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 composition.

"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 foundation. There we have a constant allusion

to swans and the child of a swan; but here we have the act itself, and

when we come afterwards to Helena, with the sensible impression 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 each other, 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 content us for a

while."

* * * * *

1830.

_Sunday, March 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 unpacking 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 conception 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 distinguished men of

the romantic school. I saw works by St. Veuve, Ballanche, Victor Hugo,

Balzac, Alfred de Vigny, 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 impressions 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 collection 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

occupied my 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 these brilliant visions, which had so long

been my solace, by embodying them in poor, inadequate words. When I saw

them on paper, I regarded them with a mixture of sadness. I felt as if I

were about to be separated for ever from a beloved friend."

"At other times," continued Goethe, "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 them down on the spot. In such a somnambulistic condition, 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

written 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 unimportant men of genius. Goethe

was of opinion that this poetic revolution, which was still in its

infancy, would be very favorable to literature, but very prejudicial to

the individual 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 before people are aware, they are deep in

bloodshed and horror. Thus the French, in their present literary

revolution, desired 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 jugglers and galley slaves. This is

piquant! This is effective! But after the public has once tasted this

highly seasoned food, and has become accustomed to it, it will 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 accommodate 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

favorable to literature in general?"

"The extremes and excrescences which I have described," 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, will 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 additional ardor."

"It is surprising to me," remarked I, "that even Mérimée, who is one of

your favorites, has entered upon this ultra-romantic path, through the

horrible subjects of his _Guzla_."

"Mérimée," returned Goethe, "has treated these things very differently

from his fellow-authors. These poems certainly are not deficient in

various horrible _motives_, such as churchyards, nightly crossways,

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

objective 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, quite renounced himself, nay, he

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 imposition he had

intended."

"Mérimée," 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 entirely 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 feelings, 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 coloring of the author, and none of them ever makes 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."

"Béranger 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 representation and whose

interior are worth something. In him is all the substance of an

important personality. Béranger is a nature most happily endowed, firmly

grounded in himself, 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, without troubling himself as to what the public, or what this or

that party, expects. He has certainly, at different critical 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 expressing anything but what already lay in his heart.

"You know that I am, upon the whole, no friend to what is called

political poems, but such as Béranger has composed I can tolerate. With

him there is nothing snatched out of the air, nothing of merely imagined

or imaginary interest; he never shoots at random; but, on the contrary,

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 recollections were a consolation to the somewhat oppressed French;

then his hatred of the domination of priests, and of the darkness which

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 subject 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 compelled 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 I. "You know how I loved him

for 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 not 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 circumstances, is to be looked upon only as the organ of a

single nation, and, in most cases, only as the organ of a single party;

but 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 Béranger, 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 regarded 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 could

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

dæmonic; the inspiring fire which the poet might have kindled was

already burning everywhere of its own accord. Still, I will not deny

that Arndt, Körner, and Rückert, have had some effect."

"You have been reproached," remarked I, rather inconsiderately, "for not

taking up arms at that great period, or at least cooperating 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 up 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.

"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, investigated, 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 endeavored 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.

Now, it is said, I am proud; now, egotistical; now, full of envy towards

young men of genius; 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 has

fared better--most have fared worse; and in England and France it is

quite the same as with us. What did not Molière suffer? What Rousseau

and Voltaire? 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.

"And if it were only the narrow-minded masses that persecuted noble men!

But no! one gifted man and one genius 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 the 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

Körner. 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 composed love-songs only 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 neighboring people, as if it had happened to

one's own. This degree of culture was conformable to my nature, and I

had become strengthened in it long before I had reached my sixtieth

year."

* * * * *

1832.

_Sunday_, March 11.--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 the question how far God influenced the great natures of

the present world in which we live?

"To hear people speak," said Goethe, "one would 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.

[Illustration: SCHILLER'S GARDEN HOUSE AT JENA Drawing by Goethe]

"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 Shakespeare. 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 first. It would have been for Him a poor

occupation to compose this heavy world out of simple elements, and to

keep it rolling in the sunbeams from year to year, if He had not had the

plan of founding a nursery for a world of spirits upon this material

basis. So He is now constantly active in higher natures to attract the

lower ones."

Goethe was silent. But I cherished his great and good words in my heart.

_Early in March_.[23]--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 nobleman 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 him who once possesses them a stamp which

no incognito can conceal. Like beauty, these are powers which one cannot

approach without feeling 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 us 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 unbiased 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 action is the good, noble,

and beautiful, which 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 countries, and to

whom 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 has 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 neglecting 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.

[Illustration: THE MOAT AT JENA Drawing by GOETHE]

"I hate all bungling 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 labors are as nothing in the eyes of certain

people, just because I have disdained to mingle in political parties. To

please such people I must have become a member of a Jacobin club, and

preached bloodshed and murder. However, not a word more upon this

wretched subject, lest I become unwise in railing 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 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 whom Goethe entertained as his guest 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 harbor thoughts. I wished for a lock of his hair; but reverence

prevented me from cutting it off. The body lay naked, wrapped only 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.

[Illustration: VIEW INTO THE SAALE VALLEY NEAR JENA Drawing by GOETHE]

LETTERS TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT AND HIS WIFE

TRANSLATED BY LOUIS H. GRAY, PH.D. GOETHE TO KAROLINE VON HUMBOLDT

January 25, 1804.

How many an hour have I thought of you with genuine and lively interest;

and nearly every time I have marveled at the outrageous intention which

correspondents can express, that, when far apart, they will write to

each other once a month. Distance absolutely precludes interest in

trifles that are close to us; how can we tell each other our daily joys

and sorrows, when the voice which speaks must wait so long for the sound

of the answering voice; and then those unexpected chances happen which

in an instant destroy our careful plans so that, when we would continue,

we know not where we should begin.

This time, in remembrance of so much that has passed, and in

anticipation of so much that is to be, I intend to write you a long

letter that the stream may run once more.

Meanwhile you have suffered a bitter loss, of which I shall not speak. I

trust that all the agencies which nature has contrived for man to

alleviate such woes may have been and may in the future be at your

behest; for they alone can repair the evil they have wrought.

Fernow has come to us; he bears himself gallantly and well, though an

unfortunate fever has given him a deal of trouble. Since he is in

earnest about what he does, and is essentially of an honest disposition,

we are having a good, profitable, and pleasant time together.

Riemer is staying with my August, and I hope they will get along right

well together.

Schiller is continually advancing with great strides, as usual; his

_Tell_ is magnificently planned and, so far as I have seen it, executed

in masterly fashion.

I myself have been placed, by the swindling spirit which has come over

the gentlemen of Jena, and especially over the proprietors of the

_Allgemeine Literatur-Zeitung_, under the lamentable necessity of again

laboring in person on behalf of this antiquated body of municipal

teachers, wherein I have lost nearly four months of my own time--not

precisely because I did much, but because, notwithstanding, everything

had to be done, and everything that must be done takes time; and thus

for the last three months I have been unable to present you with even a

single little poem.

Meanwhile life has brought us much of interest. Professor Wolf of Halle

spent two weeks with us; Johannes von Müller is here now; and for four

weeks Madame de Staël has also honored us with her presence.

The drawings of the late Herr Carstens, which Fernow brought with him,

have given me much pleasure, since through them I have first learned to

know this rare talent, which, alas, was held back by circumstances in

earlier days, and which at last was mown down even yet unripe.

A couple of large pictures by Hackert have arrived, and anything more

perfect, as faithful copies of reality, could scarcely be imagined.

As to my studies and hobbies, I do not know whether I have ever said

anything to you about my collection of modern medals in bronze and

copper, beginning with the second half of the fifteenth century, and

coming down to the most recent times.

I chanced upon this in connection with my revision of Cellini; for,

since in the north we must be content with crumbs, it seemed possible

for me to gain even an approximately clear survey of plastic art only

through the aid of original medals from the various centuries, which, as

is generally known, invariably kept close to the sculpture of their

time. Through exertion, favor, and good fortune I have already

succeeded extremely well in making a rather important collection. Permit

me to include a couple of commissions and desiderata.

1. For a couple of old medals said to be in the possession of

Mercandetti.[24]

2. For papal medals from Innocent XIII inclusive; I have very fine

specimens of Hamerani's[25] medals of Clement XI.

3. For a medal to be ordered from Mercandetti, a commission which I

especially urge both on you and on Humboldt; for the enterprise is, I

must admit, a serious one; in the long run, some satisfaction may

probably be gained; but should it fail, money will be lost and vexation

will be the result.

* * * * *

GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT

July 30, 1804.

Months ago I wrote the inclosed sheet to your dear wife. She has

recently been here, and I have had the pleasure of conversing with her;

she has, so I hear, safely reached Paris and been delivered. I trust

that, ere long, she may there embrace your dear brother, who has, in a

sense, risen for us from the dead. Your precious letter of February 25

reached me safely in good time, and as I reflect on the long interval

during which I have left you without news from me, I now note through

what singular emotions I have passed during this time.

Schiller's _Tell_ has been completed for some time and is now on the

stage. It is an extraordinary production wherein his dramatic skill puts

forth new branches, and it justly creates a profound sensation. You will

surely receive it before long, for it is already in press.

I have permitted myself to be persuaded to try to make my _Götz von

Berlichingen_ suitable for the stage.

This was an undertaking well-nigh impossible, for its very trend is

untheatrical; like Penelope, I, too, have ceaselessly woven and unwoven

it for a year; and in the process I have learned much, though, I fear, I

have not perfectly attained the end which I had in view. In about six

weeks I hope to present it, and Schiller will, no doubt, speak to you

about it.

Have you chanced to see our Jena _Literatur-Zeitung_ for this year, and

has anything which it contained aroused your interest?

I am extremely grateful to you for the very welcome information which

you give me regarding an improvisatrice. Could I possibly dare to make

use of it in the advertising columns of the _Literatur-Zeitung_? What

you have said I would modify in every way consonant with its relation to

the public, which needs not know everything. If you could occasionally

communicate to me some information of this type from the wealth of your

observations, you would confer a great pleasure upon us.

Since Jagemann's death, Fernow has received an appointment at the

library of the Duchess Dowager, and his connection with it is of great

value for her house and for the society which assembles there; he makes

love for Italian literature a living force and gives occasion for witty

readings and conversations.

Generally speaking, Weimar is like heaven since the Bottiger goblin [26]

has been banished; and our school is also going very well indeed. A

professorship has been given to Voss's eldest son, who inherits from his

father that fundamental love for antiquity, especially from the

linguistic side, which, after all, is the principal thing in a teacher

of the classics.

Riemer also conducts himself very well in my house, and I am fairly

satisfied with the progress of my boy, who, I must admit, has a greater

interest in subject-matter than in diction.

Madame de Staël's intention of spending a portion of the summer here has

been frustrated by her father's death. She has taken Schlegel with her

from Berlin; they are together in Coppet; and will probably go to Italy

toward winter. Such a visit would doubtless be more delightful to you,

dear friend, than many another.

My warmest thanks are due you for sending me the _Odes of Pindar_ in

translation; they have given a very pleasant hour of recreation to

Riemer and myself.

I trust to your goodness to see that the inclosed memorandum is

delivered to Mercandetti, and perhaps to confer with him in person about

the matter. Then among your ministering spirits you perhaps have some

one who would keep an eye on the affair in future. I should be glad if

our old patron[27] were given such a public token of gratitude, which

should also be noteworthy from the artistic side, but it must be

acknowledged that it is always a daring venture to place any order at

such a distance, and, therefore, I entreat your friendly participation.

Above all things it is important that Mercandetti should make a moderate

charge. He demands three piasters for his Alfieri, which he offers for

sale and which is said to be as large as his Galvani. If, now, he asks

somewhat more for the archchancellor's medal, which is ordered and which

is not supposed to be any larger, surely the extra expense should not be

much, and if it is relatively cheap, I am confident of securing him two

hundred subscribers. As has already been noted in the memorandum, he

will render himself better known in Germany through this medal than

through any other work, a fact which cannot fail to be of great moment

to him in the series of distinguished men of the previous century, which

he intends to issue. Forgive me for adding this new burden to your many

duties, and yet endeavor to conduct the affair so that it will not

require much writing to and fro, and so that, in his reply to the

memorandum, Mercandetti will accept our offer. Letters are now delayed

intolerably; one from Florence here takes twenty days, and more.

It comforts me greatly that you have been pleased with my _Natural

Daughter_, for though at times I long remain silent toward my absent

friends, my desire is, nevertheless, suddenly to resume relations with

them through that which I have toiled over in silence. Unfortunately, I

have given up this play, and do not know when I shall be able to resume

work on it.

Have you seen the twenty lyric poems which have been published by me in

my _Annual_ of this year? Among them are some that ought not to

displease you. Do not render like for like, but write me soon.

Communicate to me many observations on lands, nations, men, and

languages, which are so instructive and so stimulating. Do not delay,

moreover, to give me some information regarding your own health and that

of your dear wife.

Weimar, July 30, 1804.

* * * * *

GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT

August 31, 1812.

Faithful to its nature, Teplitz continues to be, esteemed friend,

unfavorable to our coming together. This inconvenience is doubly

vexatious to me now that, after your departure from Karlsbad, I

deliberately thought over the value of your presence, and wished to

continue our interviews. I was especially grieved that your beautiful

presentation of the manner in which languages received their expansion

over the world was not completely drawn up, although the most of it

remained with me. If you wish to give me a real proof of friendship,

have the kindness to write out for me such an abstract, and I shall

have a hemispherical map colored for myself accordingly and add it to

Lesage's _Atlas_, since, in view of my residence abroad for so much of

the year, I am compelled to think more and more of my general need of a

compendious and tabulated traveling library. Thus, with the assistance

of Aulic Councillor Meyer, the history of the plastic arts and of

painting is now being written on the margin of Bredow's _Tabellen_, and

thus in a very large number of cases your linguistic map will help to

refresh my memory and serve as a guide in much of my reading.

I would gladly have spoken with you in detail regarding Berlin and all

that which, according to your previous preparations and suggestions, is

going on there. Great cities always contain within themselves the image

of whole empires, and even though distorted by exaggerations which

degenerate into caricature, they nevertheless present the nation in

concentrated form to the eye.

State Councillor Langermann, whose good will and energy are so

beautifully balanced, has now delighted me for two weeks with his

instructive conversation, and both by word and by example revived my

courage for many things which I had been on the point of abandoning. It

is very enlivening indeed to re-behold the world in its entirety through

the medium of a truly energetic man; for the Germans seldom know how to

inspire in details, and never as a whole.

I here find an entirely natural transition to the information which you

give me--that our friend Wolf is not satisfied with Niebuhr's work,

although he preëminently should have had reason to be. I feel, however,

very calm about it, for I value Wolf infinitely when he works and acts,

but I have never known him to be sympathetic, especially as regards the

affairs of the present, and herein he is a true German. Moreover, he

knows entirely too much to permit himself to be instructed further and

not to discover the gaps in the knowledge of others. He has his own

mode of thought; how should he recognize the merits of the views of

others? And the great endowments which he possesses are the very ones

which are adapted to rouse and to maintain the spirit of contradiction

and of rejection.

As to myself, a layman, I have been very greatly indebted to Niebuhr's

first volume, and I hope that the second will increase my gratitude

toward him. I am very curious about his development of the _lex

agraria_. We have heard of it from the time of our youth without gaining

any clear conception of it. How pleasant it is to listen to a learned

and original man on such a theme, especially in these days, when the

summons comes for a more free and unprejudiced consideration of the law

of states and nations, as well as of all the relations of civil law. It

becomes obvious what an advantage it is to know little, and to have

forgotten very much of that little. I never love to mingle in the

wrangles of the day, but I cannot forego the delight of quietly snapping

my fingers at them. I trust that the small leaf inclosed may win a smile

from you.

I beg you to give my best regards to your wife, and convey my kindest

greetings to the Körners. When the young man [28] again has anything

ready, I beg that it may be sent me at once. This time I should be most

happy to receive a rather large article for January 30, the birthday of

the duchess. A thousand fare-you-wells!

* * * * *

GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT

Weimar, February 8, 1813.

With sincere thanks I recognize the fact that you have been able so

quickly and so perfectly to fulfil your friendly promise. Your

beautiful sketch has given me an entirely new impulse to studies of all

sorts. It is no longer possible for me to collect materials; but when

they are brought to me in so concentrated a form, it becomes a source of

very real pleasure for me speedily to fill the gaps in my knowledge and

to discover a thousand relations to what information I already possess.

As soon as I can spend a few quiet weeks at Jena in March, I shall get

about my task, which, after your preliminary work, is in reality only a

pastime. Bertuch has had some maps of Europe printed for me in a

brownish tint. One of these is to be laid on a large drawing-board, and

the boundaries are to be colored. I shall then indicate the main

languages and, so far as possible, the dialects as well, by attaching

little slips; and Bertuch is not unwilling then to have such a map

engraved, an easy task in his great establishment which is provided with

artists of every kind. Please have the kindness, therefore, to proceed

and to send me the continuation at the earliest possible moment. A map

of the two hemispheres is now ready and is to have the languages

indicated in like fashion. From my inmost heart I wish success to your

translation of Æschylus, which continually becomes more and more

elaborate, and I rejoice that you have not let yourself be frightened

away from this good work by the threats of the Heidelberg Cyclops[29]

and his crew. At the present moment they menace our friend Wolf, who

certainly is no kitten, with ignominious execution, because he also

dared to land on the translation island which they have received from

Father Neptune in private fief, and to bring with him a readable

Aristophanes. It is written, "Blessed are the dead which die in the

Lord," but still more blessed are they who go mad over some

conceitedness.

Our friend Wieland is blessed in the first sense; he has died in his

Lord, and without particular suffering has passed over to his gods and

heroes. What talent and spirit, learning, common sense, receptivity,

and versatility, conjoined with industry and endurance, can accomplish,

_utile nobis proposuit exemplar_. If every man would so employ his gifts

and his time, what marvels would then take place!

I have passed my winter as usual, much distracted with my work, yet with

tolerable health, so that it has gone quickly and not without profit. In

November and December my plans were disarranged by theatrical

preparations for the long-expected Iffland, who did not come till toward

the close of the year, and also by preparations for his performances,

which gave me great pleasure. In January and February there were four

birthdays, when either our inventive genius or our collaboration was

demanded; and thus much has been frittered away, willingly, to be sure,

but fruitlessly.

What I have done meanwhile with pleasure and real interest has been to

make a renewed effort to find among extant monuments a trace of those of

which descriptions have come down to us. Philostrati were again the

order of the day, and as to the statues, I believe that I have got on

the track of the Olympian Zeus, on which so many preliminary studies

have already been made, and also on that of the Hera of Samos, the

Doryphorus of Polycletes, and especially on that of the Cow of Myron and

of the bull that carried Europa. Meyer, whose history of ancient art,

now written in a fair copy, furnished the chief inspiration, takes a

lively interest, since both his doubt and his agreement are invariably

well-founded.

And thus I shall now close for this time, in the hope of soon seeing

something from your dear hand once more.

* * * * *

GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT

Tennstädt, September 1, 1816. The great work to which you, dearest

friend, have devoted a large portion of your life, could not have

reached me at a better time; it finds me here in Tennstädt, a little

provincial Thuringian bathing town which is probably not entirely

unknown to you. Here I have now been for five weeks, and alone, since my

friend Meyer left me.

Here, at first, I indulged in a cursory reading both of the introduction

and of the drama[30] itself, to my no small edification; and inasmuch as

I am now, for the second time, enjoying the details together with the

whole, I will no longer withhold my thanks for this gift.

For even though one sympathetically concerns one's self with all the

praiseworthy and with all the good that the most ancient and the most

modern times afford, nevertheless, such a pre-ancient giant figure,

formed like a prodigy, appears amazing to us, and we must collect all

our senses to stand over against it in an attitude even approximately

worthy of it. At such a moment there is no doubt that here the work of

all works of art is seen, or, in more moderate language, a model of the

highest type. That we now can control this easily is our indebtedness to

you; and continuous thanks must fervently reward your efforts, though in

themselves they bring their own reward.

This drama has always been to me one of those most worthy of

consideration, and through your interest it has been made accessible

earlier than the rest. But, more than ever, the texture of this primeval

tapestry now seems most marvelous to me; past, present, and future are

so happily interwoven that the reader himself becomes the seer, that is,

he becomes like unto God, and yet, in the last resort, that is the

triumph of all poetry in the greatest and in the least.

But if we here perceive how the poet had at his service each and every

means by which so tremendous an effort may be produced, we cannot

refrain from the highest admiration. How happily the epic, lyric, and

dramatic diction is interwoven, not compelling, but enticing us to

sympathize with such cruel fates! And how well the scanty didactic

reflection becomes the chorus as it speaks! All this cannot receive too

high a mead of praise.

Forgive me, then, for bringing owls to Athens as a thanks-offering. I

could truly continue thus forever, and tell you what you yourself have

long since better known. Thus I have once more been astonished to see

that each character, except Clytemnestra, the linker of evil unto evil,

has her exclusive Aristeia, so that each one acts an entire poem, and

does not return later for the possible purpose of again burdening us

with her affairs. In every good poem poetry in its entirety must be

contained; but this is a flugleman.

The ideas in your introduction regarding synonymy are precious; would

that our linguistic purists were imbued with them! We will not, however,

contaminate such lofty affairs with the lamentable blunders whereby the

German nation is corrupting its language from the very foundation, an

evil which will not be perceived for thirty years.

You, however, my dearest friend, be and remain blessed for the

benefaction which you have done us. This your _Agamemnon_ shall never

again leave my side.

I cannot judge the rhythmic merit, but I believe I feel it. Our

admirable, talented, and original friend Wolf--although he becomes

intractable in case of contradiction--who spent a number of days with

me, speaks very highly of your careful work. It will be instructive to

see how the Heidelberg gentlemen[31] conduct themselves.

Let me have a word from you before you go to Paris, and give my

greetings to your dear wife. How much I had wished to see you this

summer, for so many things are in progress on every side that only days

suffice to consider what is to be furthered and how. Fortunately for me,

nothing is approaching that I must absolutely refuse, even though

everything is not undertaken and conducted according to my convictions.

And it is precisely this bitter-sweet which can be treated only orally

and in person.

* * * * *

GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT

Weimar, June 22, 1823.

Your letter, dear and honored friend, came at a remarkable juncture

which made it doubly interesting; Schiller's letters had just been

collected, and I was looking them through from the very first, finding

there the most charming traces of the happy and fruitful hours which we

passed together. The invitation to the _Horen_ is contained in the first

letter of June 13, 1794; then the correspondence continues, and with

every letter admiration for Schiller's extraordinary spirit and joy over

his influence on our entire development increases in intensity and

elevation. His letters are an infinite treasure, of which you also

possess rich store; and as, through them, we have made noteworthy

progress, so we must read them again to be protected against backward

steps to which the precious world about us is inclined to tempt us day

by day and hour by hour.

Just imagine to yourself now, my dearest friend, how highly welcome your

announcement seemed to me at this moment when, after ripe reflection, I

desired to give you very friendly counsel to visit us toward the end of

October. Should the gods not dispose otherwise concerning us, you will

surely find me, and whatever else is near and dear to you, assembled

here; quiet, personal communication may very happily alternate with

social recreations, and, above all things, we can take delight in

Schiller's correspondence, since then you will also bring with you the

letters of several years, and in the fruitful present we may edify and

refresh ourselves with the fair bloom of by-gone days. Riemer sends his

very best greetings; he is well; our relation is permanent, mutually

beneficial, and profitable. Aulic Councillor Meyer has left for

Wiesbaden; unfortunately, his health is not of the best.

Two new numbers of _Ueber Kunst und Alterthum_ and _Zur

Naturwissenschaft_ are about to appear--the fruits of my winter's

labors. Fortunately, they have been so carefully prepared that no

noteworthy hindrance was presented by my troubles and by the subsequent

illness of our Grand Duchess, which filled us all, especially my

convalescent self, with fear and anxiety.

Please give my kindest regards to your wife, and, by the way, I need not

assure you that you will certainly be most highly welcome to our most

gracious court. In my household children and grandchildren will meet you

with joyous faces; our nearest friends we shall assemble as we wish. If

in the interval you should have some message for me, I beg you to send

it to my address here, for then it will reach me most quickly.

And now I again send the very best of all kind greetings to your dear

wife; may good fortune bring me once more to her side. Pardon a somewhat

distracted way of writing, indicative of packing.

* * * * *

GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT

October 22, 1826.

Your letter and package, most honored friend, gave me a very welcome

token of your continuous remembrance and friendly sympathy. I wish,

however, that I might have received an equal assurance of your good

health. For my own part, I cannot complain; a ship that is no longer a

deep-sea sailer may perhaps still be useful as a coaster.

I have passed the entire summer at home, laboring undisturbed at editing

my works. Possibly you still remember, my dearest friend, a dramatic

_Helena_, which was to appear in the second part of _Faust_. From

Schiller's letters at the beginning of the century I see that I showed

him the commencement of it, and also that he, with true friendship,

counseled me to continue it. It is one of my oldest conceptions, resting

on the marionette tradition that Faust compelled Mephistopheles to

produce Helen of Troy for his nuptials. From time to time I have

continued to work on it, but the piece could not be completed except in

the fulness of time, for its action has now covered three thousand

years, from the fall of Troy to the capture of Missolonghi. This can,

therefore, also be regarded as a unity of time in the higher sense of

the term; the unities of place and action are, however, likewise most

carefully regarded in the usual acceptation of the word. It appears

under the title:

Helena

Classico-Romantic Phantasmagoria.

Interlude to Faust.

This says little indeed, and yet enough, I hope, to direct your

attention more vividly to the first instalment of my works which I hope

to present at Easter.

I next ask, with more confidence, whether perchance you still remember

an epic poem which I had in mind immediately after the completion of

_Hermann and Dorothea_--in a modern hunt a tiger and a lion were

concerned. At the time you dissuaded me from elaborating the idea, and I

abandoned it; now, in searching through old papers, I find the plot

again, and cannot refrain from executing it in prose; for it may then

pass as a tale, a rubric under which an extremely large amount of

remarkable stuff circulates.

Very recently there has reached my hermitage the portrayal of the very

active life of a man of the world, which highly entertains me--the

journal of Duke Bernhard of Weimar, who left Ghent in April, 1825, and

who returned to us only a short time past. It is written

uninterruptedly, and since his station, his mode of thought, and his

demeanor introduced him to the highest circles of society, and since he

was at ease among the middle classes and did not disdain the most

humble, his reader is very agreeably conducted through most diverse

situations, which, for me at least, it was highly important to survey

directly.

Now, however, I must assure you that the outline which you have sent is

extremely profitable to Riemer and myself, and has given a most

admirable opportunity for discussions on linguistics and philosophy. I

am by no means averse to the literature of India, but I am afraid of it;

for it draws my imaginative power towards the formless and the deformed,

against which I am forced to guard myself more than ever; but if it

comes over the signature of a valued friend, it will always be welcome,

for it gives me the desired opportunity to converse with him on what

interests him, and what must certainly be of importance.

Now, as I prepare to close, I simply say that I am engaged in combining

and uniting the scattered _Wanderings of Wilhelm Meister_, in its old

and new portions, as two volumes. While engaged in which task nothing

could give me greater delight than to welcome the chief of wanderers,

your highly esteemed brother, to our house, and to learn directly of his

ceaseless activity; nor do I fail to express my hearty wishes to your

dear wife for the best results from the cure which she is seeking in

such lofty regions.

And so, for ever and ever, in truest sympathy, GOETHE.

* * * * *

GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT

October 19, 1830.

How often during these weeks, my dear and honored friend, have I sought

refuge at your side, again taken out your magnificent letters, and found

refreshment in them!

As almost in an instant the earthquake of Lisbon caused its influences

to be felt in the remotest lakes and springs, so we also have been

shaken directly by that western explosion, as was the case forty years

ago.

How comforting it must have been for me in such moments to take up your

priceless letters, you yourself will feel and graciously express.

Through a decided antithesis I was carried back to those times when we

felt mutually pledged to procure a preliminary culture, when, united

with our great and noble friend, we strove after concrete truths, and

most faithfully and diligently sought to attain all that was most

beautiful and sublime in the world about us, for the edification of our

willing, yearning spirits, and to fill to its full an atmosphere which

required substance and contents.

How beautiful and splendid is it now that you should lay the foundations

for your latest composition (_Review of Goethe's Italian Travels_) in

that happy soil, that you should seek to explain me and my endeavors at

that laborious time, and that attentively and lovingly you should have

traced back that which in my efforts might seem incidental or lacking in

coherence, in sequence, to a spiritual necessity and to individual

characteristic combinations.

Here, now, there would be a most beautiful theme for discussion by word

of mouth. It is impossible to commit to writing how I was mirrored in

your words; how I received elucidation on many things; how, at the same

time, I was again challenged to reflect on the many enigmas that ever

remain unsolved in man, even as regards himself; and seriously to

reflect on the inner nexus of many qualities which cross in the

individual and which, despite a certain degree of contradiction, are

intertwined and united.

Here belongs preëminently my relation to plastic art, to which you have

devoted an attention so deserving of thanks. It is marvelous enough that

man feels an irresistible impulse to prosecute what he cannot achieve,

and yet that by this very process he is most essentially furthered in

his actual achievements.

That, however, this long-delayed letter may no further lag behind, I

shall close, but shall, nevertheless, at the same time inform you that,

while I uttered the sentiments written above, I once more returned to

your letters, and by seeing myself mirrored in them afresh was

challenged to new considerations, and was powerfully reminded of those

times when, united in spirit though not in body, we, already advanced in

years, enjoyed with the strength of youth and with delight those idyllic

days.

For six months [32] now my son has shared in the exuberance with which,

on the priceless peninsula, nature and centuries have, with most

marvelous intricacy, amassed and destroyed in life, created and

demolished in the arts, and played with the fates of men and nations.

He went by steamer from Leghorn to Naples, where he may be even yet, a

decision which, once carried out, has brought very special advantages.

He found Professor Zahn there, and himself, under this scholar's

guidance, completely at home both above and below the ground.

Since now you, too, my dearest friend, are accustoming yourself to

dictating, send me in a happy hour of leisure often a tiny friendly

word, so that, from time to time, I may more frequently and concretely

be aware of the coexistence which has already so long been vouched us on

this terrestrial ball. I tear myself unwillingly from this

communication; how much I have to say floats before me, but at this time

I shall delay only to bless the fortunate star which at this moment

rises over you and your estimable brother. May what has so charmingly

been inaugurated endure for the enjoyment of rich results to you and to

us all!

And so ever!

Weimar, October 19, 1830. J. W. VON GOETHE.

* * * * *

GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT

Weimar, December 1, 1831.

Already informed by the public press, honored friend, that the beating

waves of that wild Baltic have exercised so happy an influence on the

constitution of my dearest friend, I have rejoiced in a high degree,

and have done all honor and reverence to the waters which so often wreak

destruction. Your welcome note gave the fairest and the best of all

substantiation to these good tidings, so that with comfort I could look

forth from my hermitage over the monastery gardens veiled in snow, since

I could fancy to myself my dearest friend in his four-towered castle,

amid roomy surroundings, surveying a landscape over which winter had

spread far and wide, and at the same time with good courage pursuing to

the minutest detail his deep-founded tasks.

Generally speaking, I can perhaps say that the apperception of great

productive maxims of nature absolutely compels us to continue our

investigations to the minutest possible details, just as the final

ramifications of the arteries meet, at the extreme finger-tips, the

nerves to which they are linked. In particular I might perhaps say that

I have often been brought more closely to you than you probably know;

for conversations with Riemer very often turn on a word, its

etymological signification, formation and mutation, relationship, and

strangeness.

I have been highly grateful to your brother, for whom I find no epithet,

for several hours of frank, friendly conversation; for although

assimilation of his theory of geology, and practical work in accordance

with it, are impossible for my mental process, yet I have seen with true

sympathy and admiration how that of which I cannot convince myself in

him obtains a logical coherence and is amalgamated with the tremendous

mass of his knowledge, where it is then held together by his priceless

character.

If I may express myself with my old frankness, my most honored friend, I

gladly admit that in my advanced years everything becomes more and more

historical to me. Whether a thing has happened in days gone by, in

distant realms, or very close to myself, is quite immaterial; I even

seem to become more and more historical to myself; and when, in the

evening, Plutarch is read to me, I often appear ridiculous to myself,

should I narrate my biography in this way.

Forgive me expressions of this character! In old age men become

garrulous, and since I dictate, it is very easy for this natural

tendency to get the better of me.

Of my _Faust_ there is much and little to say; at a peculiarly happy

time the apothegm occurred to me:

"If bards ye are, as ye maintain;

Now let your inspiration show it."

And through a mysterious psychological turn, which probably deserves

investigation, I believe that I have risen to a type of production which

with entire consciousness has brought forth that which I myself still

approve of--though perhaps without being able ever again to swim in this

current--but which Aristotle and other prose-writers would even ascribe

to a sort of madness. The difficulty of succeeding consisted in the fact

that the second part of _Faust_--to whose printed portions you have

possibly devoted some attention--has been pondered for fifty years in

its ends and aims, and has been elaborated in fragmentary fashion, as

one or the other situation occurred to me; but the whole has remained

incomplete.

Now, the second part of _Faust_ demands more of the understanding than

the first does, and therefore it was necessary to prepare the reader,

even though he must still supply bridges. The filling of certain gaps

was obligatory both for historical and for æsthetic unity, and this I

continued until at last I deemed it advisable to cry:

"Close ye the wat'ring canal; to their fill have the meadows now drunken."

And now I had to take heart to seal the stitched copy in which printed

and unprinted are thrust side by side, lest I might possibly be led into

temptation to elaborate it here and there; at the same time I regret

that I cannot communicate it to, my most valued friends, as the poet so

gladly does.

I will not send my _Metamorphosis of Plants_, translated, with an

appendix, by M. Soret, unless certain confessions of life would satisfy

your friendship. Recently I have become more and more entangled in these

phenomena of nature; they have enticed me to continue my labors in my

original field, and have finally compelled me to remain in it. We shall

see what is to be done there likewise, and shall trust the rest to the

future, which, between ourselves, we burden with a heavier task than

would be supposed.

From time to time let us not miss on either side an echo of continued

existence.

G.

GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT

Weimar, March 17, 1832.

After a long, involuntary pause I begin as follows, and yet simply on

the spur of the moment. Animals, the ancients said, were taught by their

organs. I add to this, men also, although they have the advantage of

teaching their organs in return.

For every act, and, consequently, for every talent, an innate tendency

is requisite, working automatically, and unconsciously carrying with

itself the necessary predisposition; yet, for this very reason, it works

on and on inconsequently, so that, although it contains its laws within

itself, it may, nevertheless, ultimately run out, devoid of end or aim.

The earlier a man perceives that there is a handicraft or an art which

will aid him to attain a normal increase of his natural talents, the

more fortunate is he. Moreover, what he receives from without does not

impair his innate individuality. The best genius is that which absorbs

everything within itself, which knows how to adapt everything, without

prejudicing in the least the real fundamental essence--the quality which

is called character--so that it becomes the element which truly elevates

that quality and endows it throughout so far as may be possible.

Here, now, appear the manifold relations between the conscious and the

unconscious. Imagine a musical talent that is to compose an important

score; consciousness and unconsciousness will be related like the warp

and the woof, a simile that I am so fond of using. Through practice,

teaching, reflection, failure, furtherance, opposition, and renewed

reflection the organs of man unconsciously unite, in a free activity,

the acquired and the innate, so that this process creates a unity which

sets the world in amaze. This generalization may serve as a speedy reply

to your query and as an explanation of the note that is herewith

returned.

Over sixty years have passed since, in my youth, the conception of Faust

lay before me clear from the first, although the entire sequence was

present in less detailed form. Now, I have always kept my purpose in the

back of my mind and I have elaborated only the passages that were of

special interest to me, so that gaps remain in the second part which are

to be connected with the remainder through the agency of a uniform

interest. Here, I must admit, appeared the great difficulty of attaining

through resolution and character what should properly belong only to a

nature voluntarily active. It would, however, not have been well had

this not been feasible after so long a life of active reflection, and I

let no fear assail me that it may be possible to distinguish the older

from the newer, and the later from the earlier; which point, then, we

shall intrust to future readers for their friendly examination.

Beyond all question it will give me infinite pleasure to dedicate and

communicate these very serious jests to my valued, ever thankfully

recognized, and widely scattered friends while still living, and to

receive their reply. But, as a matter of fact, the age is so absurd and

so insane that I am convinced that the candid efforts which I have long

expended upon this unusual structure would be ill rewarded, and that,

driven ashore, they will lie like a wreck in ruins and speedily be

covered over by the sand-dunes of time. In theory and practice,

confusion rules the world, and I have no more urgent task than to

augment, wherever possible, what is and has remained within me, and to

redistill my peculiarities, as you also, worthy friend, surely also do

in your castle.

But do you likewise tell me something about your work. Riemer is, as you

doubtless know, absorbed in the same and similar studies, and our

evening conversations often lead to the confines of this specialty.

Forgive this delayed letter! Despite my retirement, there is seldom an

hour when these mysteries of life may be realized.

GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE WITH ZELTER

TRANSLATED BY FRANCES H. KING

LETTER 512

Weimar, July 28, 1803.

I have followed you so often in my thoughts that unfortunately I have

neglected to do so in writing. Just a few lines today, to accompany the

inclosed page. Of Mozart's Biography I have heard nothing further, but I

will inquire about it and also about the author. Your beautiful Queen

made many happy while on her journey, and no one happier than my mother;

nothing could have caused her greater joy in her declining years.

Do write me something about the performance of The _Natural Daughter_,

frankly and without consideration for my feelings. I have a mind anyhow

to shorten some of the scenes, which must seem long, even if they are

excellently acted. Will you outline for me sometime the duties of a

concert conductor, so much, at all events, as one of our kind needs to

know in order to form a judgment of such a man, and in case of need, to

be able to direct him? Madame Mara sang on Tuesday in Lauchstaedt; how

it went off I do not yet know. For the songs which I received through

Herr von Wolzogen I thank you mostly heartily in my own name and in the

name of our friends. It was no time to think of producing them. I hope

soon to send you the proof-sheets of my songs, and I beg you to keep

them secret at first, until they have appeared in print.

_Inclosure_

You now have the _Bride of Messina_ before you in print and as you learn

the poet's intentions from his introductory essay, you will know better

how to appreciate what he has done, and how far you can agree with

him. I will, regarding your letter, jot down my thoughts on the subject;

we can come to an understanding in a few words.

[Illustration: K. F. ZELTER, E. A. Seemann]

In Greek tragedy four forms of the chorus are found, representing four

epochs. In the first, between the songs in which gods and heroes are

extolled and genealogies, great deeds, and monstrous destinies are

brought before the imagination, a few persons appear and carry the

spectator back into the past. Of this we find an approximate example in

the _Seven before Thebes_ of, _Eschylus_. Here, therefore, are the

beginnings of dramatic art, the old style. The second epoch shows us the

chorus in the mass as the mystical, principal personage of the piece, as

in the _Eumenides_ and _Supplicants_. Here I am inclined to find the

grand style. The chorus is independent, the interest centres in it; one

might call this the Republican period of dramatic art; the rulers and

the gods are only attendant personages. In the third epoch it is the

chorus which plays the secondary part; the interest is transferred to

the families, and the members and heads who represent them in the play,

with whose fate that of the surrounding people is only loosely

connected. Then, the chorus is subordinate, and the figures of the

princes and heroes stand preëminent in all their exclusive magnificence.

This I consider the beautiful style. The pieces of Sophocles stand on

this plane. Since the crowd is forced merely to look on at the heroes

and at fate, and can have no effect on either their special or general

nature, it takes refuge in reflection and assumes the office of an able

and welcome spectator. In the fourth epoch the action withdraws more and

more into the sphere of private interests, and the chorus often appears

as a burdensome custom, as an inherited fixture. It becomes unnecessary,

and therefore, as a part of a living poetic composition, it is useless,

wearisome, and disturbing; as, for example, when it is called upon to

guard secrets in which it has no interest, and things of that sort.

Several examples are to be found in the pieces of Euripides, of which I

will mention _Helen_ and _Iphigenia in Tauris_.

From all this you will see that, for a musical reconstruction of the

chorus, it would be necessary to make experiments in the style of the

first two epochs; and this might be accomplished by means of quite short

oratorios.

* * * * *

LETTER 553

Weimar, June 1, 1805.

Since writing to you last, I have had few happy days. I thought I should

die myself, and instead I lose a friend,[33] and with him the half of my

being. I would really begin a different mode of life, but for one of my

years there is no way of doing that. I only look straight ahead of me

each day, and do the thing nearest to me without thinking of the

consequences.

But as people in every loss and misfortune try to find a pretext for

amusement, I have been urgently solicited in behalf of our theatre, and

on many other sides, to celebrate on the stage the memory of the

departed one. I wish to say nothing further on the subject, except that

I am not disinclined to it, and all I would ask of you now is whether

you are willing to assist me in the matter; and, first, whether you

would furnish me with your motet--"Man lives," etc., about which I have

read in the _Musical Review_, No. 27; also whether you would either

compose some other pieces of a solemn character, or else select and make

over to me some musical pieces already composed--the style of which I

will indicate later--as a foundation for appropriate compositions. As

soon as I know your real opinion on the subject, you shall receive

further details.

Your beautiful series of little essays on orchestra organization I have

left lying around till now, and the reason is that they contained a sort

of satire on our own conditions.

Now Reichard wishes them for the _Musical Review_. I hunt them up

again, look them over, and I feel that I really could not deprive the

Intelligence Page of our _Literatur-Zeitung_ of them. Some of our

conditions here have changed, and, after all, a man may surely be

allowed to censure those things which he did not try to hinder.

Privy Councillor Wolf of Halle is here at present. If only I could hope

to see you also here this year! Would it not be possible for you to come

to Lauchstaedt the end of July, so as to help, there on the spot, in the

preparation and performance of the above-mentioned work?

Think it over and only tell me there is a possibility of it; we shall

then be able to devise the means of bringing it to pass.

* * * * *

LETTER 606

Weimar, October 30, 1808.

The world of art is just now too much run down for a young man to be

able to realize exactly where he stands. People always search for

inspiration everywhere but in the place where it originates, and if they

do once catch sight of the source, then they cannot find the path

leading to it. Therefore I am reduced to despair by half a dozen of the

younger poetic spirits, who, though endowed with extraordinary natural

talent, will scarcely accomplish much that I can ever take pleasure in.

Werner, Ochlenschlaeger, Arnim, Brentano and others are still working

and practising at their art, but everything they do is absolutely

lacking in form and character. Not one of them can understand that the

highest and only operation of nature and art is the creation of form,

and in the form, detail, so that each single thing shall become, be, and

remain something separate and important. There is no art in letting your

talent go to suit your humor and convenience.

The sad part of it is that the humorous, because it has no support and

no law within itself, sooner or later degenerates into melancholy and

bad temper. We have been forced to experience the most horrible examples

of this in Jean Paul (see his last production in the _Ladies' Calendar_)

and in Görres (see his _Specimens of Writing_). Moreover, there are

always people enough to admire and esteem that sort of thing, because

the public is always grateful to every one who tries to turn its head.

Will you be obliging enough, when you have a quarter of an hour's spare

time, to sketch for me, in a few rough lines, the aberrations of our

youthful musicians? I should like to compare them with the errors of the

painters; for a man must once for all set his heart at rest about these

things, execrate the whole business, stop thinking about the culture of

others, and employ the short time that remains to him on his own works.

But even while I express myself thus disagreeably, I must, as always

happens to good-natured blusterers, contradict myself immediately, and

beg you to continue your interest in Eberwein at least until Easter; for

then I will send him to you again. He has acquired great confidence in

you, and great respect for your institution, but unhappily even that

does not mean much with young people. They still secretly think it would

also be possible to produce something extraordinary by their own foolish

methods. Many people gain some comprehension that there is a goal, but

they would like very much to reach it by loitering along mazy paths.

You have been sufficiently reminded of us throughout this month by the

newspapers. It was worth much to be present in person at these events. I

also came in for a share of the favorable influence of such an unusual

constellation. The Emperor of France was very gracious to me. Both

Emperors decorated me with stars and ribbons, which we desire in all

modesty thankfully to acknowledge. Forgive me for not writing you more

about the latest events. You must have already wondered when you read

the papers that this stream of the great and mighty ones of earth

should have rolled on as far as Weimar, and even over the battlefield of

Jena. I cannot refrain from inclosing to you a remarkable engraving. The

point where the temple is placed, is the farthest point toward the

north-east reached by Napoleon on this tour. When you visit us, I will

place you on the spot where the little man with the cane is shown

parceling off the world.

* * * * *

LETTER 640

Weimar, February 28, 1811.

I have read somewhere that the celebrated first secretary of the London

Society, Oldenburg, never opened a letter until he had placed pen, ink,

and paper before him, and that he then and there, immediately after the

first reading, wrote down his answer. Thus he was able to meet

comfortably the demands of an immense correspondence. If I could have

imitated this virtue, so many people would not now be complaining of my

silence. But this time your dear letter just received has roused in me

such a desire to answer, by recalling to my mind all the fullness of our

life during the summer, that I am writing these lines, if not

immediately after the first reading, at least on awaking the next

morning.

I think I anticipated that the good _Pandora_ would slow down somewhat

when she reached home again. Life in Töplitz was really too favorable to

this sort of work, and your meditations and efforts were so steadily and

undividedly centred upon it, that an interruption could not help calling

forth a pause. But leave it alone; there is so much done on it already

that, at the right moment, the remainder will, in all likelihood, come

of its own accord.

I cannot blame you for declining to compose the music to _Faust_. My

proposition was somewhat ill-considered, like the undertaking itself.

It can very well rest in peace for another year; for the trouble which I

had in working over the _Resolute Prince_[34] has about exhausted the

inclination which we must feel when we set about things of that sort.

This piece has indeed turned out beyond all expectation, and it has

given much pleasure to me and to others. It is no small undertaking to

conjure up a work written almost two hundred years ago, for an entirely

different clime, for a people of entirely different customs, religion,

and culture, and to make it appear fresh and new to the eyes of a

spectator. For nowhere is anything antiquated and without direct appeal

more out of place than on the stage.

Touching my works you shall, before everything else, receive the

thirteenth volume. It is very kind of you not to neglect the _Theory of

Color_; and the fact that you absorb it in small doses will have its

good effect too. I know very well that my way of handling the matter,

natural as it is, differs very widely from the usual way, and I cannot

demand that every one should immediately perceive and appropriate its

advantages. The mathematicians are foolish people, and are so far from

having the least idea what my work means that one really must overlook

their presumption. I am very curious about the first one who gets an

insight into the matter and behaves honestly about it; for not all of

them are blindfolded or malicious. But, at any rate, I now see more

clearly than ever what I have long held in secret, that the training

which mathematics give to the mind is extremely one-sided and narrow.

Yes, Voltaire is bold enough to say somewhere: "I have always remarked

that geometry leaves the mind just where it found it." Franklin also has

clearly and plainly expressed a special aversion to mathematicians, in

respect to their social qualities, and finds their petty contradictory

spirit unbearable.

As concerns the real Newtonians, they are in the same case as the old

Prussians in October, 1806. The latter believed that they were winning

tactically, when they had long since been conquered strategically. When

once their eyes are opened they will be startled to find me already in

Naumburg and Leipzig, while they are still creeping along near Weimar

and Blankenheim. That battle was lost in advance; and so is this. The

Newtonian Theory is already annihilated, while the gentlemen still think

their adversary despicable. Forgive my boasting; I am just as little

ashamed of it as those gentlemen are of their pettiness. I am going

through a strange experience with Kugelchen, as I have done with many

others. I thought I was making him the nicest compliment possible; for

really the picture and the frame had turned out most acceptably, and now

the good man takes offence at a superficial act of politeness, which one

really ought not to neglect, since many persons' feelings are hurt if we

omit it. A certain lack of etiquette on my part in such matters has

often been taken amiss, and now here I am troubling some excellent

people with my formality. Never get rid of an old fault, my dear friend;

you will either fall into a new one, or else people will look upon your

newly acquired virtue as a fault; and no matter how you behave, you will

never satisfy either yourself or others. In the meantime I am glad that

I know what the matter is; for I wish to be on good terms with this

excellent man.

Regarding the antique bull, I should propose to have him carefully

packed in a strong case, and sent to me for inspection. In ancient times

these things were often made in replica, and the specimens differ

greatly in value. To give any good bronze in exchange for another would

be a bad bargain, as there are scarcely ever duplicates of them, and

those that we do find are doubly interesting on account of their

resemblances and dissimilarities. The offer I could make at present is

as follows: I have a very fine collection of medals, mostly in bronze,

from the middle of the fifteenth century up to our day. It was collected

principally in order to illustrate to amateurs and experts the progress

of plastic art, which is always reflected in the medals. Among these

medals I have some very beautiful and valuable duplicates, so that I

could probably get together a most instructive series of them to give

away. An art lover, who as yet possessed nothing of this description,

would in them get a good foundation for a collection, and a sufficient

inducement to continue. Further, such a collection, like a set of Greek

and Roman coins, affords opportunity for very interesting observations;

indeed it completes the conception furnished us by the coins, and brings

it up to present times. I may also say that the bull would have to be

very perfect, if I am not to have a balance to my credit in the bargain

above indicated.

Something very pleasing has occurred to me in the last few days; it was

the presentation to me, from the Empress of Austria, of a beautiful gold

snuff-box with a diamond wreath, and the name Louisa engraved in full.

I know you too will take an interest in this event, as it is not often

that we meet with such unexpected and refreshing good fortune.

* * * * *

LETTER 665

Weimar, December 3, 1812.

Your letter telling me of the great misfortune which has befallen your

house,[35] depressed me very much, indeed quite bowed me down; for it

reached me in the midst of very serious reflections on life, and it is

owing to you alone that I have been able to pluck up courage. You have

proved yourself to be pure refined gold when tried by the black

touchstone of death. How beautiful is a character when it is so compact

of mind and soul, and how beautiful must be a talent that rests on such

a foundation.

Of the deed or the misdeed itself, I know of nothing to say. When the

_toedium vitoe_ lays hold on a man, he is to be pitied, not to be

blamed. That all the symptoms of this strange, natural, as well as

unnatural, disease have raged within me--of that _Werther_ leaves no one

in doubt. I know right well what amount of resolution and effort it cost

me then to escape from the waves of death, with what difficulty I saved

myself from many a later shipwreck, and how hard it was for me to

recover. And all the stories of mariners and fishermen are the same.

After the night of storm the shore is reached again; he who was wet

through dries himself, and the next morning when the beautiful sun

shines once more on the sparkling waves "the sea has regained its

appetite for new victims."

When we see not only that the world in general, and especially the

younger generation, are given over to their lusts and passions, but also

that what is best and highest in them is misplaced and distorted through

the serious follies of the age; when we see that what should lead them

to salvation really contributes to their damnation--to say nothing of

the unspeakable stress brought to bear upon them from without--then we

cease to wonder at the misdeeds which a man performs in rage against

himself and others. I believe I am capable of writing another _Werther_,

which would make people's hair stand on end, even more than the first

did. Let me add one remark. Most young people, who feel themselves

possessed of merit, demand of themselves more than is right. They are,

however, pressed and forced into it by their gigantic surroundings. I

know half a dozen of that kind who will certainly perish, and whom it

would be impossible to help, even if one could make clear to them where

their real advantage lies. Nobody realizes that reason, courage, and

will-power are given to us so that we shall refrain, not only from evil,

but from excess of goodness.

I thank you for your comments on the pages of my autobiography. I had

already heard much that was good and kind about them in a general way.

You are the first and only one who has gone into the heart of the

matter.

I am glad that the description of my father impressed you favorably. I

will not deny that I am heartily tired of the German bourgeois, these

_Lorenz Starks_, or whatever they may be called, who, in humorous gloom,

give free play to their pedantic temperament, and by standing dubiously

in the way of their good-natured desires, destroy them, as well as the

happiness of other people. In the two following volumes the figure of my

father is completely developed, and if on his side as well as on the

side of his son, a grain of mutual understanding had entered into this

precious family relationship, both would have been spared much. But it

was not to be; and indeed such is life. The best laid plan for a journey

is upset by the stupidest kind of accident, and a man goes farthest when

he does not know where he is going.

Do have the goodness to continue your comments; for I go slowly, as the

subject demands, and keep much _in petto_ (on which account many readers

grow impatient who would be quite satisfied to have the whole meal from

beginning to end, well braised and roasted, served up at one sitting, so

that they could the sooner swallow it, and on the morrow seek better or

worse cheer at random, in a different eating-house or cook's-shop). But

I, as I have already said, remain in ambush, in order to let my lancers

and troopers rush forward at the right moment. It is, therefore, very

interesting for me to learn what you, as an experienced Field-Marshal,

have already noticed about the vanguard. I have as yet read no

criticisms of this little work; I will read them all at once after the

next two volumes are printed. For many years I have observed that those

who should and would speak of me in public, be their intentions good or

bad, seem to find themselves in a painful position, and I have hardly

ever come face to face with a critic who did not sooner or later show

the famous countenance of Vespasian, and a _faciem duram_.

If you could sometime give me a pleasant surprise by sending the

_Rinaldo_, I should consider it a great favor.

It is only through you that I can keep in touch with music. We are

really living here absolutely songless and soundless. The opera, with

its old standbys, and its novelties dressed up to suit a little theatre,

and produced at pretty long intervals, is no consolation. At the same

time I am glad that the court and the city can delude themselves into

thinking that they have a species of enjoyment handy. The inhabitant of

a large city is to be accounted happy in this respect, because so much

that is of importance in other lands is attracted thither.

You have made a point-blank shot at Alfieri. He is more remarkable than

enjoyable. His works are explained by his life. He torments his readers

and listeners, just as he torments himself as an author. He had the true

nature of a count and was therefore blindly aristocratic. He hated

tyranny, because he was aware of a tyrannical vein in himself, and fate

had meted out to him a fitting tribulation, when it punished him,

moderately enough, at the hands of the Sansculottes. The essential

patrician and courtly nature of the man comes at last very laughably

into evidence, when he can think of no better way to reward himself for

his services than by having an order of knighthood manufactured for

himself. Could he have showed more plainly how ingrained these

formalities were in his nature? In the same way I must agree to what you

say of Rousseau's _Pygmalion_. This production certainly belongs among

the monstrosities, and is most remarkable as a symptom of the chief

malady of that period, when State and custom, art and talent were

destined to be stirred into a porridge with a nameless substance--which

was, however, called nature--yes, when they were indeed thus stirred and

beaten up together. I hope that my next volume will bring this operation

to light; for was not I, too, attacked by this epidemic, and was it not

beneficently responsible for the development of my being, which I cannot

now picture to myself as growing in any other fashion?

Now I must answer your question about the first Walpurgis-night. The

state of the case is as follows: Among historians there are some, and

they are men to whom one cannot refuse one's esteem, who try to find a

foundation in reality for every fable, every tradition, let it be as

fantastic and absurd as it will, and, inside the envelope of the

fairy-tale, believe they can always find a kernel of fact.

We owe much that is good to this method of treatment. For in order to go

into the matter great knowledge is required; yes, intelligence, wit, and

imagination are necessary to turn poetry into prose in this way. So now,

in this case, one of our German antiquarians has tried to vindicate the

ride of the witches and devils in the Hartz mountains, which has been

well known to us in Germany for untold ages, and to place it upon a firm

foundation, by the discovery of an historical origin. Which is, namely,

that the German heathen priests and forefathers, after they had been

driven from their sacred groves, and Christianity had been forced upon

the people, betook themselves with their faithful followers, at the

beginning of Spring, to the wild inaccessible mountains of the Hartz;

and there, according to their old custom, they offered prayers and fire

to the incorporeal God of Heaven and earth. In order to secure

themselves against the spying, armed converters, they hit upon the idea

of masking a number of their party, so as to keep their superstitious

opponents at a distance, and thus, protected by caricatures of devils,

to finish in peace the pure worship of God.

I found this explanation somewhere, but cannot put my finger on the

author; the idea pleased me and I have turned this fabulous history into

a poetical fable again.

* * * * *

LETTER 433

Weimar, October 30, 1824.

It had long been my wish that you might be invited to take a trip,

because I was certain that I should then hear something from you; for,

of course, I am convinced that in over-lively Berlin no one is likely to

remember to write letters to those who are far away. Now a perilous and

hazardous journey gives my worthy friend an opportunity for a very

characteristic and pleasing description; a crowded family party

furnishes material for a sketch that would certainly find a place in any

English novel. For my part, I will reply with a couple of matters from

my quiet sphere.

In the first place, then, my sojourn at home has this time been quite

successful; yet we must not boast of it, only quietly and modestly

continue our activities.

Langermann has probably communicated to you what I sent him. The

introductory poem to _Werther_ I lately resurrected and read to myself,

quietly and thoughtfully, and immediately afterward the _Elegie_ which

harmonizes with it very well; only I missed in them the direct effect of

your pleasing melody, although it gradually revived and rose out of my

inner consciousness.

I am now also concluding the instalment on natural science, which was

inconveniently delayed this year, and am editing my _Correspondence with

Schiller from 1794_ to 1805. A great boon will be offered to the

Germans, yes, I might even say to humanity in general, revealing the

intimacy between two friends, of the kind who keep contributing to each

other's development in the very act of pouring out their hearts to each

other. I have a strange feeling at my task, for I am learning what I

once was. However, it is most instructive of all to see how two people

who mutually further their purposes _par force_, fritter away their time

through inner over-activity and outer excitement and disturbance; so

that there is, after all, no result fully worthy of their capacities,

tendencies, aims. The effect will be extremely edifying; for every

thoughtful man will be able to find in it consolation for himself.

Moreover, it contributes to various other things which are revived by

the excited life of that period. If what you recognized a year ago as

the cause of my illness now proves itself the apparent element of my

good health, everything will be running smoothly and you will hear

pleasant news from time to time.

In order that I may, however, hear from you soon, I wish to inform you

that it would give me especial pleasure to receive a concise, forceful

description of the Konigstadter theatricals. From what they are playing

and rehearsing and from the notices and criticisms that reach me in the

newspapers, I can form some notion for myself, to be sure; but, in any

case, you will correct and strengthen my ideas. At your suggestion the

architect sent me a plan which I found very acceptable, because, from it

I can see for myself that the theatre is situated in a large residential

section. This probably makes it very nice and cheerful, just as setting

back the various rows of boxes is a very convenient arrangement for the

audience who wish to be seen while they themselves see. This much I

already know, and you, with a few strokes, will assist me to picture the

most vivid actuality.

J. A. Stumpff, of London, Harp Maker to his Majesty, is just leaving me.

A native of Ruhl, he was sent at an early age to England, where he is

now working as an able mechanic, a sturdy man of good stature in which

you would take delight; at the same time he manifests the most patriotic

sentiments for our language and literature. Through Schiller and myself

he has been awakened to all that is good, and he is highly pleased to

see our literary products become gradually known and appreciated. He

revealed a remarkable personality.

Our sonorous bells are just announcing the celebration of the

anniversary of the Reformation. It resounds with a ring that must not

leave us indifferent. Keep us, Lord, in Thy word, and guide.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: _Morgenblatt_ 1815. Nr. 113 12. Mai.]

[Footnote 2: (King Henry IV, Part II, Act 4, Scene 4.)]

[Footnote 3: The works referred to are the nine volumes of A. W.

Schlegel's translation, which appeared 1797-1810, and were subsequently

(since 1826) supplemented by the missing dramas, translated under

Tieck's direction.]

[Footnote 4: Delivered before the Amalia Lodge of Freemasons in Weimar,

February 1813.]

[Footnote 5: Permission The Macmillan Co., New York.]

[Footnote 6: Permission The Macmillan Co., New York, and G. Bell & Sons,

London.]

[Footnote 7: It is almost needless to observe that the word "demon" is

her reference to its Greek origin, and implies nothing evil.--_Trans._]

[Footnote 8: This is the first day in Eckermann's first book, and the

first time in which he speaks in this book, as distinguished from

Soret.--_Trans._]

[Footnote 9: The word "Gelegenheitsgedicht" (occasional poem) properly

applies to poems written for special occasions, such as birthdays,

weddings, etc., 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._]

[Footnote 10: Goethe's "West-östliche (west-eastern) Divan," one of the

twelve divisions of which is entitled "Das Buch des Unmuths" (The Book

of Ill-Humor).--Trans.]

[Footnote 11: _Die Aufgeregten_ (the Agitated, in a political sense) is

an unfinished drama by Goethe.--Trans.]

[Footnote 12: The German phrase "Freund des Bestehenden," which, for

want 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._]

[Footnote 13: Poetry and Truth, the title of Goethe's

autobiography.--Trans.]

[Footnote 14: 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.]

[Footnote 15: It need scarcely be mentioned that this is the name given

to a collection of sarcastic epigrams by Goethe and Schiller.--Trans.]

[Footnote 16: "Die Natürliche Tochter" (the Natural

Daughter).--_Trans._]

[Footnote 17: Vide p. 185, where a remark is made on the word _nature_,

as applied to a person.--_Trans._]

[Footnote 18: These plays were intended to be in the Shakesperian style,

and Goethe means that by writing them he freed himself from Shakespeare,

just as by writing _Werther_ he freed himself from thoughts of

suicide.--_Trans._]

[Footnote 19: This doubtless refers to the Heath country in which

Eckermann was born.--Trans.]

[Footnote 20: This poem is simply entitled "Ballade," and begins

"Herein, O du Guter! du Alter herein!"--_Trans_.]

[Footnote 21: A It must be borne in mind that this was said before the

appearance of "Robert le Diable," which was first produced in Paris, in

November, 1831.--_Trans._]

[Footnote 22: B That is, the second act of the second part of "Faust,"

which was not published entire till after Goethe's death.--_Trans._]

[Footnote 23: 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.]

[Footnote 24: A distinguished die-cutter in Rome.]

[Footnote 25: Giovanni Hamerani was papal die-cutter from 1675 to 1705.]

[Footnote 26: A C. A. Bottiger had surrendered his position as director

of the Gymnasium of Weimar and had gone to Dresden, while Heinrich Voss

(1779-1822), an enthusiastic young admirer of Goethe, had come to the

gymnasium.]

[Footnote 27: An association of civil officials of Mannheim had

intrusted to Goethe a sum of money to erect a memorial to Count von

Dalberg, but the plan was never carried out.]

[Footnote 28: a Theodor Körner (1791-1813), at that time a dramatist in

Vienna, and closely connected with the Humboldt family through Wilhelm's

friendship for Christian G. Körner.]

[Footnote 29: J. H. Voss, although his translation of Æschylus was not

printed until 1826.]

[Footnote 30: Humboldt's translation of the _Agamemnon of Æschylus_.]

[Footnote 31: Voss and his son.]

[Footnote 32: August, who went to Italy, in March, 1830, and died there

eight days after this letter was written.]

[Footnote 33: Schiller died May 9, 1805]

[Footnote 34: By Calderon]

[Footnote 35: Zelter's eldest son had shot himself.]