theatre — of the colour 
 of the scenes and costumes. The result was as follows : — 
 
 Generally, the scenes should have a tone favourable to 
 every colour of the dresses, like Beuther's scenery, which 
 has more or less of a brownish tinge, and brings out the 
 colour of the dresses with perfect freshness. If, however, 
 the scene-painter is obliged to dejDart from so favourable an 
 undecided tone, and to represent a red or yellow chamber 
 a white tent or a green garden, the actors should be clever 
 enough to avoid similar colours in their dresses. If an actor 
 in a red uniform and green breeches enters a red room, the 
 upper part of his body vanishes, and only his legs are seen ; 
 if, with the same dress, he enters a green garden, Ins legs 
 vanish, and the upper part of his body is conspicuous. 
 Thus I saw an actor in a white uniform and dark breeches, 
 the upper part of whose body completely vanished in a 
 white tent, while the legs disappeared against a dark back- 
 ground. 
 
442 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1830, 
 
 " Even," said Goethe, " when the scene-painter is obliged 
 to have a red or yellow chamber, or a green garden oi« 
 wood, these colours should be somewhat faint and hazy, 
 that every dress in the foreground may be relieved and 
 produce the proper effect." 
 
 "We talked about the Iliad, and Goethe called my atten- 
 tion to the following beautiful motive, — viz., that Achilles 
 is put into a state of inaction for some time, that the other 
 characters may appear and develop themselves. 
 
 Of his " WahlverwancTtschaften," he says that there is 
 not a touch in it which he had not experienced, and, at the 
 same time, not a touch just as he had experienced it. He 
 said the same thing of the Sesenheim story.* 
 
 After dinner we looked through a portfolio of the Nether- 
 land school. A view of a harbour, where on one side men 
 are taking in fresh water, and on the other some are play- 
 ing dice on a barrel, gave occasion to some fine remarks, as 
 to how the real must be avoided, not to injure the effect of 
 a work of art. The principal light falls on the top of the 
 barrel ; the dice are thrown, as may be seen by the gestures 
 of the men, but they are not marked on the surface of the 
 barrel, as they would have intercepted the light, and thus 
 have marred the effect. 
 
 Ruysdael's studies for his Churchyard were then looked 
 over, and we saw what pains even such a master had taken. 
 
 Sun., Feb. 21. — Dined with Goethe. He showed me the 
 air-plant (Luft-pflanze~), which I looked at with great in- 
 terest. I remarked therein an effort to continue its 
 existence as long as possible, before permitting its suc- 
 cessor to manifest itself. 
 
 " I have determined," said Goethe, " to read neither the" 
 ' Temps ' nor the ' Globe ' for a month to come. Things 
 are in such a position, that some event of importance must 
 happen within that time ; I will wait till the news comes to 
 me from without. My classical "Walpurgis-night will gain 
 from this abstinence ; besides, one gets nothing from such 
 interests — a consideration oftentimes left too much out of 
 mind." 
 
 He then showed me a letter, written by Boisseree, from. 
 
 * The story of Frederica in " Dichtung und Wahrheit." — Trans. 
 
1830.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 443 
 
 Munich, which, had given him great pleasure, and which x 
 likewise read with delight. Boisseree spoke especially of 
 the " Second Residence in Rome," and on some points in 
 the last number of " Kunst und Alterthum " (Art and 
 Antiquity). His judgment showed equal good will and 
 profundity ; and we found an opportunity to talk much of 
 the culture and activity of this valuable man. 
 
 Goethe then spoke of a new picture, by Cornelius, as 
 being very fine in conception and execution ; and the 
 remark was made, that the real occasion for the good 
 colouring of a picture lay in the composition. 
 
 Afterwards, during a walk, the air-plant came again into 
 my mind, and I had the thought that a being goes on con- 
 tinuing its existence, and then collects itself to reproduce its 
 like. This law of nature reminded me of the legend in 
 which we conceive God living alone in the beginning of all 
 things, and then creating the Son, who is like Himself. So, 
 too, good masters find nothing more appropriate to do than 
 to form good scholars, by whom their efforts and principles 
 may be continued. Even so every work of a poet or artist 
 must be looked upon as his like; if that is excellent, he 
 who made it must also have been excellent. Thus no good 
 work by another shall ever excite envy in me, since from 
 its existence I must infer that of an excellent man worthy 
 to produce it. 
 
 Wed, Feb. 24.— Dined with Goethe. We talked of 
 Homer. I remarked that the interposition of the gods 
 immediately borders on the Real. 
 
 " That is infinitely delicate and human," said Goethe, 
 " and I thank Heaven the times are gone by when the 
 French called this interposition of the gods machinery 
 But really to learn to appreciate merits so vast required 
 some time, for it demanded a complete regeneration of their 
 culture." 
 
 He said lie had given a new touch to the apparition of 
 Helena, to enhance her beauty, which was suggested by a 
 remark of mine, and did honour to my perceptions. 
 
 After dinner, Goethe showed me a sketch from a picture 
 by Cornelius — Orpheus, before the throne of Pluto, suppli- 
 cating for the release of Eurydice. The picture seemed to 
 
444 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [183O. 
 
 us well considered, and the details excellent ; yet it did not 
 quite satisfy or yield a genuine pleasure to the mind. Per- 
 haps, we thought, the colouring may bring with it greater 
 harmony, or perhaps the following moment, when Orpheus 
 has conquered the heart of Pluto, and Eurydice is restored 
 to him, would have been more favourable. The situation 
 would not in that case have been so fraught with excitement 
 and expectation, but would rather have given complete 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Mon., March 1. — Dined at Goethe's, with Hofrath Voigt, 
 of Jena. The conversation turned entirely on subjects of 
 natural history, in which Hofrath Voigt displayed the most 
 various and comprehensive knowledge. 
 
 Goethe mentioned that he had received a letter contain- 
 ing this objection to his system, — that the cotyledons are 
 not leaves, because they have no eyes behind them. But 
 we satisfied ourselves, by examining various plants, that the 
 cotyledons have eyes, as well as all the following leaves. 
 
 Voigt says that the apercu of the "Metamorphosis of 
 Plants " is one of the most fruitful discoveries which 
 researches into natural history have given to modern times. 
 
 "We spoke of collections of stuffed birds ; and Groethe 
 told us how an Englishman kept several hundreds of living 
 birds in large cages. The stuffed birds pleased him so well, 
 that the thought occurred to him it would be better to kill 
 them all, and have them stuffed ; and this whim he at once 
 carried into effect. 
 
 Voigt mentioned that he was about to translate Cuvier's 
 " Natural History," and publish it, with some additions of 
 his own. 
 
 After dinner, when Voigt had gone, Goethe showed me 
 the manuscript of his " Walpurgis-nacht," and I was 
 astonished to see to what a bulk it had grown. 
 
 Wed, March 3. — Went to walk with Goethe before 
 dinner. He spoke favourably of my poem on the King of 
 Bavaria, observing that Lord Byron had had a favourable 
 influence upon me, but that I still wanted what is called 
 convenance, in which Voltaire was so great ; and he recom- 
 mended me to take him as my model. 
 
 At table we talked of Wieland, particularly of his 
 " Oberon ; " and Goethe was of opinion that the foundation 
 
1830.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 445 
 
 was weak, and that the plan had not been sufficiently 
 thought over before the execution was begun. It was not 
 well judged, he thought, to let a spirit procure the hairs 
 and teeth, because the hero is thus left inactive. But the 
 pregnant, graceful, ingenious treatment of this great poet 
 makes the book so attractive to the reader, that he never 
 thinks of the foundation, but reads on. 
 
 "We continued talking on various subjects, till at last we" 
 came to the entelecheia. 
 
 " The obstinacy of the individual, and the fact that 
 man shakes off what does not suit him," said Goethe, " is a 
 proof to me that something of the kind exists." 
 
 I had for some minutes thought the same thing, and was 
 about to express it, and hence I was doubly pleased to hear 
 it uttered by Goethe. 
 
 " Leibnitz," he continued, " had similar thoughts about 
 independent beings, and indeed what we term an en- 
 telecheia he called a monad." 
 
 I determined to read further on the subject in Leibnitz. 
 
 (Sup.*) Fri., March 5. — A near relation of Goethe's 
 youthful love, Fraulein von Turkheini, had spent some 
 time in Weimar. I expressed to Goethe to-day my regret 
 at her departure. " She is so young," said I, " and shows a 
 lofty feeling, and a mature mind, such as one seldom finds 
 at such an age. Besides, her appearance has made a great 
 impression at Weimar. If she had remained longer, she 
 might have become dangerous to many. 
 
 " I am very sorry," said Goethe, "that I did not see her 
 of tener ; and that I at first constantly delayed inviting her, 
 in order that I might converse with her undisturbed, and 
 retrace in her the beloved features of her relation. 
 
 "The fourth volume of 'Wahrheit und Dichtung,' ' 
 continued he, "in which is related the youthful tale of 
 happiness and woe relating to my love for Lili, has been 
 finished for some time. I should have written and pub- 
 lished it earlier, if I had not been restrained by certain 
 delicate considerations — not on my own account, but on 
 account of my beloved, who was then living. I should 
 have been proud to proclaim to the world how much I 
 loved her, and I think that she would not have blushed to 
 confess that my affection was returned. But had I the 
 
446 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [183O. 
 
 right to publish, this without her consent ? It was always 
 niy intention to beg for it; but I delayed, until at last 
 it was no longer necessary. 
 
 " Whilst you speak with such interest," continued Goethe, 
 " of the amiable girl who has just left us, you awaken in 
 nie all my old recollections. I again see the charming Lili 
 living before me ; it is just as if I again felt the aspiration 
 of her loved presence. She was, in fact, the first whom I 
 deeply and truly loved. I may also say that she was the 
 last ; for all the little affections which I have felt, in the 
 after part of my life, are, when compared with this first 
 one, only light and superficial. 
 
 "I have never been so near a happiness after my own 
 heart," continued Goethe, " as during the time of this love 
 for Lili. The obstacles which separated us were not really 
 insurmountable, and yet she was lost to me ! 
 
 " My affection for her had about it something so delicate, 
 and something so peculiar, that even now, in the represent- 
 ation of that painfully happy epoch, it has an influence 
 upon my style. When, at some future time, you read the 
 fourth volume of 'Wahrheit und Dichtung,' you will find 
 that this love is something very different from the love in 
 novels." 
 
 "The same might be said," returned I, "of your love 
 for Gretchen and Frederica. The description of both is so 
 new and original, that novelists do not invent or imagine 
 anything like it. This appears to proceed from the extreme 
 veracity of the narrator, who has not endeavoured to cloak 
 his experiences, in order to make them appear to greater 
 advantage, and who has avoided every sentimental phrase, 
 where the simple statement of the events is sufficient. 
 
 "Besides, love itself," continued I, "is never alike; it is 
 always original, and always modifies itself according to the 
 character and the personality of those whom we love." 
 
 "You are perfectly right," returned Goethe, "for not 
 merely we are the love, but also the beloved object that 
 charms us. And then — what we must not forget — we have 
 as a powerful third element the Damionie (damonisch) which 
 accompanies every passion, and which finds its proper 
 element in love. This was particularly active in my con- 
 nection with Lili ; it gave another turn to my whole life, 
 
183O.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 447 
 
 and I do not say too much when I assert that my coming 
 to Weimar, and my presence here now, were immediate 
 consequences of it." 
 
 (Sup.*) Sat, Mar. 6. — Goethe had been reading, for 
 some time, the "Memoirs of St. Simon." 
 
 "With the death of Louis the Fourteenth," said he to 
 me some some days ago, " I came to a stop. Until then 
 the dozen volumes interested me to a high degree, through 
 the contrast of the will of the master and the aristocratic 
 virtue of the servant. But from the moment when that 
 monarch takes his departure, and another personage enters, 
 who is so bad that St. Simon himself appears to advantage 
 by his side, I felt no more pleasure in reading ; repugnance 
 followed, and I left the book where the ' Tyrant ' left me." 
 
 Goethe has also ceased, during the last fortnight, to read 
 the " Globe " and the " Temps," which he had read for 
 many months with the greatest ardour. Now, when the 
 numbers arrive folded up, he lays them aside unopened. 
 However, he begs his friends to tell him what is going on 
 in the world. He has been for some time very productive, 
 and quite buried in the second part of his " Faust." It is 
 the classical " Walpurgis-nacht " which has especially ab- 
 sorbed him for some weeks, and which is therefore making- 
 rapid and striking progress. In such thoroughly produc- 
 tive epochs Goethe does not like reading, unless, as some- 
 thing light and cheerful, it affords him a healthy repose, 
 or stands in harmony and assists him with the subject he 
 has immediately in hand. He avoids it, on the contrary, 
 when it has so strong and exciting an effect as to disturb 
 his quiet and calm production, and dissipate and distract 
 his active interest. The last appears to have been the case 
 with the " Globe" and the "Temps." 
 
 "I see," said he, "that important events are about to 
 take place in Paris ; we are on the eve of a great explosion. 
 But since I have no influence upon it, I shall wait for it 
 quietly, without allowing myself to be unnecessarily excited 
 every day by the interesting progress of the drama. I now 
 read neither the ' Globe ' nor the ' Temps,' and my ' Wal- 
 purgis-nacht ' progresses the better for it." 
 
 He spoke of the state of the most modern French litera- 
 ture, which interests him much. 
 
448 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1830.. 
 
 "What the French," said he, "in their present literary 
 tendency, consider something new, is in fact nothing but 
 the reflection of what the German literature has intended, 
 and has been for fifty years. The germ of the historical 
 pieces which are now new to them, is to be found in my 
 ' Grotz,' written half a century ago. 
 
 "Besides," continued he, "the German authors have 
 never thought, and have never written with the view of 
 exerting an influence over the French. I myself have 
 always had only Germany before my eyes, and it was only 
 yesterday or the day before that it occurred to me to turn 
 my glances westward, to see what our neighbours think of 
 me on the other side of the Rhine. And even now they 
 have no influence over my productions. Wieland himself, 
 who imitated the French forms and manner, always re- 
 mained a German at bottom, and would make a bad figure 
 in a translation." 
 
 Sim., Mar. 7. — Went to Goethe about twelve, and found 
 Mm remarkably fresh and strong. He told me that he had 
 been forced to lay aside the classical Walpurgis-night, to 
 finish the last number.* 
 
 "I have shown my wisdom," said he, "in leaving off 
 when I was in a good vein, and had much to say that I had 
 already invented. In this way, it is much easier to resume 
 my subject, than if I had gone on'writing till 1 came to a 
 standstill." 
 
 I noted down this as good doctrine. We had intended 
 to take a ride before dinner, but we both found it so plea- 
 sant in the room that the horses were countermanded. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Frederic, the servant, had unpacked a 
 large chest, which had arrived from Paris. It was a present 
 from the sculptor David, of bas-relief portraits in plaster 
 of fifty-seven celebrated persons. Frederic brought in the 
 casts in the different drawers, and we were much amused 
 in looking at all the persons of distinction. I was particu- 
 larly curious about Merimee ; the head appeared as power-, 
 ful and bold as his talent, and Goethe remarked that he 
 had something humorous about him. Victor Hugo, Alfred 
 de Vigny, Emile Deschamps, appeared with clear, free,, 
 
 * Of his entire works. — Trans, 
 
1830.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 440 
 
 cheerful faces. We were also pleased to see Mademoiselle 
 Gay, Madame Tastu, and other young female writers. The 
 powerful head of Fabvicr reminded us of the men of earlier 
 ages ; we felt delight in looking at it again and again. 
 
 Thus we went on from one eminent person to another, 
 and Goethe could not help saying repeatedly that through 
 this present from David he possessed a treasure for which 
 he could not sufficiently thank the admirable artist. He 
 would not fail to show this collection to travellers, and in 
 that way aitain verbal information about some of those 
 personages who were unknown to him. 
 
 Some books had also been packed up in the chest, which 
 he had ordered to be taken into the front rooms, whither 
 Ave followed them and sat down to dine. We were in good 
 spirits, and spoke of works and plans of works. 
 
 "It is not good for man to be alone," said Goethe, "and 
 especially to work alone. On the contrary, he needs sym- [/ 
 pathy and suggestion to do anything well. I owe to Schiller 
 the ' Achilleis,' and many of my ballads, to which he urged 
 me ; and you may take the credit to yourself, if I complete 
 the second part of ' Faust.' I have often told you so before, 
 but I must repeat it, that you may knov> it." 
 
 These words rejoiced me, for I felt that there might be 
 much truth in what he said. After dinner, Goethe opened 
 one of the packets. This contained the poems of Emilc 
 Deschamps, accompanied by a letter, which Goethe gave 
 me to read. I saw with delight what influence was attri- 
 buted to Goethe over the new life of French literature, and 
 how the young poets loved and revered him as their in- 
 tellectual head. Thus had Shakspeare worked upon the 
 youth of Goethe. It could not be said of Voltaire that he 
 had had an influence of the kind on the young poets of 
 other countries, that they assembled in his spirit, and re- 
 i-ognized him as their lord and master. The letter of Des- 
 champs- was written altogether with a very amiable cordiality 
 and freedom. 
 
 "You see there the spring-time of a beautiful mind," 
 said Goethe. 
 
 We found also a leaf, which David had sent with drawings 
 of Napoleon's hat in various positions. 
 
 " That is something for my son," said Goethe, and sent 
 
 2G 
 
450 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1830. 
 
 Lira the leaf immediately. It produced its effect, for young- 
 Goethe soon came down full of glee, and declared that these 
 hats of his hero were the ne "plus ultra of his collection. 
 Five minutes had not passed before the leaf, under glass and 
 in a frame, was in its place among other attributes and 
 monuments of the hero. 
 
 (Sup.) Sun., Mar. 14. — This evening at Goethe's. He 
 showed me all the treasures, now put in order, from the 
 chest which he had received from David, and with the un- 
 packing of which I had found him occupied some days ago. 
 The plaster medallions, with the profiles of the principal 
 young poets of France, he had laid in order side by side 
 upon tables. On this occasion, he spoke once more of the 
 extraordinary talent of David, which was as great in con- 
 ception as in execution. He also showed me a number of 
 the newest works, which had been presented to him, 
 through the medium of David, as gifts from the most dis- 
 tinguished talents of the romantic school. I saw works by 
 St. Beuve, Ballanche, Victor Hugo, Balzac, Alfred de 
 Yigny, Jules Janin, and others. 
 
 "David," said he, "has prepared happy days for me, by 
 this present. The young poets have already occupied me 
 the whole week, and afford me new life by the fresh im- 
 pressions which I receive from them. I shall make a 
 separate catalogue of these much esteemed portraits and 
 books, and shall give them both a special place in my col- 
 lection of works of art and my library." 
 
 One could see from Goethe's manner that this homage 
 from the young poets of France afforded him the heartiest 
 delight. 
 
 He then read something from the "Studies," by Emile 
 Deschamps. He praised the translation of the " Bride of 
 Corinth," as faithful, and very successful. 
 
 "I possess," said he, "the manuscript of an Italian 
 translation of this poem, which gives the original, even to 
 the rhymes." 
 
 " The Bride of Corinth " induced Goethe to speak of the 
 rest of his ballads. " I owe them, in a great measure, to 
 Schiller," said he, " who impelled me to them, because he 
 always wanted something new for his ' Horen.' I had 
 already carried them in my head for many years ; they 
 
1830.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 451 
 
 occupied rny mind as pleasant images, as beautiful dreams, 
 which came and went, and by playing with which my fancy 
 made me happy. I unwillingly resolved to bid farewell to 
 t hese brilliant visions, which had so long been my solace, 
 by embodying them in poor, inadequate words. When 1 
 saw them on paper, I regarded them with a mixture of sad' 
 ness. I felt as if I were abont to be separated for ever 
 from a beloved friend. 
 
 "At other times," continued Oroethe, "it has been totally 
 different with my poems. They have been preceded by no 
 impressions or forebodings, but have come suddenly upon 
 me, and have insisted on being composed immediately, so 
 that I have felt an instinctive and dreamy impulse to write 
 ihem down on the spot. In such a somnambulistic con- 
 dition, it has often happened that I have had a sheet of paper 
 lying before me all on one side, and I have not discovered 
 it till all has been written, or I have found no room to 
 write any more. I have possessed many such sheets writ- 
 ten crossways, but they have been lost one after another, 
 and I regret that I can no longer show any proofs of such 
 poetic abstraction." 
 
 The conversation then returned to the French literature, 
 and the modern ultra-romantic tendency of some not unim- 
 portant talents. Goethe was of opinion that this poetic- 
 revolution, which was still in its infancy, would be very 
 favourable to literature, but very prejudicial to the in- 
 dividual authors who effect it. 
 
 " Extremes are never to be avoided in any revolution," 
 said he. "In a political one, nothing is generally desired 
 in the beginning but the abolition of abuses ; but bef ore- 
 people are aware, they are deep in bloodshed and horror. 
 Thus the French, in their present literary revolution, desirecT 
 nothing at first but a freer form ; however, they will not stop 
 there, but will reject the traditional contents together with 
 the form. They begin to declare the representation of noble 
 sentiments and deeds as tedious, and attempt to treat of 
 all sorts of abominations. Instead of the beautiful subjects 
 from Grecian mythology, there are devils, witches, and 
 vampires, and the lofty heroes of antiquity must give place 
 to jngglers and galley slaves. This is piquant! This is 
 effective ! But after the public has once tasted this highly 
 
 2 g 2 
 
452 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1S30. 
 
 seasoned food, and has become accustomed to it, it Avill 
 always long for more, and that stronger. A young man of 
 talent, who would produce an effect and be acknowledged, 
 and who is great enough to go his own way, must accom- 
 modate himself to the taste of the day — nay, must seek to 
 outdo his predecessors in the horrible and frightful. But 
 in this chase after outward means of effect, all profound 
 study, and all gradual and thorough development of the 
 talent and the man from within, is entirely neglected. 
 And this is the greatest injury which can befall a talent, 
 although literature in general will gain by this tendency 
 of the moment. 
 
 "But," added I, " how can an attempt which destroys 
 individual talents be favourable to literature in general? " 
 
 "The extremes and excrescences which I have de- 
 scribed," returned Goethe, " will gradually disappear ; but 
 at last this great advantage will remain — besides a freer 
 form, richer and more diversified subjects will have been 
 attained, and no object of the broadest world and the most 
 manifold life will be any longer excluded as unpoetical. I 
 compare the present literary epoch to a state of violent 
 fever, which is not in itself good and desirable, but of 
 which improved health is the happy consequence. That 
 abomination which now often constitutes the whole subject 
 of a poetical work, vriM in future only appear as an useful 
 expedient ; aye, the pure and the noble, which is now 
 abandoned for the moment, will soon be resought with ad- 
 ditional ardour." 
 
 " It is surprising to me," remarked I, " that even 
 Merimee, who is one of your favourites, has entered upon 
 this ultra -romantic path, through the horrible subjects of his 
 < Guzla,' " 
 
 "Merimee," returned Goethe, "has treated these things 
 very differently from his fellow-authors. These poems cer- 
 tainly are not deficient in various horrible motives, such as 
 churchyards, nightly cross ways, ghosts and vampires ; but 
 the repulsive themes do not touch the intrinsic merit of the 
 poet. On the contrary, he treats them from a certain ob- 
 jective distance, and, as it were, with irony. He goes to 
 work with them like an artist, to whom it is an amusement 
 to try anything of the sort. He has, as I have said before, 
 
183O, CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 45C 
 
 quite renounced himself, nay, ne has ever renounced the 
 Frenchman, and that to such a degree, that at first these 
 poems of Guzla were deemed real Illyrian popular poems, 
 and thus little was wanting for the success of the im- 
 position he had intended. 
 
 "Merimec," continued Goethe, "is indeed a thorough 
 fellow ! Indeed, generally, more power and genius are 
 required for the objective treatment of a subject than is 
 supposed. Thus, too, Lord Byron, notwithstanding his 
 predominant personality, has sometimes had the power of 
 renouncing himself altogether, as may be seen in some of 
 his dramatic pieces, particularly in his ' Marino Faliero.' 
 In this piece one quite forgets that Lord Byron, or even an 
 Englishman, wrote it. We live entirely in Venice, and en- 
 tirely in the time in which the action takes place. The 
 personages speak quite from themselves, and from their 
 own condition, without having any of the subjective feel- 
 ings, thoughts, and opinions of the poet. That is as it 
 should be. Of our young French romantic writers of the 
 exaggerating sort, one cannot say as much. What I have 
 read of them — poems, novels, dramatic works — have all 
 borne the personal colouring of the author, and none of them 
 ever make me forget that a Parisian — that a Frenchman — 
 wrote them. Even in the treatment of foreign subjects one 
 still remains in France and Paris, quite absorbed in all the 
 wishes, necessities, conflicts, and fermentations of the 
 present day." 
 
 "Beranger also," I threw in experimentally, "has only 
 expressed the situation of the great metropolis, and his own 
 interior." 
 
 "That is a man," said Goethe, "whose power of repre- 
 sentation and whose interior are worth something. In him 
 is all the substance of an important personality. Beranger 
 is a nature most happily endowed, firmly grounded in him- 
 self, purely developed from himself, and quite in harmony 
 with himself. He has never asked — what would suit the 
 times? what produces an effect ? what pleases? what are 
 others doing ? — in order that he might do the like. He has 
 always worked only from the core of his own nature, with- 
 out troubling himself as to what the public, or what this 1 c 
 that parly expects. He has certainly, at different critical 
 
4-54) CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1S3O. 
 
 epochs, been influenced by the mood, wishes, and necessities 
 of the people ; but that has only confirmed him in himself, 
 by proving to him that his own nature is in harmony with 
 that of the people ; and has never seduced him into ex- 
 pressing anything but what already lay in his heart. 
 
 u You know that I am, upon the whole, no friend to 
 what is called political poems, but such as Beranger has 
 composed I can tolerate. With him there is nothing 
 snatched out of the air, nothing of merely imagined or imagi- 
 nary interest ; he never shoots at random ; but, on the con- 
 trary, has always the most decided, the most important 
 subjects. His affectionate admiration of Napoleon, and 
 his reminiscences of the great warlike deeds which were 
 performed under him, and that at a time when these recol- 
 lections were a consolation to the somewhat oppressed 
 French ; then his hatred of the domination of priests, and 
 ot the darkness w^hich threatened to return with the 
 Jesuits : these are things to which one cannot refuse hearty 
 sympathy. And how masterly is his treatment on all 
 occasions ! How he turns about and rounds off every sub- 
 ject in his own mind before he expresses it ! And then, 
 when all is matured, what wit, spirit, irony, and persiflage, 
 and what heartiness, naivete, and grace, are unfolded at 
 every step ! His songs have every year made millions of 
 joyous men ; they always flow glibly from the tongue, even 
 with the working-classes, whilst they are so far elevated above 
 the level of the commonplace, that the populace, in converse 
 with these pleasant spirits, becomes accustomed and com- 
 pelled to think itself better and nobler. What more would 
 you have ? and, altogether, what higher praise could be 
 given to a poet ? " 
 
 " He is excellent, unquestionably ! " returned 1. " You 
 know how I loved him lor years, and can imagine how it 
 gratifies me to hear you speak of him thus. But if I 
 must say which of his songs I prefer, his amatory poems 
 please me more than his political, in which the .particular 
 references and allusions are n')t always clear to me." 
 
 " That happens to be your case," returned Goethe ; " the 
 political poems were not written for you ; but ask the 
 French, and they will tell you what is good in them. 
 Besides, a political poem, under the most fortunate circum- 
 
I 83 I.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 455 
 
 (f I 
 
 stances, is to be looked upon only as the organ of a singlo 
 nation, and in most cases only as the organ of a single 
 party ; bnt it is seized with enthusiasm by this nation and 
 this party when it is good. Again, a political poem 
 should always be looked upon as the mere result of a certain 
 state of the times ; which passes by, and with respect to 
 succeeding times takes from the poem the value which it 
 derived from the subject. As for Beranger, his was no 
 hard task. Paris is France. All the important interests 
 of his great country are concentrated in the capital, and 
 there have their proper life and their proper echo. Besides, 
 in most of his political songs he is by no means to be re- 
 garded as the mere organ of a single party ; on the 
 contrary, the things against which he writes are for the 
 most part of so universal and national an interest, that 
 the poet is almost always heard as a great voice of the 
 people. "With us, in Germany, such a thing is not possible. 
 We have no city, nay, we have no country, of which we 
 *ould decidedly say — Here is Germany ! If we inquire in 
 Vienna, the answer is — this is Austria ! and if in Berlin, 
 the answer is — this is Prussia ! Only sixteen years ago, 
 when we tried to get rid of the French, was Germany 
 everywhere. Then a political poet could have had an 
 universal effect ; but there was no need of one ! The 
 universal necessity, and the universal feeling of disgrace, 
 had seized upon the nation like something dasmonic ; the 
 inspiring fire which the poet might have kindled was 
 already burning everywhere of its own accord. Still, I 
 will not deny that Arndt, Korner, and Riickert, have had 
 some effect." 
 
 " You have been reproached," remarked I, rather incon- 
 siderately, "for not taking up arms at that great period, 
 or at least co-operating as a poet." 
 
 "Let us leave that point alone, my good friend," returned 
 Goethe. " It is an absurd world, which does not know 
 what it wants, and which one must allow to have its own 
 way. How could I take np arms without hatred, and 
 how could I hate without youth ? If such an emergency 
 had befallen me when twenty years old, I should certainly 
 not have been the last ; but it found me as one who had 
 already passed the first sixties. 
 
456 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [183a. 
 
 " Besides, we cannot all serve our country in the same 
 way, "but each does his best, according as God has endowed 
 him. I have toiled hard enough during half a century. I 
 can say, that in those things which nature has appointed 
 for my daily work, I have permitted myself no repose or 
 relaxation night or day, but have always striven, investi- 
 gated, and done as much, and that as well, as I could. If 
 every one can say the same of himself, it will prove well 
 with all." 
 
 " The fact is," said I, by way of conciliation, " that you 
 should not be vexed at that reproach, but should rather 
 feel flattered at it. For what does it show, but that the 
 opinion of the world concerning you is so great, that it 
 desires that he who has done more for the culture of his 
 nation than any other, should at last do everything ! " 
 
 " I will not say what I think," returned Goethe. " There 
 is more ill-will towards me hidden beneath that remark than 
 you are aware of. I feel therein a new form of the old 
 hatred with which people have persecuted me, and endea- 
 voured quietly to wound me for years. I know very well 
 that I am an eyesore to many ; that they would all willingly 
 get rid of me ; and that, since they cannot touch my 
 talent, they aim at my character. ISTow, it is said, I am 
 proud ; now, egotistical ; now, full of envy towards young 
 talents ; now, immersed in sensuality ; now, without 
 Christianity ; and now, without love for my native country, 
 and my own dear Germans. You have now known me 
 sufficiently for years, and you feel what all that talk is 
 worth. But if you would learn what I have suffered, read 
 my ' Xenien,' and it will be clear to you, from my retorts, 
 how people have from time to time sought to embitter my 
 life. 
 
 " A German author is a German martyr ! Yes, my 
 friend, you will not find it otherwise ! And I myself 
 can scarcely complain ; none of the others have fared 
 better — most have fared worse ; and in England and 
 France it is quite the same as with us. What did not 
 Moliere suffer ? "What Rousseau and "Voltaire r Byron 
 was driven from England by evil tongues ; and would 
 have fled to the end of the world, if an early death had 
 not delivered him from the Philistines and their hatred. 
 
183c] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 457 
 
 "And if it were only the narrow-minded masses that 
 persecuted noble men ! But no ! one gifted man and one 
 talent persecutes another ; Platen scandalizes Heine, and 
 Heine Platen, and each seeks to make the other hateful ; 
 while the world is wide enough for all to live and to let 
 live ; and every one has an enemy in his own talent, who 
 gives him quite enough to do. 
 
 " To write military songs, and sit in a room ! That 
 forsooth was my duty ! To have written them in tho 
 bivouac, when the horses at the enemy's outposts are 
 heard neighing at night, would have been well enough ; 
 however, that was not my life and not my business, but 
 that of Theodore Korner. His war-songs suit him perfectly. 
 But to me, who am not of a warlike nature, and who 
 have no warlike sense, war-songs would have been a mask 
 which would have fitted my face very badly. 
 
 " I have never affected anything in my poetry. I have 
 never uttered anything which I have not experienced, and 
 which has not urged me to production. I have only com- 
 posed love-songs when I have loved. How could I write 
 songs of hatred without hating ! And, between ourselves, 
 I did not hate the French, although I thanked God that we 
 were free from them. How could I, to whom culture 
 and barbarism are alone of importance, hate a nation 
 which is among the most cultivated of the earth, and to 
 which I owe so great a part of my own cultivation ? 
 
 "Altogether," continued Goethe, "national hatred is 
 something peculiar. You will always find it strongest 
 and most violent where there is the lowest degree of 
 culture. But there is a degree where it vanishes altogether, 
 and where one stands to a certain extent above nations, and 
 feels the weal or woe of a neighbouring people, as if it had 
 happened to one's own. This degree of culture was con- 
 formable to my nature, and I had become strengthened in 
 it long before I had reached my sixtieth year." 
 
 (Sup.) Mon., Mar. 15. — This evening, passed a short 
 hour at Goethe's. He spoke a great deal of Jena, and of 
 the arrangements and improvements which he had made 
 in the different branches of the university. For chemistry, 
 botany, and mineralogy, which had formerly been treated 
 only so far as they belonged to pharmacy, he had intro- 
 
458 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [183O. 
 
 duced especial chairs. Above all, he had done much good 
 for the museum of natural history and the library. On 
 this occasion he again related to me, with much self- 
 satisfaction and good humour, the history of his violent 
 occupation of a room adjoining the library, of which the 
 medical faculty had taken possession, and which they 
 would not give up. 
 
 " The library," said he, " was in very bad condition. 
 The situation was damp and close, and by no means fit to 
 contain its treasures in a proper manner ; particularly as 
 by the purchase of the Biittner library, on the part of the 
 Grand Duke, an addition had been made of 13,000 
 volumes, which lay in large heaps upon the floor, because, 
 as I have said, there was no room to place them properly. 
 I was really in some distress on that account. An addition 
 should have been made to the building, but for this the means 
 were wanting ; and, besides, this addition could easily be 
 avoided, since adjoining the library there was a large room 
 which was standing empty, and which was quite calculated 
 to supply all our necessities most admirably. However, 
 this room was not in the possession of the library, but was 
 used by the medical faculty, who sometimes employed it 
 for their conferences. I therefore applied to these gentle- 
 men, with this very civil request, — that they would give 
 up this room to me for the library. To this the gentlemen 
 would not agree. They were willing, they said, to give it 
 up if I would have a new room built for their conferences, 
 and that immediately. I replied that I should be very 
 ready to have another place prepared for them, but that I 
 could not promise them a new building immediately. This 
 answer did not appear to have satisfied the gentlemen; 
 tor when I sent the next morning for the key, I was told 
 that it could not be found ! 
 
 " There now remained no other course but to enter as a 
 conqueror. I therefore sent for a bricklayer, and took him 
 into the library, before the wall of the said adjoining room. 
 ; This wall, my friend,' said I, ' must be very thick, for it 
 separates two different parts of the dwelling : just try how 
 strong it is.' The bricklayer went to work, and scarcely 
 iiad he given five or six hearty blows, when bricks and 
 mortar fell in, and one could see, through the opening, 
 
1830.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 469 
 
 some venerable perukes, with which the room had been 
 decorated. ' Go on, my friend,' said I ; ' I cannot yet see 
 clearly enough. Do not restrain yourself, but act just as if 
 you were in your own house.' This friendly encourage- 
 ment so animated the bricklayer, that the opening was soon 
 large enough to serve perfectly for a door ; when my 
 library attendants rushed into the room each with an arm- 
 ful of books, winch they threw upon the ground as a sign 
 of possession. 
 
 " Benches, chairs, and desks vanished in a moment ; and 
 my assistants were so quick and active, that in a few days 
 all the books were arranged in the most beautiful order 
 along the walls of their repository. The doctors, who soon 
 afterwards entered their room, in corpore^ through their 
 usual door, were quite confounded to find so great and 
 unexpected a change. They did not know what to say, 
 and retired in silence ; but they all harboured a secret 
 grudge against me. Still, when I see them singly, and 
 particularly when I have any one of them to dine with me, 
 they are quite charming, and my very dear friends. When 
 I related to the Grand Duke the course of this adventure, 
 which was certainly achieved with his consent and perfect 
 approbation, it amused him right royally, and wc have very 
 often laughed at it since." 
 
 Goethe was in a very good humour, and happy in these 
 reminiscences. 
 
 "Yes, my friend," continued he, "we had our share of 
 trouble in doing good. Afterwards, when, on account of 
 the great dampness in the library, I wished to take down 
 and remove the whole of the old city wall, which was quite 
 useless, I found no better success. My entreaties, good 
 reasons, and rational representations found no hearing, 
 and I was obliged, at last, here also to go to work as a con- 
 queror. When the city authorities saw my workmen at 
 work upon their old wall, they sent a deputation to the 
 Grand Duke, who was then at Dornburg, with the humble 
 request that his Highness would be pleased, by a word of 
 command, to check my violent destruction of their vener- 
 able old city wall. But the Grand Duke, who had secretly 
 authorized me to take this step, answered very wisely, — ' I 
 Jo not intermeddle with Goethe's affairs, lie knows what 
 
460 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [^30, 
 
 he lias to do, and must act as lie thinks right. Go to him, 
 and speak to him yourself, if you have the courage ! ' 
 
 ''However, no one made his appearance at my house," 
 continued Goethe laughing ; " I went on pulling down as 
 much of the old wall as was in my way, and had the happi- 
 ness of seeing my library dry at last." 
 
 Tues., Mar. 16. — This morning Herr von Goethe paid 
 me a visit, and informed me that his long contemplated 
 tour to Italy had been decided on ; that his father had 
 allowed the necessary money ; and that he wished me to 
 accompany him. We were both highly pleased, and talked 
 a great deal about our preparations. 
 
 When I passed Goethe's house at noon, Goethe beckoned 
 me at the window, and I hastened up to him. He was in 
 the front apartments, and seemed very fresh and cheerful. 
 He began to talk about his son's tour, saying that he ap- 
 proved of it, thought it very rational, and was glad that I 
 would accompany him. 
 
 "It will be a good thing for you both," said he, " and 
 your cultivation in particular will receive no small ad- 
 vantage." 
 
 He then showed me a Christ with twelve Apostles, and 
 we talked of the poverty of these forms as subjects for 
 sculpture. 
 
 " One Apostle," said Goethe, " is always much like 
 another, and very few have enough life and action con- 
 nected with them to give them character and significance. 
 I have on this occasion amused myself with making a cycle 
 of twelve biblical figures, in which every one is significant 
 and distinct from the rest, and therefore every one is a 
 grateful subject for the artist. 
 
 " First comes Adam — the most beautiful of men, as per- 
 fect as can be imagined. He may have his hand upon a 
 spade, as a symbol that man is called to till the earth. 
 
 "Next Noah, with whom a new creation begins. He 
 cultivates the vine, and therefore this figure may have 
 something of the character of the Indian Bacchus. 
 
 " Next Moses, as the first lawgiver. 
 
 " Then David, as warrior and king. 
 
 " Next to him Isaiah, as prince and prophet. 
 
 " Then Daniel, who points to the future Christ. 
 
1830.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 461 
 
 " Christ, 
 
 "Next to him John, who loves the present Christ. Thus 
 Christ would be placed between two youthful figures, one 
 of whom, viz. Daniel, should be painted with a mild expres- 
 sion and long hair, while the other should be impassioned 
 and with short curly hair. But who shall come after 
 John? 
 
 " The Captain of Capernaum, as a representation of the 
 faithful, who expect immediate aid. 
 
 " Then the Magdalen, as a symbol of penitent man 
 urging forgiveness and eager for reformation. In these 
 two figures the idea of Christianity would be contained. 
 
 " Then Paul may follow, who most vigorously propa- 
 gated the new doctrine. 
 
 " After him James, who went to the remotest nations, 
 and represents missionaries. 
 
 " Peter would conclude the whole. The artist should 
 place him near the door, and give him an expression as if 
 he examined those who entered, in order to see whether 
 they were worthy to tread the sanctuary. 
 
 "What do you say to this cycle ? I think it would be 
 richer than that of the twelve Apostles, where all look like 
 each other. Moses and the Magdalen I would represent 
 sitting." 
 
 I was very pleased to hear all this, and requested Goethe 
 to write it down, which he promised to do. "I will 
 think it over again," he said, " and then give it with 
 other new things for the thirty-ninth volume." 
 
 Wed., Mar. 17. — Dined with Goethe. I asked him re- 
 specting a passage in his poems, whether it should be read, 
 — "As thy priest Horace in his rapture promised," as it 
 stands in all the older editions, — or, " As thy priest Pro- 
 pertius," &c, as it stands in the new edition. 
 
 "I allowed myself," said Goethe, "to be seduced by 
 Gottling into this last reading. ' Priest Propertius ' sounds 
 badly, and therefore I am for the earlier reading." 
 
 "Thus, too," said I, "it stood in the manuscript of your 
 ' Helena,' that Theseus carries her off as a slim roe of ten 
 rears. In consequence of Gottling's suggestions, you have 
 printed — ' a slim roe of seven years,' which is too young 
 both for the beautiful girl herself, and for the twin-brothers 
 
402 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [^830. 
 
 Castor and Pollux, who rescue her. The whole story lies 
 so completely in the fabulous ages, that no one can tell 
 how old she really was ; and, besides, mythology altogether 
 is so pliant, that we may use things just as we find most 
 convenient." 
 
 " You are right," said Goethe ; " I also am in favour of 
 her being ten years old when Theseus carries her off, and 
 hence I have written afterwards, — ' From her tenth year 
 she has been good for naught.' In the future edition you 
 may again make the roe of seven years into one of ten." 
 
 After dinner Goethe showed me two new numbers by 
 Neureuther, after his ballads, and we admired above every- 
 thing the free cheerful mind of this amiable artist. 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., Mar. 17. — This evening at Goethe's for a 
 couple of hours. By order of the Grand Duchess I 
 brought him back " Gemma von Art," and told him the 
 good opinion I entertained of this piece. 
 
 " I am always glad," returned he, " when anything is 
 produced which is new in invention, and bears the stamp 
 of talent." Then, taking the volume between his hands, 
 and looking at it somewhat askance, he added, " but I am 
 never quite pleased when 1 see a dramatic author make 
 pieces too long to be represented as they are written. This 
 imperfection takes away half the pleasure that I should 
 otherwise feel. Only see what a thick volume this 
 ' Gemma von Art ' is." 
 
 " Schiller," returned I, " has not managed much better., 
 and yet he is a very great dramatic author." 
 
 " He too has certainly committed this fault," returned 
 Goethe. " His first pieces particularly, which he wrote in 
 the fulness of youth, seem as if they would never end. He 
 had too much on his heart, and too much to say to be able 
 to control it. Afterwards, when he became conscious of 
 this fault, he took infinite trouble, and endeavoured to 
 overcome it by work and study; but he never perfectly 
 succeeded. It really requires a poetical giant, and is more 
 difiicult than is imagined, to control a subject properly, to 
 keep it from overpowering one, and to concentrate one's 
 attention on that alone which is absolutely necessary." 
 
 Hofrath Biemer was announced, and entered. I pre- 
 pared to depart, as I knew that this was the evening on 
 
183 1.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 463 
 
 which Goethe was accustomed to work with Rienier. But 
 Goethe begged me to remain, which I did very willingly, 
 and thus became a witness of a conversation full of reckless- 
 ness, irony, and Mephistophilistic humour on Goethe's 
 part.* 
 
 "So Sommering is dead," began Goethe, " and scarcely 
 seventy-five wretched years old. What blockheads men 
 are, that they have not the courage to last longer than 
 that ! There I praise my friend Bentham, that extremely 
 radical madman ; he keeps himself well, and yet he is some 
 weeks older than I am." 
 
 " It might be added," returned I, " that he equals you in 
 one other point, for he still works with all the activity of 
 youth." 
 
 " That may be," returned Goethe ; " but we are at oppo- 
 site ends of the chain : he wishes to pull down, and I wish 
 to support and build up. To be such a radical, at his age, 
 is the height of all madness." 
 
 ;; I think," rejoined I, "we should distinguish between 
 two kinds of radicalism. The one to build up for the 
 future will first make a clean path by pulling down every- 
 thing; whilst the other is coutented to point out the weak 
 parts and the faults of an administration, in hopes of 
 attaining good without the aid of violent measures. If you 
 had been born in England, you would not certainly have 
 avoided beloncrinGr to this last class." 
 
 "What do you take me for ? " returned Goethe, who now 
 adopted the mien and tone of his Mephistophilos. "I for- 
 sooth should have searched out abuses, and detected and 
 published them into the bargain ? I who in England 
 should have lived upon abuses ? If I had been born ii 
 England, I should have been a rich Duke, or rather a 
 Bishop with £30,000 a year." 
 
 "Very good," returned I ; "but if, by chance, you had 
 not drawn the great prize, but a blank ? there are so many 
 blanks." 
 
 "It is not every one, my dear friend," returned Goethe. 
 " who is made for the groat prize. Do you believe that I 
 should have committed the follv of li^htin"- on a blank ? 1 
 
 * Some passages which border on the profane are purposely omitte* I 
 in this conversation. — Trans. 
 
464 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [^830. 
 
 should, above all things, have taken the part of the Thirty- 
 Nine Articles ; I should have advocated them on all sides, 
 and in all directions — particularly the Ninth Article, which 
 would have been for me an object of special attention and 
 tender devotion. I would have played the hypocrite, and 
 lied so well and so long, both in rhyme and prose, that my 
 £30,000 a year should not have escaped me. And then, 
 having once attained this eminence, I would have neglected 
 nothing to keep my position. Above all, I would have done 
 everything to make the night of ignorance if possible still 
 darker. Oh, how would I have tried to cajole the good, 
 silly multitude ; and how would I have humbled the school- 
 boys, so that no one should have observed, or even have had 
 the courage to remark, that my brilliant position was based 
 upon the most scandalous abuses." 
 
 " With you," answered I, " people would at least have 
 had the consolation of thinking that you had attained such 
 eminence by means of eminent talent. But in England, the 
 most stupid and incapable people are often those who are in 
 enjoyment of the highest worldly prosperity, for which they 
 have to thank not their own deserts, but patronage, chance 
 — -and, above all, birth." 
 
 "It is the same in the end," returned Goethe, "whether 
 one attains brilliant worldly prosperity through one's own 
 exertions, or through inheritance. The first possessors were 
 still, in every case, people of genius, who turned to their 
 own account the ignorance and weakness of others. The 
 world is so full of simpletons and madmen, that one need 
 not seek them in a madhouse. This reminds me that the 
 late Grand Duke, who knew my objection to madhouses, 
 once endeavoured to take me into one by a sudden strata- 
 gem. However, I smelt the rat in time, and told him that 
 I felt no necessity to see the madmen who were in confine- 
 ment, as I had already seen enough of those who went about 
 at liberty. ' I am very ready,' said I, 'to follow your High- 
 ness anywhere, with the sole exception of a madhouse.' . . 
 
 " By the way, I have already made a trial in the religious 
 style. As a boy of sixteen, I wrote a dithyrambic poem 
 upon the Descent into hell, which has been printed but not 
 acknowledged, and which has but lately fallen into my 
 hands again. You know it, Bienier ? " 
 
1830.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 465 
 
 " No, jour excellency," returned Riemer, " I do not know- 
 it. But I recollect that, in the first year after my arrival, 
 you were seriously ill, and that in a state of delirium you 
 recited the most beautiful verses on that subject. These 
 were, doubtless, recollections of that poem of your early 
 youth." 
 
 " That is very probable," said Goethe. " 1 knew a case 
 % in which an old man of low condition, who lay at the last 
 gasp, quite unexpectedly recited the most beautiful Greek 
 sentences. People were perfectly convinced that the man 
 did not understand a word of Greek, and there was no end 
 to their astonishment ; the cunning had already begun to 
 derive advantage from the credulity of the fools, when it 
 was unfortunately discovered that the old man in his early 
 youth had been obliged to learn all sorts of Greek sentences 
 by heart, in the presence of a boy of high family, w'hom his 
 example, it was hoped, would incite. He had learned truly 
 classical Greek quite mechanically, without understanding 
 it, and had not thought of it again for fifty years, until, in 
 his last illness, this lumber of words with which he was 
 crammed began to revive." 
 
 * ***** 
 
 Conversation now turned upon romances and plays, and 
 their moralizing or demoralizing effect upon the public. 
 
 " It must be bad indeed," said Goethe, "if a book has a 
 more demoralizing effect than life itself, which daily displays 
 the most scandalous scenes in abundance, if not before our 
 eyes, at least before our ears. Even with children, people 
 need by no means be so anxious about the effect of a book 
 or a play. Daily life is, as I said before, more instructive 
 than the most effective book." 
 
 " But still," remarked I, "with respect to children people 
 take care not to utter things in their presence which are 
 considered improper for them to hear." 
 
 " That is laudable enough," said Goethe, " and I do the 
 same myself, but I consider the precaution quite useless. 
 Children, like dogs, have so sharp and fine a scent, that 
 they detect and hunt out everything — the bad before all the 
 rest. They also know well enough how this or that friend 
 Stands with their parents ; and as they practice no dissimu- 
 lation whatever, they serve as excellent barometers by 
 
 2n 
 
4G6 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [^O. 
 
 winch to observe the decree of favour or disfavour at which 
 we stand with their parents. 
 
 Some one had once spoken ill of me in company ; and, 
 indeed, the circumstance appeared to me of such importance, 
 tt-at I wished much to discover whence the blow came. 
 People here were generally well disposed towards me. I 
 turned my thoughts in every direction, and could not make 
 out with whom the odious report had originated. All of a 
 sudden a light dawned upon me. I one day met, in the 
 street, some little boys of my acquaintance, who did not 
 greet me as they had been accustomed. This was enough 
 for me, and upon this track I very soon discovered that it 
 was their beloved parents who had set their tongues wag- 
 ging, at my cost, in so shameful a manner." 
 
 Sun., Mar. 21. — Dined with Goethe. He spoke first 
 about his son's journey, saying that we ought not to form 
 too great expectations as to the result. 
 
 " People usually come back as they have gone away," 
 said he ; " indeed, we must take care not to return with 
 thoughts which do not fit us for after life. Thus, I brought 
 from Italy the idea of fine staircases, and have consequently 
 spoiled my house, making the rooms all smaller than they 
 should have been. The most important thing is to learn to 
 rule oneself. If I allowed myself to go on unchecked, I 
 could easily ruin myself and all about me." 
 
 We talked then about ill health, and the reciprocity of 
 body and mind. 
 
 " It is incredible," said Goethe, "how much the mind can 
 do to sustain the body. I suffer often from a disordered 
 state of the bowels, but my will, and the strength of the 
 upper part of my body, keep me up. The mind must not 
 yield to the body. Thus I work more easily when the baro- 
 meter is high than when it is low : since I know this, I 
 endeavour, when the barometer is low, to counteract the 
 injurious effect by great exertion, — and my attempt is suc- 
 cessful." 
 
 " But there are things in poetry which cannot be forced ; 
 and we must wait for favourable hours to give us w T hat we 
 cannot obtain by mental determination. Thus I now take 
 my time with my Walpurgis-night, that there may be 
 throughout the proper strength and grace. I have ad- 
 
I830.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 407 
 
 vanced a good way, and hope to have finished it before 
 your departure. 
 
 " Wherever there is a point, I have detached it from the 
 individual objects, and given it a general application, so 
 that the reader has no want of allusions, but cannot tell 
 how they are really directed. I have, however, en- 
 deavoured to mark out everything in distinct outline, in 
 the antique style, so that there may be nothing vague 
 or undecided, which might suit the romantic style well 
 enough. 
 
 " The idea of the distinction between classical and 
 romantic poetry, which is now spread over the whole 
 world, and occasions so many quarrels and divisions, came 
 originally from Schiller and myself. I laid down the 
 maxim of objective treatment in poetry, and would allow 
 no other ; but Schiller, who worked quite in the subjective 
 way, deemed his own fashion the right one, and to defend 
 himself against me, wrote the treatise upon 'Naive and 
 Sentimental Poetry.' He proved to me that I myself, 
 against my will, was romantic, and that my ' Ipliigenia,' 
 through the predominance of sentiment, was by no means 
 so classical and so much in the antique spirit as some 
 people supposed. 
 
 " The Schlegels took up this idea, and carried it further, 
 so that it has now been diffused over the whole world ; and 
 every one talks about classicism and romanticism — of which 
 nobody thought fifty years ago." 
 
 I turned the conversation again upon the cycle of the 
 twelve figures, and Goethe made some explanatory re- 
 marks. 
 
 " Adam must be represented as I have said, but not quite 
 naked, as I best conceive him after the Fall ; he should be 
 clothed with a thin deer skin ; and, at the same time, in 
 order to express that he is the father of the human race, it 
 would be well to place by him his eldest son, a fearless boy, 
 looking boldly about him — a little Hercules stifling a snake 
 in his hand. 
 
 " And I have had another thought about Noah, whicli 
 pleases me better than the first. I would not have him like 
 an Indian Bacchus; but 1 would represent him as a vintager; 
 this would give the notion of a sort of redeemer, who, as 
 
 2 11 2 
 
468 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1830, 
 
 the first fosterer of the vine, made nian free from the tor- 
 ment of carp and affliction." 
 
 I was charmed with the happy thought, and resolved to 
 note it down. 
 
 Goethe then showed me the engraving of Neureuther, 
 for his legend of the horse-shoe. 
 
 " The artist," said I. " has given the Saviour only eight 
 disciples." 
 
 " And even these eight." replied Goethe, " are too many; 
 and he has very wisely endeavoured to divide them into 
 two groups, and thus to avoid the monotony of an unmean- 
 ing procession." 
 
 Wed., Mar. 24. — The liveliest conversation at table to- 
 day with Goethe. He told me about a French poem which 
 had come in manuscript, in the collection of David, under 
 the title " Le Eire de Mirabeau." 
 
 "The poem is full of spirit and boldness," said Goethe, 
 " and you must see it. It seems . as if Mephistophiles 
 had prepared the ink for the poet. It is great if he wrote 
 it without having read ' Faust,' and no less great if he had 
 read it." 
 
 (Sup.) Mon., Mar. 29. — This evening for some moments 
 at Goethe's ; he appeared very calm and cheerful, and in the 
 mildest mood. I found him surrounded by his grandson 
 Wolf and the Countess Caroline Egioffstein, his intimate 
 friend. Wolf gave his dear grandfather a great deal of 
 trouble. He climbed about him, and sat now upon one 
 shoulder, and now upon another. Goethe bore all with the 
 utmost gentleness, inconvenient as the weight of this boy of 
 ten years old must have been to him at his advanced age. 
 
 "But, dear Wolf," said the Countess, "do not torment 
 your good grandfather so terribly ! He must be quite 
 tired with your weight." 
 
 " That does not matter," said Wolf, " we shall soon go to 
 bed. and then mv grandfather will have time enough to re- 
 cover from his fatigue." 
 
 " You see," rejoined Goethe, " that love is always some- 
 what of an impertinent nature." 
 
 The conversation turned upon Campe, and his writings 
 for children. 
 
 " I have onlv met with Campe twice in my life," said 
 
183O.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 469 
 
 Goethe. " After an interval of forty years, I last saw him 
 at Carlsbad. I then found him very old, withered, stiff, 
 and formal. He had, during a long life, written only for 
 children, not even for great children of twenty years. He 
 could not endure me. I was an eyesore, a stumbling-block, 
 and he did all he could to avoid me. Chance, however, one 
 day brought me to him quite unexpectedly, and he could 
 not help saying some words to me. 'I have,' said he, 
 1 great respect for the capabilities of your mind ! You have 
 attained extraordinary eminence in various departments. 
 But things of that sort do not effect me, and 1 cannot set 
 the value upon them which others do.' This rather uncivil 
 candour by no means offended me, and I said all sorts of 
 obliging things in return. Besides, I really have a high 
 opinion of Campe. He has conferred incredible benefits 
 upon children ; he is their delight, and, so to speak, their 
 gospel. I should like to see him a little corrected, merely 
 on account of two or three terrible stories which he has 
 had the indiscretion not onlv to write, but also to introduce 
 into his collection for children. Why should we burden the 
 cheerful, fresh, innocent fancy of children with such horrid 
 impressions ? " 
 
 (Sup.) Mon., April 5. — It is well known that Goethe is 
 no friend to spectacles. 
 
 " It may be a mere whim of mine," said he, on various 
 occasions, "but I cannot overcome it. Whenever a 
 stranger steps up to me with spectacles on his nose, a dis- 
 cordant feeling comes over me, which I cannot master. It 
 annoys me so much, that on the very threshold it takes 
 away a great part of my benevolence, and so spoils my 
 thoughts, that an unconstrained natural development of my 
 own nature is altogether impossible. It always makes ox 
 me the impression of the desohligeant, as if a strangei 
 would say something rude to me at the first greeting. 1 
 feel this still stronger, since it has been impressed upon me 
 for years how obnoxious spectacles are. * If a stranger now 
 comes with spectacles, I think immediately — 'lie lias not 
 read my latest poems ! ' and that is of itself a little to his 
 disadvantage ; or ' he has read them, knows their pecu- 
 liarity, and sets them at nought,' and that is still worse. 
 The only man with whom spectacles do not annoy me is 
 
470 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [183O, 
 
 Zelter ; with all others they are horrible. It always seems 
 to me as if I am to serve strangers as an object for strict 
 examination, and as if with their armed glances they would 
 penetrate my most secret thoughts, and spy out every 
 wrinkle of my old face. But whilst they thus endeavour 
 to make my acquaintance, they destroy all fair equality be- 
 tween us, as they prevent me from compensating myself by 
 making theirs. For what do I gain from a man into 
 whose eyes I cannot look when he is speaking, and the 
 mirror of whose soul is veiled to me by a pair of glasses 
 which dazzle me ? " 
 
 " Some one has remarked," added I, " that wearing 
 spectacles makes men conceited, because spectacles raise 
 them to a degree of sensual perfection which is far above 
 the power of their own nature, but through which the 
 delusion at last creeps in that this artificial eminence is the 
 force of their own nature after all." 
 
 "The remark is very good," returned Goethe, "it 
 appears to have proceeded from d natural philosopher, 
 However, when examined, it is not tenable. For if this 
 were actually the case, all blind men would of necessity be 
 very modest ; and, on the other hand, all endowed with 
 excellent eyes would be conceited. But this is not the 
 case ; we rather find that all mentally and bodily endowed 
 men are the most modest, while, on the other hand, all who 
 have some peculiar mental defect think a great deal more of 
 themselves. It appears that bountiful Nature has given to 
 all those whom she has not enough endowed in higher 
 respects, imagination and presumption by way of compensa- 
 tion and complement. 
 
 " Besides, modesty and presumption are moral things of 
 so spiritual a nature, that they have little to do with the 
 body. With narrow-minded persons, and those in a state 
 of mental darkness, we find conceit ; while with mental 
 clearness and hio - h endowments we never find it. In such 
 
 & r 
 
 cases there is generally a joyful feeling of strength ; but 
 since this strength is actual, the feeling is anything else 
 you please, only not conceit." 
 
 We still conversed on various other subjects, and came at 
 last to the " Chaos " — the Weimar journal conducted by 
 Frau von Goethe — in which not only the German gentle- 
 
J830.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 471 
 
 men and ladies of the place take part, but also the young 
 English, French, and other foreigners who reside here; so 
 1 hat almost every number presents a mixture of nearly ali 
 the best known European tongues. 
 
 " It was a good thought of my daughter," said Goethe, 
 " and she should be praised and thanked for having 
 achieved this highly original journal, and kept the indi- 
 vidual members of our society in such activity that it has 
 now lasted for nearly a year. It is certainly only a dilet- 
 tante pastime, and I know very well that nothing great and 
 durable will proceed from it ; but still it is very neat, and, 
 to a certain extent, a mirror of the intellectual eminence of 
 our present Weimar society. Then, which is the principal 
 thing, it gives employment to our young gentlemen and 
 ladies, who often do not know what to do with themselves ; 
 through this, too, they have an intellectual centre which 
 affords them subjects for discussion and conversation, and 
 preserves them from mere empty hollow chat. I read every 
 sheet just as it comes from the press, and can say that, on 
 the whole, I have met with nothing stupid, but occasionally 
 something very pretty. What, for instance, could you say 
 against the elegy, by Frau von Bechtolsheim, upon the 
 death of the Grand l)uchcss Dowager ? Is not the poem 
 very pretty ? The only thing that could be said against it, 
 or, indeed, against most that is written by our young ladies 
 and gentlemen is, that, like trees too full of sap, "which 
 have a number of parasitical shoots, they have a super- 
 abundance of thoughts and feelings which they cannot 
 control, so that they often do not know how to restrain 
 themselves, or to leave oil in the right place. This is the 
 ease with Frau von Bechtolsheim. In order to preserve a 
 rhyme, she had added another line, which was completely 
 detrimental to the poem, and in some measure spoiled it. 
 I saw this fault in the manuscript, and was able to strike it 
 out in time. 
 
 " One must be an old practitioner," he added, langhing, 
 "to understand striking out. Schiller was particularly 
 great in that. I once saw him, on the occasion of his 
 ' Musenalmanach,' reduce a pompous poem of two-ami - 
 twenty strophes to seven ; and no loss resulted from this 
 terrible operation. On the contrary, those seven strophes 
 
472 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1850. 
 
 contained all the good and effective thonghts of the two- 
 and-twenty." 
 
 (Sup.*) Mon., April 19. — Goethe gave me an account of 
 a visit, which he had received to-day, from two Russians. 
 V They were, npon the whole, very agreeable people," said 
 he ; " but one of them did not appear very amiable, inas- 
 much as he did not utter a single word during his whole 
 visit. He entered with a silent bow, did not open his lips 
 during his stay, and after half an hour took his leave with 
 another silent salutation. He appeared to have come merely 
 to see me and to observe me. He did not take his eyes off: 
 me, whilst I sat opposite. That annoyed me, and I therefore 
 began to rattle away the maddest stuff, just as it came into 
 my head. I believe I took the United States of North 
 America as my theme, which I treated with the utmost 
 levity, saying at random all I knew and all I did not know. 
 However, this appeared to please my two foreigners, for 
 they quitted me, as it seemed, not at all dissatisfied." 
 
 Wed., April 21. — To-day I took my leave of Goethe, as I 
 was to set out with his son for Italy to-morrow morning. 
 We said a great deal in reference to the journey, and he 
 especially recommended me to observe well, and now and 
 then to write to him. 
 
 I felt some emotion at leaving Goethe, but was consoled 
 by his strong healthy appearance, and the confident hope 
 that I should be happy enough to see him again. 
 
 When I took my departure he gave me an album, in 
 which he had written these words — 
 
 "to the travellers. 
 " ' Es geht voriiber eh' ich's gewahr werde,f 
 Und verwandelt sich eli' ich's merke.' — Job. 
 
 " Weimar, 21st April, 1830." 
 
 (Sup.*) Thar., April 22.— Dined with Goethe. Frau 
 von Goethe was present, and the conversation was agree- 
 ably animated. Still, little or nothing of it remains in my 
 mind. 
 
 During dinner, a foreigner, who was passing through 
 this town, was announced, with the remark that he had no 
 
 f " Lo, he goeth by me, and I see him not ; he passeth on also, but 
 I perceive him not." — Job. — Trans. 
 
1 83O.J CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 473 
 
 time to wait, and must set off the next morning. Goethe 
 sent word to him, that he regretted that he could not see 
 any one to-day, but that he would perhaps see him to- 
 morrow at noon. " I think," said he, laughing, " that will 
 be enough." But, at the same time, he promised his 
 ♦laughter that he would wait after dinner the visit of young 
 Henning, whom she had introduced, out of consideration 
 for his brown eyes, which were said to be like those of his 
 mother. 
 
 Frankfort, Sat, April 24. — At about eleven o'clock I 
 took a walk round the city, and through the gardens to- 
 wards the Taunus Mountain, and was delighted with the 
 noble prospect and vegetation. The day before yesterday, 
 at Weimar, the trees were only in the bud, but here I find 
 the new shoots of the chestnuts already a foot long, and 
 those of the linden trees a quarter of a yard. The grass 
 was a foot high, and thus at the gate I met some girls 
 carrying heavy basket-loads. 
 
 I went through the gardens to get a free prospect of the 
 Taunus Mountain ; there was a fresh breeze, the clouds 
 moved from the south-west, and cast their shadows upon 
 the mountain as they proceeded to the north-east. Between 
 the gardens I saw some storks alight and rise again, which, 
 taking place in the sunlight between the passing white 
 clouds and the blue sky, produced a pretty effect, and com- 
 pleted the character of the scene. When I returned, I met 
 at the gate the finest cows, brown, white, speckled, and 
 with sleek coats. 
 
 The air here is pleasant and healthy, and the water has 
 a sweetish taste. I have never tasted such good beef-steaks 
 at Hamburg as here, and I have excellent white bread. 
 
 It is fair time, and the bustle, fiddling, and piping in the 
 streets lasts from morning till late at night. I was much 
 struck by a Savoyard boy, who turned a hurdy-gurdy, and 
 led behind him a dog, 011 which a monkey was riding. He 
 whistled and sang to us, and for a long time tried to make 
 us ffive him something:. We threw him down more than he 
 could have expected, and I thought he would throw up to 
 us a look of gratitude. However, he did nothing of the 
 kind, but pocketed his money, and immediately looked 
 after others to srive him more. 
 
474 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1830., 
 
 Franlcfort, Sun., April 25. — This morning we took a ride 
 about the city, in a very elegant carriage belonging to our 
 host. The magnificent buildings, the beautiful stream, the 
 gardens and grounds, and enticing summer-houses, were 
 refreshing to the senses. However, I soon made the 
 remark, that it is requisite for the mind to elicit thoughts 
 from objects, and that without this everything, after all,, 
 will prove indifferent and unmeaning. 
 
 At dinner, at the table d'hote, I saw many faces, but few 
 expressive enough to fix my attention. However, the head 
 waiter interested me highly, so that my eyes constantly 
 followed him and all his movements ; and indeed he was a 
 remarkable being. The guests who sat at the long table 
 were about two hundred in number, and it seems almost in- 
 credible when I say that nearly the whole of the attendance 
 was performed by the head waiter, since he put on and took 
 off all the dishes, while the other waiters only handed them 
 to him and received them from him. During all this pro- 
 ceeding nothing was spilt, no one was incommoded, but all 
 went off lightly and nimbly, as if by the operation of a 
 spirit. Thus, thousands of plates and dishes flew from his 
 hands upon the table, and again from the table to the hands 
 of the attendants behind him. Quite absorbed in his voca- 
 tion, the whole man was nothing but eyes and hands, and he 
 merely opened his closed lips for short answers and direc- 
 tions. Then he not only attended to the table, but to the 
 orders for wine and the like, and so well remembered every- 
 thing, that when the meal was over he knew everybody's 
 score, and took the money. I admired the comprehensive 
 power, the presence of mind, and the strong memory of 
 this remarkable young man. At the same time he was per- 
 fectly quiet and self-possessed, and always ready for a jest 
 and a smart retort, so that a constant smile played upon 
 his lips. A French captain of the old guard complained to 
 him, at the end of the meal, that the ladies retired. He at 
 once gave the evasive answer : — G'est pour vous autres ; 
 nous sommes sans passion." He spoke French and English 
 perfectly, and I was told that he was master of three 
 languages besides. I afterwards entered into conversation 
 with him, and found reason to admire his rare cultivation in 
 every respect. 
 
1830.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 475 
 
 At the performance of " Don Juan," in the evening, we 
 found reason to regret Weimar. The voices of the company- 
 were good, and their talents were fair, but they all played 
 like children of nature who owed nothing to tuition. They 
 did not enunciate clearly, and went on as if no public were 
 present. The acting of some of them gave occasion to the 
 remark that the ignoble without character is vulgar and 
 intolerable, while character at once elevates it into the 
 higher region of art. The public was very loud and bois- 
 terous, and there was no lack of calls and encores. Zerlina 
 fared both well and ill, for one-half of the house hissed, 
 while the other applauded. Party spirit was thus height- 
 ened, and always resulted in an uproar. 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., May 12. — Before Goethe's window stood a 
 little bronze figure of Moses ; a copy of the renowned 
 original, by Michael Angelo. The arms appeared to me 
 too long and too stout in proportion to the rest of the body, 
 and I openly expressed this opinion to Goethe. 
 
 " But the two heavy tables with the Ten Commandments," 
 exclaimed he, sharply, " do you think it was a trifle to carry 
 them ? And do you believe that Moses, who had to com- 
 mand and to curb an army of Jews, could have been con- 
 tented with mere ordinary arms ? " 
 
 Goethe laughed as he said this, so that I could not fi i 
 out whether I was really in error, or whether he was 
 defending the artist by way of a joke. 
 
 Milan, May 28. — I have now been here for three weeks, 
 and it is hiq;h time for me to write down something. 
 
 The great Teatro de la Scala, to our regret, was closed. 
 We went in and saw it filled with scaffoldingr Various re- 
 pairs are going on, and we are told that an addition is 
 being made of a tier of boxes. The principal singers have 
 taken advantage of this opportunity to travel. Some, they 
 say, are in Paris, some in Vienna. 
 
 I visited the Marionette theatre (Puppet-show). This 
 theatre is, perhaps, of its kind, the best in the world. It 
 has a high celebrity, and as soon as you approach Milan 
 you hear of it. 
 
 The Teatro de la Canobiana, with its five tiers of boxes, is 
 the largest after La Scala, and holds three thousand persons. 
 I like it very much. I have often been in it, »nd have 
 
476 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1830. 
 
 always seen the same opeia and the same ballet. For three 
 weeks they have performed Rossini's opera "II Conte Ory," 
 and the ballet " L' Orfana di Genevra." The scenes 
 painted by San Quirico, or under his direction, have a most 
 pleasing effect, and are modest enough to allow themselves 
 to be outshone by the dresses of the actors. San Quirico, it 
 is said, has many clever persons in his employ. All orders 
 are sent to him in the first instance, and he sends them to 
 others, and gives directions, so that everything is done in 
 his name, and he himself does but little. It is said that he 
 gives a handsome yearly salary to several artists of talent, 
 and pays it even when they are ill and do nothing through- 
 out the year. 
 
 During the performance of the opera I was highly 
 pleased not to see the prompter's box, which generally 
 so unpleasantly conceals the feet of the actor. I was also 
 pleased with the situation of the conductor. He stood 
 a little raised in the middle of the orchestra, next to the 
 stalls, so that he could see and be seen by his whole band, 
 giving directions to the right and left, and having a full 
 view of the stage over their heads. In Weimar, on the 
 contrary, the conductor is so placed that he has indeed a 
 full view of the stage, but the band is behind him, so that 
 he is always obliged to turn round if he would give direc- 
 tions to any one of the players. The band itself is very 
 numerous. I counted sixteen basses, eight of which were 
 placed at each extremity. The players, who are nearly a 
 hundred in number, are turned towards the conductor 
 on both sides, so that they have their backs turned to the 
 pit-boxes by the proscenium, with one eye towards the 
 stage and the other towards the pit, and with the conductor 
 directly in front. 
 
 With respect to the voices of the singers, I was de- 
 lighted with the purity and strength of the tone, and the 
 freedom and absence of effort in their enunciation. 
 
 I thought of Zelter, and wished he was by my side. I 
 was pleased above all with the voice of Signora Corradi- 
 Pantanelli, who played the page. I spoke with others con- 
 cerning this excellent singer, and heard that she was 
 engaged for next winter at La Scala. The prima donna 
 who played the Countess Adele, was Signora Albertini, 
 
1830.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 477 
 
 a young debutante. There is in her voice something very- 
 soft and pure, as the light of the sun. Every one who 
 comes from Germany must be delighted with her to the 
 highest degree. A young basso also distinguished himself. 
 His voice is very powerful, but somewhat inflexible ; and 
 his acting, though unconstrained, indicates the infancy of 
 his art. The choruses went admirably, and kept the 
 greatest precision with regard to the orchestra. With 
 respect to the gesticulation of the actors, I observed a 
 certain quiet moderation, whereas I had anticipated an 
 expression of the lively Italian temperament. The paint 
 was a mere tinge of red, such as one likes to see in nature, 
 and did not at all give the impression of rouged cheeks. 
 
 Considering the strength of the orchestra, I found it re- 
 markable that the players never drowned the voices of the 
 singers, but that these always were predominant. I spoke 
 on the subject at the' table d'hote, and heard an intelligent 
 young man give the following explanation : — 
 
 " The German bands," said he, " are egotistical, and wish 
 as bands to come out and do something. An Italian band, 
 on the other hand, is discreet. It knows well enough that 
 in an opera the singing of the human voices is the prin- 
 cipal matter, and that the orchestral accompaniment 
 should only be subservient. Hence, however many violins, 
 clarionets, trumpets, and basses, are played in an Italian 
 orchestra, the impression of the whole will always be soft 
 and pleasant ; while a German band, with a third of the 
 strength, very soon becomes loud and noisy." 
 
 I could not answer words so convincing, and was glad to 
 find my problem so well solved. 
 
 " Still," I remarked, " are not the modern composers also 
 in fault, through making the instrumental part of their 
 operas too strong ? " 
 
 " Certainly," replied the stranger, " modern composers 
 have fallen into this fault ; but never truly great masters, 
 like Mozart and Rossini. These, indeed, in their accom- 
 paniments, introduce distinct themes, independent of the 
 melody of the vocal part; but, nevertheless, they have 
 always used such moderation, that the voice of the singer 
 is always in the ascendant. On the other hand, while with 
 modern masters there is real Dovcrty in the accompani- 
 
478 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1830. 
 
 ment, they of fcen drown the singing by their violent instru- 
 mentation." 
 
 I gave my assent to these remarks of the intelligent 
 young stranger. The person who sat next to me at table 
 told me he was a yonng Livonian Baron, who had long re- 
 sided in London and Paris, and had now been here for five 
 years, studying very hard. 
 
 I must mention something else which I observed in the 
 opera, and which gave me much pleasure. It is the 
 circumstance that the Italians treat night on the stage not 
 as actual night, but only symbolically. It was always un- 
 pleasant to me that, in the German theatres, when it was 
 supposed to be night, a perfect night set in, so that the ex- 
 pression of the actors, and often their persons vanished 
 altogether, and nothing but mere darkness was visible. 
 The Italians manage more wisely. On their stage night is 
 never actual, but only an indication. The back of the 
 stage is a little darkened — that is all — and the actors come 
 so much into the foreground that they are completely 
 lighted, and not the least expression escapes us. In paint- 
 ing the same method should be adopted, and I should be 
 surprised to find pictures in which the faces were so 
 darkened by night that their expression could not be 
 recognized. I hope I shall never find such a picture by a 
 good master. 
 
 I find the same excellent maxim applied in the ballet. A 
 nocturnal scene was represented, in which a girl was 
 attacked by a robber. The stage is only a little darkened, 
 so that all the movements and the expression of the face 
 are perfectly visible. At the shrieks of the girl the assassin 
 •escapes, and the peasants hasten from their cottages with 
 lights. These are not dim, but of a whitish flame, and it is 
 only by the contrast of this very great brilliancy that we 
 perceive it was night in the previous scene. 
 
 What I had been told in Germany about the loud Italian 
 public I have found confirmed; and, indeed, the longer 
 the opera is played, the more does the noise of the public 
 increase. A fortnight ago I saw one of the first representa- 
 tions of the " Conte Ory." The singers were received with 
 applause on their entrance ; the audience, to be sure, talked 
 during the less striking scenes, but when good airs were 
 
1 83O.J CONVERSATIONS OF GOETTIE. 479 
 
 sung all was still, and general approbation rewarded the 
 singers. The choruses went excellently, and I admired the 
 precision with which voices and orchestra always kept 
 together. But now, when the opera has been given every 
 evening since that time, the public has totally ceased to pay 
 attention ; everybody talks, and the house resounds with 
 the noise. Scarcely a hand is stirred, and one can scarcely 
 imagine how the singers can open their lips on the stage, 
 or how the instrumentalists can play a note in the 
 orchestra. There is an end to zeal and precision ; and the 
 foreigner, who likes to hear something, would be in 
 despair — if despair were at all possible in so cheerful an 
 assembly. 
 
 Milan, May 30. — I will here record something which I 
 have hitherto remarked with pleasure, or which has at any 
 rate interested me in Italy. 
 
 On the Simplon, amid the desert of snow and mist, in 
 the vicinity of a refuge, a boy and his little sister were 
 ■journeying up the mountain by the side of our carriage. 
 Both had on their backs little baskets filled with wood, 
 which they had gathered in the lower mountains, where 
 there is still some vegetation. The boy gave ns some speci- 
 mens of rock crystal and other stone, for which we gave him 
 some small coins. The delight with which he cast stolen 
 glances at his money as he passed by our carriage, made 
 upon me an indelible impression. Never before had I seen 
 such a heavenly expression of felicity. I could not but 
 reflect that God has placed all sources and capabilities for 
 happiness in the human heart ; and that, with respect to 
 happiness, it is perfectly indifferent how and where one 
 dwells. 
 
 (Sup.*) Mon., Aug. 2. — The news of the Revolution of 
 July, which had already commenced, reached Weimar to- 
 day, and set every one in a commotion. I went in the 
 course of the afternoon to Goethe's. " Now," exclaimed 
 he to me, as I entered, "what do you think of this great 
 event ? The volcano has come to an eruption ; everything 
 is in flames, and we have no longer a transaction with 
 closed doors ! " 
 
 " A frightful story," returned I. "But what could be 
 expected under such notoriously bad circumstances, ami 
 
480 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1830, 
 
 with sucli a ministry, otherwise than that the whole would 
 end in the expulsion of the royal family ? " 
 
 " We do not appear to understand each other, my good 
 friend," returned Goethe. " I am not speaking of those 
 people, but of something quite different. 1 am speaking of 
 the contest, so important for science, between Cuvier and 
 Geoffrey de Saint Hilaire, which has come to an open 
 rupture in the academy." 
 
 This expression of Goethe's was so very unexpected that 
 I did not know what to say, and for some minutes felt my 
 thoughts perfectly at a standstill. 
 
 " The matter is of the highest importance," continued 
 Goethe, " and you can form no conception of what I felt 
 at the intelligence of the sitting of the 19th of July. We 
 have now in Geoffrey de Saint Hilaire a powerful and 
 permanent ally. I see how great must be the interest of 
 the French scientific world in this affair; because, not- 
 withstanding the terrible political commotion, the sitting 
 of the 19th of July was very fully attended. However, the 
 best of it is, that the synthetic manner of treating nature, 
 introduced by Geoffrey into France, cannot be kept back 
 any more. The affair has now become public, through the 
 free discussion of the academy, and that in the presence 
 of so large an audience. It is no longer referred to secret 
 committees, and arranged and got rid of, and smothered 
 behind closed doors. From the present time, mind will 
 rule over matter in the physical investigations of the 
 French. There will be glances of the great maxims of 
 creation, of the mysterious workshop of God! Besides, 
 what is all intercourse' with nature, if, by the analytical 
 method, we merely occupy ourselves with individual 
 material parts, and do not feel the breath of the spirit, 
 which prescribes to every part its direction, and orders, or 
 sanctions, every deviation, by means of an inherent law ! 
 
 "I have exerted myself in this great affair for fifty 
 years. At first, I was alone, then I found support, and 
 now at last, to my great joy, I am surpassed by congenial 
 minds. When I sent my first discovery of intermediate 
 bones to Peter Camper, I was, to my infinite mortification, 
 utterly ignored. With Blumenbach I fared no better, 
 though, after personal intercourse, he came over to my 
 
1830.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 481 
 
 side. But then I gained kindred spirits in Sommerin"-, 
 Oken, Dalton, Cams, and other equally excellent men. 
 And now Geoffrey (Je Saint Hilaire is decidedly on our 
 side, and with him all his important scholars and adherents 
 in France. This occurrence is of incredible value to me ; 
 and I justly rejoice that I have at last witnessed the 
 universal victory of a subject to which I have devoted my 
 life, and which, moreover, is my own par excellence." 
 
 (Sup.*) Sat., Aug. 21. — I recommended to Goethe a 
 hopeful young man. He promised to do something for 
 him, but appeared to have little confidence. 
 
 "Whoever," said he, "has, like myself, during a whole 
 life lost valuable time and money through the protec- 
 tion of young talents, and those talents which have at 
 first awakened the highest hopes, but of which nothing- 
 has come in the end, must, by degrees, lose all enthusiasm 
 and pleasure in pursuing such a course. It is now the 
 turn of you younger people to take my part and play the 
 Maecenas." 
 
 Apropos of this declaration of Goethe's, I compared the 
 delusive promises of youth with trees which bear double 
 blossom, but no fruit. 
 
 I f was about to proceed with my communication, but 1 
 was interrupted, and wrote nothing more during my further 
 residence in Italy, though there was not a day in which I 
 did not receive some important impression, and make some 
 important observation. It was not until I had parted from 
 Goethe's son, and had left the Alps behind me, that I wrote 
 as follows to Goethe : — 
 
 Geneva, Sept. 12, 1830. — I have so much to tell you, 
 that I do not know where I shall begin, and where I shall 
 end. 
 
 Your excellency has remarked in jest that travelling on 
 is a very pleasant matter, if there were no coming back. I 
 find this remark confirmed to my sorrow, as I feel myself 
 at a sort of crossway, and do not know which direction 
 to take. 
 
 My residence in Italy, short as it was, has not been 
 — as indeed might be expected — without important 
 
 t Here, of course, Eckermann speaks. — Trans. 
 
 2i 
 
482 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1830. 
 
 influence upon me. A bountiful nature lias been dis- 
 covered to me with its wonders, and lias asked nie bow far 
 I have advanced to comprehend such a language. Great 
 works of man, great actions have excited me, and have 
 made me look to myself to ascertain my own capabilities. 
 Existences of a thousand kinds have come into contact 
 with me, and have asked me how it stands with my own. 
 Thus I find living within me three great requisites, — 
 namely, to increase my knowledge ; to improve my con- 
 dition; and above all, in order to secure these, to do 
 something. 
 
 With respect to this last requisite, I am by no means in 
 doubt as to what is to be done, For a long time I have had 
 at heart a work, which has occupied my leisure for some 
 years, and which is as far complete as a new-built ship,, 
 which still lacks its sails and rigging to be fit for sea. 
 
 I mean those conversations on great maxirns in all 
 departments of science and art, as well as on the various 
 revelations touching higher human interests, works of 
 mind, and the chief personages of the age, to which the 
 six years, which I have been happy enough to pass in your 
 society, have offered such frequent occasion. These con- 
 versations have been for me a source of infinite culture ; 
 and, as I have found the greatest delight in hearing them, 
 and being instructed by them, I wish to give the same 
 pleasure to others, by writing them down, and thus pre- 
 serving them for the better class of humanity. 
 
 Your excellency has occasionally seen some sheets ol 
 these conversations ; you have honoured them with your 
 approbation, and have frequently encouraged me to pro- 
 ceed in my undertaking. This I have done at intervals, 
 as well as my unsettled life at Weimar allowed, so that 
 now I have abundant materials for about two volumes. 
 
 When I set out for Italy I did not put these important 
 manuscripts into my trunk with my other papers, but, 
 after sealing them up in a separate parcel, confided them 
 to the care of our friend Soret, with the request that if 
 any mishap befell me on the journey, and I did not 
 return, he would place them in your hands. 
 
 After the visit to Venice, during our second stay at 
 Milan, I was attacked by a fever, so that I was very ill 
 
iSjO.j GUIs' VERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 
 
 for some nights, and lay for a whole week in a very 
 
 miserable condition, without the slightest appetite. In my 
 lonely hours I chiefly thought of the manuscript, and 
 felt uneasy when I reflected that it was not in a state suffi- 
 ciently clear and complete to be used at once. The fact 
 occurred to me that a great deal was written only with 
 pencil, that some was obscure and improperly expressed, that 
 much was merely hinted, and that, in a word, a regular 
 re vision and a last hand would be requisite. 
 
 Under these circumstances, and with this feeling, I had 
 an anxious desire for my papers. The pleasure of seeing 
 Naples and Rome was gone, and I felt a wish to return 
 to Germany, that, secluded from everybody, I might com- 
 plete the manuscript. 
 
 Without mentioning what was working within me, 1 
 spoke to your son about the state of my health. He felt 
 the danger of dragging me farther in the sultry climate, 
 and we agreed that I should in the first place visit Genoa, 
 and that, if my health did not improve there, I should bo 
 at liberty to return to Germany. 
 
 In accordance with this view we had resided for some 
 time in Genoa, when we received a letter from you, in 
 which you seemed, though at a distance, to feel our 
 position, and stated that, if I had any inclination to return, 
 I should be welcome. 
 
 We paid all reverence to your hint, and were delighted 
 that, from the other side of the Alps, you gave your 
 assent to an arrangement which had just been made 
 between us. I resolved to set off at once, but your son 
 thought it better that I should remain a little longer, and 
 set off on the same day as himself. 
 
 This I did readily, and it was at five o'clock in the 
 morning, on Sunday, the 25th July, that we gave each 
 other a farewell embrace in the streets of Genoa. Two 
 carriages were stationed ; one was to go along the ci 
 up to Leghorn, the other was to cross the mountains for 
 Turin, and in this I placed myself with other passengers. 
 Thus we parted in opposite directions, both deeply moved, 
 and with the heartiest wishes for our mutual welfare. 
 
 After a three days' journey, in great heat and dust, 
 through Novi, Alexandria, and Asti. I came to Turin. 
 
 2 i 2 
 
48-i CONVEKSATIOXS OF GOETHE. [1830. 
 
 where it was necessary for me to rest some aays, looking 
 about me, and to wait a more fitting opportunity to cross 
 the Alps. This occurred on Monday, the 2nd of August, 
 when we crossed Mount Cenis, and arrived at Chambery 
 at six o'clock in the evening. On the afternoon of the 7th, 
 I fouud opportunity to proceed to Aix ; and late on the 
 8th, amid rain and darkness, I reached Geneva, where I 
 put np at the sign of the " Crown." 
 
 This inn was thronged with Englishmen, who, having 
 just come from Paris, and having been eyewitnesses of the 
 extraordinary scenes that had taken place there, had a 
 great deal to tell. You may imagine what an effect the 
 first experience of these world-shaking events had upon 
 me, with what interest I read the newspapers, which had 
 been suppressed in Piedmont, and how eagerly I listened 
 to the narratives of the new comers who arrived every 
 day, and to the gossip and disputes of the politicians at the 
 table d'hote. Everybody was in a state of the greatest 
 excitement, and an endeavour was made to trace the conse- 
 quences which might result to the rest of Europe from 
 such violent measures. I visited our fair friend, Sylvesfcre, 
 and Soret's parents and brother; and as in such excited 
 times one must ha\e an opinion, I laid it down in my own 
 mind that the French ministers were chiefly culpable for 
 reducing the monarch to measures, by which confidence and 
 respect for the sovereign were compromised with the people. 
 
 It was my intention to write to you in detail immediately 
 on my arrival at Geneva ; but the excitement and distrac- 
 tion of the first days were so great, that I could not collect 
 myself to communicate facts in the form I desired. Then, 
 on the 15th of August, I received a letter from Genoa, from 
 our friend Sterling, containing information which troubled 
 me exceedingly, and prevented all communication with 
 Weimar. Sterling told me in this letter that your son, on 
 the very day when he had parted from me, had broken his 
 collar-bone, in consequence of the carriage overturning, and 
 had been laid up at Spezzia. I wrote at once, by way of 
 yeply, that I was ready to cross the Alps at the very first 
 hint, and that I should not leave Geneva to proceed on my 
 way to Germany until I received perfectly satisfactory news 
 from Genoa, in expectation of this, I took a private lodg- 
 
1830.] CONVERSA IOXS OF GOETHE. 485 
 
 ing, and made use of my stay to improve myself in the 
 French lancmaere. 
 
 At last, on the 28th of August, a double day of rejoicing 
 was prepared for me ; a second letter from Sterling 
 delighted me with the information that your son had in a 
 short time quite recovered from his accident, was thoroughly 
 safe, sound, and in excellent spirits. Thus all my anxiety 
 on his account was at once removed, and in the stillness of 
 my heart I cited the lines — • 
 
 H Du danke Gott wenn er dich presst, 
 Und dank' ihm wenn er dich wieder entliisst." 
 
 M Give thanks to God when hard he presses, 
 And thank him, too, when he releases." 
 
 1 now seriously set about giving you an account of 
 myself, and was about to tell you much the same as what 
 is written in the preceding pages. I was about to inquire 
 again whether 1 might not be permitted, in quiet seclusion, 
 far away from Wiemar, to complete that manuscript which 
 I have so much at heart, since I felt that I could not be 
 perfectly free and happy till I had laid before you the long- 
 cherished work, stitched and fairly copied, that you might 
 sanction its publication. 
 
 Now, however, I have received letters from Weimar, in 
 which I see that my speedy return is expected, and that 
 there is an intention to give me a place. I can but return 
 thanks for such kindness, though it seems counter to my 
 present plans, and brings me into a state of discord with 
 myself. 
 
 If I now returned to Weimar, a speedy completion of my 
 literary plans would be impossible. The old distractions 
 would return, and in our little city, where one person is 
 perpetually in contact with another, I should again be dis- 
 turbed by various trivial circumstances, without being of 
 decided use to myself or any one else. 
 
 Weimar, I grant, contains much that is good and excel- 
 lent, much that I have long loved, and that I love still. 
 Nevertheless, when I look back upon it, I fancy that I 
 see, at the city gates, an angel with a fiery sword, to 
 prevent my entrance, and to drive me back. 
 
 I am, to my own knowledge, a strange sort of being. To 
 
486 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. L l8 3 ' 
 
 certain things I adhere most constantly — I cleave to my 
 plans for many years, and ohstinately carry them ont 
 through a thousand windings and difficulties ; but in the 
 several collisions of ordinary life no one is more dependent, 
 wavering, and susceptible of impressions than myself. 
 These two peculiarities constitute the varying, and, at the 
 same time, secure destiny of my life. If I look back upon 
 the path along which I have travelled, the circumstances 
 through which I have passed present a motley variety ; but 
 if I look deeper, I see through all a certain simple track 
 leading to a higher aspiration, and that I have even succeeded 
 in ennobling and improving myself at successive steps of the 
 scale. 
 
 Even now it is this very impressionable and pliable pecu- 
 liarity of my character which, from time to time, compels me 
 to rectify my mode of life ; just as a mariner, whom the 
 caprices of various winds have turned from his course, 
 always sails again the old track. 
 
 Taking an office is now not compatible with the literary 
 plans I have so long deferred. Neither is it any longer my 
 plan to give lessons to young Englishmen. I have learned 
 the language, which is all I wanted, and at this I am 
 delighted. I do not deny the advantages I have gained 
 from a long intercourse with young foreigners, but every- 
 thing has its end, and its period of change. 
 
 Altogether, oral instruction and influence are quite out of 
 my way. They belong to a profession for which I have 
 neither talent nor training. I am totally without the gift 
 of eloquence ; so that, generally speaking, any living soul 
 who sits opposite to me exercises such an influence over me, 
 that I forget myself, that I am absorbed in the peculiarities 
 and interests of another, and that, on this account, I feel a 
 sense of oppression, and can rarely attain a free and power- 
 ful operation of my thoughts. 
 
 On the other hand, with my paper before me, I feel quite 
 free and self-possessed. Hence the written development of 
 my thoughts is my real delight, and my real life, so that I 
 regard everv clav as lost on which I have not written some 
 
 O ml ml m m 
 
 pages to my own satisfaction. 
 
 It is now an impulse of my whole nature to act from 
 myself upon a wide circle, to acquire influence in literature. 
 
I830.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 487 
 
 and, as a furtherance of my good fortune, to gain some 
 renown. 
 
 Literary fame considered by itself is, indeed, scarcely 
 worth the trouble of earning ; I have even seen that it can 
 be very burthcnsonie and distressing. Nevertheless, it has 
 this advantage, that it shows the active aspirant thatfhis 
 operations have found a soil, — and this is a divine sort of 
 feeling, which elevates, and gives a degree of thought and 
 power which would not otherwise be attained. 
 
 If, on the other hand, one has confined oneself too long 
 in a narrow sphere, the mind and character are injured ; 
 one becomes at last incapable of great things, and to elevate 
 oneself becomes a difficulty. 
 
 If the Grand Duchess really intends to do something for 
 me, persons of such high rank can easily find a form in 
 which to manifest their friendly disposition. If she will 
 support and patronize my next literary efforts she will do a 
 good work, the fruits of which shall not be lost. 
 
 Of the prince, I can say that he has a special place in my 
 heart. I expect much good from his mental capacity and 
 his character, and shall be glad to place my little acquire- 
 ments at his disposal. I shall constantly endeavour to 
 increase in cultivation, and he will constantly grow older ; 
 no that while I improve in giving, he will improve in 
 receiving. 
 
 But, above all, I have at heart the completion of that 
 manuscript, which I mention once more. I should like to 
 remain for some months in quiet seclusion, with my betrothed 
 and her relations, in the neighbourhood of Gottingen, and 
 to devote myself to this task, that freeing myself from an 
 1 >ld burden, I may prepare myself for others anew. My life 
 iias been for some years at a stand-still, and I should like it 
 once more to flow freely. Moreover, my health is delicate 
 ind uncertain, I am not sure of remaining long in tin's 
 world, and I should like to leave behind me something good, 
 that would preserve my name for a while in the memory of 
 mankind. 
 
 I can, however, do nothing without you — without your 
 sanction and your blessing. Your further wishes with 
 respect to myself are unknown to me, nor do I know the 
 good that is designed for me among those in high places. 
 
488 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [183O. 
 
 With me the case stands as I have stated, and from my 
 clear explanation yon will easily see whether reasons 
 important for my happiness render my speedy return desir- 
 able, or whether, with a heart at ease, I may carry ont my 
 own mental plans. 
 
 In a few days I shall go from here through Neufchatel, 
 Colmar, and Strasbourg, stopping by the way to look abont 
 me, and shall proceed to Frankfort, if occasion occurs. 
 Now, I should be happy if I could receive a few lines from 
 you at Frankfort, and beg of you to address me there, poste 
 restante. 
 
 I am glad to relieve my mind by the confession of its 
 heavy burden, and hope in my next letter to communicate 
 something of a lighter nature to your excellency. 
 
 Pray give my compliments to Hofrath Meyer, Ober- 
 baudirector Coudray, Professor Riemer, Chancellor von 
 Miiller, and whoever is with you, and may be kind enough 
 to remember me. 
 
 As for yourself, I press you to my heart, and, retaining 
 feelings of the deepest love and reverence, remain, wherever 
 I may be, Ever yours, E. 
 
 Geneva, Sept. \Mh, 1830. — To my great delight I learned, 
 from your last letter at Genoa, that the gaps and the con- 
 clusion of the " Classical Walpurgis-night " have been 
 happily surmounted. The first three acts, it seems, are 
 quite done, the " Helen " is connected together, and thus the 
 hardest task is accomplished. The end, as you have told 
 me, is already complete, and I hope that the fourth act will 
 likewise be soon conquered, and that thus something great 
 may be accomplished for the edification and exercise of 
 future ages. My expectations are extraordinary, and every 
 piece of news which shows me a triumph of the poetical 
 powers will be received by me with delight. 
 
 During my travels in Italy I have had frequent occasion 
 to think of " Faust," and to apply some classical passages. 
 When in Italy I saw the handsome men, and the fresh 
 thriving children, I thought of the verses : — 
 
 "Hier ist das Wohlbehagen erblich," &c. 
 
 "On every cheek and lip we trace 
 Joy, as the patrimonial wealth j 
 
183C.I CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 489 
 
 Each is immortal in his place, 
 
 Each glowing with content and healtb. 
 
 u And thus beneath the sunny days 
 
 To manly strength the infant grows, 
 We look, exclaiming with amaze — 
 
 ' Children of men, or gods, are those ? ' " 
 
 On the other hand, when I was absorbed in the sight of 
 the beautiful scenery, and feasted my heart and my eyes 
 on lakes, mountains, and valleys, some invisible little devil 
 seemed to be making sport with me, whispering into my 
 car : — 
 
 ' ' If I had not rattled and shaken 
 Would the world have been so fair ? " 
 
 All power of calm contemplation was then gone, 
 absurdity began to rule, I felt a sort of revolution in my 
 soul, and I could not do otherwise than finish with a 
 laugh. 
 
 On these occasions I felt plainly enough that the poet 
 should be always positive. Men use poets to express what 
 they cannot express themselves. They are overcome by a 
 feeling — by a phenomenon ; they look after words, but 
 find their own stock insufficient, and then the poet comes 
 to their assistance, and by satisfying them sets them free. 
 
 With this feeling I have often blessed those first lines r 
 while I have laughingly cursed the others every day. But 
 who could do without them in the position for which they 
 are made, and in which they have the most beautiful 
 influence ? 
 
 I have not kept a regular journal in Italy ; the pheno- 
 mena are too great, too numerous, and too varied for me to 
 be willing or able to master them in a moment. Never- 
 theless, I have kept my eyes and ears open, and have made 
 many observations. I shall group my reminiscences 
 together, and treat of them under separate heads. I have 
 especially made some good observations relative to the 
 "Theory of Colours," which I hope shortly to produce. 
 There is in them nothing actually new, but still it is 
 pleasant to find new manifestations of an old law. 
 
 At Grenoa, Sterling displayed a great interest for the 
 theory. What he has learned of Newton's theory has not 
 satisfied him, and hence he has open ears for those principles 
 
490 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1830. 
 
 of your theory which I am often able to communicate. . If 
 opportunity could be found to send a copy of the work to 
 Genoa, I may venture to say that such a present would 
 not be unacceptable to him. 
 
 Here in Geneva, I found, three weeks ago, an ardent 
 disciple in our lady-friend, Sylvestre. In this instance, I 
 have remarked that the simple is harder to be apprehended 
 than one supposes, and that it requires great practice to 
 find constantly the fundamental principle amid the various 
 details of the phenomena. The exercise, however, gives 
 great dexterity to the mind, since nature is very delicate, 
 «nnd one must always take care not to do her violence by 
 too hasty an expression. 
 
 Generally, however, there is not in Geneva the trace of 
 any interest in so large a subject. Not only is the library 
 here without a copy of your " Theory of Colours," but it is 
 not even known that there is such a work in the world. 
 This may be the fault more of the Germans than of the 
 Genevese, but it annoys me and provokes me to caustic 
 remarks. 
 
 Lord Byron, it is well known, remained here for some 
 time ; and as he did not like society, he passed his days and 
 nights in the open country, and on the lake, of which I 
 have more to say in this place, and of which there is a noble 
 monument in his " Childe Harold." He also remarked the 
 colour of the Rhone ; and though he could not divine the 
 cause of it, he nevertheless showed a susceptible eye. In a 
 note to the third canto, he says : 
 
 " The colour of the Rhone at Geneva is blue to a depth 
 of tint which I have never seen equalled in water, salt or 
 fresh, except in the Mediterranean and Archipelago." 
 
 The Rhone, as it narrows itself to pass through Geneva, 
 divides itself into two arms, which are crossed by four 
 bridges, and on these the colour of the water may be well 
 observed by all who are coming or goiug. 
 
 Now, it is remarkable that the water of one arm is blue, 
 as was perceived by Byron, while that of the other is green. 
 The arm in which the water appears blue flows more rapidly, 
 and has so deep a channel that no light can penetrate it, 
 and consequently there is perfect darkness below. The very 
 clear water acts as a dense medium, and from our well- 
 
2830] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 401 
 
 Known laws the finest blue is produced. The water of the 
 other arm is not so deep, the light reaches the bottom, so 
 that we see the pebbles ; and as it is not dark enough to 
 become blue, but at the same time is not smooth, and the 
 ground is not sufficiently pure, white, and shining to be 
 yellow, the colour remains between the two extremes, and 
 appears as green. 
 
 If, like Byron, I had a taste for mad pranks, and the means 
 to play them off, I would make the following experiments : 
 
 In the green arm of the Rhone, near the bridge, where 
 people pass by thousands every day, I would fasten a large 
 black board, or something of the kind, so far below the 
 surface that a pure blue would be produced ; and, not far 
 from this, a very large piece of white shining tin, at such a 
 depth that a clouded yellow would appear in the sunshine. 
 When the people as they passed saw the yellow and blue 
 spots in the green water, they would be teased by a riddle, 
 which they would not be able to solve. One thinks of all 
 sorts of pleasantries when one travels ; but this seems to 
 me to be good of its kind, inasmuch as there is some sense 
 in it, and it might be of some use. 
 
 Some time ago I was at a bookseller's, and in the first 
 duodecimo which I took into my hands, my eye fell upon a 
 passage, which I translate thus : 
 
 "But tell me ; if we discover a truth, must we commu- 
 nicate it to others ? If you make it known, you are 
 persecuted by an infinite number of people who gain their 
 living from the error you oppose, saying that this error 
 itself is the truth, and that the greatest error is that which 
 tends to destroy it." 
 
 It seemed to me that this passage applied so well to the 
 manner in which the scientific by profession have received 
 your " Theory of Colours," that it must have been written 
 on purpose ; and I was so highly pleased, that I bought the 
 book for the sake of the passage. It contained the " Paul 
 and Virginia," and the " Indian Cottage," by Bernardin dc 
 St. Pierre, and hence I had no reason to regret my bargain. 
 I read it with delight ; the clear noble sense of the authoi 
 was quite refreshing, and I could perceive and appreciate 
 his refined art, especially in the apt application of well- 
 known similes. 
 
4.92 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. £1830. 
 
 I have here, too, made my first acquaintance with 
 Rousseau and Montesquieu, but lest my letter should 
 itself become a book, I will for the present pass over these, 
 as well as much else which I should like to say. 
 
 Siuce I have disburdened my mind of the long letter of 
 the day before yesterday, I have felt more free and cheerful 
 than I have been for years, and I could go on writing and 
 talking for ever. It will be absolutely necessary for me to 
 stay, at least for the present, at a distance from Weimar. 
 I hope that you approve this plan, and can already antici- 
 pate the time when you will say that I have done right. 
 
 To-morrow the theatre here will be open with the 
 " Barber of Seville," which I mean to see ; then I seriously 
 intend to take my departure. The weather seems to clear 
 up and be favourable. It has rained here since your birth- 
 day, which opened with storms. These were passing all 
 day long in this direction, from Lyons up the Rhone, across 
 the lake, and towards Lausanne, so that it was thundering 
 constantly. I pay 16 sous a day for a room, which com- 
 mands a beautiful prospect of the lake and the mountains. 
 Yesterday it was raining below, the weather was cold, and 
 the summits of the Jura appeared, after the passing 
 shower, for the first time white with snow, which, however, 
 has disappeared to-day. The promontory of Mont-Blanc 
 begins already to array itself in permanent white ; along 
 the shore of the lake, amid the green of a luxuriant 
 vegetation, some trees are still yellow and brown; the 
 nights become cold, and we can see that autumn is at 
 hand. 
 
 My hearty remembrances to Frau von Goethe, Fraulein 
 Ulrica, and Walter, Wolf, and Alma. I have a great deal 
 to tell Frau von Goethe about Sterling, and shall write to- 
 morrow. 
 
 1 hope to receive a letter from your excellency at Frank- 
 fort, and am happy in the anticipation. 
 
 With the best wishes and most constant affection, I 
 remain, — E. 
 
 On the 21st of September I set off from Geneva, and 
 after remaining a couple of days at Berne, I arrived on the 
 27th at Strasburg, where, again, I remain for some days. 
 
1830.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 493 
 
 Here, as I passed a hair-dresser's window, I saw a small 
 bust of Napoleon, which, viewed from the street against the 
 darkness of the room, exhibited all the gradations of blue, 
 from a pale milky hue to a deep violet. I suspceted that 
 this bust, seen from the interior of the room against the 
 light, would exhibit all the gradations of yellow ; and I 
 could not resist the impulse of the moment to rush into the 
 house, though the owners were unknown to me. 
 
 My first glance was at the bust, which to my great 
 delight shone upon me with the most brilliant colours on 
 the active side from the palest yellow to a dark ruby-red. 
 I asked eagerly whether this bust of the great hero was not 
 to be disposed of. The master replied that, from a similar 
 respect for the emperor, he had lately brought the bust 
 from Paris, but that since my affection seemed, from my 
 enthusiastic joy, greatly to exceed his own, the right of 
 possession belonged to me, and he would readily part 
 with it. 
 
 This glass image was of inestimable value in my eyes, 
 and I could not refrain from looking at the worthy owner 
 with some astonishment, when for a few francs he placed 
 it in my hands. I sent it with a remarkable medal, pur- 
 chased at Milan, as a little present to Goethe, who could 
 prize it according to its merits. 
 
 Afterwards, at Frankfort, I received the following 
 letters : — 
 
 First Letter. 
 
 I write to tell you as briefly as possible that both your 
 letters from Geneva arrived safe, though not before the 
 26th of September. I have only to say in haste, — remain 
 in Frankfort till we have thoroughly considered how you 
 are to pass next winter. 
 
 I enclose a letter for Herr Gcheimrath von Willemer 
 and his lady, which you will be kind enough to deliver as 
 soon as possible. You will find in them two friends, who 
 are united with me in the fullest sense of the word, and 
 will render your abode at Frankfort useful and agreeable. 
 
 So much for the present. Write to me as soon as you 
 have received this letter. — Yours faitlif ully, Goethe. 
 
 Weimar, September 26th, 1830. 
 
4 ( J4 conversations of gojsthe. 1830* 
 
 Second Letter. 
 
 I send you the heartiest greetings, my dearest friend," in 
 my native city, and hope that you will have passed the few- 
 days there in social enjoyments with my excellent friends. 
 If you wish to go to ISordheim, and to remain there for a 
 short time, I have nothing to object. If you intend in your 
 quiet hours to occupy yourself with the manuscript which 
 is in Soret's hands, I shall be all the better pleased, as 
 I do not wish it to be soon published, but shall be glad 
 to go through it with you and correct it. Its value will be 
 increased if I can attest that it is conceived perfectly in my 
 spirit. More I do not say, but leave the rest to yourself, 
 and expect to hear farther. Of your other friends I have 
 not spoken to one since the receipt of your letter. — Tour- 
 hearty well-wisher, J. W. von G-oethe. 
 
 Weimar, 12th October, 1830. 
 
 Third Letter. 
 
 The lively impression which you received from the 
 remarkable bust, and the colours it produced — the desire 
 to obtain it — the pleasant adventure you achieved on that 
 account, and the kind thought of making me a present 
 of it — all this shows how thoroughly you are penetrated 
 with the grand primitive phenomenon which here appears 
 thoroughly revealed. This idea — this feeling, with all its 
 fruitfulness, will accompany you through your whole life, 
 and will manifest itself in various productive ways. Error 
 belongs to libraries, truth to the human mind, — books may 
 be increased by books, while the intercourse with living 
 primitive law gratifies the mind that can embrace the 
 simple, disentangle the perplexed, and enlighten the^ 
 obscure. 
 
 If your DEemon again brings you to Weimar, you shall 
 see the image standing in a strong clear sun, where be- 
 neath the calm blue of the transparent face the thick mass 
 of the breast and the epaulettes go through the ascending 
 and descending scale of every shade from the strongest 
 ruby-red. As the granite head of Memnon utters sounds, 
 so does this glass figure produce a coloured halo. Here we 
 soe the hero victorious even for the theorv of colours 
 
1830.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 495 
 
 Receive my warmest thanks for this unexpected confirma- 
 tion of a doctrine I have so much, at heart. 
 
 With your medal, too, you have doubly and trebly 
 enriched my cabinet. My attention has been called to a 
 man called Dupre, an excellent sculptor, brass founder, and 
 medallist. He it was who modelled and cast the likeness of 
 Henry IV. on the Pont-Neuf. Being stimulated by the 
 medal you sent me, I looked over the rest of my collection, 
 and found some very excellent ones of the same name, and 
 others probably by the same hand, so that your gift has 
 afforded me .a pleasant impulse. 
 
 As for my "Metamorphosis" with Sorct's translation, we 
 have only reached the fifth sheet, and I long doubted 
 whether I should curse or bless this undertaking, but now 1 
 again find myself forced back to the contemplation of or- 
 ganic nature ; I am pleased, and willingly pursue my task. 
 The maxims which I have entertained for forty years are 
 still valid, — they serve to guide one successfully through 
 the whole labyrinth of the comprehensible to the very limit 
 of the incomprehensible, where, after much profit, one may 
 reasonably stop. JSTo philosopher of the old or new world 
 has been able to reach any farther. One can scarcely 
 venture to say more in writing. — J. W. von Goethe. 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., Oct. 13. — Goethe showed me some tables 
 in which he had written many names of Plants in the Latin 
 and German languages, in order to learn them by heart. 
 He told me that he had a room which had been complctely 
 papered with such tables, and in which, whilst walking 
 round, he had studied and learned from the walls. "It 
 grieved me," said he, " that it was afterwards whitewashed. 
 I had also another room, upon which were written chrono- 
 logical notes of my labours during a long series of years. 
 and to which I always added the latest. This also was un- 
 fortunately whitewashed, which I regret no less, as it might 
 now be of great service to me." 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., Oct 20.— For a short hour with Goethe. 
 in order to consult with him, on the part of the Grand 
 Duchess, concerning a silver escutcheon, which the Prince 
 intends to present to the Cross-bow Archers Company in 
 this town, of which he has become a member. 
 
496 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [^3° 
 
 Our conversation soon turned upon other subjects, and 
 Goethe begged nie to give hirn my opinion upon the Saini> 
 Simonians. 
 
 " The principal aim of their theory," returned I, " appears 
 to be — that each should work for the happiness of the 
 whole, as a necessary condition of his own happiness." 
 
 " I think," returned Groethe, " that each ought to begin 
 with himself, and make his own fortune first, from which 
 the happiness of the whole will at last unquestionably 
 follow. Altogether, this theory appears to me perfectly 
 impracticable. It is in opposition to all nature, all experi- 
 ence, and all the course of events for thousands of years. 
 If each one only does his duty as an individual, and if each 
 one works rightly in his own vocation, it will be well with 
 the whole. Never, in my vocation as an author, have I 
 asked, — what would the multitude have, and how can I be 
 of service to the whole, but I have always endeavoured to 
 improve myself and sharpen my own faculties, to raise the 
 standard of my own personality, and then to express only 
 that which I had recognized as good and true. This has 
 certainly, as I will not deny, worked usefully in a large 
 sphere ; still, it was not my aim, but the necessary result, 
 which is found in all the effects of natural powers. If, ag 
 an author, I had made the wishes of the great multitude 
 my aim, and had endeavoured to satisfy these, I should 
 have told them short stories, and made sport with them, 
 like the late Kotzebue." 
 
 " That cannot be contradicted," returned I. " But, how- 
 ever, there is not merely a happiness which I enjoy as a 
 single individual, but also one which I enjoy as a citizen 
 and member of a great community. If one does not lay 
 down as a principle the attainment of the greatest possible 
 happiness for a whole people, from what basis should legis- 
 lation proceed ? " 
 
 " If that is what you are driving at," said Groethe, " I 
 have nothing to reply. But in such a case, only a very 
 select few could make use of your principle. It would be 
 only a receipt for princes and legislators, although it 
 appears to me that the tendency of laws should be rather 
 to diminish the amount of evil than to produce an amount 
 of happiness." 
 
1830.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 4f> 7 
 
 "Both," returned I, "come pretty much, to the same 
 thing. Bad roads, for instance, appear to me a great evil. 
 But if a prince introduce good roads into his stair down fco 
 the poorest hamlet, not only is a great evil removed, but a 
 great good is gained for his people. Again, a tardy ad- 
 ministration of justice is a great evil. But if a prince, by 
 establishing a public civil mode of proceeding, afforcl- 
 his people speedy justice, not merely is a great evil removed, 
 but a o-reat o-ood is conferred." 
 
 "In this key," rejoined Goethe, "I would pipe quite 
 another song. However, we leave some evils untouched 
 that something may remain upon which mankind can 
 further develop their powers. In the mean while, my doc- 
 trine is this, — let the father take care of his house, the 
 nrtizan of his customers, and the clergy of mutual love, and 
 the police will not disturb our joy." 
 
 During my stay at Nordheim, which I did not reach till 
 the end of October, having stopped some time at Frankfort 
 and Cassel, every circumstance combined to make my 
 return to Weimar desirable. 
 
 Goethe had not approved of a speedy publication of my 
 conversations, and hence a successful opening of a purely 
 literary career was not to be thought of. 
 
 Then the sight of her whom I had ardently loved for 
 many years, and the feeling of her great qualities, which 
 was every day renewed, excited in me the desire of a spi 
 union, and the wish for a secure subsistence. 
 
 Under these circumstances I received a message from 
 Weimar, by order of the Grand Duchess, and hailed it with 
 delight, as may be seen by the following letter to Goethe : — 
 
 Nordheim, Nov. 6, 1830. — Man appoints, and God disap- 
 points ; and, before we can turn about, our circumstances 
 and our wishes have been otherwise than we anticipated. 
 
 Some weeks ago I had a certain dread of returning fco 
 Weimar, and now, as matters stand, I shall not only s< 
 and gladly return, but I shall harbour the thought, and 
 take up my residence there, and settle for good. 
 
 I received a few days ago a letter from Soivt. with the 
 offer of a fixed salary, on the part of the Grand Duchess, if 
 I will return and go on as hitherto instructing the Prince. 
 
 •2 K 
 
498 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [183O. 
 
 Some other good news Soret will commtinicate by word of 
 mouth; and from all this I gather that I am kindly 
 thought of. 
 
 I should like to write an answer in the affirmative to 
 Soret, but I hear that he is gone to his family at Geneva, 
 and hence I can only address your excellency with the re- 
 quest that you will be pleased to communicate to her 
 imperial highness my resolution to return soon. 
 
 I hope at the same time that this intelligence will give 
 you some pleasure, since you have so long had at heart my 
 happiness and peace of mind. 
 
 I send you the warmest greetings from all your friends, 
 and hope shortly to see you once more. — E. 
 
 On the afternoon of the 20th November I left Nordheim, 
 and set off for Gottingen, which I reached at dusk. 
 
 In the evening, at the table d'hote, when the landlord 
 heard that I had come from Weimar, and was on my way 
 back, he calmly told me that the great poet Goethe had 
 had to undergo a severe misfortune in his old age, since, 
 according to the papers of the day, his only son had died of 
 paralysis, in Italy. 
 
 I passed a sleepless night. The event which affected me 
 so nearly was constantly before my eyes. The following 
 days and nights, which I passed on the road, and in the 
 Miihlhausen and Gotha, were no better. Being alone in 
 the carriage, under the influence of the gloomy November 
 days, and in desert fields, where there was no external ob- 
 ject to distract my attention or to cheer me, I in vain en- 
 deavoured to fix my attention upon other thoughts. While 
 among the people at the inns, I constantly heard of the 
 mournful event which so nearly affected myself, as of one 
 of the novelties of the day. My greatest fear was, that 
 Goethe, at his advanced years, would not be able to sur- 
 mount the violent storm of paternal feelings. And what an 
 impression, I thought, will my own arrival make — when I 
 departed with his son, and now come back alone. It will 
 seem as though he has not really lost him till he sees me. 
 
 With these thoughts and feelings, I reached the last 
 station before Weimar, on Tuesday, the 23rd of November, 
 at six o'clock in the evening. I felt, for the second time in 
 my life, that human existence has heavy moments through 
 
S830.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 499 
 
 which one must pass. I communed in thought with higher 
 beings above me, when I was struck by the light of the 
 moon, which came from amid thick clouds, and after shin- 
 ing brightly for some moments was wrapped m darkness as 
 before. Whether this was chance, or something more, I 
 took it as a favourable omen from above, and thus re- 
 ceived unexpected encouragement. 
 
 I just greeted the people at my residence, and then set 
 off at once for Goethe's house. I first went to Frau von 
 Goethe. I found her already in mourning, but calm and 
 collected, and we had a great deal to say to each other. 
 
 Thar., Nov. 25. — This morning Goethe sent me some 
 books, which had arrived as presents for me from English 
 and German authors. 
 
 At noon I went to dine with him. I found him looking 
 at a portfolio of engravings and drawings, which had been 
 offered him for sale. He told me he had had the pleasure 
 that morning of a visit from the Grand Duchess, to whom 
 he had mentioned my return. 
 
 Frau von Goethe joined us, and we sat down to dinner. 
 I was obliged to give an account of my travels. I spoke of 
 Venice, Milan, Genoa ; and he seemed particularly in- 
 terested about the family of the English consul there. I 
 then spoke of Geneva ; and he asked with sympathy after 
 the Soret family, and Herr von Bonstetten. He wished for a 
 particular description of the latter, which I gave him as 
 well as I could. 
 
 After dinner, I was pleased that Goethe began to speak 
 of my " Conversations." 
 
 "It must be your first work," said he ; " and we will not 
 let it go till the whole is complete, and in order." 
 
 Still, Goethe appeared to me unusually silent to-day, 
 and oftentimes lost in thought, which I feared was no good 
 sign. 
 
 Tues., Nov. 30. — Last Friday, we were thrown into no 
 small anxiety. Goethe was seized with a violent hemorrhage 
 in the night, and was near death all the day. Ho lost, 
 counting the vein they opened, six pounds of blood, which 
 is a great quantity, considering that he is eighty years old. 
 However, the great skill of his physician, Hot' rath Vbgel, 
 and his incomparable constitution, have saved him this time, 
 
 2 1: 2 
 
500 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [183I, 
 
 so that lie recovers rapidly, has once more an excellent 
 appetite, and sleeps again all night. Nobody is admitted, 
 and he is forbidden to speak ; bnt his ever active mind can- 
 not rest ; he is already thinking of his work. This morning, 
 I received from him the following note, written in bed, 
 with a lead pencil : — 
 
 "Have the goodness, my best doctor, to look once again 
 at the accompanying poems, with which yon are familiar, 
 and to re-arrange the others which are new, so as to adapt 
 them to their place in the whole. ' Faust ' shall presently 
 follow. In hope of a happy meeting, Goethe. 
 
 "Weimar, 30th. November, 1830." 
 
 On Goethe's complete recovery, which soon followed, he 
 devoted his whole attention to the first act of " Faust," and 
 to the completion of the fourth volume of " Dichtung nnd 
 Wahrheit." 
 
 He wished me to examine his short heretofore unpublished 
 papers, and to look through his journals and letters, that 
 we might know how to proceed with the new edition. 
 
 Examining my " Conversations " with him was at present 
 out of the question. Besides, I thought it wiser, instead of 
 occupying myself with what I had already written, to in- 
 crease my stock with something new, while opportunity 
 was still vouchsafed me by a kindly fate. 
 
 1831. 
 
 Sat., Jan. 1. — Of Goethe's letters to various persons, 
 copies of which have been kept in parcels since the year 
 1807, I have during the last weeks carefully gone through 
 the series of several years. I will in the following para- 
 graphs set down some general remarks, which may be 
 used in some future edition. 
 
 1. — In the first place, the question has arisen, — whether 
 it is expedient to give these letters merely in the shape of 
 extracts. 
 
 To this I reply that altogether it has been Goethe's 
 nature to go to work with some intention even in the 
 smallest matters, and that this seems to have been particu- 
 
I 83 I.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 501 
 
 larly the case with regard to these letters, where the; 
 author has always devoted his whole soul to the subject, so 
 that not only is every sheet perfectly written from begin- 
 ning to end, but there is not a line which does not reveal a 
 superior nature and thorough cultivation. 
 
 It is my opinion, therefore, that the letters should be 
 given entire, especially as the single passages of importance 
 often receive their true lustre and real significance only 
 through what precedes and follows. 
 
 Then, if we look closely at the matter, and fancy these 
 letters laid before a large and varied world, who would 
 presume to say which passage was important and worthy 
 of communication, and which was not ? The grammarian, 
 the biographer, the philosopher, the moralist, the man of 
 natural science, the artist, the poet, the academician, the 
 actor, and so on ad infinitum, have each of them his own 
 peculiar interest, so that one will skip a passage which 
 another regards as highly important, and applies to him- 
 self. 
 
 Thus, for instance, in the first series belonging to 1807, 
 there is a letter to a friend, whose son is about to devote 
 himself to a forest-life, and to whom Goethe prescribes the 
 course which the young man is to adopt. A young author 
 will probably pass over a letter of this kind, while a 
 forester will certainly perceive with delight that the poet 
 has looked at his department as well as others, and has 
 here also tried to give good counsel. 
 
 I repeat, therefore, that I am for giving these letters just 
 as they are, without mutilation, especially as they are 
 already distributed entire, and we may be sure that the 
 persons who have received them will some day print 1 1 
 as they have been written. 
 
 2. — If, however, there are letters which one would 
 scruple to publish entire, but which contain good isolated 
 passages, one may copy these passages, and either assign 
 them to the year to which they belong, or make of them 
 a special collection, accordingly as it seems most expedient. 
 
 o. — It is possible that a letter may appear of no import- 
 ance in the first parcel in which we find it, and thai 
 may be against its publication. If, however, it is found 
 that such a letter has consequences in after years, and may 
 
502 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [ I 83 I , 
 
 be regarded as the first link of an extended chain, it will 
 be rendered important by this very circumstance, and may 
 be classed with those fit for publication. 
 
 4. — The doubt may arise, whether it is more expedient 
 to arrange the letters according to the persons to whom 
 they are addressed, or to let them follow according to 
 years, without any further order. 
 
 I am for the latter method, — first because it will cause a 
 beautiful and ever refreshing variety; for, when another 
 person is addressed, not only is there always a change in 
 the style, but the subjects themselves are different, so that 
 the theatre, poetical labours, natural studies, domestic 
 affairs, communications with friends and with persons of 
 rank, pass along in ever- varied succession. 
 
 I am also for an arrangement according to years, and 
 without further order, because the letters of any one year r 
 through contemporary influences, not only bear the cha- 
 racter of that year, but show the circumstances and occupa- 
 tions of the writer in every direction, so that such letters 
 would be perfectly fitted to complete, with a fresh animated 
 detail, the summary biography of the " Tag und Jahres- 
 hefte," already printed. 
 
 5. — Letters which other persons have already printed, 
 because, perhaps, they contain an acknowledgment of 
 their merits, or some other commendation or peculiarity, 
 should be again introduced in this collection, partly because 
 they belong to the series, partly because these persons will 
 be gratified by the proof afforded to the world that their 
 documents were genuine. 
 
 6. — The question whether a letter of introduction shall 
 be received into the collection or not, shall be decided after 
 due consideration of the person recommended. If he has 
 done nothing, and the letter contains nothing else of value, 
 it is to be omitted ; if, on the other hand, he has gained an 
 honourable name in the world, it is to be inserted. 
 
 7. — Letters to persons who are known through Goethe's 
 Life, such as Lavater, Jung, Behrisch, Kniep, Hackert, and 
 others, are of themselves interesting, and should be pub- 
 lished, even if they contain nothing of importance. 
 
 8. — We must not be too fastidious in the publication o£ 
 these letters, since they give us an idea of Goethe's broa# 
 
1 83 I.J CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 50'J 
 
 existence and varied influence in all directions ; while his 
 deportment towards persons most nnlikc each other, and in 
 the most different positions, may be regarded as highly in- 
 structive. 
 
 9. — If several letters treat of the same subject, the best 
 are to be selected; and when a certain point appears in 
 several letters, it should be struck out in some, and left 
 where it is best expressed. 
 
 10. — In the letters of 1811 and 1812, there are perhaps 
 twenty places where the autograph of remarkable persons 
 is requested. These and similar passages must not be 
 suppressed, as they appear highly characteristic and 
 amiable. 
 
 The preceding paragraphs have been occasioned by a 
 survey of the letters of 1807, 1808, and 1809. Any general 
 remarks that may occur in the further progress of the work 
 will be added as a supplement. — E. 
 
 Weimar, January 1, 1831. 
 
 To-day, after dinner, I discussed this matter with 
 Goethe, point by point, and he gave his assent to my sug- 
 gestions. "In my will," said he, "I will appoint you 
 editor of these papers, and thus show that we have per- 
 fectly agreed as to the method to be observed." 
 
 (Sup.*) Tues., Jan. 4. — I perused, with Goethe, some 
 books of drawings, by my friend Topfer, of Geneva, whose 
 talent is equally great as an author and as a draughtsman ; 
 but who, until now, appears to have liked to express his 
 lively conceptions in visible forms rather than in transient 
 words. The number which contained the adventures of 
 Doctor Festus, in light pen-and-ink sketches, gave quit* 
 the impression of a comic novel, and pleased Go< 
 highly. "This is mad stuff, indeed !" exclaimed he, from 
 time to time, as he turned over one leaf after another; "all 
 sparkles with talent and intelligence. Some pages could 
 not be excelled. If, for the future, he would choose a less 
 frivolous subject, and restrict himself a little, he would 
 produce things beyond all conception." 
 
 " He has been compared with Rabelais," remarked I, 
 " and reproached with having imitated him and borrowed 
 his ideas." 
 
i>04i CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [^jl. 
 
 " People do not know what they would have," returned 
 Goethe. " I find nothing of the sort ; on the contrary, 
 Topfer appears to me to stand quite upon his own feet, and 
 to be as thoroughly original as any talent I have met." 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., Jan. 17. — I found Coudray with Goethe, 
 examining some architectural drawings. I had about me 
 a five-franc piece of 1830, with the likeness of Charles the 
 Tenth, which I produced. Goethe joked about the 
 pointed head. " The organ of Veneration appears to have 
 been very largely developed in him," remarked he., 
 " Doubtless, from his excessive piety, he did not deem it 
 necessary to pay his debts ; on the "other hand, we are 
 deeply indebted to him, since, thanks to the freaks of his 
 genius, Europe will not soon be quiet again." 
 
 We spoke about "Rouge et jSToir," which Goethe re- 
 garded as Stendhal's best work. 
 
 " Still I cannot deny," added he, " that some of his female 
 characters are a little too romantic. Nevertheless, they all 
 give evidence of great observation and psychological pene- 
 tration, so that one may willingly pardon the author for 
 some improbability in his details." 
 
 (Sup.*) Tues., Jan. 23.— With the Prince at Goethe's. 
 His grandchildren were amusing themselves with conjuring 
 tricks, in which Walter is particularly skilful. "I do not 
 object," said Goethe, "to the boys filling up their spare 
 hours with these follies. It is, especially in the presence 
 of a small public, an excellent means of exercise in speaking 
 freely, and acquiring some bodily and mental activity, of 
 which we Germans have by no means a superabundance. 
 The slight vanity that is occasioned is a disadvantage which 
 is certainly over-balanced by such a gain." 
 
 " Besides, the spectators take care enough to damp such 
 feelings," remarked I, "because they generally look very 
 sharply at the little juggler's fingers, and are malicious 
 enough to laugh at his blunders, and to mortify him by pub- 
 lishing his little secrets." 
 
 "It is with them as with actors," added Goethe; "who 
 are applauded to-day and hissed to-morrow, by which means 
 all is kept in the right track." 
 
 Wed., Feb. 9. — Yesterday I continued reading Voss's 
 " Luise " with the Prince, and made to myself several re- 
 
«83$.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. .505 
 
 marks on the subject of that book. The great merits of 
 the author in depicting the locality, and the external cir- 
 cumstances of the persons, delighted me ; still, it appeared 
 to me that the poem should have had a more lofty import, 
 — and this remark especially occurred to me in those pas- 
 sages where the persons express their sentiments in dialogue. 
 In the "Vicar of Wakefield" there is also a country pastor 
 with his family, but the poet had a higher knowledge of 
 the world, and this was communicated to his personages, 
 all of whom exhibit greater mental variety. In the " Luise " 
 all stand on the level of a narrow cultivation, though there 
 is sufficient to satisfy thoroughly a certain class of readers. 
 As for the verse, it seems to me that the hexameter is far 
 too pretentious for such narrow subjects, and is, moreover, 
 often a little forced and affected, and that the periods 
 do not always flow naturally enough to be read with 
 ease. 
 
 To-day, at dinner, I talked over this point with Goethe. 
 " The earlier editions of the poem," said he, " are far better 
 in that respect, and I remember that I read it aloud with 
 pleasure: Afterwards Voss touched it up a great deal, and, 
 from his technical crotchets, spoiled the ease and nature of 
 the verse. Indeed, nowadays technicalities are everything, 
 and the critics begin to torment themselves, — whether in a 
 rhyme an S should be followed by an S, and not an S by a 
 i double S.' If I were young and bold enough, I would 
 purposely offend against all these technical whims ; I would 
 employ alliteration, assonance, false rhyme, and anything 
 else that came into my head, but I would keep the main 
 point in view, and endeavour to say such good things that 
 every one would be tempted to read them and to learn them 
 by heart." 
 
 Fri., Feb. 11. — To-day, at dinner, Goethe told me that he 
 had begun the fourth act of " Faust," and thus intended to 
 proceed, which pleased me highly. He then spoke with 
 great praise of Carl Schone, a young philologist of Leipsic, 
 who had written a work on V\e costume in the trasredi. 3 
 of Euripides, and who, notwithstanding his great learning, 
 had displayed no more of it than was necessary for his 
 purpose. 
 
 "I like to see," said Goethe, "how, with a productive 
 
506 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [1831* 
 
 sense, he goes to the point at once, while other modern 
 philologists give themselves far too much trouble about 
 technicalities, and long and short syllables. 
 
 " It is always a sign that a time is unproductive when it 
 goes so much into technical minutias ; and thus also it is a 
 sign that an individual is unproductive when he occupies 
 himself in a like manner. 
 
 " Then there are other faults which act as impediments. 
 Thus, for instance, in Count Platen there are nearly all the 
 chief requisites of a good poet; — imagination, invention, 
 intellect, and productiveness, he possesses in a high degree ; 
 he also shows a thoroughly technical cultivation, and a 
 study and earnestness, to be found in few others. With 
 him, however, his unhappy polemical tendency is a hin- 
 drance. 
 
 " That amid the grandeur of Naples and Rome he could 
 not forget the miserable trivialities of German literature, 
 is unpardonable in so eminent a talent. The 'Romantic 
 CEclipus ' shows that, especially with regard to technicalities, 
 Platen was just the man to write the best German tragedy ; 
 but now, in this piece, he has used the tragic motives for 
 purposes of parody, how will he write a tragedy in good 
 earnest ? 
 
 "And then (what is not enough kept in mind) these 
 quarrels occupy the thoughts ; the images of our foes are 
 like ghosts which intercept all free production, and cause 
 great disorder in a nature already sufficiently susceptible. 
 
 " Lord Byron was ruined by his polemic tendency ; and 
 Platen should, for the honour of German literature, quit 
 for ever so unprofitable a path." 
 
 Sat., Feb. 12. — I have been reading the New Testament, 
 and thinking of a picture which Goethe lately showed -me,, 
 where Christ is walking on the water, and Peter coming 
 towards him, on the waves, begins to sink, in a moment of 
 faint-heart edness. 
 
 " This," said Goethe, "is one of the most beautiful legends, 
 and one which I love better than any. It expresses the 
 noble doctrine that man, through faith and hearty courage, 
 will come on 2 victor in the most difficult enterprises, while 
 he may be ruined by the least paroxysm of doubt." 
 
 Sun., Feb. 13. — Dined with Goethe. He told me that he ■ 
 
1 831.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 507 
 
 was going on with the fonrfch act of " Faust/* and had suc- 
 ceeded to his wish in the beginning. 
 
 "I had," said he, "long since the what, as you know, but 
 was not quite satisfied about the how ; hence it is the more 
 pleasant that good thoughts have come to me. 
 
 " I will now go on inventing, to supply the whole gap, 
 from the ' Helena ' to the fifth act, which is finished, and 
 write down a detailed plan, that I may work with perfect 
 comfort and security on those parts which first attract me, 
 
 " This act acquires quite a peculiar character, so that, 
 like an independent little world, it does not touch the rest, 
 and is only connected with the whole by a slight reference 
 to what precedes and follows." 
 
 "It will then," said I, "be perfectly in character with 
 the rest ; for, in fact, Auerbach's cellar, the witches' kitchen, 
 the Blocksberg, the imperial diet, the masquerade, the 
 paper-money, the laboratory, the classic Walpurgis-night, 
 the Helena, are all of them little independent worlds, which, 
 each being complete in itself, do indeed work upon each 
 other, yet come but little in contact. The great point with 
 the poet is to express a manifold world, and he uses the 
 story of a celebrated hero merely as a sort of thread on 
 which he may string what he pleases. This is the case with 
 ' Gil Bias ' and the 'Odyssey.' " 
 
 "You are perfectly right," said Goethe; "and the only 
 matter of. importance in such compositions is, that the 
 single masses should be clear and significant, while the 
 whole always remains incommensurable, — and even on that 
 account, like an unsolved problem, constantly lures man- 
 kind to study it again and again." 
 
 I then spoke of a letter from a young soldier, whom I 
 and other friends had advised to go into foreign service, and 
 who now. not being pleased with his situation abroad, blames 
 all those who advised him. 
 
 "Advice is a strange matter," saiu Goethe, "uiiu when 
 one has looked about one in the world long enough, to sec 
 how the most judicious enterprises fail, and the most absurd 
 often succeed, one becomes disinclined to give advice to any 
 one. At bottom, too, there is a confinement with respect 
 to him who asks advice, and a presumption in him who 
 gives it. A person should only give advice ia matters 
 
508 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [183 1. 
 
 where he himself will co-operate. If any one asks me for 
 good advice, I say I arn ready to give it, but only on con- 
 dition that he will promise me not to take it." 
 
 The conversation turned on the ISTew Testament, and I 
 mentioned that I had been reading again the passage where 
 Christ walks on the sea, and Peter meets him. 
 
 " When one has not for some time read the Evangelists," 
 said I, " one is always astonished at the moral grandeur of 
 the figures. We find in the lofty demands made upon our 
 moral power of will a sort of categorical imperative." 
 
 " Especially," said Goethe, " you find the categorical 
 imperative of faith, which, indeed, Mahomet carried still 
 farther." 
 
 "Altogether," said I, " the Evangelists, if you look closely 
 into them, are full of differences and contradictions ; and 
 the books must have gone through strange revolutions of 
 destiny before they were brought together in the form in 
 which we have them now." 
 
 " It is like trying to drink out a sea," said Goethe, " to 
 enter into an historical and critical examination of them. 
 It is the best way, without farther ado, to adhere to that 
 which is set down, and to appropriate to oneself so much 
 as one can use for one's moral strengthening and culture. 
 However, it is pleasant to get a clear notion of the localities, 
 and I can recommend you to nothing better than Rohr's 
 admirable book on Palestine. The late Grand Duke was so 
 pleased with this book, that he bought it twice, giving the 
 first copy to the library, after he had read it, and keeping 
 the other always by him." 
 
 I wondered that the Grand Duke should take an interest 
 in such matters. 
 
 "Therein," said Goethe, "he was great. He was in- 
 terested in everything of any importance, in whatsoever 
 department it lay. He was always progressive, and sought 
 to domesticate with himself all the good inventions and 
 institutions of his time. If anything failed, he spoke of it 
 no more. I often thought how I should excuse to him this 
 or that failure ; but he always ignored it in the cheerfulest 
 way, and was immediately engaged with some new plan. 
 This was a greatness peculiar to his own nature ; not ac- 
 quired, but innate." 
 
I 83I.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 509 
 
 We looked, after dinner, at some engravings after the 
 most modern artists, especially in the landscape department, 
 and we remarked with pleasure that nothing false conld be 
 detected. 
 
 " For ages there has "been so much good in the world," 
 said Goethe, "that one ought not in reason to wonder when 
 it operates and produces good in its turn." 
 
 "The worst of it is," said I, "that there are so many 
 false doctrines, and that a young talent does not know to 
 what saint he should devote himself." 
 
 "Of this we have proofs," said Goethe; "we have seen 
 whole generations ruineA or injured by false maxims, and 
 have also suffered ourselves. Then there is the facility 
 nowadays of universally diffusing every error by means of 
 printing. Though a critic may think better after some 
 years, and diffuse among the public his better convictions, 
 his false doctrine has operated in the mean w r hile, and will 
 in future, like a spreading weed, continue to co-operato 
 with what is good. My only consolation is, that a reallv 
 great talent is not to be led astray or spoiled." 
 
 We looked further at the engravings. " These are really 
 good things," said Goethe. " You have before you the 
 w r orks of very fair talents, who have learned something, 
 and have acquired no little taste and art. Still, something 
 is wanting in all these pictures — the Manly. Take notice 
 of this word, and underscore it. The pictures lack a 
 certain urgent power, which in former ages was generally 
 expressed, but in which the present age is deficient, and 
 that with respect not only to painting, but to all the othei 
 arts. We have a more weakly race, of which we cannot 
 say whether it is so by its origin, or by a more weakly train- 
 ing and diet." 
 
 "We see here," said I, " how much in art depends on a 
 great personality,* which indeed was common enough in 
 earlier ages. When, at Venice, we stand before the works 
 of Titian and Paul Veronese, we feel the powerful mind ol" 
 these men, both in their first conception of the subject, and 
 in the final execution. Their great energetic feeling has 
 
 * " Personality," which is used here and elsewhere as an equivalent; 
 for " PersQnlichkcit," is not a common expression, but its meaning 
 will be obvious. — Trans. 
 
510 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. ^1831. 
 
 penetrated the members of the whole picture, and this 
 higher power of the artist's personality expands our own 
 nature, and elevates us above ourselves, when we contem- 
 plate such works. This manly mind of which you speak is 
 also to be found especially in the landscapes of Rubens. 
 They, indeed, consist merely of trees, soil, water, rocks, and 
 clouds, but his own bold temperament has penetrated into 
 • the forms, and thus while we see familiar nature we see it 
 penetrated by the power of the artist, and reproduced ac- 
 cording to his views." 
 
 "Certainly," said Goethe, i: personality is everything in 
 art and poetry ; nevertheless, there are many weak per- 
 sonages among the modern critics who do not admit this, 
 but look upon a great personality in a work of poetry or 
 art merely as a kind of trifling appendage. 
 
 " However, to feel and respect a great personality one 
 must be something oneself. All those who denied the sub- 
 lime to Euripides were either poor wretches incapable of 
 comprehending such sublimity, or shameless charlatans, 
 who, by their presumption, wished to make more of them- 
 selves, and really did make more of themselves than they 
 were." 
 
 Mon., Feb. 14. — Dined with Goethe. He had been read- 
 ing the memoirs of General Rapp, through which the con- 
 versation turned upon Napoleon, and the feelings which 
 must necessarily have been experienced by Madame Letitia 
 at finding herself the mother of so powerful a family. 
 She had given birth to Napoleon, her second son, when she 
 was eighteen years old, and her husband three-and- twenty, 
 so that he had a physical advantage in the youthful 
 strength of his parents. After him she bore three sons, an 
 remarkably endowed, clever and energetic in practical 
 things, and all with a certain poetical talent. These four 
 sons are followed by three daughters, and last of all corner 
 Jerome, who seems to have been the least endowed of all. 
 
 Talent is indeed not hereditary, but it requres an apt 
 physical substratum, and then it is by no means indifferent 
 whether one is the first or the last born, nor whether one is 
 the issue of strong and young, or weak and old parents. 
 
 " It is remarkable," said I, " that, of all talents, the 
 musical shows itself earliest ; so that Mozart in his fifth, 
 
183 1.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 511 
 
 Beethoven in his eighth, and Hummel in his ninth year, 
 astonished all near them by their performance and com- 
 positions." 
 
 " The musical talent," said Goethe, " may well show it- 
 self earliest of any ; for music is something innate and 
 internal, which needs little nourishment from without, and 
 no experience drawn from life. Really, however, a phe- 
 nomenon like that of Mozart remains an inexplicable 
 prodigy. But how would the Divinity find everywhere 
 opportunity to do wonders, if he did not sometimes try his 
 powers on extraordinary individuals, at whom we stand 
 astonished, and cannot understand whence they come ? " 
 
 Tues., Feb. 15. — Dined with Goethe. I told him about 
 the theatre ; he praised the piece given yesterday — 
 "Henry III.," by Dumas — as very excellent, but naturally 
 found that such a dish would not suit the public. 
 
 " I should not," said he, " have ventured to give it, when 
 I was director ; for I remember well what trouble we had 
 to smuggle upon the public the ' Constant Prince,' * which 
 has far more general human interest, is more poetic, and in 
 fact lies much nearer to us, than ' Henry III.' " 
 
 I spoke of the " Grand Cophta," which I had been lately 
 re-perusing. I talked over the scenes one by one, and, at 
 last, expressed a wish to see it once on the stage. 
 
 " I am pleased," said Goethe, " that you like that piece, 
 and find out what I have worked into it. It was indeed no 
 little labour to make an entirely real fact first poetical, and 
 then theatrical. And yet you will grant that the whole is 
 properly conceived for the stage. Schiller was, also, very 
 partial to it ; and we gave it once, with brilliant effect, for 
 the higher order of persons. But it is not for the public in 
 general ; the crimes of which it treats have about them an 
 apprehensive character, which produces an uncomfortable 
 feeling in the people. Its bold character places it, indeed, 
 in the sphere of ' Clara Gazul ; ' and the French poet 
 might really envy mo for taking from him so good a sub- 
 ject. I say so good a subject, because it is in truth not 
 merely of moral, but also of great historical significance ; 
 the fact immediately preceded the French Revolution, and 
 
 *"I1 Principe Constante," by Cald^ron. — Trans. 
 
512 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [183^, 
 
 was, to a, certain extent, its foundation. The Queen, 
 through being implicated in that unlucky story of the 
 necklace, lost her dignity, and was no longer respected, so 
 that she lost, in the eyes of the people, the ground where 
 she was unassailable. Hate injures no one ; it is contempt 
 that casts men down. Kotzebue had been hated long ; but 
 before the student dared to use his dagger upon him, it 
 was necessary for certain journals to make him con- 
 temptible." 
 
 Thurs., Feb. 17. — Dined with Goethe. I brought him his 
 "Residence at Carlsbad," for the year 1807, which I had 
 finished revising that morning. "We spoke of wise passages, 
 which occur there as hasty remarks of the day. 
 
 "People always fancy," said Goethe, laughing, "that we 
 x " must become oid to become wise ; but, in truth, as years- 
 advance, it is hard to keep ourselves as wise as we were. 
 Man becomes, indeed, in the different stages of his life, a 
 different being ; but he cannot say that he is a better one, 
 and, in certain matters, he is as likely to be right in his 
 twentieth, as in his sixtieth year. 
 
 " We see the world one way from a plain, another way 
 from the heights of a promontory, another from the glacier 
 fields of the primary mountains. We see, from one of these 
 points, a larger piece of the world than from the other ; 
 but that is all, and we cannot say that we see more truly 
 from any one than from the rest. When a writer leaves 
 monuments on the different steps of his life, it is chiefly 
 important that he should have an innate foundation and 
 good- will ; that he should, at each step, have seen and felt 
 clearly, and that, without any secondary aims, he should 
 [have said distinctly and truly what has passed in his mind. 
 I Then will his writings, if they were right at the step where 
 they originated, remain always right, however the writer 
 may develop or alter himself in after times." 
 
 I heartily assented to this excellent remark. 
 
 " Lately," continued Goethe, " I found a piece of waste 
 paper which I read. ' Humph,' said I to myself, ' what is 
 written there is not so bad ; you do not think otherwise, and 
 would not have expressed yourself very differently.' But 
 when I looked closely at the leaf, it was a fragment from 
 my own works. For, as I am always striving onwards, I 
 
I 83 I.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 513 
 
 forget what I have written, and soon regard my productions 
 as something quite foreign." 
 
 I asked about " Faust," and what progress he had made 
 with it. 
 
 "That," said Goethe, "will not again let me loose. I 
 daily think and invent more and more of it. I have now 
 had the whole manuscript of the second part stitched 
 together, that it may lie a palpable mass before me. The 
 place of the yet wanting fourth act I have filled with white 
 paper ; and, undoubtedly, what is finished will allure and 
 urge me to complete what has yet to be done. There is 
 more than people think in these matters of sense, and we 
 must aid the spiritual by all manner of devices." 
 
 He sent for the stitched " Faust," and I was surprised to 
 see how much he had written ; for a good folio volume was 
 before me. 
 
 "And all," said I, " has been done in the six years that I 
 have been here ; and yet, amid so many other occupations, 
 you could have devoted but little time to it. "We see how 
 much a work grows, even if we only now and then add 
 something ! " 
 
 " Of that one is still more convinced as one grows older," 
 said Goethe ; ' ; while youth believes all must be done in a 
 single day. If fortune favour, and I continue in good 
 health, I hope in the next spring-months to get a great way 
 on with the fourth act. It was, as you know, long since 
 invented ; but the other parts have, in the course of the 
 execution, grown so much, that I can now use only the out- 
 line of my first invention, and must fill out this introduced 
 portion so as to make it of a piece with the rest." 
 
 " A far richer world is displayed," said I, " in this second 
 part than in the first." 
 
 " I should think so," said Goethe. " The first part is 
 almost entirely subjective ; it proceeded entirely from a per- 
 plexed, impassioned individual, and his semi-darkness is 
 probably highly pleasing to mankind. But, in the second 
 part, there is scarcely anything of the subjective ; here is 
 seen a higher, broader, clearer, more passionless world, and 
 he who has not looked about him and had some experience, 
 will not know what to make of it." 
 
 "There will be found exercise for thought," said I; 
 
 :2l 
 
ol4* CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [l 8 3l» 
 
 " some learning may also be needful. I am glad that I have 
 read Schelling's little book on the Cabiri, and that I now 
 know the drift of that famous passage in the Walpurgis- 
 night." 
 
 "I have always found," said Goethe, laughing, "that it 
 is well to know something." 
 
 Fri., Feb. 18. — Dined with Goethe. We talked of different 
 forms of government ; and it was remarked what difficulties 
 an excess of liberalism presents, inasmuch as it calls forth 
 the demands of individuals, and, from the quantity of 
 wishes, one does not know which to satisfy. It will be 
 found that one cannot succeed in the long run with over- 
 great goodness, mildness, and moral delicacy, while one has 
 beneath a mixed and sometimes vicious world to manage and 
 hold in respect. 
 
 It was also remarked that the art of governing is a great 
 metier, requiring the whole man, and that it is therefore not 
 well for a ruler to have too strong tendencies for other 
 affairs, as, for instance, a predominant inclination for the 
 fine arts ; since thus not only the interest of the Prince, but 
 also the powers of the State, must be withdrawn from more 
 necessary matters. A predominating love for the fine arts 
 better suits rich private persons. 
 
 Goethe told me that his " Metamorphosis of Plants," 
 with Soret's translation, was going on well, and that, in his 
 supplementary labours on these subjects, particularly on the 
 " Spiral," quite unexpected favourable things had come to 
 his aid from without. 
 
 "We have," said he, "as you know, been busy with this 
 translation for more than a year ; a thousand hindrances 
 have come in our way ; the enterprise has often come to an 
 absolute standstill, and I have often cursed it in silence. 
 But now I can do reverence to all these hindrances ; for 
 during these delays things have ripened abroad among other 
 excellent men, so that they now bring the best grist to my 
 mill, advance me beyond all conception, and will bring my 
 work to a conclusion which I could not have imagined a 
 year ago. The like has often happened to me in life ; and, 
 in such cases, one is led to believe in a higher influence, in 
 something daemonic (damoniscli), which we adore without 
 trying to explain it further." 
 
3831-] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 515 
 
 Sat, Feb. 19.— Dined at Goethe's, with Hofrath Vi 
 A pamphlet on the island of Heligoland had been sent to 
 Goethe, which he read with great interest, telling us what 
 he found most important in it. 
 
 After we had talked about this very peculiar locality, 
 conversation took a medical turn, and Vogel told us, as the 
 news of the day, how the natural small-pox, in defiance of 
 all inoculation, had again broken out in Eisenach, and had 
 carried off many in a short time. 
 
 " Nature, " said Vogel, "plays us a trick every now and 
 then ; and we must watch her very closely, if our theory is 
 to keep pace with her. Inoculation was thought so sure 
 and infallible, that a law was made to enforce it. But now 
 this Eisenach affair, where the persons who have been 
 inoculated are nevertheless attacked by the natural small- 
 pox, casts a suspicion on the infallibility of the remedy, and 
 weakens the motive for observing the law." 
 
 " Nevertheless," said Goethe, "I am against any departure 
 from the strict law for inoculation, since these trifling 
 exceptions are nothing in comparison with the great bene- 
 fits which it confers." 
 
 "I am of the same opinion," said Vogel, "and would 
 even maintain that in all cases where the natural disease is 
 not prevented by the artificial one, the inoculation has been 
 imperfect. For inoculation to have a protective power it 
 must be strong enough to produce fever. Mere irritation 
 of the skin without fever will not suffice. I have this day 
 proposed in council that a stronger inoculation for the small- 
 pox shall be incumbent on all the parties throughout the 
 country who have to perform it." 
 
 " I hope that your proposal has been carried," snid 
 Goethe. "Indeed, I am always for a rigid adherence to a 
 law, especially at a time like ours, when out of weakn - 
 and excessive liberality one is always conceding too much." 
 
 It was then remarked that we were beginning to be too 
 gentle and lax with regard to the responsibility of criminals, 
 and that medical testimony and opinion often had the eff 1 
 of making the criminal evade the penalty he had incurred. 
 On this occasion Vogel praised a young physician, who had 
 always shown strength of character in such cases, and who 
 lately, when the court was in doubt whether a certain 
 
 2l2 
 
 1/ 
 
516 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1831* 
 
 infanticide was responsible or not, had given his testimony 
 that she unquestionably was so. 
 
 Sun., Feb. 20. — Dined with Goethe. He told me that he 
 had tested my observation on the blue shadows in the snow, 
 viz. that they were produced by the reflection of the blue 
 sky, and that he acknowledged its correctness. " But both 
 causes may, however, co-operate," said he, "and the demand 
 (Forderung) excited by the yellowish light may strengthen 
 the appearance of the blue." This I willingly conceded, and 
 rejoiced that Goethe at last agreed with me. 
 
 " I am sorry," said I, "that I did not on the spot write 
 down the observations on colour which I made at Mont 
 Rose and Mont Blanc. The chief result, however, was, 
 that at a distance of from eighteen to twenty miles, in the 
 brightest noonday sun, the snow appeared yellow and even 
 reddish, while the dark parts of the mountains, which were 
 free from snow, stood out in the most decided blue. This 
 phenomenon did not surprise me, as I could have predicted 
 that the semi-transparent mass which intervened would give 
 a deep yellow tone to the white snow as it reflected the 
 noonday sun ; but, nevertheless, it pleased me, inasmuch as 
 it fully confuted the erroneous opinion of some scientific 
 persons, that the air has the property of giving a blue 
 colour. For if the air had been blue of itself, the snow, for 
 a space of twenty miles — that is to say, the distance between 
 me and Mont Rose — must have appeared bright blue, or a 
 whitish bine, and not yellow and a yellowish red." 
 
 "This observation," said Goethe, "is important, and 
 completely confutes every error." 
 
 "In fact," said I, "the doctrine of the dense medium is 
 so simple that one is easily misled into the belief that it can 
 be communicated to another in a few days. The difficulty 
 is to apply the law, and to recognize a primitive phenomenon 
 in phenomena that are conditioned and concealed a thousand 
 different ways." 
 
 "I will compare it with whist," said Goethe, "the laws 
 and rules of which are very easy to teach, but which one 
 must have played a long time before one can become a 
 master. Altogether we learn nothing from mere hearing, 
 and he who does not take an active part in certain subjects 
 knows them but half and superficially." 
 
283I.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 517 
 
 Goethe then told me of the book of a young natural 
 philosopher, which he could not help praising, on account 
 of the clearness of his descriptions, while he pardoned him 
 for his teleological tendency. 
 
 " It is natural to man," said Goethe, "to regard himself 
 as the final cause of creation, and to consider all other 
 things merely in relation to himself so far as they are of 
 use to him. He makes himself master of the vege- 
 table and animal world, and while he claims other 
 creatures as a fitting diet, he acknowledges his God, and 
 praises His goodness in this paternal care. He takes milk 
 from the cow, honey from the bee, wool from the sheep ; 
 and while he gives these things a purpose which is useful 
 to himself, he believes that they were made on that 
 account. Xay, he cannot conceive that even the smallest 
 litTb was not made for him, and if he has not yet ascer- 
 tained its utility, he believes that he may discover it in 
 future. 
 
 " Then, too, as man thinks in general, so does he always 
 think in particular, and he does not fail to transfer his 
 ordinary views from life into science, and to ask the use 
 and purpose of every single part of our organic being. 
 
 " This may do for a time, and he may get on so for a 
 time in science, but he will soon come to phenomena, 
 where this small view will not be sufficient, and where, if 
 he does not take a higher stand, he will soon be involved 
 in mere contradictions. 
 
 Ci The utility-teachers say that oxen have horns to 
 defend themselves ; but I ask, why is the sheep without 
 any — and when it has them, why are they twisted about 
 the cars so as to answer no purpose at all ? 
 
 " If, on the other hand, I say the ox defends himself with 
 his horns because he has them, it is quite a different matter. 
 
 " The question as to the purpose — the question Wherefore 
 is completely unscientific. But we get on farther with the 
 question How ? For if I ask liow has the ox horns, I 
 am led to study his organization, and learn at the same 
 time why the lion has no horns, and cannot have any. 
 
 " Thus, man has in his skull two hollows which are 
 never filled up. The question wherefore could not take 
 us far in this case, but the question how informs me 
 
518 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1831. 
 
 that these hollows are remains of the animal sknll, which 
 are fonnd on a larger scale in inferior organization, and 
 are not qnite obliterated in man, with all his eminence. 
 
 " The teachers of utility wonld think that they lost 
 their God if they did not worship Him who gave the ox 
 horns to defend itself. But I hope I may be allowed to 
 worship Him who, in the abundance of His creation, was 
 great enough, after making a thousand kinds of plants, to 
 make one more, in which all the rest should be comprised ; 
 and after a thousand kinds of animals, a being which 
 comprises them all — a man. 
 
 " Let people serve Him who gives to the beast his fodder, 
 and to man meat and drink as much as he can enjoy. 
 But I worship Him who has infused into the world such a 
 power of production, that, when only the millionth part 
 of it comes out into life, the world swarms with creatures 
 to such a degree that war, pestilence, fire, and water 
 cannot prevail against them. That is my God ! " 
 
 Mon., Feb. 21. — Goethe praised Schelling's last dis- 
 course, with which he had calmed' the students at Munich , 
 
 " It is thoroughly good," said he ; "and we rejoice once 
 again at the distinguished talent which we have long 
 known and revered. In this case he had an excellent 
 subject and a worthy purpose, and his success has been 
 as great as possible. If the same could be said of the 
 subject and purpose of his work on the Cabiri, that would 
 claim praise from us also, since there also he has displayed 
 in it his rhetorical talent and art." 
 
 Schelling's " Cabiri " brought the conversation to the 
 classic Walpurgis-night, and the difference between this 
 and the scenes on the Brocken in the first part. 
 
 " The old Walpurgis-night," said Goethe, " is monarchi- 
 cal, since the devil is there respected throughout as a 
 decided chief. But the classic Walpurgis-night is thoroughly 
 republican; since all stand on a plain near one another, 
 so that each is as prominent as his associates, and nobody 
 is subordinate or troubled about the rest." 
 
 " Moreover," said I, " in the classic assembly all are 
 sharply outlined individualities, while, on the German 
 Blocksberg, each individuality is lost in the general witch- 
 
1 83 1.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 51'.' 
 
 " Therefore," said Goethe, " Mcphistophiles Knows 
 what is meant when the Homunculns speaks to him of 
 Thessalian witches. A connoisseur of antiquity will have 
 something suggested by these w T ords (Thessalian witches), 
 while to the unlearned it remains a mere name." 
 
 " Antiquity," said I, " must be very living to you, else you 
 could not make all these figures step so freshly into life, 
 and treat them with such freedom as you have." 
 
 " Without a lifelong occupation with plastic art," said 
 Goethe, "it would not have been possible to me. The 
 difficulty was in observing due moderation amid such 
 plenty, and avoiding all figures that did not perfectly fit 
 into my plan. I made, for instance, no use of the Minotaur, 
 the Harpies, and certain other monsters." 
 
 "But what you have exhibited in that night," said I, 
 "is so grouped, and fits so well together, that it can be 
 easily recalled by the imagination and made into a 
 picture. The painters will certainly not allow such good 
 subjects to escape them ; and I especially hope to see 
 Mephistophiles among the Phorcyades, when he tries the 
 famous mask in profile." 
 
 " There are a few pleasantries there," said Goeihe, 
 " which will more or less occupy the world in all sorts of 
 ways. Suppose the French are the first to perceive 
 ' Helena,' and to see what can be done with it for the 
 stage. They will spoil the piece as it is, but they will 
 make a wise use of it for their own purposes, and that is 
 all we can expect or desire. To Phorcyas they will 
 certainly add a chorus of monsters, as is indeed already 
 indicated in one passage." 
 
 "It would be a great matter," said I, "if a clever part 
 of the romantic school treated the piece as an opera 
 throughout, and Rossini collected all his great talent for 
 a grand composition, to produce an effect with the 
 ' Helena.' It affords opportunities for magnificent scenes, 
 surprising transformations, brilliant costumes, and charm- 
 ing ballets, which are not easily to be found elsewhere, to 
 say nothing of the fact that this abundance of sensible 
 material rests on the foundation of an ingenious fable that 
 could scarcely be excelled." 
 
 " We will wait for what the gods bring us," said Go 
 
520 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [[1831. 
 
 " such taings are not to be hurried. The great matter is 
 for people to enter into it, and for managers, poets, and 
 composers to see their advantage in it." 
 
 Tues., Feb. 22. — Upper-Consistorial Councillor Schwabe 
 met me in the street. I walked with him a little way ; he 
 told me of his manifold occupations, and thus I was 
 enabled to look into the important sphere of action of this 
 distinguished man. He said that he employed his spare 
 hours in editing a little volume of new sermons ; that one 
 of his school-books had lately been translated into Danish, 
 that forty thousand copies of it had been sold, and that it 
 had been introduced into the best schools of Prussia. He 
 begged me to visit him, which I gladly promised to do. 
 
 At dinner with Goethe, I spoke of Schwabe, and 
 Goethe agreed entirely with my praises of him. 
 
 "The Grand Duchess," said he, "values him highly ; 
 and, indeed, she always knows what people are worth. I 
 shall have him drawn for my collection of portraits, and 
 you will do well to visit him, and ask his permission in 
 this respect. 
 
 " Visit him, and show sympathy in what he is doing 
 and planning. It will be interesting for you to observe a 
 peculiar sphere of action, which cannot be rightly under- 
 stood without a closer intercourse with such a man." 
 
 Wed., Feb. 23. — Before dinner, while walking in the 
 Erfurt road, I met Goethe, who stopped me and took me 
 into his carriage. We went a good way by the fir- wood, 
 and talked about natural history. 
 
 The mountains and hills were covered with snow, and I 
 mentioned the great delicacy of the yellow, observing that 
 at a distance of nine miles, with some density intervening, 
 a dark surface rather appeared blue than a white one 
 yellow. Goethe agreed with me, and we then spoke of the 
 high significance of the primitive phenomena, behind which 
 we believe the Deity may directly be discerned. 
 
 "I ask not," said Goethe, " whether this highest Being 
 has reason and understanding, but I feel that He is Reason, 
 is Understanding itself. Therewith are all creatures 
 penetrated ; and man has so much of it that he can recog- 
 nize parts of the Highest." 
 
 At table, the efforts of certain inquirers into nature were 
 
1831.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 521 
 
 mentioned, who, to penetrate the organic world, wonld 
 ascend through mineralogy. 
 
 "This," said Goethe, "is a great mistake. In the 
 mineralogical world the simplest, in the organic world the 
 most complex, is the most excellent. We see, too, that 
 these two worlds have quite different tendencies, and that 
 a stepwise progress from one to the other is by no means 
 to be found." 
 
 I treasured this remark as of great importance. 
 
 Th/wrs., Feb. 24. — I read Goethe's essay on Zahn in the 
 Viennese Jahrbucher, and was filled with admiration when 
 I thought of the premises which the writing of it pre- 
 supposed. 
 
 At dinner Goethe told me that Soret had been with him, 
 and that they had made good progress with the translation 
 of the Metamorphosis. 
 
 " The difficulty in nature," said Goethe, "is to see the 
 law where it is concealed from us, and not to be misled by 
 phenomena which contradict our senses. For in nature 
 there is much which contradicts our senses, and is never- 
 theless true. That the sun stands still, that he does not 
 rise and set, but that the earth performs a diurnal revolution 
 with incredible swiftness, contradicts the senses as much 
 as anything, but yet no well-informed person doubts that 
 this is the case. Thus, too, there are in the vegetable 
 kingdom contradictory phenomena, with which we must be 
 very careful not to be led into false ways." 
 
 Sat., Feb. 26. — To-day I read a great deal of Goethe's 
 "Theory of Colours," and was pleased to find that, by 
 frequently exercising myself on the phenomena, I had 
 become sufficiently master of the work to feel its great 
 merits with some degree of clearness. I thought, with 
 admiration, what it must have cost to put such work 
 together, since I observed not merely the final results, but 
 looked deeper, and saw what must have been gone through 
 that these firm results might be attained. 
 
 Only a man of great moral power could accomplish iliis, 
 and whoever would imitate him must take a very high 
 position. All that is indelicate, untrue, egotistical, must 
 vanish from the mind, or real true nature must scorn him. 
 If men considered this, they would willingly devote some 
 
V 
 
 522 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. L l8 3 r * 
 
 years of their life to master the sphere of such a science in 
 such a manner, that they might thus test their senses, 
 intellect, and character. They wonld have respect for all 
 that is according to law, and approach the Deity as closely 
 as it is possible for a terrestrial mind. „ 
 
 On the contrary, people occupy themselves too much 
 with poetry, and supersensuous mysteries which are sub- 
 jective, pliable things, making no further claims on man, 
 but nattering him, and, at best, leaving him just where he 
 was. 
 
 In poetry, only the really great and pure advances us ; 
 and this exists as a second nature, either elevating us to 
 itself or rejecting us. On the other hand, defective poetry 
 develops our faults, inasmuch as we takein to ourselves 
 the infectious weaknesses of the poet. Yes, take them in, 
 without knowing it, because we cannot perceive a defect in 
 that which is consonant to our nature. 
 
 To draw advantage from both the good and the bad in 
 poetry, we must already be in a very high position, and 
 have such a foundation that we can regard things of the 
 sort as objects external to ourselves. 
 
 Hence I commend an intercourse with nature, who in no 
 wise favours our weaknesses, but either makes something 
 out of us, or will have nothing at all to do with us. 
 
 Mon., Feb. 28. — I have been occupied all day with the 
 manuscript of the fourth volume of Goethe's life, which he 
 sent me yesterday, that I might see if anything remained 
 to be done. I am very happy with this work, when I 
 reflect what it already is, and what it may become. Some 
 books appear quite complete, and leave nothing to desire. 
 In others, on the contrary, a certain want of congruity 
 may be observed, which may have arisen from the fact 
 that the author has worked at very different epochs. 
 
 This fourth volume is altogether very different from the 
 three preceding. Those constantly proceed in a certain 
 given direction, while the course is through many years. 
 In this volume, on the contrary, time seems scarcely to 
 move, and we can see no decisive effort on the part of the 
 principal character ; much is undertaken but not completed, 
 much is willed but otherwise directed, and thus we every- 
 where feel the influence of a secret power, a kind of destiny,. 
 
i S3 1 '] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 523 
 
 drawing out many threads for the web which future years 
 must complete. 
 
 This volume, therefore, affords a suitable occasion to 
 speak of that secret, problematical power, which all men 
 feel, which no philosopher explains, and over which the 
 religious help themselves with consoling words. 
 
 Goethe names this unspeakable world and life-enigma 
 the Daemonic (damoniscli) ; and, while he defines its nature, 
 we feel that so it is, and the curtains seem to have been 
 drawn away from before certain backgrounds of our life. 
 We seem to see further and more clearly, but soon perceive 
 that the object is too great and manifold, and that our 
 eyes only reach a certain limit. 
 
 Man is born only for the little ; only what is known to 
 him can be comprehended by him, or give him pleasure. 
 A great connoisseur understands a picture ; he knows how 
 to combine the various particulars into the Universal, which 
 is familiar to him ; the whole is, to him, as living as the 
 details. Neither does he entertain a predilection for 
 detached portions ; he asks not whether a face is ugly or 
 beautiful, whether a passage is light or dark, but whether 
 everything is in its place, according to law and order. But 
 if we show an ignorant man a picture of some compass, we 
 shall see that, as a whole, it leaves him unmoved or confused ; 
 that some parts attract, others repel him ; and that he at 
 last abides by little things which are familiar to him, 
 praising, perhaps, the good execution of a helmet or plume. 
 
 But, in fact, we men play more or less the part of this 
 ignorant person before the great destiny-picture of the world. 
 The lighted part, the Agreeable, attracts us, the shadowy 
 and unpleasant parts repel us, the whole confuses us, and 
 we vainly seek the idea of a single Being to whom wo 
 attribute such contradictions. 
 
 Now, in human things, one may indeed become a great 
 connoisseur, inasmuch as one may appropriate to oneself 
 the art and knowledge of a master, but, in divine things, 
 this is only possible with a being equal to the Highest. 
 Nay, if the Supreme Being attempted to reveal such 
 mysteries to us, we should not understand them or know 
 what to do with them; but again resemble that ignoramus 
 before the picture, to whom the connoisseur cannot by all 
 
524 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [183I. 
 
 the talking in the world impart the premises on which he 
 judges. On this account it is quite right that forms of 
 religion have not been given directly by God himself, but, 
 as the work of eminent men, have been conformed to the 
 wants and the understanding of a great mass of their 
 fellows. If they were the work of God, no man could 
 understand them ; but, being the work of men, they do not 
 express the Inscrutable. 
 
 The religion of the highly-cultivated ancient Greeks 
 went no further than to give separate expressions of the 
 Inscrutable by particular Deities. As these individualities 
 were only limited beings, and a gap was obvious in the 
 connection of the whole, they invented the idea of a Fate, 
 which they placed over all ; but as this in its turn remained 
 a many-sided Inscrutable, the difficulty was rather set aside 
 than disposed of. 
 
 Christ thought of a God, comprising all in one, to whom 
 he ascribed all qualities which he found excellent in him- 
 self. This God was the essence of his own beautiful soul ; 
 full of love and goodness, like himself : and every way 
 suited to induce good men to give themselves up trustingly 
 to him, and to receive this Idea, as the sweetest connection 
 with a higher sphere. But, as the great Being whom we 
 name the Deity manifests himself not only in man, but in a 
 rich, powerful nature, and in mighty world-events, a 
 representation of him, framed from human qualities, cannot 
 of course be adequate, and the attentive Observer will soon 
 come to imperfections and contradictions, which will drive 
 him to doubt, nay, to despair, unless he be either little 
 enough to let himself be soothed by an artful evasion, or 
 great enough to rise to a higher point of view. 
 
 Such a point Goethe early found in Spinoza; and he 
 acknowledges with joy how much the views of that great 
 thinker answered the wants of his youth. In him he found 
 himself, and in him therefore could he fortify himself to 
 the best advantage. 
 
 And as these views were not of the subjective sort, but 
 had a foundation in the works and manifestations of God 
 through the world, so were they not mere husks which he, 
 after his own later, deeper search into the world and nature, 
 threw aside as useless, but were the first root and germ of 
 
I83 1.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 52-3 
 
 a plant that went on growing with equally healthy energy 
 for many years, and at last unfolded the flower of a rich 
 knowledge. 
 
 His opponents have often accused him of having no faith : 
 but he merely had not theirs, because it was too small for 
 him. If he spoke out his own, they would be astonished ; 
 but they would not be able to comprehend him. 
 
 But Goethe is far from believing that he knows the 
 Highest Being as it is. All his written and oral expres- 
 sions intimate that it is somewhat inscrutable, of which men 
 can only have approximating perceptions and feelings. 
 
 For the rest, nature and we men are all so penetrated by 
 the Divine, that it holds us ; that we live, move, and have 
 our being in it ; that we suffer and are happy under eternal 
 laws ; that we practise these, and they are practised on us, 
 whether we recognize them or not. 
 
 The child enjoys his cake without knowing anything of 
 the baker ; the sparrow the cherries, without thinking how 
 they grew. 
 
 Wed., Mar. 2. — I dined with Goethe to-day, and the con- 
 versation soon turning again on the Daemonic, he added the 
 following remarks to define it more closely. ^ 
 
 " The Daemonic," said he, " is that which cannot be 
 explained by Reason or Understanding ; it lies not in my 
 nature, but I am subject to it." 
 
 " Napoleon," said I, " seems to have been of the daemonic 
 sort." 
 
 "He was so thoroughly," said Goethe, "and in the 
 highest degree, so that scarce any one is to be compared 
 with him. Our late Grand Duke, too, was a daemonic 
 nature, full of unlimited power of action and unrest, so 
 *hat his own dominion was too little for him, and the 
 greatest would have been too little. Daemonic beings of 
 such sort the Greeks reckoned among their demigods." 
 
 "Is not the Daemonic," said I, "perceptible in events 
 also ? " 
 
 "Particularly," said Goethe, "and, indeed, in all which 
 we cannot explain by Reason and Understanding. It mani- 
 fests itself in the most varied manner throughout all nature 
 1 — in the invisible as in the visible. Many creatures are 01 
 purely daemonic kind ; in many parts of it are effective." 
 
526 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. ['831 
 
 u Has not Mephistophiles," said I, "daemonic traits too ? " 
 
 " jSTo," said Goethe, " Mephistophiles is much too nega- 
 tive a being. The Daemonic manifests itself in a thoroughly 
 active power. 
 
 " Among artists," he continued, " it is found more among-; 
 musicians — less among painters. In Paginini, it shows 
 itself in a high degree ; and it is thus he produces such 
 great effects." 
 
 I was much pleased at all these remarks, which made 
 more clear to me what Goethe meant bj the Daemonic. 
 
 Thurs., Mar. 3. — At noon with Goethe. He was looking 
 through some architectural designs, and observed it re- 
 quired some courage to build palaces, inasmuch as we are 
 never certain how long one stone will remain upon another. 
 
 " Those are most fortunate," said he, " who live in tents, 
 or who, like some Englishmen, are always going from one 
 city and one inn to another, and find everywhere a good 
 table ready." 
 
 Sun., Mar. 6. — At dinner talked on various subjects 
 with Goethe. We spoke of children and their naughty 
 tricks, and he compared these to the stem-leaves of a plant, 
 which fall away gradually of their own accord ; and which 
 need not be corrected with great severity. 
 
 "Man," said he, "has various stages which he must go 
 through, and each brings with it its peculiar virtues and 
 faults, which, in the epoch to which they belong, are to be 
 considered natural, and in a manner right. On the next 
 step he is another man ; there is no trace left of the earlier 
 virtues or faults ; but others have taken their place. And 
 so on to the final transformation, with respect to which we 
 know not what we shall be." 
 
 After dinner, Goethe read me fragments, which he had 
 kept from 1775, of Hansivurstfs Hochzeit (" Hanswurst's 
 wedding"). Kilian Brustfleck opens the piece with a 
 monologue, in which he complains that Hanswurst's educa- 
 tion, despite all his care, has come to no good. This scene, 
 and all the rest, were written in the tone of Faust. A pro- 
 ductive force, powerful even to wantonness, displayed itself 
 in every line ; and I could not but lament that it went so 
 far beyond all bounds, that even the fragments cannot be 
 communicated. 
 
2S3I.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 527 
 
 Goethe read me the list of the dramatis personal, which 
 nearly filled three pages, and were about a hundred in 
 number. There were all the nicknames imaginable ; some 
 of them so comic and ludicrous, that we could not help 
 laughing at them. Many referred to bodily defects, and 
 distinguished a figure so that it came like life before the 
 eye ; others indicated the most various follies and vices, and 
 afforded a deep look into the breadth of the immoral world. 
 Had the piece been finished, people must have admired the 
 invention that could combine such various symbolical 
 figures in one single action. 
 
 " It was not to be imagined that I could finish the 
 piece," said Goethe ; " for it demanded a high degree of 
 wanton daring, which I had at moments, but which did not 
 in fact lie in the serious tenor of my nature, and on which I 
 could not depend. Then in Germany our circles are too 
 limited for one to come forward with such an undertaking. 
 On a broad ground, like Paris, one might venture such 
 eccentricities, just as one can there be a Beranger, which 
 would be quite impossible at Frankfort or Weimar." 
 
 Tues., Mar. 8. — Dined to-day with Goethe, who began 
 by telling me that he had been reading " Ivanhoe." 
 
 " Walter Scott," said he, "is a great talent ; he has not 
 his equal ; and we need not wonder at the extraordinary 
 effect he produces on the whole reading world. He gives 
 me much to think of ; and I discover in him a wholly new 
 art, with laws of its own." 
 
 We spoke then of the fourth volume of the biography, and 
 came upon the subject of the Daemonic before we were aware. 
 
 " In poetry," said Goethe, " especially in that which is 
 unconscious, before which reason and understanding fall 
 short, and which therefore produces effects so far surpassing 
 all conception, there is always something daemonic. 
 
 " So is it with music, in the highest degree, for it stands 
 50 high that no understanding: can reach it, and an influence 
 flows from it which masters all, and for which none can 
 account. Hence, religious worship cannot dispense with 
 it ; it is one of the chief means of working upon men 
 miraculously. Thus the Daemonic loves to throw itself 
 into significant individuals, especially when they are in 
 high places, like Frederic and Peter the Great. 
 
528 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [183U 
 
 " Our late Grand Duke had it to sucli a degree, that 
 nobody could resist him. He had an attractive influence 
 upon men by his mere tranquil presence, without needing 
 even to show himself good-hnmoured and friendly. All 
 that I undertook by his advice succeeded ; so that, in cases 
 where my own understanding and reason were insufficient, 
 I needed only to ask him what was to be done, when he 
 gave me an answer instinctively, and I could always be sure 
 of happy results. 
 
 " He would have been enviable indeed if he could have 
 possessed himself of my ideas and higher strivings; for 
 when the daemonic spirit forsook him, and only the human 
 was left, he knew not how to set to work, and was much 
 troubled at it. 
 
 " In Byron, also, this element was probably active in a 
 high degree, whence he possessed powers of attraction to a 
 great extent, so that women especially could not resist 
 him." 
 
 " Into the idea of the Divine," said I, by way of experi- 
 ment, " this active power which we name the Daemonic 
 would not seem to enter." 
 
 "My good friend," said Goethe, "what do we know of 
 the idea of the Divine ? and what can our narrow ideas tell 
 of the Highest Being ? Should I, like a Turk, name it 
 with a hundred names, I should still fall short, and, in 
 comparison with such boundless attributes, have said 
 v nothing." 
 
 Wed., Mar. 9. — Goethe continued to speak of Sir Walter 
 Scott with the highest acknowledgment. 
 
 "We read far too many poor things," said he; "thus 
 losing time, and gaining nothing. We should only read 
 what we admire, as I did in my youth, and as I now expe- 
 rience with Sir Walter Scott. I have just begun 'Rob 
 Boy,' and will read his best novels in succession. All is 
 great — material, import, characters, execution; and then 
 what infinite diligence in the preparatory studies ! what 
 truth of detail in the execution ! We see, too, what English 
 history is ; and what a thing it is when such an inheritance 
 falls to the lot of a clever poet. Our German histoiy, in 
 five volumes, is, on the other hand, sheer poverty ; so that r 
 after ' Goetz von Berlichingen,' writers went immediately 
 
I 83 I.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOEFIIP. 529 
 
 into private life, giving us an 'Agnes Bernauerin,' and 
 
 an * Otto von Wittelsbach,' : * which was really not 
 much." 
 
 I said that I had been reading " Daphnis and Chloe," in 
 Courier's translation. 
 
 " That, also," said Goethe, " is a masterpiece, which I 
 have often read and admired, in which Understanding, Art, 
 and Taste appear at their highest point, and beside which 
 the good Virgil retreats somewhat into the background. 
 The landscape is quite in the Poussin style, and appears, 
 behind the personages, finished with a very few strokes. 
 
 " You know Courier found, in the Florentine Librarv- 
 a new manuscript, containing the principal passage of 
 the poem which was not in the preceding editions. 
 Xow, I must acknowledge that I have always read and 
 admired the poem in its imperfect state, without observing 
 or feeling that the proper apex was wanting. But this may 
 be a proof of the excellence of the poem, since what we pos- 
 sessed satisfied us so completely that we never thought of 
 what was deficient." 
 
 After dinner, Goethe showed me a drawing by Coudray, 
 of an extremely tasteful door for the Dornburg Castie, 
 with a Latin inscription, signifying, that he who ent 
 should find friendly reception and entertainment, and i 
 to him who passed by a happy journey was wished. 
 
 Goethe had translated this inscription into a German 
 distich, and placed it as a motto over a letter winch he had 
 written, in the summer of 1828, after the death of the 
 Grand Duke, during Ins residence at Dornburg, to Colonel 
 von Beulwitz. I had heard much in public of this letter, 
 and was very glad when Goethe showed it me to-day, 
 with the drawing of the door. 
 
 I read the letter with great interest, admiring the skill 
 with which he had used the localities of the Dornburg 
 Castle and the valley below to introduce the noblest views — 
 views suited to raise man up after sustaining a great loss, 
 and to place him on his feet again. 
 
 I was much pleased with this letter, observing that one 
 need not travel far in search of good material, but that all 
 
 * These are two plays written after the manner of "Qotz " : tho 
 first is by Count Joseph von Torring ; the second, by Francis Babo. 
 
 2 * 
 
530 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [ I ^3 I > 
 
 depends on the aptness of the poet's niind to produce some- 
 thing valuable from the most trifling occasions. 
 
 Goethe put the letter and drawing in a portf oho by them- 
 selves to preserve both for the future. 
 
 Thurs., Mar. 10. — I read to-day, with the Prince, Goethe's 
 novel of the " Tiger and the Lion," f and while he was 
 highly pleased at feeling the effect of a great art, I was no 
 less so at taking a clear view of a finished composition. I 
 felt a certain omnipresence of thought, which may have 
 arisen from the fact that the poet cherished the subject in 
 his mind for so many years, and thus became so completely 
 master of his subject that he could survey the whole and 
 the details with the greatest clearness, and place every 
 single part just where it was wanted, and might prepare 
 and influence what was coming. Everything has a relation 
 to what is to come and to what has preceded, everything is 
 right in its place, so that as a composition we can scarcely 
 conceive anything more perfect. As we went on reading I 
 felt the strongest wish that Goethe could contemplate this 
 gem of a novel as the work of another. At the same time, 
 I reflected that there was a great advantage in the dimen- 
 sions of the subject, enabling the poet to put all skilfully 
 together, and the reader to approach the whole and its de- 
 tails with some reason. 
 
 (Sup.*) Thurs., Mar. 10. — This morning a short half 
 hour with Goethe. I had to bring him the information 
 that the Grand Duchess had determined to bestow the sum 
 of a thousand dollars upon the directors of the theatre, to 
 be employed in the cultivation of promising young talent. 
 This information gave evident pleasure to Goethe, who has 
 at heart the further prosperity of the theatre. 
 
 I had then to consult him concerning a commission of 
 another kind. It is the intention of the Grand Duchess to 
 invite to Weimar the best German author of the present 
 time, provided he is without employment or fortune, and 
 merely lives on the fruits of his talent, and to provide a 
 sinecure place for him, so that he may find leisure to allow 
 all his works to attain the utmost perfection, and not be in 
 the piteous case of working hastily from necessity, to the- 
 prejudice of his own talent and of literature, 
 t '•' Die Xovelle."— Trans. 
 
jSjI.j CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 531 
 
 " The intention of the Grand Duchess," returned Goethe, 
 K is most princely, and I bow before her noble views ; bu1 
 it will be very diflicnlt to make a proper choice. The mosi 
 distinguished of our present talents are already in easy cir- 
 cumstances, through state employment, pensions, and their 
 own private resources. Besides, every one would not 
 here, and every one would not be really assisted by coming. 
 I will, however, bear the noble design in mind, and 
 what good the next year may bring us." 
 
 Fri., Mar. 11. — At dinner with Goethe, talked on varions 
 subjects. "It is a peculiarity of Walter Scott's," said he. 
 " that his great talent in representing details often leads him 
 into faults. Thus, in 'Ivanhoe,' there is a scene where thev 
 are seated at a table in a castle-hall, at night, and a stranger 
 enters. JS"ow, he is quite right in describing the stranger's 
 appearance and dress, but it is a fault that he goes to 
 length of describing his feet, shoes, and stockings. W 
 we sit down in the evening, and some one conies in, we 
 only the upper part of his body. If I describe the feet 
 daylight enters at once, and the scene loses its nocturnal 
 character." 
 
 I felt the force of these words, and noted them down f or 
 future occasions. 
 
 Goethe then continued to speak with great admiration of 
 Sir Walter Scott. I requested him to put his views on 
 paper, which ho refused to do, remarking that Scott's art 
 was so high' that it is hard to give a public opinion abou! 
 him. 
 
 Mon., Mar. 14. — Dined with Goethe, and talked oT 
 several subjects. I had to tell him of the " Dumb Girl of 
 Portici," which had been represented the day before 
 yesterday ; when we said that a properly-grounded motive 
 for a revolution was not shown at all, and that this very 
 rircunistance pleased people, inasmuch as every one coulr 
 fill up the gap with something that was offensive in hi 
 own city and country. 
 
 "The whole opera," said Goethe, "is, in face, a sa 
 upon the people, for when it makes a public matter of ;t 
 Usher-girl's amour, and calls the prince a tyrant bee:, 
 marries a princess, it appears as absurd and ridiculous ti-; 
 possible." 
 
 2 u 2 
 
532 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [183 1. 
 
 After dinner Goethe showed me some drawings, illus- 
 trative of Berlin phrases, in which the liveliest subjects 
 were represented, and we praised the moderation of the 
 artist in approaching caricature, without actually going 
 into it. 
 
 Tues., Mar. 15. — I occupied myself the whole morning 
 with the manuscript of the fourth volume of " Truth and 
 Poetry," and wrote the following notes for Goethe : — 
 
 The second, fourth, and fifth books may be deemed com- 
 plete, with the exception of some trifles that can easily be 
 settled in a final revision. 
 
 Here followed some remarks on the first and third 
 books : — 
 
 First Book. — The narrative of Jung's failure with the 
 ophthalmic operation is so seriously important that it in- 
 duces deep internal reflection ; and, if told in society, would 
 assuredly occasion a pause in conversation. I therefore 
 suggest that it should terminate the first book, in order 
 that a kind of pause may be produced. 
 
 The pretty anecdotes of the fire in the Judengasse (Jew's 
 lane), and the skating in the mother's red velvet cloak, 
 which are now at the end of the first book, and are not 
 rightly placed there, should properly be connected with the 
 portion which treats of unconscious, unpremeditated poetic 
 production. For those events refer to a similarly happy 
 state of mind, which, once in action, does not long think 
 and ask what is to be done, but has already acted before the 
 thought comes. 
 
 Third Book. — According to our plan, the book would 
 comprise all that might be dictated respecting the external 
 political condition of 1775, the internal condition of Ger- 
 many, the education of the nobility, &c* 
 
 All that belongs to "Hanswurst's Hochzeit " and other 
 poetical projects — carried out and not carried out — might, 
 if it did not better suit the fourth book, which is already 
 very thick, or interrupt the connection, which is well 
 observed there, be properly introduced in the third. 
 
 I have collected all the outlines and fragments for this 
 
 * The remarks here referred to are in the second book of the fourth 
 volume (the 17th of the whole) ; otherwise, Eckermarm's suggestions 
 seem to have been followed. — Trans. 
 
I 83 I.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. T>33 
 
 purpose in the third book, and wish all happiness and in- 
 clination to dictate what is still wanting, with fresh spirit 
 and wonted grace. — E. 
 
 Dined with the Prince and M. Soret. We talked a great 
 deal about Courier, and then about the conclusion of 
 Groethe's "Novel," when I made the remark that in that 
 work import and art stood too high for people to know 
 what to make of it. They like to hear and see over 
 and over again what they have seen and heard already ; 
 and as they are accustomed to find the flower Poetry 
 in thoroughly poetical fields, they are amazed when 
 they see it springing from a thoroughly real soil. In the 
 poetical region people will put up with anything, and no 
 wonder is too great for belief ; but here, in the broad light 
 of real day, they are startled by the slightest deviation 
 from the ordinary course of things. Being surrounded by 
 a thousand wonders to which we are accustomed, we are 
 troubled at a single one which has hitherto been new. 
 Again, mankind finds no difficulty in believing the wonders 
 of an earlier period, but to give a sort of actuality to a 
 wonder that happens to-day, and to know it is a higher 
 reality by the side of that which is visibly real, — this does 
 not seem to lie in human capacity, or, if it does, it seems to 
 have been expelled by education. Our age will hence be- 
 come more and more prosaic, and, with the exception of 
 faith in the supernatural, all poetry will gradually disappear. 
 
 As a conclusion to Goethe's "Novel," nothing is re- 
 quired but the feeling that man is not quite deserted by 
 higher beings, but that, on the contrary, they keep their 
 eye on him, sympathize with him, and, in case of need, 
 come to his assistance. 
 
 There is something so natural in this belief, that it 
 belongs to man, is a constituent part of his being, and is 
 innate with all nations, as the foundation of all religion. 
 In the first human beginnings, it appears strong ; but it 
 does not yield to the highest culture, so that we find it 
 still great in Plato, and, last of all, just as brilliant in the 
 author of "Daphnis and Chloe." In this charming poem, 
 the Divine operates under the form of Pan and the 
 nymphs, who take an interest in pious shepherds and 
 
534 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1831. 
 
 lovers, save and protect them in the daytime, appear to 
 them in dreams at night, and tell them what is to be done. 
 In Goethe's "Novel," this Invisible Guardian is conceived 
 under the form of the Eternal and the Angels, who once, 
 in a den, amid fierce lions, guarded the prophet, and who 
 here, in the presence of a similar monster, afford their 
 protection to a good child. The lion does not tear the boy 
 to pieces, but rather appears mild and docile ; for those 
 higher beings who have been active through all eternity 
 participate in the affair. 
 
 But that this may not appear too marvellous to an incredu- 
 lous nineteenth century, the poet makes use of a second 
 powerful motive, namely, that of music, the magic power of 
 which has been felt by mankind from the earliest times, 
 and by which we allow ourselves to be governed every day, 
 without knowing how it happens. 
 
 And as Orpheus by this magic drew after him all the 
 beasts of the forest, and as in the last Greek poem a young 
 shepherd leads goats with his flute, so that to different 
 melodies they disperse and assemble, fly from the enemy 
 and graze in quiet, so in Goethe's " Novel " does music 
 exercise its power on the lion, inasmuch as the violent 
 beast yields to the melodies of the dulcet flute, and follows 
 whithersoever he is led by the innocence of the boy. 
 
 When I have spoken with divers people about such inex- 
 plicable things, I have observed that man is so deeply im- 
 pressed with his excellent qualities, that he does not 
 hestitate to endow the gods with them, but cannot easily 
 resolve to give a part of them to brutes. 
 
 Wed., Mar. 16. — Dined with Goethe, to whom I brought 
 back the fourth volume of his life, and conversed much 
 about it. 
 
 We also spoke of the conclusion to " William Tell," and 
 I expressed my wonder that Schiller should have commit- 
 ted the fault of lowering his hero by his unworthy conduct 
 to the fugitive Duke of Suabia, whom he judges severely 
 while he boasts of his own deed. 
 
 "It is scarcely conceivable," said Goethe, " but Schiller, 
 like others, was subject to the influence of women ; and, if 
 he committed such a fault, it was rather on account of this 
 influence, than from his own fine nature." 
 
3831.] "IVBRSATIONS OF GOL ! 
 
 Fri., Mar. 18. — Dined with Goethe. I brought him 
 " Daphnis and Chloo," which he wished to read once 
 more. 
 
 We spoke of higher maxims, whether it was go<> 
 possible to communicate them to others. " The capacity of 
 apprehending what is high," said Goethe, "is very rj 
 and therefore, in common life, a man does well to 1 
 such things for himself, and only to give out so much a 
 needful to have some advantage against others." 
 
 We touched upon the point that many men, especially 
 critics and poets, wholly ignore true greatness, while they 
 assign an extraordinary value to mediocrity. 
 
 "Man," said Goethe, "recognizes and praises only that 
 which he himself is capable of doing ; and as certain people 
 have their proper existence in the mediocre, they get a 
 trick of thoroughly depreciating that in literature which, 
 while faulty, may have good points, that they may elevate 
 the mediocre, which they praise, to a greater eminence." 
 
 I noted this that I might know how to think of such a 
 practice in future. 
 
 We then spoke of the "Theory of Colours," and of cer- 
 tain German professors who continue to warn their pupils 
 against it as a great error. 
 
 "I am sorry, for the sake of many a good scholar,'* 
 Goethe ; " but, for myself, it is quite indifferent ; my 
 theory is as old as the world, and cannot always be 
 pudiated and set aside." 
 
 Goethe then told me that he was making good 
 gross with his new edition of the "Metamorphosis of 
 Plants," and Soret's translation, which was more and more 
 felicitous. 
 
 "It will be a remarkable book," said he, "inasmuch as 
 the most varied elements are worked up into one whole. 
 I have inserted some passages from some important young 
 German naturalists, and it is pleasing to sec that such a 
 good style has been formed among the better ■writers in 
 Germany, that we cannot tell whether one or the othe 
 speaking. However, the book gives me more trouble than 
 I thought, and I was at first led into the undertaking 
 almost against myself, but something Dasmonic prevailed, 
 which was not to be resisted." 
 
535 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1831. 
 
 " You did well," said I, " in yielding to such influences, 
 for the Daemonic seems to be of such a powerful nature, 
 that it is sure to carry its point at last." 
 
 "Only," replied Goethe, "man, in his turn, must 
 endeavour to carry his point against the Daemonic ; and, in 
 the present case, I must try by all industry and toil to 
 make my book as good as lies in my power, and as circum- 
 stances will allow. Such matters are in the same predica- 
 ment as the game which the French call codille, where a 
 great deal is decided by the dice which are thrown, but 
 where it is left to the skill of the player to place the men 
 well on the board." 
 
 I respected these excellent remarks, which I stored up as 
 good doctrine, and as a rule for practice. 
 
 Sim., Mar. 20. — Goethe told me at table that he had 
 been lately reading " Daphnis and Chloe." 
 
 "The book," said he, "is so beautiful, that, amid the 
 bad circumstances in which we live, we cannot retain 
 the impression we receive from it, but are astonished anew 
 every time we read it. The clearest day prevails in it, and 
 we think we are looking at nothing but Herculanean 
 pictures, while these paintings react upon the book, and 
 assist our fancy as we read." 
 
 "I was much pleased," said I, "at a certain isolation in 
 which the whole is placed. There is scarcely a foreign 
 allusion to take us out of those happy regions. Of the 
 deities, Pan and the nymphs are alone active, any other is 
 scarcely named, and still we see that these are quite 
 enough for the wants of shepherds." 
 
 "And yet, notwithstanding all this isolation," said 
 Goethe, "a complete world is developed. We see shep- 
 herds of every kind, agriculturists, gardeners, vine- 
 dressers, sailors, robbers, and warriors, besides genteel 
 townsmen, great lords, and serfs." 
 
 "We also see man," said I, "in all his grades of life, 
 from his birth to his old age ; and all the domestic circum- 
 stances which are occasioned by changes of season pass 
 before our eyes." 
 
 " Then the landscape," said Goethe, — " how clearly is it 
 given with a few touches ! We can see, rising behind the 
 persons, vineyards, fields, and orchards ; below, the 
 
I 83 I.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 537' 
 
 ineadow and the stream ; and, in the distance, the broad sea. 
 Then there is not a trace of gloomy days, of mists, clouds, 
 and damp, but always the clearest bluest sky, a charm- 
 ing air and the driest soil, so that one would readily stretch 
 one's naked limbs anywhere. 
 
 "The whole poem,"* continued Goethe, "shows the 
 highest art and cultivation. It has been so well con- 
 sidered, that not a motive is wanting, but all are of the 
 best and most substantial kind; as, for instance, that of 
 the treasure near the dolphin on the shore. Then there is 
 a taste, and a perfection, and a delicacy of feeling, which 
 cannot be excelled. Everything that is repulsive and 
 disturbs from without the happy condition which the poem 
 expresses — such as invasion, robbery, and war — is got rid 
 of as quickly as possible, so that scarcely a trace of it 
 is left. Then vice appears in the train of the townsmen, 
 and there not in the principal characters, but in a 
 subordinate personage. All this is of the highest beauty." 
 
 " Then," said I, " I was much pleased to see how well 
 the relation between master and servant is expressed. 
 On the one hand, there is the kindest treatment ; on the 
 other, in spite of all naive freedom, great respect and an 
 endeavour to gain, in any way, the favour of the 
 master. Thus the young townsman, who has rendered 
 himself odious to Daphnis, endeavours, when the latter 
 is recognized as his master's son, to regain his favour 
 by boldly rescuing Chloe from the cowherds, and bring- 
 ing her back to him." 
 
 " All these things," said Goethe, " show great under- 
 standing ; it is excellent also that Chloe preserves her 
 innocence to the end, — and the motives for tins are so 
 well contrived, that the greatest human affairs are brought 
 under notice. One must write a whole book properly 
 to estimate all the great merits of this poem, and one 
 would do well to read it every year, to be instructed 
 by it again and again, and to receive anew the impression 
 of its great beauty." 
 
 Mon., Mar. 21. — We talked on political subjects, — of the 
 
 *"Gedicht" lias a wider meaning than the English word 
 '•' poem." — Trans. 
 
538 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. IJ183I. 
 
 incessant disturbances at Paris, and the fancy of young 
 people to meddle in the highest affairs of state. 
 
 ( " Tn England, also," said I, "the students some time ago 
 tried to obtain an influence on the decision of the Catholic 
 question by sending in petitions ; but they were laughed 
 at, and no further notice was taken of them." 
 
 '" The example of Napoleon," said Goethe, " has, especially 
 in the young people of France who grew up under that 
 hero, excited a spirit of egotism ; and they will not rest 
 until a great despot once again rises up among them, in 
 whom they may see the perfection of what they themselves 
 wish to be. The misfortune is, that a man like Napoleon 
 will not so soon again be born ; and I almost fear that some 
 hundred thousands of human lives will be wasted before 
 the world is again tranquillized. 
 
 " Of literary influence there can be no thought at present; 
 one can now do nothing further than quietly prepare good 
 things for a more peaceful time." 
 
 After these few political remarks, we spoke again of 
 "Daphnis and Chloe." Goethe praised Courier's transla- 
 tion as perfect. 
 
 "Courier did well," said he, "to respect and retain 
 Amyot's old translation, and only in parts to improve, to 
 purify, and bring it nearer the original. The old French 
 is so naive, and suits the subject so perfectly, that it will 
 not be easy to make, in any language, a more perfect trans- 
 lation of this book." 
 
 We then spoke of Courier's own works, — of his little 
 fugitive pieces, and the defence of the famous ink-spot on 
 the manuscript at Florence. 
 
 "Courier," said Goethe, "is a great natural talent. He 
 has features of Lord Byron, as also of Beaumarchais and 
 Diderot. He is like Byron in command over all things 
 which may serve him as argument, — like Beaumarchais in 
 his adroitness as an advocate, — like Diderot in dialectic 
 skill, — and it is not possible to be more spirited and witty.* 
 However, he seems not entirely to clear himself from the 
 
 * The words " spirited and witty" are used by the American trans- 
 lator as an equivalent for the untranslatable " geistreich." The 
 remarks which immediately follow touch upon this most difficult 
 word. — Trans. 
 
I 83 I.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 
 
 ink-spot accusation, and is, in his whole tendency, not 
 sufficiently positive to claim unqualified praise. He is at 
 variance with all the world, and we cannot but supt 
 that some fault is on his side." 
 
 We spoke of the difference between the German notion 
 Geist, and the French Esprit. 
 
 "The French Esprit" said Goethe, "means nearly the 
 same with our German word Witz. Our Geist might, per- 
 haps, be expressed in French by Esprit and Artie. It in- 
 cludes the idea of productivity, which is not in the French 
 Esprit:' 
 
 " Voltaire," said I, " had nevertheless what we name Geist 
 in the German sense of the word. And as Esprit does not 
 suffice, what word do the French use ? " 
 
 "In such a lofty instance," said Goethe, "they say 
 Genie:' 
 
 " I am now reading," said I, " a volume of Diderot, and 
 am astonished by the extraordinary talent of the man. And 
 what knowledge ! what a power of language ! We look 
 into a great animated world, where one constantly stimu- 
 lated another, and mind and character were kept in such 
 constant exercise, that both must be flexible and strong. 
 But it seems to me quite extraordinary to see what men the 
 French had in their literature in the last century. I am 
 astonished when I only look at it." 
 
 " It was the metamorphosis of a hundred-year-old litera- 
 ture," said Goethe, "which had been growing ever since 
 Louis XIV., and stood now in full flower. But it was 
 really Voltaire who excited such minds as Diderot, D Alem- 
 bert, and Beaumarchais ; for to be somewhat near him a 
 man needed to be much, and could take no holidays." 
 
 Goethe then told me of a young professor of the Oriental 
 languages and literature at Jena, who had lived a long time 
 at Paris, and was so highly cultivated, that he wished I 
 would make his acquaintance. 
 
 As I went, he gave me an essay, by Schron, on the ex- 
 pected comet, that I might not remain entirely a stranger 
 to such matters. 
 
 Tues., Mar. 22. — After dinner, Goethe read to me passages 
 from the letter of a young friend, at Rome. Some German 
 artists appeared there with long hair, moustachios, shirt- 
 
540 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. ['Sjl. 
 
 collars turned over on old-fashioned German coats, tobacco- 
 pipes, and bull-dogs. They do not seeni to visit Rome for 
 the sake of the great masters, or to learn anything. To 
 them Raphael seems weak, and Titian merely a good 
 colourist. 
 
 "Niebuhr," said Goethe, "was right when he saw a bar- 
 barous age coming. It is already here, we are in the midst 
 of it; for wherein does barbarism consist, unless in not 
 appreciating what is excellent ! " 
 
 Our young friend then gave an account of the carnival, 
 the election of the new pope, and the revolution which 
 broke out immediately after. 
 
 We saw Horace Vernet ensconcing himself like a knight, 
 while some German artists stay quietly at home, and cut off 
 their beards, which seems to intimate that they have not, 
 by their conduct, made themselves very popular among the 
 Romans. 
 
 We discussed the question whether the errors now per- 
 ceptible in some young German artists had proceeded from 
 individuals, and spread abroad by intellectual contagion, or 
 whether they had their origin in the general tendency of 
 the time. 
 
 "They come," said Goethe, "from a few individuals, 
 and have now been in operation for forty years. The 
 doctrine was, that the artist chiefly needs piety and genius 
 to be equal to the best. Such a doctrine was very flattering, 
 and was eagerly snatched up. For, to become pious, a man 
 need learn nothing, and genius each one inherited from his 
 mother. One need only utter something that flatters in- 
 dolence and conceit, to be sure of plenty of adherents among 
 commonplace people." 
 
 Fri.j Mar. 25. — Goethe showed me an elegant green 
 elbow-chair, which he had lately bought at an auction. 
 
 "However," said he, "I shall use it but little, or not at 
 all ; for all kinds of commodiousness are against my nature. 
 Tou see in my chamber no sofa ; I always sit in my old 
 wooden chait, and never till a few weeks ago have I had a 
 leaning-place put for my head. If surrounded by con- 
 venient tasteful furniture, my thoughts are absorbed, and I 
 am placed in an agreeable but passive state. Unless we 
 are accustomed to them from early youth, splendid chambers 
 
183 1.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 541 
 
 and elegant furniture are for people who neither have nor 
 can have any thoughts." 
 
 Sun., Mar. 27. — After long expectations, the finest spring 
 weather has come at last. On the perfectly blue heaven 
 floats only some little white cloud now and then, and it is 
 warm enough to resume summer clothing. 
 
 Goethe had the table covered in a pavilion in the garden, 
 and so we dined once more in the open air. We talked of 
 the Grand Duchess ; how she is quietly at work in all direc- 
 tions, doing good, and making the hearts of all her subjects 
 her own. 
 
 " The Grand Duchess," said Goethe, "has as much in- 
 tellect and sweetness as good-will ; she is a true blessing to 
 the country. And as men are everywhere quick to feel 
 whence they receive benefits, worshipping the sun and 
 kindly elements, I wonder not that all hearts turn to her 
 with love, and that she is speedily appreciated, as she 
 deserves to be." 
 
 I mentioned that I had begun "Minna von Barnhelm" 
 with the Prince, and observed how excellent this piece ap- 
 peared to me. 
 
 " Lessing," said I, " has been spoken of as a cold man of 
 understanding ; but I find in this drama as much heart, 
 soul, charming naturalness, and free world culture of a 
 fresh, cheerful, living man, as one could desire." 
 
 "You may imagine," said Goethe, "what an effect that 
 work produced on us young people when it came out in 
 that dark time. Truly it was a glittering meteor. It taught 
 us to perceive that there was something higher than that 
 of which the weak literary epoch gave any notion. The 
 first two acts are a model in the art of introduction ; from 
 which much has been learned, and much may be learned 
 still. Nowadays, indeed, writers are not curious about 
 this art : the effect, which was once expected in the third 
 act, they will now have in the first scene : and they do not 
 reflect that it is with poetry as with going to sea, where we 
 should push from the shore, and reach a certain elevation 
 before we unfurl all our sails." 
 
 Goethe had some excellent Rhine wine brought, which 
 had been sent by his Frankfort friends, as a present, on 1 1 i s 
 last birthday. He told some stories about Merck, and how 
 
542 CONVERSATIONS OS* GOETHE. [ l8 3^ 
 
 lie could not pardon the Grand Duke for having once, in 
 the Ruhl near Eisenach, praised an ordinary wine as ex- 
 cellent. 
 
 "Merck and I," he continued, "were always to one 
 another as Mephistophiles to Eaust. Thus he scoffed at a 
 letter written by my father from Italy, in which the latter 
 complained of the miserable way of living, — the heavy 
 wine, the food to which he was unaccustomed, and the mos- 
 quitoes. Merck could not forgive him, in that delicious 
 country and surrounded by such magnificence, for being 
 troubled about such little matters as eating, drinking, and 
 flies. 
 
 " All Merck's tauntings, no doubt, proceeded from a high 
 state of culture ; only, as he was not productive, but had, 
 on the contrary, a decidedly negative tendency, he was ever 
 more inclined to blame than praise, and was involuntarily 
 always seeking for means to gratify this inclination." 
 
 We talked of Vogel, and his ministerial talents ; of 
 * # * , and his character. 
 
 " * * * , " said G-oethe, " is a man by himself — a 
 man who can be compared with no other. He was the only 
 one who sided with me in opposing the freedom of the 
 press : he stands fast ; one can depend on him ; he will 
 always abide by what is legitimate." 
 
 After dinner, we walked up and down in the garden, 
 taking our pleasure in the white snowdrops and yellow 
 crocuses, now in full flower. The tulips, too, were coming 
 out; and we talked of the splendour and costliness of this 
 growth of Holland. 
 
 " A great flower-painter," said Goethe, " is not now to bo 
 expected : we have attained too high a degree of scientific 
 truth; and the botanist counts the stamina after the 
 painter, while he has no eye for picturesque lights and 
 grouping." 
 
 Mon., Mar. 28. — To-day I again passed some very de- 
 lightful hours with Goethe. "My 'Metamorphosis of 
 Plants,' " said he, " is as good as finished. What I have 
 to say about the spiral and Herr von Martins is also as good 
 as done, and I have this morning resumed the fourth 
 volume of my ' Autobiography,' and drawn up a scheme of 
 what I have yet to do. I mav almost sav that I find it 
 
1 83 I.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 54k> 
 
 enviable to be allowed, at my advanced age, to write tho 
 history of my youth, and to describe an epoch which is, in 
 many respects, of high significance." 
 
 We talked over the several particulars, which were present 
 to my mind as well as to his. 
 
 " In the description of your love-affair with Lib," said I, 
 "we never miss your youth, but these scenes bear the per- 
 fect breath of early years." 
 
 " That is because such scenes are poetical," said Goethe, 
 "and I was able to compensate by the force of poetry 
 for the feeling of youthful love, in which I was deficient." 
 
 We then talked of the remarkable passage, in which 
 Goethe describes his sister's situation. . "This chapter," 
 said he, "will be read with interest by many ladies of 
 education, for there will be many like my sister in thi< 
 respect, that, with superior mental and moral endowments, 
 they are without the advantage of personal beauty." 
 
 " That, when a ball or festival was at hand," said I, "she 
 was generally afflicted with an eruption in the face, is so 
 odd that it may be ascribed to the influence of something 
 daemonic." 
 
 " She was a remarkable being," said Goethe ; " she stood 
 morally very high, and had not a trace of sensuality about 
 her. The thought of resigning herself to a man was repul- 
 sive to her, and we may imagine that this peculiarity caused 
 many unpleasant hours in marriage. Women who have a 
 similar aversion, or do not love their husbands, will feel the 
 force of this. On this account I could never look upon my 
 sister as married ; she would have been much more in her 
 place as an abbess in a convent. 
 
 "Although she was married to one of the best of men. 
 she was still unhappy in a married life, and hence it wa^s 
 that she so passionately opposed my projected union with 
 Lili." 
 
 Tues., Mar. 29. — We talked to-day about Merck, and 
 Goethe told me some more characteristic features. 
 
 "The late Grand Duke," said he, "was very fond of 
 Merck, so that he at once became his security for a debt of 
 four thousand dollars. Before long, Merck, to our astonish- 
 ment, sent the bond back. His circumstances had not 
 improved, and we could not divine what sort of a negocia- 
 
.'544 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [i 831. 
 
 tion lie had made. When I saw him again, he explained 
 the enigma thus — 
 
 " ' The Duke,' said he, ' is an excellent, generous man, 
 who trusts and helps men whenever he can. Now, I thought 
 to myself, ' If you cheat him out of his money, that will 
 prejudice a thousand others ; for he will lose his precious 
 trustfulness, and many unfortunate but worthy men will 
 suffer, because one was a rascal.' Well now — what have I 
 done ? I have made a speculation, and borrowed the money 
 from a scoundrel, for if I cheat him it will be no matter ; 
 but if I had cheated our good lord, it would have been a 
 pity.' " 
 
 We laughed at the whimsical greatness of the man. 
 " Merck had a habit," continued Goethe, " of continually 
 shouting lie, lie, as he talked. This habit grew upon him 
 with advancing years, till at length it was like the bark of 
 a dog. He fell at last into a deep hypochondriacal gloom, 
 the consequence of his many speculations, and finished by 
 shooting himself. He imagined he must become bankrupt : 
 but it was found that his affairs were by no means in so bad 
 a state as he had supposed." 
 
 Wed., Mar. 80. — We talked again of the Daemonic. 
 
 " It throws itself willingly into figures of importance," 
 said Goethe, " and prefers somewhat dark times. In a clear 
 prosaic city, like Berlin, for instance, it would scarcely find 
 occasion to manifest itself." 
 
 In this remark Goethe expressed what I had been think- 
 ing some days since. This gave me pleasure, as we always 
 feel delight in finding our thoughts confirmed. 
 
 Yesterday and this morning I had been reading the third 
 volume of his " Biography," and felt, as in the case of a 
 foreign language, when, after making some progress, we 
 again read a book, which we thought we understood before, 
 but now first perceive in its minutest touches and delicate 
 shades. 
 
 "Your 'Biography,'" said I, "is a book by which we 
 find our culture greatly assisted." 
 
 " Those are merely results from my life," said he ; " and 
 the particular facts that are related serve only to confirm a 
 general reflection — a higher truth." 
 
 " What yon state about Basedow," said I, " how, in order 
 
I83 I.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 545 
 
 to attain his higher ends, he stood in need of persons, and 
 would have gained their favour, but never reflected that he 
 would spoil all by such a totally reckless utterance of 
 offensive religious views, and by making men regard wii!i 
 suspicion that to which they adhered with love, — these and 
 similar traits appear to me highly important." 
 
 " I imagine," said Goethe, "that there are in the book 
 some symbols of human life. 1 called it Dichi/wng und 
 Wahrheit (Poetry and Truth), -because it raises itself by 
 higher tendencies from the region of a lower Reality. Now 
 Jean Paul, in the spirit of contradiction, has written Wahr- 
 heit aus meinem Lebeu (Truth out of my Life), as if the 
 truth from the life of such a man could be any other than 
 that the author was a Philistine. But the Germans do not 
 easily understand how to receive anything out of the com- 
 mon course, and what is of a high nature often passes by 
 them without their being aware of it. A fact of our lives 
 is valuable, not so far as it is true, but so far as it is signifi- 
 cant." 
 
 Thurs., Mar. 31. — Dined at the Prince's with Soret and 
 Meyer. We talked of literary matters, and Meyer gave an 
 account of his first acquaintance with Schiller. 
 
 "I was walking with Goethe," said he, "in the place 
 called the Paradise, near Jena, where we met Schiller, and 
 conversed with him for the first time. He had not yet com- 
 pleted his 'Don Carlos ; ' he had just returned from Swabia, 
 and seemed very sick, and in a state of nervous snfferi 
 His face was like the picture of a crucified Christ. Gor 
 thought he could not live a fortnight ; but as his situation 
 became more agreeable he grew better, and, indeed, it was 
 not till then that he wrote all his important works." 
 
 Meyer then related some traits of Jean Paul and Schlegel 
 — both of whom he had met at a public-house in Heidelberg 
 — and some pleasant reminiscences of his residence in Italy, 
 which entertained us highly. 
 
 I always feel happy near Meyer ; probably because ho is 
 a self-relying, satisfied person, who takes but little notice of 
 the circumstances around him, but at suitable intervals 
 exhibits his own comfortable soul. At the same time. In- is 
 everywhere well-grounded, possesses the greatest treasure 
 of knowledge, and a memory to which the most remoto 
 
 2 8 
 
546 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [183 1. 
 
 events are as present as if they happened yesterday. He 
 lias a preponderance of understanding which might make 
 ns dread him, if it did not rest upon the noblest culture : 
 but, as it is, his quiet presence is always agreeable, always 
 instructive. 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., Mar. 31. — Goethe had been for some 
 time very unwell, so that he could only see his most 
 intimate friends. Some weeks before, bleeding had been 
 ordered him ; then lie felt uneasiness and pain in his right 
 leg, until at last his internal complaint vented itself by a 
 wound in the foot ; when improvement speedily followed. 
 This wound, too, has now healed for some days, and he is 
 now as lively as ever. 
 
 The Grand Duchess had paid him a visit to-day, and had 
 returned very well satisfied. She had inquired after his 
 health ; when he very gallantly answered, that until to-day 
 he had not perceived his recovery, but that her presence 
 had made him once more feel the blessins; of restored 
 health. 
 
 F'ri., April 1.— At table talked with Goethe on various 
 subjects. He showed me a water-colour drawing by Herr 
 von Reutern, representing a young peasant, who stands in 
 the market-place of a small town near a female basket- 
 seller. The young man is surveying the baskets, which lie 
 before him, while two females, who are seated, and a stout 
 lass, who stands by them, regard his comely, youthful face 
 with satisfaction. The picture is so prettily composed, and 
 there is such naivete and truth in the expression of the 
 figures, that one cannot look at it enough. 
 
 " "Water-colour painting," said Goethe, "is brought to a 
 very high degree in this picture. There are some silly folks 
 who say that Herr von Reutern is indebted to no one in his 
 art, but has everything from himself, as if a man could 
 have anything from himself but clumsiness and stupidity. 
 If this artist has had no master so called, he has neverthe- 
 less had intercourse with excellent masters, and from these, 
 as well as from great predecessors and ever present nature, 
 he has acquired what he now possesses. Nature has given 
 him an excellent talent, and nature and art together have 
 perfected him. He is excellent, and in many respects 
 unique, but we cannot say that he has everything from 
 
I Sj i.j CONVERSATIONS OF GoE 547 
 
 himself. Of a thoroughly crazy and defective artist, 
 may, indeed, say he has even thing from himself; but 
 an excellent one, never." 
 
 Goethe then showed me a work "by the same art: 
 frame richly painted with gold and various colours, with a 
 place left in the middle for an inscription. At the top tin •■ 
 was a building in the Gothic style; rich arabesques, with 
 landscapes and domestic scenes interwoven, ran down tin- 
 two sides ; at the bottom was a pleasant woodland scene, 
 with the freshest grass and foliage. 
 
 '' Herr von Reutern," says Goethe, " wishes 1 would 
 write neatly in the blank space ; but his frame is such a 
 splendid work of art, that I dread to spoil the picture with 
 my handwriting. I have composed some verses for the 
 purpose, and think it will be better to have them inserted 
 by the hand of a caligrapher. I would then sign them 
 myself. What do you advise in this matter ? " 
 
 •• If I were Herr von Reutern," said I, "I should be 
 urieved to have the poem in the hand of another ; happy, 
 if it were written in your own. The painter has displayed 
 irt enough in the frame — none is needed in the writing ; it 
 is only important that it should be genuine — in your own 
 hand. I advise you, too, not to use the Roman, but the 
 ( ierman text ; for your hand has in that a more peculiar 
 character, and. besides, it harmonizes better with the Gothic 
 design in the frame." 
 
 " You maybe right," said Goethe; "and in the end it 
 will be the shortest way. Perhaps to-day will bring :i 
 courageous moment, in which I may venture upon it. But 
 it' I make a blot on the beautiful picture," he added, laugh- 
 ing, '"you shall answer for it." 
 
 ""Write only," said I, "and it will be well, however 
 .nay be." 
 
 Tues., April 5. — At noon with Goethe. Ju Art," said he, 
 " we do not easily meet a talent that gives us more pleasur. 
 than that of Neureuther. Artists seldom confine them- 
 selves to what they can do well; most arc always trying t<» 
 do more than they can, and are too fond of going beyond 
 t he circle in which Nature has placed their talent. But of 
 Neureuther, we can say that he stands above his talent 
 Objects from all departments of nature are at his com- 
 
 •J n 2 
 
 
548 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [183 1. 
 
 niand ; he draws ground, rocks, and trees, as well as 
 men or animals, and, while he lavishes such wealth on 
 slight marginal drawings, he seems to play with his capa- 
 bilities, and the spectator feels that pleasure which is ever 
 wont to accompany a free, easy libation from abundant 
 means. 
 
 " No one has gone so far as he in marginal drawings ; 
 even the great talent of Albert Diirer has been to him less 
 a pattern than an incitement. I will send a copy of these 
 drawings to Scotland, to Mr. Carlyle, and hope thus to 
 make no unwelcome present to that friend." 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., April 14. — A soiree at the Prince's. One 
 of the old gentlemen present, who remembered many 
 things of the first years of Goethe's residence here, related 
 to us the following very characteristic anecdote : — 
 
 "I was present," said he, "when Goethe, in the year 
 1784, made his well-known renowned speech, on the solemn 
 opening of the Ilmenau mine, to which he had invited all 
 the officers and influential persons of the town and en- 
 virons. He appeared to have had his speech well in his 
 head ; for he spoke for a long while with perfect fluency, 
 and without any hesitation. All at once, however, he ap- 
 peared to be quite forsaken by his good genius ; the thread 
 of his thoughts seemed to be cut off, and he appeared quite 
 to have lost the power of grasping what he had further to 
 say. This would have thrown any one else into great em- 
 barrassment, but it was not so with him. On the contrary, 
 he looked for at least ten minutes, steadily and quietly, 
 round the circle of his numerous audience, who were so 
 struck by his personal power, that during the very long and 
 almost ridiculous pause, every one remained perfectly quiet. 
 At last he appeared to have again become master of his 
 subject ; he went on with his speech, and, without hesita- 
 tion, continued it very ably to the end, as unembarrassed 
 and serene as if nothing had happened." 
 
 Mon., May 2. — Goethe delighted me with the information 
 that he had lately succeeded in almost finishing the fifth 
 act of "Faust," which had hitherto been wanting. 
 
 " The purport of these scenes," said he, " is above thirty 
 years old ; it was of such importance that 1 could not lose 
 my interest in it, but so difficult to carry out that it fright- 
 
I 83 I.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 54/J 
 
 ened me. By various arts I am now in the right trail] 
 again, and, if fortune favours, I shall write oil: the fourth 
 act at once." 
 
 Goethe then mentioned a well-known author. " He is a 
 talent," said he, " to whom party-hatred serves as an 
 alliance, and who would have produced no effect without it. 
 We find frequent instances in literature, where hatred sup- 
 plies the place of genius, and where small talents appear 
 important, by coming forward as organs of a party. Tims 
 too, in life, we find a multitude of persons, who have not 
 character enough to stand alone ; these in the same way 
 attach themselves to a party, by which they feel themselves 
 strengthened, and can at last make some figure. 
 
 Sun., May 15. — Dined alone with Goethe in his work- 
 room. After much cheerful discourse he at last turned the 
 conversation to his personal affairs, by rising and takino- 
 from his desk a written paper. 
 
 "When one, like myself," said he, "has passed the age 
 of eighty, one has hardly a right to live, but ought each 
 day to hold oneself ready to be called away, and think oil 
 setting one's house in order. I have, as I lately told you 
 appointed you in my will editor of my literary remains, and 
 have this morning drawn up, as a sort of contract, a little 
 paper, which I wish you to sign with me." 
 
 With these words, Goethe placed before me the paper, in 
 which I found mentioned by name the works, both finished 
 and unfinished, which were to be published after his death. 
 I had come to an understanding with him upon essential-, 
 and we both signed the contract. 
 
 The material, which I had already from time to time 
 been busy in revising, I estimated at about fifteen volumes. 
 We then talked of certain matters of detail, which had 
 not been yet decided. 
 
 " The case may arise," said Goethe, " that the publisher 
 is unwilling to go beyond a certain number of sheets, and 
 that hence some part of the material must be omitted. In 
 that case, you may omit the polemic part of my ' Theory of 
 Colours.' My peculiar doctrine is contained in the theoreti- 
 cal part; and as the historical part is already of a polemic 
 character, inasmuch as the leading errors of the New tonian 
 theory arc discussed there, you will almost have polemics 
 
550 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1831. 
 
 enough. I by no means disavow my severe dissection of 
 the Newtonian maxims ; it was necessary at the time, 
 and will also have its value hereafter ; but, at bottom, all 
 polemic action is repugnant to my proper nature, and 
 I can take but little pleasure in it." 
 
 We next talked about the " Maxims and Reflections," 
 which had been printed at the end of the second and third 
 volumes of the " Wander jahre." 
 
 When he began to remodel and finish this novel, which 
 had previously appeared in one volume,* Goethe intended 
 to expand it into two, as indeed is expressed in the an- 
 nouncement of the new edition of his entire works. But, 
 as the work progressed, the manuscript grew beyond ex- 
 pectation ; and, as his secretary wrote widely, Goethe was 
 deceived, and thought that he had enough not only for two 
 but for three volumes, and accordingly the manuscript went 
 in three volumes to the publishers. However, when the 
 printing had reached a certain point, it was found that 
 Goethe had made a miscalculation, and that the two last 
 volumes especially were too small. They sent for more 
 manuscript, and, as the course of the novel {Roman) could 
 not be altered, and it was impossible to invent, write, and 
 insert a new tale (Novelle) in the hurry of the moment, 
 Goethe was really in some perplexity. 
 
 Under these circumstances he sent for me, told me the 
 state of the case, and mentioned at the same time how he 
 thought to help himself out of the difficulty, laying before 
 me two large bundles of manuscript, which he had caused to 
 be fetched for that purpose. 
 
 "In these two parcels you will find various papers 
 hitherto unpublished, detached pieces, finished and un- 
 finished, opinions on natural science, art, literature, and 
 life, all mingled together. Suppose you were to make up 
 from these, six or eight printed sheets to fill the gaps in my 
 1 Wander jahre.' Strictly speaking, they have nothing to 
 do with it, but the proceeding may be justified by the fact 
 that mention is made of an archive in Makaria's house, in 
 
 * This original shorter " Wanderjahre" is the one translated bv 
 Mr. Carlyle, and inserted in his " Specimens of German Romance.'"' 
 The larger novel, which appears in Goethe's collected works, has not, 
 to my knowledge, been translated. — Trans. 
 
1831.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. .' L 
 
 which such, detached pieces are preserved. Thus we shall 
 not only get over a great difficulty for the moment, but find 
 a fitting vehicle for sending a number of very interesting 
 things into the world." 
 
 I approved of the plan, set to work at once, and com- 
 pleted the desired arrangement in a short time. Goethe; 
 seemed well satisfied. I had jmt together the whole in two 
 principal parts, one under the title — " From Makaria's 
 Archive ; " the other under the head — "According to the 
 Views of the Wanderer." And as Goethe, at this time, 
 had just finished two important poems, one — " On Schil- 
 ler's Skull," and the other — " Kein Wesen kann zu nichts 
 zerf alien " (No being can fall away to nothing), he was 
 desirons to bring out these also, and we added them at the 
 close of the two divisions. 
 
 Bnt when the. " Wanderjahre " came out, no one knew 
 what to make of it. The progress of the romance was seen 
 to be interrupted by a number of enigmatical sayings, the 
 explanation of which could be expected only from men of 
 certain departments, such as artists, literati, and natural 
 philosophers, and which greatly annoyed all other readers, 
 especially those of the fair sex. Then, as for the two 
 poems, people could as little understand them as they 
 could guess how they got into such a place. Goethe 
 laughed at this. 
 
 " What is done, is done," said he to-day, "and all you 
 have to do is, when you edit my literary remains, to insert, 
 these things in their proper places, so that when my works 
 are republished, they may be distributed in proper order, 
 and the 'Wanderjahre ' may be reduced to two volumes, 
 according to the original intention." 
 
 We agreed that I should hereafter arrange all 
 aphorisms relating to Art in a volume on subjects of art, 
 all relating to Nature in a volume on natural science in 
 general, and all the ethical and literary maxims in a volume 
 likewise adapted for them. 
 
 Wed., May 5. — We talked of " Wallenstein's Camp.*' I 
 had often heard that Goethe had assisted in the composh ' d 
 of this piece, and, in particular, that the Capuehin sermon 
 came from him. To-day, at dinner, I asked him, and he 
 replied — 
 
552 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [183I, 
 
 " At bottom, it is all Schiller's own work. But, as we 
 lived in such a relation that Schiller not only told me his 
 plan, and talked it over with me, but also communicated 
 what he did from day to day, hearing and using my 
 remarks, I may be said to have had some share in it. For 
 the Capuchin sermon, I sent him a discourse, by Abraham 
 a Sancta Clara, from which he immediately composed his 
 with great talent. 
 
 "I scarcely remember that any passages came from me 
 except the two lines — 
 
 ' Ein Hauptinann den ein andrer erstach 
 Liess mir ein paar glucklicke Wurfel nach. 
 
 A captain, whom another slew, 
 Left me a pair of lucky dice. 
 
 Wishing to give some motive for the peasant's possession 
 of the false dice, I wrote down these lines in the manuscript 
 with my own hand. Schiller had not troubled himself 
 about that, but, in his bold way, had given the peasant the 
 dice without inquiring much how he came by them. A 
 careful linking together of motives was, as I have said, not 
 in his way ; whence, perhaps, his pieces had so much the 
 greater effect on the stage." 
 
 Sun., May 29. — Goethe told me of a boy who could 
 not console himself after he had committed a trifling 
 fault. 
 
 " I was sorry to observe this," said he, "for it shows a 
 too tender conscience, which values so highly its own 
 moral self that it will excuse nothing in it. Such a 
 conscience makes hypochondriacal men, if it is not balanced 
 by great activity." 
 
 A nest of young hedge-sparrows, with one of the old 
 birds, which had been caught with bird-lime, had lately 
 been brought me. I saw with admiration that the bird 
 not only continued to feed its young in my chamber, but 
 even, when set free through the window, returned to them 
 again. Such parental love, superior to danger and im- 
 prisonment, moved me deeply, and I, to-day, expressed my 
 surprise to Goethe. 
 
 "Foolish man! " he replied, with a meaning smile; "if 
 you believed in God, you would not wonder. 
 
iSjT.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 553 
 
 u ' Ihm ziemt's, dio Welt im Innern zu bewegen, 
 Natar in Sich, Sich in Natur zu hcgen, 
 So daas, was in Ihm lebt, und wcbt, und ist, 
 Nie Seine Kraft, nie Seinen Geist vermisst.' 
 
 He from within glories to move the world, 
 To foster IJTature in Himself, Himself 
 In Nature, so that all that lives in Him 
 Is ne'er without His spirit and His strength. 
 
 ' ' Did not God inspire the bird with this all-powerful 
 love for its young, and did not similar impulses pervade all 
 animate nature, the world could not subsist. But thus is 
 the divine energy everywhere diffused, and divine love 
 everywhere active." 
 
 Goethe made a similar remark a short time ago, when a 
 model from Myron's cow, with the suckling calf, was sent 
 him by a young sculptor. 
 
 "Here," said he, " we have a subject of the highest sort 
 — the nourishing principle which upholds the world, and 
 pervades all nature, is here brought before our eyes by a 
 beautiful symbol. This, and similar images, I call the true 
 symbols of the omnipresence of God." 
 
 Hon., June 6. — Goethe showed me to-day the beginning 
 of the fifth act of " Faust," which has hitherto been 
 wanting. I read to the place where the cottage of Philemon 
 and Baucis is burned, and Faust, standing by night on the 
 balcony of his palace, smells the smoke, which is borne to 
 him by a light breeze. 
 
 " These names, Philemon and Baucis," said I, " transport 
 me to the Phrygian coast, reminding me of the famous 
 couple of antiquity. But our scene belongs to moderi: 
 days, and a Christian landscape." 
 
 "My Philemon and Baucis," said Goethe, "have nothing 
 to do with that renowned ancient couple, and the tradition 
 connected with them. I gave this couple the names mereh 
 to elevate the characters. The persons and relations are 
 similar, and hence the use of the names has a good effect." 
 
 We then spoke; of Faust, whom the hereditary portion of 
 his character — discontent — has not left even in his old age, 
 and who, amid all the treasures of the world, and in a new 
 dominion of his own making, is annoyed by a couple of 
 lindens, a cottage, and a bell, which are not his. He is 
 
CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHU. [ 1 ^5 1 - 
 
 therein not unlike Ahab, King of Israel, who fancied he 
 possessed nothing, unless he could also make the vineyard 
 of !Naboth his own. 
 
 " Faust," said Goethe, " when he appears in the fifth act, 
 should, according to my design, be exactly a hundred years 
 ©Id, and I rather think it would be well expressly to say so 
 in some passage." 
 
 We then spoke of the conclusion, and Goethe directed 
 my attention to the passage — 
 
 11 Delivered is the noble spirit * 
 
 From the control of evil powers ; 
 Who ceaselessly doth strive xoith merit 
 
 That we should save and make him ours 
 If Love celestial never cease 
 
 To watch him from its upper sphere ; 
 The children of eternal peace 
 
 Bear him to cordial welcome there." 
 
 "In these lines," said he, "is contained the key to 
 J^aust's salvation. In Faust himself there is an activity 
 which becomes constantly higher and purer to the end, and 
 from above there is eternal love coming to his aid. This 
 harmonizes perfectly with our religious views, according 
 to which we cannot obtain heavenly bliss through our own 
 strength alone, but with the assistance of divine grace. 
 
 " You will confess that the conclusion, where the 
 redeemed soul is carried up, was difficult to manage ; and 
 That I, amid such supersensual matters, about which we 
 scarcely have even an intimation, might easily have lost 
 myself in the vague, if I had not, by means of sharply - 
 irawn figures, and images from the Christian Church, given 
 my poetical design a desirable form and substance." 
 
 In the following weeks Goethe finished the fourth act, 
 which had yet been wanting ; so that in August the whole 
 second part was sewed together quite complete. Goethe 
 was extremely happy in having at last attained this object, 
 towards which he had been striving so long. 
 
 " My remaining days," said he, " 3 may now consider a 
 free gift ; and it is now, in fact, of little consequence what 
 I now do, or whether I do anything." 
 
 * This is Mrs. Fuller's version, with a slight alteration. — Trans. 
 
i S3 I.J - -A [IONS OF (.nil 111;. 
 
 (Sup.) Sua., June '20. — This afternoon a short half hour 
 at Goethe's, -whom I found still at dinner. 
 
 We conversed upon some subjects ol natural 
 particularly upon the imperfection and LnsufiiciencY of 
 language, by which errors and false views which afterwards 
 could not easily he overcome were spread abroad. " The 
 case is simply this," said Goethe. "AH languages have 
 arisen from surrounding human necessities, Iranian occupa- 
 tions, and the general feelings and views of man. If, now, 
 a superior man gains an insight into the secret operations 
 of nature, the language which has been handed down to 
 him is not sufficient to express anything so remote from 
 human affairs. He ought to have at command the language 
 of spirits to express adequately his peculiar perceptions. 
 But as this is not the case, he must, in his views of the 
 extraordinary in nature, always grasp at human expres- 
 sions, with which he almost always falls too short, lowering 
 his subject, or even injuring and destroying it." 
 
 " If you say this," said I, "you who always pursue your 
 subjects very closely, and, as an enemy to phrases, can 
 always find the most fitting expressions for your higher 
 perceptions, there is something in it. But I should have 
 thought that, generally, we Germans might be contented. 
 Our language is so extraordinarily rich, elaborated, and 
 capable of progress, that even if we are obliged sometj 
 to have recourse to a trope, we can still arrive pretty 
 nearly at the proper ex]3ression. The French are at a gi 
 disadvantage when compared with us. AVith them I 
 pression for some higher view of nature by a trope, 
 generally borrowed from a technicality, is at once material 
 and vulgar, so that it is by no nie;;7i< adequate to a 
 view." 
 
 ''How right you arc," said Goethe, "has appeared t<> 
 me lately, on the occasion of the dispute between Cuvier 
 and Geoffrey de St. Hilaire. Geoffrey de St. Hilairc is a 
 man who has certainly a great insight into the spiri' 
 workings of nature ; but his French language, so far as he 
 is constrained to use traditional expressions, leaves him 
 quite in the lurch. And this not only in mystcrio- 3 
 spiritual, but also in visible, purely corporeal subjects and 
 relations. If he would express the single parts of an 
 
556 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [183I. 
 
 organic being, he has no other word bnt maierialien : thns, 
 for instance, the bones, which, as homogeneous parts, form 
 the organic whole of an arm, are placed upon the same 
 scale of expression as the stones and planks with which a 
 house is built. 
 
 "In the same inappropriate manner," continued Goethe, 
 " the French use the expression composition, in speaking 
 of the productions of nature. I can certainly put together 
 the individual parts of a machine made of separate pieces, 
 and, upon such a subject, speak of a composition ; but 
 not when I have in my mind the individual parts of an 
 organic whole, which produce themselves with life, and are 
 pervaded by a common soul." 
 
 " It appears to me," added 1, '* that the expression com- 
 position is also inappropriate - and degrading to genuine 
 productions of art and poetry." 
 
 "It is a thoroughly contemptible word," returned 
 Goethe, "for which we have to thank the French, and of 
 which we should endeavour to rid ourselves as soon as 
 possible. How can one say, Mozart has composed {com- 
 ponirt) Don Juan ! Composition ! As if it were a piece 
 of cake or biscuit, which had been stirred together out of 
 eggs, flour, and sugar ! It is a spiritual creation, in which 
 the details, as well as the whole, are pervaded by one spirit, 
 and by the breath of one life ; so that the producer did not 
 make experiments, and patch together, and follow his own 
 caprice, but was altogether in the power of the daemonic 
 spirit of his genius, and acted according to his orders." 
 
 (Sup.*) Sun., July 27. — "We spoke of Victor Hugo. 
 " He is a fine talent," said Goethe, " but quite entangled 
 in the unhappy romantic tendency of his time, by which 
 he is seduced to represent, together with what is beautiful, 
 also that which is most insupportable and hideous. I have 
 lately been reading his 'Notre Dame de Paris,' and re- 
 quired no little patience to support the horror with which 
 this reading has inspired me. It is the most abominable 
 book that ever was written ! Besides, one is not even in- 
 demnified for the torture one has to endure by the pleasure 
 one might receive from a truthful representation of human 
 nature or human character. His book is, on the contrary, 
 utterly destitute of nature and truth ! The so-called acting 
 
.1831.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 557 
 
 personages whom lie brings forward are not human beings 
 with living flesh and blood, but miserable wooden puppets, 
 which he deals with as he pleases, and which he causes to 
 make all sorts of contortions and grimaces just as he needs 
 them for his desired effects. But what an age it must be 
 which not only renders such a book possible, and calls it 
 into existence, but even finds it endurable and delightful." 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed., July 14. — I and the Prince accompanied 
 his Majesty, the King of Wiirtemburg, to Goethe's. On 
 our return the king appeared much pleased, and deputed 
 me to convey his thanks to Goethe, for the pleasure this 
 visit had given him. 
 
 (Sup.*) Thurs., July 15. — A moment with Goethe, when 
 I executed my yesterday's commission from the king. I 
 found him occupied in studies relative to the spiral 
 tendency of plants ; of which new discovery his opinion is, 
 that it will be carried a great way, and that it will exercise 
 i great influence upon science. " There is nothing," said 
 he, " beyond the pleasure which the study of nature pro- 
 duces. Her secrtts are of unfathomable depth, but it is 
 granted to us men to look into them more and more ; and 
 the very fact that she remains unfathomable at last per- 
 petually charms us to approach her again and again, and 
 ever to seek for new lights and new discoveries." 
 
 (Sup.*) Tues., July 20. — After dinner, a short half hour 
 with Goethe, whom I found in a very cheerful, mild, 
 humour. He spoke of various things, at last of Carlsbad ; 
 and he joked about the various love affairs which he had 
 experienced there. "A little passion," said he, "is the 
 only thing which can render a watering-place supportable ; 
 without it, one dies of ennui. I was almost always lucky 
 enough to find there some little ' elective affinity ' ( WahU 
 verivandtschaft), which entertained me during the few 
 weeks. I recollect one circumstance in particular, which 
 even now gives me pleasure. 
 
 " I one day visited Frau von Heel'. After a common- 
 place chat, I had taken my leave, and met, as I went out, 
 a lady with two very pretty young girls. ' Who was that 
 gentleman who just now left you ? ' asked the lady. ' It 
 was Goethe,' answered Frau von Reck. ' Oh, how I regret,' 
 returned the lady, ' that he did not stay, and that I have 
 
558 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHJl. [ I ^3 r - 
 
 not had the happiness of making his acquaintance ! ' 'Ton 
 have lost nothing by it, my dear,' said Fran von Reck. 
 ' He is very dull amongst ladies, unless they are pretty 
 enough to inspire him with some interest. Ladies of our 
 age must not expect to make him talkative or amiable.' 
 
 " When the two young ladies left the house with their 
 mother, they thought of Fran von Reek's words. ' We 
 are young, we are pretty,' said they, 'let us see if we 
 cannot succeed in captivating and taming this renowned 
 savage \ ' The next morning, on the promenade by the 
 Sprudel, they made me, in passing, the most graceful 
 and amiable salutations, and I could not forbear taking 
 the opportunity of approaching and accosting them. Thev 
 were charming ! I spoke to them again and again, they 
 led me to their mother, and so I was caught. From that 
 time we saw each other daily, nay, we spent whole day- 
 together. In order to make our connection more intimate, 
 it happened that the betrothed of the one arrived, when I 
 devoted myself more exclusively to the other. I was also 
 very amiable to the mother, as may be imagined ; in fact t 
 we were all thoroughly pleased with one another, and I 
 spent so many happy days with this family, that the recol- 
 lection of them is even now highly agreeable. The two 
 irirls soon related to me the conversation between theii 
 mother and Frau von Reck, describing the conspiracy 
 which they had contrived for my conquest, and brought 
 to a fortunate issue." 
 
 An anecdote of another kind occurs to me, which Goethe 
 had related to me before, but which may find a place 
 here. 
 
 " I was once walking/' said he, " towards evening, in 
 the castle garden with a friend, when, at the end of an 
 avenue, we unexpectedly remarked two other persons of 
 our circle, who were walking in quiet conversation with 
 one another. I cannot name either the lady or the gentle- 
 man ; but that is not to the purpose. They conversed and 
 appeared to think of nothing, — when, suddenly, their head:- 
 inclined towards each other, and they exchanged a hearty 
 kiss. They then resumed their former direction, and con- 
 tinued their conversation as if nothing had happened. 
 \)id you see it ? ' exclaimed my friend, full of astonish- 
 
I#3 *•] CONVBBSAHONS OF GOETHtt. 55i> 
 
 inent ; 'niay I believe my eyes ? ' 'I did see it,' returned 
 I, quietly, 'but I do not believe it.' " 
 
 (Sup.*) Mem., Aug. 2. — We spoke of the metamorphosis 
 of plants, and especially of Decandolle's doctrine of sym- 
 metry, which Goethe considers a mere delusion. 
 
 " Nature," added he, " does not reveal herself to every one. 
 On the contrary, she deports herself towards many like a 
 young tantalizing girl, who allures us by a thousand charms, 
 but at the moment when we expect to seize her and t 
 possess her, slips from our arms." 
 
 (Sup.*) Wed.. Oct. 19. — The meeting ot the society for 
 the promotion of agriculture was held to-day at Belvedere 
 We had also the first exposition of products and objects o: 
 industry, which was richer than had been expected. Thei 
 there was a great dinner of the numerous assembled mem- 
 bers. Goethe joined them, to the joyful surprise of alt 
 present. He remained some time, and surveyed the objects 
 exhibited with evident interest. His appearance made a 
 most agreeable impression, especially upon those who had 
 not seen him before. 
 
 (Sup.) Thurs., Dec. 1. — Passed a short time with 
 Goethe, in varied conversation. AVe then came to Soret. 
 
 "I have lately been reading a very pretty poem of his,' 
 said Goethe, " a trilogy, — the first two parts of which pos- 
 sess an agreeable rusticity, but the last, under the titi 
 'Midnight,' bears a sombre character. In this 'Mid- 
 night ' he has succeeded. In reading it, one actually 
 breathes the breath of night; almost as in the pictures o 
 Rembrandt, in which one also seems to feel the night-air. 
 Victor Hugo has treated similar subjects, but not with su 
 felicity. In the nocturnal scenes of this indisputably great 
 man, it is never actually night ; on the contrary, the sub- 
 jects remain always as distinct and visible as if it v. 
 still day, and the represented night were merely a decep- 
 tion. Soret has, unquestionably, surpassed the renown 
 Victor Husro in his ' Midnight.' " 
 
 I was pleased at this commendation, and resolved to r 
 the said trilogy, by Soret, as soon as possible. " We pos- 
 sess, in our literature, very few trilogies," remarked I. 
 
 "This form," returned Goethe, "is very rare arno' 
 the moderns generally. It sometimes happens that one 
 
o6G CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. L 1 ^ 1 ' 
 
 finds a subject which, seenis naturally to demand a treat- 
 ment in three parts ; so that in the first there is a sort of 
 introduction, in the second a sort of catastrophe, and in the 
 third a satisfying denouement. In my poem of ' The 
 Youth and the Fair Miller ' these requisites are found, 
 although when I wrote it I by no means thought of making 
 a trilogy. My ' Paria,' also, is a perfect trilogy ; and, in- 
 deed, it was a trilogy that I intentionally treated this cycle. 
 My * Trilogie der Leidenschaft ' (Trilogy of Passion), as it 
 is called, was, on the contrary, not originally conceived as 
 a trilogy, but became a trilogy gradually, and to a certain 
 extent incidentally. At first, as you know, I had merely 
 the elegy, as an independent poem. Then Madame Sziman- 
 owska, who had been at Marienbad with me that sum- 
 mer, visited me, and, by her charming melodies, awoke in 
 me the echo of those youthful happy days. The strophes 
 which I dedicated to this fair friend are therefore written 
 quite in the metre and tone of the elegy, and suit very well 
 as a satisfactory conclusion. Then Weygand wished to 
 prepare a new edition of my ' Werther,' and asked me for a 
 preface ; which to me was a very welcome occasion to write 
 ' My Poem to Werther.' But as I had still a remnant of 
 that passion in my heart, the poem as it were formed itself 
 into an introduction to the elegy. Thus it happened that 
 all the three poems which now stand together are pervaded 
 by the same love-sick feeling ; and the ' Trilogie der Leiden- 
 schaft' formed itself I knew not how. 
 
 " I have advised Soret to write more trilogies, and, 
 indeed he should do it as I have described. He should 
 not take the trouble to seek a particular subject for a 
 trilogy, but should rather select, from the rich store of his 
 imprinted poems, one that is especially pregnant with 
 meaning, and, when occasion offers, add a sort of introduc- 
 tion, and conclusion, yet still so that the three productions 
 are separated by a perceptible gap. In this manner one 
 attains one's end far more easily, and spares oneself much 
 thinking, which is notoriously, as Meyer says, a very diffi- 
 cult thing." 
 
 We then- spoke of Victor Hugo, remarking that his too 
 great fertility had been highly prejudicial to his talent. 
 
 " How can a writer help growing worse, and destroying 
 
I 83 I.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 561 
 
 tlio finest talent in the world," said Goethe. l; if he has the 
 andacity to write in a single year two tragedies and a 
 novel ; and further, when he only appears to work in order 
 to scrape together immense sums of money. I do not blame 
 him for trying to become rich, and to earn present renown ; 
 but if he intends to live long in futurity, he must begin to 
 write less and to work more." 
 
 Goethe then went through "Mai re de Lorme," and 
 endeavoured to make it clear to me that the subject only 
 contained sufficient material to make one single good and 
 really tragical act ; but that the author had allowed him- 
 self, by considerations of quite a secondary nature, to be 
 misled into stretching out his subject to live long acts. 
 "Under these circumstances," said Goethe, "we have 
 merely the advantage of seeing that the poet is great in the 
 representation of details, which certainly is something, and 
 that no trifle." 
 
 Wed., Dec. 21.— Dined with Goethe. We talked of the 
 reason why his ' Theory of Colours ' had been so little 
 diffused. 
 
 " It is very hard to communicate," said he f " for, as you 
 know, it requires not only to be read and studied, but to be 
 done, and this is difficult. The laws of poetry and painting 
 may likewise be communicated to a certain extent ; but to 
 be a good poet and painter genius is required, which is not 
 to be communicated. To receive a simple, primitive phe- 
 nomenon, to recognize it in its high significance, and to g< I 
 work with it, requires a productive spirit, which is able to 
 take a wide survey, and is a rare gift, only to be found in 
 very superior natures. 
 
 "And even this is not enough. For, as with every rule, 
 and with all genius, one is yet no painter, but still requires 
 uninterrupted practice, so with the ' Theory of Colours ' it 
 is not enough for one to know the chief laws and have a 
 suitable mind, but it is necessary to occupy oneself con- 
 stantly with the several single phenomena, which are often 
 very mysterious, and with their deductions and coiubiiu- 
 tions. 
 
 ' ; Thus, for instance, we know well enough the genera! 
 proposition that a green colour is produecd by a mixture 
 yellow and blue ; but before a person can sav that he 
 
 2 
 
562 CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. [ l8 3l- 
 
 prehends the green of the rainbow, or of foliage, or of sea- 
 water, there will be requisite a thorough investigation of 
 the whole region of colour, with a consequent acme of 
 acuteness, which scarcely any one has yet attained. 
 
 After dinner, we looked at some landscapes by Poussin. 
 
 " Those places," observed Goethe, "on which the painter 
 throws the principal light, do not admit of detail in the 
 execution; and therefore water, masses of rock, bare 
 ground, and buildings, are most suitable subjects to bear 
 the principal light. Things, on the contrary, which require 
 more detail in the drawing cannot well be used by the 
 artist in those light places. 
 
 " A landscape painter," continued Goethe, " should pos- 
 sess various sorts of knowledge. It is not enough for him 
 to understand perspective, architecture, and the anatomy of 
 men and animals ; he must also have some insight into 
 botany and mineralogy, that he may know how to express 
 properly the characteristics of trees, plants, and the cha- 
 racter of the different sorts of mountains. It is not, indeed, 
 necessary that he should be an accomplished mineralogist, 
 since he has to do chiefly with lime, slate and sandstone 
 mountains, and only needs know in what forms they lie, 
 how they are acted upon by the atmosphere, and what sort 
 of trees thrive, and are stunted upon them." 
 
 He showed me then some landscapes, by Hermann von 
 Sehwanefeld, making various remarks upon the art and 
 personality of that eminent man. 
 
 " We find in him," said he, " art and inclination more 
 completely identified than in any other. He has a deep 
 love for nature, and a divine tranquillity, which communi- 
 cates itself to us when we look upon his pictures. He was 
 born in the Netherlands, and studied at Rome, under 
 Claude Lorraine. On this master he formed himself to 
 the highest degree of perfection, and developed his fine 
 capacities in the freest manner." 
 
 We looked into an " Artist's Lexicon," to see what was 
 said of Hermann von Sehwanefeld, and found him censured 
 for not equalling his master. 
 
 "The fools 1 " said Goethe; "Von Sehwanefeld was a 
 different man from Claude Lorraine, and the latter 
 could not boast of hemg- the better of the two. If there 
 
3832-] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 
 
 were nothing more in one's life than is told by our bio- 
 graphers and lexicon writers, it would be a bad business, 
 not worth the trouble it costs." 
 
 At the close of this, nnd in the beginning of the : 
 year, Goethe turned again to his favourite studios, the 
 natural sciences. At the suggestion of Boissereo, he oc- 
 cupied himself with deeper inquiries into the laws o\ the 
 rainbow; and also, from sympathy with the dispute 
 between Cuvicr and St. Hilaire, with subjects referring to 
 the metamorphoses of the plant and animal world. He, 
 likewise, revised with me the historical part of the " Th< 
 of Colours," taking also lively interest in a chapter on 
 blending of colours, which I, by his desire, was arran; 
 to be inserted in the theoretical volume. 
 
 During this time, there was no lack of interesting con- 
 versation between us, or of valuable utterances on his side. 
 But, as he was daily before my eyes, fresh and energetic as 
 ever, I fancied this must always be the case, and 
 careless of recording his words till it was too late, and, 
 on the 22nd March, 1832, I, with thousands of noble 
 Germans, had to weep for his irreparable loss. 
 
 18 32. 
 
 (Sup.*) Tkurs., Jan. 5. — Some new pen-and-ink sketches 
 and water-colour drawings had arrived from my friend 
 Topfer, in Geneva; the greater part of them were views in 
 Switzerland and Italy, which he had collected during his 
 pedestrian tour. Goethe was so much struck with (he 
 beauty of the sketches — particularly those in w:if< - 
 — that he said it appeared to him as if he were looki] 
 the works of the renowned Lory. I remarked tint T 
 were by no means Topfer's best, and that he could send 
 something very different. 
 
 " I do not know what you would have," returned Goethe. 
 "And what would it be even if something were better ! As 
 soon as an artist has attained a certain height of < zcelL nee, 
 it is tolerably indifferent whether one of his works turns out 
 
 2 o -J 
 
00 i CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1832, 
 
 a degree more perfect than another. 'The connoisseur still 
 3 in all the hand of the master, and the whole extent of 
 his talent and his means." 
 
 (Sup.*) Fri., Feb. 17. — I had sent Goethe a portrait of 
 Durnont, which had been engraved in England, and which 
 appeared to interest him very much. 
 
 " I have repeatedly examined the portrait of this remark- 
 able man," said Goethe, when I visited him this evening. 
 " At first I found something repulsive in it, which, however, 
 
 1 would have attributed to the treatment of the artist, who 
 had cut the lines a little too deep and hard. But the longer 
 I looked at this highly remarkable head, the more did all 
 hardness disappear, and from the dark ground there came 
 forth a beautiful expression of repose, goodness, and mild- 
 ness bleuded with acuteness,f so characteristic of the clever 
 benevolent man, ever active for the general good, and so 
 refreshing to the mind of the spectator." 
 
 We then spoke further of Dumont ; particularly of the 
 memoirs which he wrote with reference to Mirabeau, and 
 in which he reveals the varioiis expedients which Mirabeau 
 had contrived to employ, and also mentions by name many 
 persons of talent whom he had set in motion for his pur- 
 poses, and with whose powers he had worked. 
 
 "I know no more instructive book," said Goethe, "than 
 these memoirs ; by means of which we get an insight into 
 the most secret recesses of that time, and by means of which 
 the wonder Mirabeau becomes natural to us, while, at the 
 same time, the hero loses nothing of his greatness. But 
 now we have the latest critics of the French journals, who 
 think a little differently on this point. These good folks 
 think that the author of these memoirs wants to spoil their 
 Mirabeau, because he unveils the secret of his superhuman 
 activity, and allows other people a share in the great merit 
 which, until now, the name of Mirabeau had monopolized. 
 
 k " The French look upon Mirabeau as their Hercules — 
 and they are perfectly right. But they forget that even 
 the Colossus consists of individual parts, and that even the 
 Hercules of antiquity is a collective being — a great sup- 
 porter of his own deeds and the deeds of others. 
 
 f " Mildness blended with refined acuteness," is intended as a mere 
 approximation to the untranslatable "Geistreich-feine Milde.'' — Trans. 
 
2832.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOtJ 
 
 " But, in fact, we*are all collective beings, let us | 
 ourselves as we may. For how little "ha/oe we, and wn we, 
 that we can strictly call our own property? We must all 
 receive and learn both from those who were before as, and 
 from those who are with us. Even the greatest senilis 
 would not go far if he tried to owe everything to his own 
 internal self. But many very good men do not compreher 1 1 
 that ; and they grope in darkness for half a life, with tl 
 dreams of originality. I have known artists who boast* «l 
 of having followed no master, and of having to thank tl 
 own genius for everything. Fools ! as if that were possible 
 at all; and as if the world would not force itself u] 
 them at every step, and make something of them in spite 
 of their own stupidity. Yes, I maintain that if such an 
 artist were only to survey the walls of this room, and 
 only a passing glance at the sketches of some great mast i - . 
 with which they are hung, he would necessarily, if he had 
 any genius at all, quit this place another and a higher man . 
 And, indeed, what is there good in us, if it is not the power 
 and the inclination to appropriate to ourselves the resou 1 
 of the outward world, and to make them subservient to our 
 higher ends. I may speak of myself, and may modestly s 
 what I feel. It is true that, in my long life, I have done 
 and achieved many things of which I might certainly b< 
 But to speak the honest truth, what had I that was prop- 
 my own, besides the ability and the inclination to see and 
 to hear, to distinguish and to choose, and to enliven a, 
 some mind what I had seen and heard, and to reproi 
 with some degree of skill. I by no means owe my v. 
 to my own wisdom alone, but to a thousand things and | 
 sons around me, who provided me with material. T! 
 were fools and sages, minds enlightened and narrow, child- 
 hood, youth, and mature age — all told me what they ; 
 what they thought, how they lived and worked, and what 
 experiences they had gained ; and T had nothing further to 
 do than to put out my hand and reap what others ha 
 for me. 
 
 " It is, in fact, utter folly to ask whether a person has 
 anything from himself, or whether he has it from 
 whether he operates by himself, or operates by m< 
 others. The main point is to have a gn ' ad skill 
 
CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1832. 
 
 and perseverance to carry it out. All else is indifferent. 
 Mirabeau was therefore perfectly right, when he made 
 what use he could of the outer world and its forces. He 
 possessed the gift of distinguishing talent ; and talent felt 
 itself attracted by the demon of his powerful nature, so that 
 it willingly yielded itself to him and his guidance. Thus 
 he was surrounded by a mass of distinguished forces, which 
 he inspired with his ardour, and set in activity for his own 
 higher aims. This very peculiarity, that he understood 
 how to act with others and by others. — this was his genius 
 — this was his originality — this was his greatness." 
 
 (Sup.) Sun., Mar. 11. — This evening for an hour with 
 Goethe, talking of various interesting subjects. I had 
 bought an English Bible, in which I found, to my great 
 regret, that the apocryphal books were not contained. They 
 had been rejected, because they were not considered genuine 
 and of divine origin. I greatly missed the noble Tobias, 
 that model of a pious life, the Wisdom of Solomon, and. 
 Jesus Sirach, — all writings of such high mental and moral 
 elevation, that few others equal them. I spoke to Goethe 
 of my regret at the very narrow view by which some of 
 the writings of the Old Testament are looked upon as 
 immediately proceeding from God; while others, equally 
 excellent, are not so. As if there could be anything noble 
 and great which did not proceed from God, and which was 
 not a fruit of his influence. 
 
 "I am thoroughly of your opinion," returned Goethe. 
 " Still, there are two points of view from which biblical 
 subjects may be contemplated. There is the point of view 
 of a sort of primitive religion, of pure nature and reason, 
 which is of divine origin. This will always be the same, 
 and will last and prevail as long as divinely endowed beings 
 exist. It is, however, only for the elect, and is far too high 
 and noble to become universal. Then there is the point of 
 view of the Church, which is of a more human nature. 
 This is defective and subject to change ; but it will last, in 
 a state of perpetual change, as long as there are weak 
 human beinsrs. The lisrht of unclouded divine revelation 
 is far too pure and brilliant to be suitable and supportable 
 to poor weak man. But the Church steps in as a useful 
 mediator, to soften and to moderate, by which all are helped. 
 
1832.] CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. 567 
 
 and many are benefited. Through the belief that the 
 Christian Church, as the successor of Christ, can remove 
 the burden of human sin, it is a very great power. To 
 maintain themselves in this power and in this importance, 
 and thus to secure the ecclesiastical edifice, is the chief aim 
 of the Christian priesthood. 
 
 " This priesthood, therefore, does not so much ask whether 
 this or that book in the Bible greatly enlightens £he mind, 
 and contains doctrines of high morality and noble human 
 nature. It rather looks upon the books of Moses, with 
 reference to the fall of man and the origin of a necessity 
 for a Redeemer ; it searches the prophets for repeated allu- 
 sion to Him, the Expected One, and regards, in the Gospels, 
 His actual earthly appearance, and His death upon the 
 cross, as the atonement for our human sins. You see, 
 therefore, that for such purposes, and weighed in such ;i 
 balance, neither the noble Tobias, nor the Wisdom of 
 Solomon, nor the sayings of Sirach, can have much weight. 
 Still, with reference to things in the Bible, the question 
 whether they are genuine or spurious is odd enough. What 
 is genuine but that which is truly excellent, which stands 
 in harmony with the purest nature and reason, and which 
 even now ministers to our highest development ! What is 
 spurious but the absurd and the hollow, which brings no 
 fruit — at least, no good fruit ! If the authenticity of a 
 biblical book is to be decided by the question, — whether 
 something true throughout has been handed down to as, 
 we might on some points doubt the authenticity of the 
 Gospels, since those of Mark and Luke were not written 
 from immediate presence and experience, but, according to 
 oral tradition, long afterwards : and the last, by the disciple 
 John, was not written till he was of a very advanced age. 
 Nevertheless, I look upon all the four Gospels as thoroughly 
 genuine ; for there is in them the reflection of a greatness 
 Avhich emanated from the person of Jesus, and which was 
 of as divine a kind as ever was seen upon earth. If I am 
 asked whether it is in my nature to pay Him devout rever- 
 ence, I say — certainly! I bow before Him as the di . 
 manifestation of the highest principle of morality. If I 
 am asked whether it is in my nature to revere the Sun, I 
 again say — certainly! For he is likewise a manifestatio: 
 
o68 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. [1832. 
 
 of the highest Being, and indeed the most powerful which 
 we children of earth are allowed to behold. I adore in him 
 the light and the productive power of God ; by which we 
 all live, move, and have our being — we, and all the plants 
 and animals with us. But if I am asked — whether I am 
 inclined to bow before a thumb-bone of the apostle Peter 
 or Paul, I say — ' Spare me, and stand off with your ab- 
 surdities ! ' 
 
 " ' Quench not the spirit,' says the apostle. There are 
 many absurdities in the propositions of the Church; never- 
 theless, rule it will, and so it must have a narrow-minded 
 multitude, which bows its head and likes to be ruled. The 
 high and richly-endowed clergy dread nothing more than 
 the enlightenment of the lower orders. They withheld the 
 Bible from them as long as it was possible. Besides, what 
 can a poor member of the Christian Church think of the 
 princely magnificence of a richly-endowed bishop, when he 
 sees in the Gospels the poverty and indigence of Christ, 
 who, with his disciples, travelled humbly on foot, whilst 
 the princely bishop rattles along in his carriage drawn by 
 six horses ! ' ' 
 
 "We scarcely know," continued Goethe, "what we owe 
 to Luther, and the Reformation in general. We are freed 
 from the fetters of spiritual narrow-mindedness ; we have, 
 in consequence of our increasing culture, become capable of 
 turning back to the fountain head, and of comprehending 
 Christianity in its purity. We have, again, the courage to 
 stand with firm feet upon God's earth, and to feel ourselves 
 in our divinely-endowed human nature. Let mental culture 
 go on advancing, let the natural sciences go on gaining in 
 depth and breadth, and the human mind expand as it may, 
 it will never go beyond the elevation and moral culture of 
 Christianity as it glistens and shines forth in the gospel ! 
 
 "But the better we Protestants advance in our noble 
 development, so much the more rapidly will the Catholics 
 follow us. As soon as they feel themselves caught up by 
 the ever-extending enlightenment of the time, they must 
 go on, do what they will, till at last the point is reached 
 Avhere all is but one. 
 
 " The mischievous sectarianism of the Protestants will 
 also cease, and with it the hatred and hostile feeling between 
 
3832.] conversations of gqethe &GD 
 
 father and son, sister and brother; for as soon as tho pure 
 doctrine and love of Christ are comprehended in their true 
 nature, and have become a vital principle, we shall feel 
 ourselves as human beings, great and free, and not attach 
 especial importance to a degree more or less in the outward 
 forms of religion. Besides, we shall all gradually advance 
 from a Christianity of words and faith, to a Christianity of 
 feeling and action." 
 
 The conversation turned upon the great men who had 
 lived before Christ, among the Chinese, the Indians, the 
 Persians, and the Greeks ; and it was remarked, that 
 the divine power had been as operative in them as in some 
 of the great Jews of the Old Testament. We then came to 
 tlte question how far God influenced the great natures of 
 the present world in which we live* ^ 
 
 " To hear people speak," said Goethe, " one would J 
 almost believe that they were of opinion that God had 
 withdrawn into silence since those old times, and that man 
 was now placed quite upon his own feet, and had to see 
 how he could get on without God, and his daily invisible 
 breath. In religious and moral matters, a divine influence 
 is indeed still allowed, but in matters of science and art it 
 is believed that they are merely earthly, and nothing but 
 the product of human powers. 
 
 " Let any one only try, with human will and human 
 power, to produce something which may be compared with 
 the creations that bear the names of Mozart, Raphael, or 
 Shalcsjjeare. I know very well that these three noble 
 beings are not the only ones, and that in every 
 province of art innumerable excellent geniuses have 
 operated, who have produced things as perfectly good 
 as those just mentioned. But if they were as great, as 
 those, they rose above ordinary human nature, and in the 
 same proportion were as divinely endowed as they. 
 
 " And after all what does it all come to ? God did not 
 retire to rest after the well-known six days of creation, 
 but, on the contrary, is constantly active as on the fii 
 It would have been for Him a poor occupation to corn]." 
 this heavy world out of simple elements, and to keep it 
 rolling in the sunbeams from year to year, if Ho had not 
 had the plan of founding a nursery for a world of spirits 
 
570 CONVERSATIONS OF GOETHE. i" 1 8 3 2 ► 
 
 upon this material "basis. So He is now constantly active 
 in higher natures to attract the lower ones." 
 
 Goethe was silent. But 1 cherished his great and good 
 words in my heart. 
 
 Early in March* — Goethe mentioned at table that he 
 had received a visit from Baron Carl Von Spiegel, and 
 that he had been pleased with him beyond measure. 
 
 " He is a very fine young man," said Goethe : " in his 
 mien and manners he has something by which the noble- 
 man is seen at once. He could as little dissemble his 
 descent as any one could deny a higher intellect ; for birth 
 and intellect both give to him who once possesses them 
 a stamp which no incognito can conceal. Like beauty, 
 these are powers which one cannot approach without feel- 
 ing that they are of a higher nature." 
 
 Some days later. — We talked of the tragic idea of 
 Destiny among the Greeks. 
 
 " It no longer suits our way of thinking," said Goethe ; 
 "it is obsolete, and is also in contradiction with our 
 religious views. If a modern poet introduces such antique 
 ideas into a drama, it always has an air of affectation. It 
 is a costume which is long since out of fashion, and which, 
 like the Roman toga, no longer suits us. 
 
 " It is better for ns moderns to say with Napoleon, 
 'Politics are Destiny.' But let us beware of saying, with 
 our latest literati, that politics are poetry, or a suitable 
 subject for the poet. The English poet Thomson wrote a 
 very good poem on the Seasons, but a very bad one on 
 Liberty, and that not from want of poetry in the poet, but 
 from want of poetry in the subject." 
 
 " If a poet would work politically, he must give himself 
 up to a party ; and so soon as he does that, he is lost 
 as a poet; he must bid farewell to' his free spirit, his 
 unbiassed view, and draw over his ears the cap of bigotry 
 and blind hatred. 
 
 " The poet, as a man and citizen, will love his native 
 land ; but the native land of his poetic powers and poetic 
 
 * In the original book this conversation follows immediately the 
 one of December 21, 1831, and with the remainder of the book is 
 prefaced thus: — "The following I noted down shortly afterwards 
 (that is, after they took place) from memory." — Trans. 
 
1832.] CONVERSATIONS OP GOETHE. 571 
 
 action is the good, noble, and beautiful, winch is confined 
 to no particular province or country, and which he seizes 
 upon and forms wherever he finds it. Therein is he like 
 the eagle, who hovers with free gaze over whole com if 1 
 and to whoin it is of no consequence whether the hare on 
 which he pounces is running in Prussia or in Saxony. 
 
 " And, then, what is meant by love of one's country ? 
 what is meant by patriotic deeds? If the poet lias 
 employed a life in battling with pernicious prejudices, in 
 setting aside narrow views, in enlightening the minds 
 purifying the tastes, ennobling the feelings and thoughts 
 of his countrymen, what better could he have done? how 
 could he have acted more patriotically ? 
 
 " To make such ungrateful and unsuitable demands 
 upon a poet is just as if one required the captain of a 
 regiment to show himself a patriot, by taking part in 
 political innovations, and thus neglect his proper calling 
 The captain's country is his regiment, and he will show 
 himself an excellent patriot by troubling himself about 
 political matters only so far as they concern him, and 
 bestowing all his mind and all his care on the battalions 
 under him, trying so to train and discipline them, that 
 they may do their duty if ever their native land should 
 be in peril. 
 
 " I hate all bundling like sin, but most of all bungling 
 in state-affairs, which produces nothing but mischief to 
 thousands and millions. 
 
 " You know that, on the whole, I care little what is 
 written about me; but yet it comes to my ears, and 
 I know well enough that, hard as I have toiled all my 
 life, all my labours are as nothing in the eyes of certaii 
 people, just because I have disdained to mingle in 
 political parties. To please such people I must hi . 
 become a member of a Jacobin club, and prcacl! 
 bloodshed and murder. However, not a word more u\ 
 this wretched subject, lest I become unwise in rail 
 against folly." 
 
 In the same manner he blamed the political course, so 
 much praised by others, of Uhland. 
 
 "Mind," said he, "the politician will devour the poet. 
 To be a member of the States, and to live amid daily 
 
572 NVERSAT10NS OF GOETHE. [1832. 
 
 jostlings and excitements, is not for the delicate nature of 
 ■a poet. His song will cease, and that is in some sort to 
 be lamented. Swabia has plenty of men, sufficiently well 
 educated, well meaning, able, and eloquent, to be members 
 of the States, but only one poet of Uhland's class." 
 
 The last stranger wiieni Goethe entertained as his 
 ^uest was the eldest son of Frau von Arnim; the last 
 words he wrote were some verses in the album of this 
 young friend. 
 
 The morning after Goethe's death, a deep desire seized 
 me to look once again upon his earthly garment. His 
 faithful servant, Frederic, opened for me the chamber in 
 which he was laid out. Stretched upon his back, he 
 reposed as if asleep ; profound peace and security 
 reigned in the features of his sublimely noble countenance. 
 The mighty brow seemed yet to harbour thoughts. I 
 wished for a lock of his hair; but reverence prevented 
 me from cutting it off. The body lay naked, only 
 wrapped in a white sheet ; large pieces of ice had been 
 placed near it, to keep it fresh as long as possible. 
 Frederic drew aside the sheet, and I was astonished at 
 the divine magnificence of the limbs. The breast was 
 powerful, broad, and arched ; the arms and thighs were 
 full, and softly muscular ; the feet were elegant, and of 
 the most perfect shape ; nowhere, on the whole body, was 
 there a trace either of fat or of leanness and decay. A 
 perfect man lay in great beauty before me ; and the 
 rapture which the sight caused made me forget for a 
 moment that the immortal spirit had left such an abode. 
 I laid my hand on his heart — there was a deep silence — 
 and I turned away to give free vent to my suppressed tears. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Academies, page 6. 1 
 
 Actors, Goethe's school for, 84 
 
 method of testing their 
 
 capabilities, 129 
 
 studies necessary for per- 
 
 sonating a Greek hero, 233 
 Actions, right and wrong, results 
 
 of, 162 
 Advice, remark by Goethe on, 507 
 " Alexis and Dora," bv Goethe, 
 
 162 
 Ampere, Mons. J . J. — his notice 
 
 of Stapfer's translation of 
 
 Goethe's dramatic works, 251 
 — Goethe's praises of him, 
 
 256 
 Angouleme, Due d', 6-1 
 -Antiquity, worship of, 187 
 Aristotle, remark bv Goethe on, 
 
 326 
 Art, modern, 32 
 
 the sensual and ideal in, 361 
 
 Meyer's history of, 43 
 
 Arts, method of cultivating a 
 
 taste for, 67 
 Artists, religion of, 83 
 
 relation to nature, 2 
 
 representation of sur- 
 rounding objects by, 157 
 
 young German, origin of 
 
 their errors, 540 
 Artistic madness, anecdote of, 
 
 410 
 '•' Aufgeregten, Die," bv Goethe, 
 
 B 
 
 " Ballad, The," by Goethe, 355 - 
 Bavaria, King of — his letter tc 
 
 Goethe, 394 
 Beauty, definition of, 243 
 
 favourable circumstances 
 
 necessarv for its development, 
 244 
 
 Beaumarchais, " Memoirs " of, 
 401 
 
 Behrisch, his definition of expe- 
 rience, 425 
 
 anecdotes of him, 426 
 
 Beranger, his imprisonment, 380 
 
 his personality, 453 
 
 his political poems, 45 I 
 
 poems of, 187, 207 
 
 chansons de, 212 
 
 his perfection attribu- 
 table to the influence of his 
 
 . birthplace, 253 
 
 his political and love 
 
 songs, 255 
 Bible, apocrvphal books of the, 
 
 556 
 Blucher, his liking to speak, 397 
 Blumenbach. appearance and 
 
 manners of, 2 
 Bonaparte, Napoleon, 77, 169, 
 193, 194, 304, 306, 387 
 
 his campaign in Egypt, 
 
 391, 392 
 
 397 
 
 his impulse to speak, 
 
 his fate, 435 
 his example, 538 
 
574 
 
 rN'DEX. 
 
 "Book of Dl-Humour,'' by Goethe 
 — state of mind in which ho 
 wrote it, 54 
 
 Bourrienne, his account of Napo- 
 leon's campaign in Russia, 391 
 
 Bows and arrows, manufacture 
 of, 145, et seq. 
 
 Brandt of Berlin, a medal by him, 
 62 
 
 " Bride of Corinth," by Goethe, 
 450 
 
 " Buch, Herr von," 366 
 
 " Burgergenera]," by Goethe, 
 356 
 
 Burger, 155 
 
 Burns, 254 
 
 Byron, Lord, his tragedies, 7 
 
 Goethe's opinion of, 23 
 
 his " Cain," 61, 261 
 
 remarks on, 69, 91, lOS-T-cn 
 
 Goethe's admiration for 
 
 him, 113 
 
 his character, 115, et seq. 
 
 compared with Shak- 
 
 speare, 161 
 
 Goethe's opinion of, 171, 
 
 174 
 
 358 
 
 " Two Foscari," 172, 264 
 
 remarks on, 312 
 
 his esteem for Voltaire, 
 
 his power of renouncing 
 
 himself, 453 
 
 C 
 
 "Cain," by Byron— Goethe's 
 
 critique upon, 61, 261 
 Calderon, 153, 173 
 Campe, his speech to Goethe, 
 
 469 
 Canning, speech of, 185 
 Capo d' Isti-ia, Goethe's prophecy 
 
 concerning, 379 
 Caracci, the, 40S 
 Carlyle, Mr. Thomas, 276, 337 
 Catholics, great influence of, 3S4 
 Chancellor, the, 33 
 Charles the Tenth — Goethe's re- 
 
 marks on his head, 504 
 
 Change required, law of, 21 6 
 
 Chlorine 1 
 
 Chinese novel, 211 
 
 Chodowiecky, 26 
 
 Christianity independent of philo- 
 sophy, 360 
 
 Christian priesthood, 567 
 
 Church, the, 566,567 
 
 propositions of, 568 
 
 Claude Lorraine, 399, 404, 408, 
 562 
 
 Colours, Goethe's theory of, ex- 
 plained, 8, 48, 55, 83, 180, 181, 
 215, 223, 436, 535, 561 
 
 ex 
 
 periments relating to it, 24 
 
 Conjuring tricks, 504 
 
 Conscience, tender, 552 
 
 Coudray, 364 
 
 his remarks on road- 
 making, 382 
 
 Cousin, Victor, 369, 380, 432 
 
 Courier, Paul Louis, 538 
 
 Critic, qualifications of a, 99 
 
 " Critique on the Power of Judg- 
 ment," by Kant, 242 
 
 Cuckoo, the, popular prejudices 
 concerning, 295 
 
 Culture, effects of, upon young 
 minds, 411 
 
 Cuvier, 432 
 
 Cycle of biblical fibres, design 
 for, 460, 467 
 
 D 
 
 D' Alton, 130 
 Dante, 100 
 ' Dapknis and Chloe," Courier's 
 
 translation of, 529 
 Goethe's 
 
 opinion of, 536, 538 
 David, 449, 450 
 " Deformed Transformed, The," 
 
 by Byron, 174, 175 
 " Demanded Colour," 398 
 Goethe's 
 
 theory of, 372 
 Daemonic, the — definition of, 525, 
 
 527, 536 
 
INDEX. 
 
 575 
 
 4t Descent of Christ into Hell," 
 
 by Goethe, 170 
 " Dichtung unci Wahrhoit," by 
 
 Goethe, 57, 545 
 " Divan, The," by Goethe, 54 
 Divine name, the — remarks on 
 
 the abuse of, 49 
 " Doctrine of Experiment," by 
 
 Goethe, 243 
 " Don Juan," by Byron, 264 
 " Doge of Venice, The," by 
 
 Goethe, 112 
 Dramatic authors, influence of, 
 
 235 
 
 unities, 114 ^ 
 
 power, abuses of pointed 
 
 out, and remedy proposed, 126 
 Drawing, 263 
 
 " Dumb Girl of Portici," 531 
 Dumont, 42S, 564 
 his intimacy with Ben- 
 
 tham, 432 </ 
 
 portrait of, 564 
 
 his memoirs of Mirabeau, 
 
 564 
 
 TJ 
 
 Ebert, Egon, 3S6, 401 
 Eberwein, his " Count of Glei- 
 
 chen," 3 
 Eckermann, letters from, to 
 
 Goethe, 481, 4S8, 497 
 his remarks on the 
 
 publishing of Goethe's letters, 
 
 500 
 his comments on the 
 
 fourth volume of Goethe'^ 
 522 
 
 remarks by him on 
 
 Goethe's " Truth and Po 
 532 
 Education, defects of, in Ger- 
 many, 319 
 
 Egloffstein,the Countess Caroline, 
 
 7 
 Egmont, by Goethe, 56, 10 i 
 Schiller's version of, 370, 
 
 371 
 " Klcctive Affinities," th> 
 
 Goethe, 78 
 
 Elegy from Marienbad, 28 
 
 — — its origin, 
 
 28 
 
 Goethe's 
 
 account of it, ! 9 
 Elevation of character among 
 
 men, absence of regretted, 160 
 English, the, 310 
 the, imputed motives of > 
 
 in their declamations against 
 
 the slave trade, 112 
 
 critics, their elevation 
 
 and soundness, 352 i 
 
 • literature, superiority < f , 
 
 99 
 — • journals, tone of, in 1824, 
 
 deplored, 52 
 Entelechia, the, 308 
 Error, prevalence of, 354 
 " Eugenie," by Goethe, 112 
 Europeans, social evils amongst, 
 
 315 
 Euripides, 152, 510 
 
 Goethe's defence of, 231 
 
 Schlegel on, 231 
 
 Evangelists, the, 508 
 
 F 
 
 False tendencies, 40G, 407 
 
 of the age, 132 
 
 False doctrines, 506 
 
 "Faust," by Goethe, 71, 25S. 
 
 presumptuous proposi- 
 tion respecting, 131 
 v ' com- 
 
 poser for, 
 
 second part of, 191, 
 
 o, 41S- 
 5f)3 
 
 do Die," by Honwald, 111 
 co," by Schiller, 
 Flemming, 188 
 Foni| ur's " Banger] f dcr 
 
 Wartbnrg," i 
 
 '• Undine," 827 
 
 France, politic 
 
 favourable to the pro- 
 duction of political p 
 
576 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 JYankforfc, Eckermann's stay 
 there, 473, et seq. 
 
 French revolution, Goethe's politi- 
 cal sentiments at the time of, 
 55 
 
 the, interest excited amongst 
 
 them by German works, 97 
 
 poets, the classic and roman. 
 
 tic, 380 
 
 Furniture, old-fashioned, 194 
 
 luxurious, 540 
 
 G 
 
 Gay, Mademoiselle, poems by, 
 203 
 
 Geist, remarks on the word, 539 
 
 *'■ Gemma von Art," Goethe's 
 criticism of, 462 
 
 Genius derives its materials from 
 others, 572 
 
 Geological poem, 89 
 
 Gerard, his translation of Goethe's 
 " Faust," 422 
 
 Gerhard, Herr, 210 
 
 German architecture, old, 25 
 
 songs, obscurity of, 25 1 
 
 language, study of, re- 
 commended, 102 
 
 philosophy, 369 
 
 59 
 
 Germans, Goethe's remarks on, 
 
 317 
 Germany, unity of, 350 
 ■ cause of her greatness, 
 
 351 
 
 ■ Goethe's estimation of, 
 
 political poet impossible 
 
 there, 455 
 
 Globe newspaper, the, 172, 329 
 
 Goethe, personal appearance of, 
 1, 10 
 
 • his reading aloud, 3 
 
 his translation of the 
 
 '• Phaeton " of Euripides, 3 
 
 his interest in the dis- 
 covery of salt springs, 3 
 
 — — — his illness, 4 
 
 his recovery, 6 
 
 Goethe, its celebration at the 
 
 theatre, 6 
 his remarks on the theatre, 
 
 interior of his house, 9 
 his advice to a young poet. 
 
 17,29 
 
 a letter from him, 14 
 
 his opinion of Lord Byron, 
 
 his early life described by 
 
 his valet, 36" 
 
 his indisposition, 33, 40 
 
 probable cause of his 
 
 illness, 41 
 
 Kauch's statue of, 60 
 
 his religious opinions, 54 
 
 retrospective view of bis 
 
 life, 57 
 
 restraints imposed upon 
 
 him by society, 63 
 
 his fears for the future 
 
 tranquillity of the world, 64 
 
 he declares himself a 
 
 royalist, 65 
 
 his comparison between 
 
 great and inferior talent, 7? 
 
 his garden, 72 
 
 the barometer, 74 
 
 his antagonists, 79 
 
 — his autobiography, 109 
 his position with refer. 
 
 ence to natural philosophers. 
 131 
 laments the false tenden- 
 
 cies of the age, 132 
 
 he ursres the necessity 
 
 for a concentration of ideas. 
 135 
 resrrets his attention to 
 
 so many subjects, 136 
 refutes the notion that 
 
 he is no friend to the people, 
 138 
 
 his high opinion of the 
 
 Grand Duke, 139 
 his interest in the manu- 
 
 facture of bows and arrows, 
 146, et seq. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 577 
 
 Goethe, influence exercised over 
 him by celebrated persons, 154 
 
 cessation of his practical 
 
 influence in the theatre, 285 
 his new novel, 189, 197, 
 
 209, 215 
 
 he comments on the 
 
 fashion of fitting up rooms in 
 the old style, 194 
 
 his motives for leaving 
 
 presents unacknowledged, 205 
 he describes the studies 
 
 necessary for an actor of a 
 Greek hero, 233 
 
 his plan of treating the 
 
 tradition concerning Tell as an 
 epic poem, 256 
 his ignorance of ornitho- 
 
 logy, 279, et seq. 
 his love of the freedom 
 
 of nature, 284 
 his indifference for mere 
 
 rank, 284 
 his belief in invisible in. 
 
 fluence, 290 
 
 recollections of his dis- 
 putes with Kotzebue and others, 
 319 
 
 his portrait by Stieler, 
 
 320 
 
 grief at the death of the 
 Grand Duke, 322, 324 
 remarks on his own works, 
 
 338 
 
 his architectural know 
 
 ledge, 365 
 
 his sensitiveness concern. 
 
 ing his Theory of Colours, 376 
 
 his dislike for a splendid 
 
 abode, 378 
 receives a letter from the 
 
 King of Bavaria, 393 
 his " Second Eesidence in 
 
 Rome," 402, 406 
 
 his remarks on self- know. 
 
 ledge, 402 
 
 his early letters, 405 
 
 his opinion of philoso- 
 
 phical meetings, 429 
 
 Goethe, his reception of the news 
 of the death of the Grand 
 Duchess, 436, 438, 441 
 
 his first love, 446 
 
 the origin of his ballads, 
 
 450 
 
 ■ he justifies himself for 
 
 not having taken up arms, 455 
 — his martyrdom, 456 
 describes his forcible ap- 
 
 propriation of a room, 458 
 his Mcphistophilistic hu- 
 mour, 463 
 
 his objection to mad- 
 houses, 464 
 
 his prejudice against spec- 
 tacles, 469 
 
 remark by him on young 
 
 talents, 481 
 
 his letters to Eckennann, 
 
 493—495 
 
 curious pajiering of his 
 
 rooms, 495 
 
 his illness, 499, 546 
 
 his opinion of conjuring 
 
 tricks, 501 
 his admiration for the 
 
 miracle of Christ walking on 
 
 the water, 506 
 his confidence in inocula- 
 
 tion, 515 
 
 his remarks on the word 
 
 Geist, 539 
 
 his objection to luxurious 
 
 furniture, 510 
 
 his sister, 543 
 
 his speech on the opening 
 
 of the Ilmenau mine, 5 IS 
 his directions concernin" 
 
 the publication of his works, 
 549 
 his adventures at Carls. 
 
 bad, 507 
 
 his latest studies, 563 
 
 his death, 51 
 
 - his deep sense of divine 
 
 influence, 569 
 
 -his appearance after death, 
 
 572 
 
578 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Goethe, Frau Rath, anecdote of, 
 
 434 
 Goethe, Frau von, 1, 22 
 the chaos es- 
 tablished by her, 470 
 Goethe the younger, 22, 59, 194 
 " Goetz von Berlichingen," by 
 
 Goethe, 69, 114, 170, 172 
 Gospels, the, genuineness of, 566 
 Grand Duke, the, remarks by 
 
 Goethe, on a sketch of his life, 
 
 342 
 
 — virtues of, 345 
 
 Goethe's connection 
 
 with, 345 
 . his mathematical 
 
 tendencies, 397 
 
 his progressive na- 
 
 ture, 508 
 
 Grand Duchess, the, remarks by 
 Goethe on, 350 
 
 Goethe's admiration 
 
 for 541 
 
 " Grand Coptha," by Goethe, 511 
 
 Great men, 414 
 
 before Christ, 569 
 
 Greek art the only model, 214 
 
 — — treatment of simple sub- 
 jects, 214 
 
 tragedy, pervading tone of, 
 
 217 
 
 hero of, 233 
 
 ■ tragedies, character of, 254 
 
 artists, 441 
 
 Greeks, their tragic idea of des- 
 tiny, 570 
 
 Grimm, anecdote of, 440 
 
 Guizot, 369, 380 
 
 remark by him on the 
 
 Germans, 390 
 
 Goethe's admiration for, 
 
 431 
 
 " Gustavus Vasa," by Arnault, 
 Goethe's comments on its cri- 
 tics, 439 
 
 Gymnasiums, introduction of 
 archery into, suggested, 144 
 
 Gymnastic exercises, abolition of, 
 regretted, 145 
 
 H 
 
 Hagen, August, 17 
 " Hagestolz," by Inland, 77 
 Hamann, 238 
 
 " Hanswurst's Hochzeit " by 
 Goethe, fragments of, 526 
 
 "Happy Couple, The," by Goethe, 
 
 355 
 Hegel, 302 
 " Helena," by Goethe, 189, 207, 
 
 246, 265 
 Herder, 96, 237 
 " Hermann und Dorothea," by 
 
 Goethe, 109, 362 
 High maxims, 535 
 Heinrich on antique tragedy, 223 
 Goethe's comments on 
 
 his book, 223, et seq. 
 
 quotation from him, 224 
 
 History, French and English, 
 compared, 158 
 
 Roman and Grecian, 97 
 
 History of Mankind, ideas for, 
 
 96 
 
 Hugo, Victor, his " Notre Dame 
 de Paris," 556 
 
 ■ his excessive fer- 
 tility, 560 
 
 Hummel, improvisation by, 2 
 
 Humboldt visits Goethe, 35, 41 
 
 Goethe's admiration for 
 
 him, 177, 222 
 letter 
 
 from him to 
 
 Goethe, 343 
 
 I & J 
 
 " Hiad, The," 442 
 Immermann, 43 
 " Ilmenau," by Goethe, 347 
 Imagination, its province, 266 
 " Indian Death Dirge," by Schil- 
 ler, 37S 
 Indian Philosophy, 369 
 Inoculation for small-pox, 515 
 Iodine, experiments with, 1 
 " Iphigenia," by Goethe, 232 
 
liSDEX. 
 
 579 
 
 Irish emancipation, 383 
 Jacobi, 237 
 
 " Journey through Frankfort and 
 Stuttgard to Switzerland," 26 
 
 Kant, 243 
 
 Kauffmann, Angelica, 45 
 
 " Kein Wesen kann zu nichts 
 
 zerfallen," written by Goethe, 
 
 in contradiction to some lines 
 
 of his, 364 
 Klopstock, 96 
 Knowledge, practical, 149 
 Kolbe, painting by, 2 
 Kotzebue, 26, 203 
 Goethe's disputes with, 
 
 319 
 Kriiuter, Secretary, 32 
 " Kriegsgliick," by Goethe, 45 
 Kr tiger, Herr, his impersonation 
 
 of Orestes, 232 
 Kunst und Alterthum, 106 
 
 Lafontaine, 77 
 Lagrange, 364 
 Landscape painter, qualifications 
 
 of, 562 
 Language, imperfections of, 248 
 Learning to read, difficulty of, 
 
 428 
 Lavater, 368, 424 
 Lazaretto poetry, 277 
 Leo, Heinrich, 269 
 Leonardo da Vinci, 178 
 "Les Deux Isles,'' by Victor 
 
 Hugo, 186 
 Lessing, 110,221, 2!2 
 Liberal, definition of one, 433 
 Life, demoralizing effect of, 465 
 Life of man, 526 
 Light, polarization of, 1 
 Literary revolution in France, 
 
 451 
 Love, GO 
 
 Luden, "History of the Germans" 
 
 by, 194 
 " Luise," by Voss, 505 
 Luther, Martin, 568 
 
 M 
 
 Mahometans, their mode of in- 
 struction, 241 
 
 Mankind, development of, 345 
 
 artificial state of, de- 
 plored, 358 
 
 Man, self-importance of, 517 
 
 Manly, the — want of it in pic- 
 tures, 202 
 
 Manzoni, Alexander, 213 
 
 romance by, 270, ec 
 
 seq. 
 
 Martins, Herr von, 329, 428, 429 
 
 Memory, effect of illness upon, 
 465 
 
 " Memoirs of St. Simon," 447 
 
 Menander, 153 
 
 Mental culture, 353 
 
 " Mephistophiles," by Goethe,, 
 quotation from, 354 
 
 Merck, 363, 370, 542, 543 
 
 Merimee, 452 
 
 " Metamorphosis of Plants," bv 
 Goethe, 219, 514, 535 
 
 Mover, " History of Art " bv, 43 
 
 — 59, 136, 545 
 
 — anecdote by him of ar- 
 tistic madness, 410 
 
 Meyerbeer, 365 
 
 Michael Angelo's statue of'Moses 
 475 
 
 " Mignon," by Goethe, 354 
 
 Milton, " Samson Agonistes " of, 
 430 
 
 Milan, Eckermann's stay there, 
 475 
 
 Mineralogical world, 521 
 
 "Minna von Baruhclm," by Less- 
 ing, 172 
 
 Goethe's 
 
 comments upon, 541 
 
 Mirabeau, Dumont's memoirs of, 
 564 
 
580 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Mirabeau, French estimate of, 
 
 564 
 Goethe's remarks on, 
 
 565 
 Missions of men, 312 
 Modern art, 32 
 Modern French literature, re- 
 
 marks on, 448 
 Modern painters, 111 
 Moliere, 154, 166 
 
 his " Tartuffe," 172 
 
 his "Malade Imagin- 
 
 aire," 229 
 
 Goethe's love for him, 
 
 Nature, contradictory phenonema 
 
 in, 452 
 Natural mysteries, 366 
 science, original minds 
 
 required in, 355 
 
 science, elevating influ- 
 
 230 
 
 Menander compared to 
 
 him, 230 
 
 Schlegel's critique of, 
 
 230 
 
 Moon, the — its change does not 
 affect the weather, 238 
 
 Mozart, letter from, 178 
 
 Music, effect of, upon Goethe, 
 188 
 
 petrified, 378 
 
 Musical talent, 511 
 
 Mysteries, natural, 366 
 
 N 
 
 Napoleon, Eugene, 72 
 
 Buonaparte, 77, 169, 
 
 193 
 
 Goethe's admiration 
 
 of, 194 
 . . . .■- Goethe's opinion of, 
 
 304, 306 
 
 personal influence of, 
 
 387 
 
 391, 392 
 
 his campaign in Egypt, 
 
 397 
 
 his impulse to speak, 
 
 his fate, 435 
 - his example, 538 
 Nature, the accessible and inac- 
 cessible in, 239 
 
 artists' twofold relation 
 
 to her, 248 
 
 ence of, 367 
 National hatred, 457 
 Niebuhr, ancient treaty dis- 
 
 covered by him, 218 
 Neureuther, 547 
 
 O 
 
 " Oberon," by Wieland, 442 
 
 Officials, choice of, 307 
 
 Old Testament, 566 
 
 Omnipresence of God, 553 
 
 Opera, 333 
 
 Organic and mineralogical worlds, 
 
 521 
 Ornithology, Goethe's ignorance 
 
 of, 279, et seq. 
 anecdotes of, 300 
 
 Painters, young, deficiencies of, 
 178 
 
 modern, 240 
 
 " Pandora," 24 
 
 Panama, passage through Isth- 
 mus of, 222 
 
 Parry, Major, account of Lord 
 Byron, 158 
 
 Paris, aids to the development 
 of talent in, 252 
 
 "Paria, The," Goethe's poem of 
 the glorification of, 34 
 
 Peter the Great, 407 
 
 Petersburg, inundation of, 101 
 
 Petrified music, 511 
 
 "Phaeton of Euripides," trans- 
 lated by Goethe, 3 
 
 Philoctetes of JEschylus, 214 
 
 of Euripides, 214 
 
 of Sophocles, 214 
 
 Platen, Count, the Ghazels of, 
 
 41 
 
INDEX. 
 
 581 
 
 Platen Count, 77, 506 
 Plays, casting of, 130 
 
 objectionable, 168 
 
 Poets, modern German tragic, 
 
 26 
 
 advice to, 17, 29 
 
 objective and subjective 
 
 tendencies of, 166 
 
 French and German com- 
 pared, 186 
 
 delicate organization of, 
 
 417 
 
 nnjnst demands upon, 571 
 
 the aim of, 214 
 
 Poetical culture in Germany, 168 
 Poetic feeling, universality of, 
 
 212 
 Poetry, classical and romantic, 
 
 467 
 Poetesses, 105 
 Poussin, landscapes of, 60 
 Preller, 155 
 
 Priesthood, Christian, 567 
 •'Prison Key, The," a Servian 
 
 poem, 210 
 Provincial pronunciation, 85 
 Protestants and Catholics, 568 
 Productiveness, 305, 309 
 Pnlcinella, 440 
 
 E 
 
 Paces of men, 331 
 
 Ramberg, 70 
 
 "Rameau's Neffe," by Goethe, 6 
 
 " Rasselas," 264 
 
 Ranch's statue of Goethe, 60 
 
 Raupach, his " Erdennacht," 25 
 
 Reciprocity of mind and body, 
 
 466 
 Reformation, the, 568 
 Rehbein, Counsellor, 37 
 Religion, primitive, 566 
 Reutern, Herr von, 546 
 Representation of surrounding 
 
 objects by artists, 157 
 Revolutions, Goethe's opinions of, 
 
 56 
 Riemer, Herr en, 2 
 
 " Eire de Mirabeau, Le," 468 
 
 " Roderick Random," 264 
 
 Rome, 333 
 
 Rossini's " Moses," 330, 333 
 
 Roos, animals of, 68, 71 
 
 " Rouge et '<Noir," by Stendhal, 
 
 504 
 Rubens, landscape by, 240, 247 
 
 double light in picture 
 
 by, 248 
 
 Rulers, popularity of, 384 
 Ruckert, his " Roses from the 
 
 East," 35 
 Rural population, 316 
 Russian campaign, 391 
 Rhythm, 389 
 
 S 
 
 Saint Hilaire, Geoffrey de, his 
 contest with Cuvier, 480 
 
 Saint Simon, memoirs of, 447 
 
 Saint Simonians, the, 496 
 
 Salt springs, 3 
 
 " Samson Agonistes " of Milton, 
 430 
 
 Schiller, 37, 76, 79, 80 
 
 his " Wallen stein," 37 
 
 his self-torments, 38 
 
 his method of working, 
 
 38 
 
 politics of, 56 
 
 describes Goethe, 111 
 
 his " Thierkreis," 111 
 
 compared to Byron, 201 
 
 Ins physical and ideal 
 
 freedom, 202 
 
 Goethe's connection with, 
 
 237 
 
 influence of national cul- 
 ture on, 253 
 
 his " William Tell," 257, 
 
 372 
 
 anecdote of, 288 
 
 Goethe's remarks on, 325 
 
 his acquaintance with 
 
 Goethe, 379 
 
 Schiller, his difficulty in control- 
 ling his subject, 462 
 
582 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Schiller, his discrimination in 
 
 abridgment, 471 
 Schlegel, 230, 250 
 Schmidt, Counsellor, his playing, 
 
 2,23 
 Schone, Carl, 505 
 Schnbart, 360 
 Schiitze, St., 171 
 Schnltz, state counsellor, 21 
 Schwanefeld, landscapes of, 562 
 Scientific men, jealousy of, 47 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 108, Jl \ *C 
 
 his letter to Goethe, 274 
 
 remark on, 327 
 
 his " Fair Maid of Perth," 
 
 327, 334 
 
 his " Waverley," 334 
 
 his "History of Napoleon," 
 
 424 
 
 Goethe's admiration for, 528 
 remarks on, 531 
 
 Self-control, necessity for, 82 
 Seven Years' War, the, 64 
 Servian poems, " Motives " of, 
 
 107 
 Shakspeare, discourse upon, 50 
 
 his disregard of the 
 
 unities, 114 
 
 — greatness of, 163 
 not a theatrical poet, 
 
 163, 173 
 
 Sophocles, his " CEdipus," 228 
 Soret, his " Midnight," 559 
 Soul, immortality of the, 360 
 Spectacles, Goethe's dislike of, 
 
 469 
 Spiritual knowledge, limits of, 412 
 , Stage, writing for the, 362 
 ! " Starring " a theatre, 182 
 
 Stieler's portrait of Goethe, 320 
 j Sternberg, Count, 259 
 Stendhal, Count, his " Eouge et 
 
 Noir," 504 
 Switzerland, first impression of 
 
 on Goethe, 60, 256 
 Szymanowska, Madame, her play- 
 ing, 25, 29, 31 
 
 "Tartuffe," ofMoliere, 173 
 Talent, great and inferior, com- 
 pared, 71 
 Talents, young, 481 
 " Tasso," by Goethe, 258 
 Tell, Goethe's plan of an epic on , 
 
 256 
 Theatre, improvement of, 7 
 
 fondness of youth for, 
 
 120 
 
 management of, 125, 
 
 — his " Macbeth," 161 I 141, 173 
 
 his " Troilus and ! Theatrical performances on Sun- 
 
 Cressida," 164 day, 125 
 
 lively scenes in his I scenery, 441 
 
 plays, 217 laws, 142 
 
 artistic boldness of, " Thierkreis, The," by Schiller, 
 
 249 111 
 
 his power of produc- •"vThomson, poems of, 570 
 
 tion, 310, et seq. ; Tieck, 78 
 
 Society, Goethe's deference to 
 
 feelings of, 63 
 Solger, writings and letters of, 
 
 204 
 Sophocles, the "Antigone" of, 
 
 227, 234 
 
 his knowledge of thea- 
 trical effect, 228 
 
 his " Philoctetes," 228 
 
 his reading of Goethe '.4 
 
 " Clavigo," 335 
 Topfer, 503 
 
 drawings of, 563 
 
 Tasso Torquato, 91, 103 
 
 " Trilogie der Leidenschaft," by 
 
 Goethe, 560 
 "Two Foscari," by Byron, 172, 
 
 264 
 
INDEX. 
 
 583 
 
 U 
 
 Uhland, 24, 572 
 
 Ulrica, Friiulein, 23, 43 
 
 " Undine," by Fouque, 327 
 
 Utilitarians, 517 
 
 " Urania," by Tiedge, 65 
 
 Vegetation, influence of, 3S1 
 
 Victor lingo, 186 
 
 Villemain, 369, 3S0 
 
 Voigt, Hofrath, 444 
 
 Voltaire, Goethe's opinion of, 357 
 
 influence of, 422, 539 
 
 Voss, Goethe's opinion of, 287 
 
 his translation of Homer, 
 
 398 
 
 W 
 
 ' Wahlver wands chaf ten," by- 
 Goethe, 204, 259, 362 
 "Wahrheit nnd Dichtmig," by 
 
 Goethe, 92 
 " WaUenstein," by Schiller, 3S, 
 
 551 
 " Walpurgis-nacht," by Goethe, 
 
 427, 434, 518 
 " Wander jahrc," by Goethe, 189 
 Weakness of the age, 365 
 Weather, Goethe's theory of, 8 
 
 its changes, 23S 
 
 Weimar, theatre of, 117, et seq. 
 
 • plans for advancing the 
 
 drama there, 121 
 
 — plan for an improved 
 
 Wellington, Duke ot, 169 
 "Werther," by Goethe, 4C>, 52 
 Buonaparte's fond- 
 ness for, 393 
 
 its suppression by 
 
 the Catholics, 384 
 Wieland, 110, 237 
 
 tomb of, 262 
 
 remark by him, 278 
 
 his " Oberon," 444 
 
 "Wilhelm Meister," by Goethe, 
 
 110, 163 
 "William Tell," by Schiller, 534 
 Winckelmann, 221 
 Wisdom, 512 
 
 Wolf, Friedrich August, 45, 81 
 Wolff, Dr., improvisatore, 165 
 Wolff, Goethe's pupil, 339 
 Women, Goethe's idea of, 342 
 Writing for the stage, 362 
 Writing, German, English, and 
 
 French styles of, compared, 79, 
 
 et seq. 
 
 X 
 
 Xenien, The," by Goethe and 
 Schiller, 110 
 
 theatre there, 124 
 
 the bookbinders of, 9 
 
 policerestrictionsof,317 
 
 Young talents, 4S1 
 
 Z 
 
 " Zauberflote," Goethe's sequel 
 
 to, 7 
 Zauper, studies by, 29 
 Zelter, 43, 44, 388 
 letter of, to Goethe, 137 
 
 THE END. 
 
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