August 28, 1771, his twenty-second birthday, and these sixteen months
are perhaps the most important of his life. During them he came into
active contact with most of those impulses of which his after life was a
development. If we would understand his mental growth, we must ask who
were his friends. He took his meals at the house of the Fräulein Lauth
in the Kramergasse. The table was mainly filled with medical students.
At the head of it sat Salzmann, a grave man of fifty years of age. His
experience and his refined taste were very attractive to Goethe, who
made him his intimate friend. The table of the Fräulein Lauth received
some new guests. Among these was Jung-Stilling, the self-educated
charcoal-burner, who in his memoir has left a graphic account of
Goethe's striking appearance, in his broad brow, his flashing eye, his
mastery of the company, and his generosity. Another was Lerse, a frank,
open character, who became Goethe's favorite, and whose name is
immortalized in Götz von Berlichingen.
Goethe's stay at Strasburg is generally connected still more closely
with another circumstance--his passion for Frederike Brion of Sesenheim.
The village lies about twenty miles from Strasburg, and her father was
pastor there. Goethe was introduced by his friend Weyland, as a poor
theological student. The father was a simple, worthy man, the eldest of
the three daughters was married, the two younger remained--Maria Salome,
and Frederike, to whom the poet principally devoted himself. She was
tall and slight, with fair hair and blue eyes, and just sixteen years of
age. Goethe gave himself up to the passion of the moment. During the
winter of 1770, Goethe often rode over to Sesenheim. Neither storm, nor
cold, nor darkness kept him back. As his time for leaving Strasburg came
nearer he felt that his love was merely a dream and could have no
serious termination. Frederike felt the same on her side. On August 6th
Goethe took his degree as a doctor of law. Shortly afterwards he bade
adieu to Sesenheim. Frederike lived till 1813 and died single.
Goethe's return to Frankfort is marked by a number of songs, of which
the "Wanderer's Sturmlied" is the most remarkable. He had outgrown many
of the friends of his youth. Those with whom he felt most sympathy were
the two Schlossers and his sister Cornelia. He found in her one who
sympathized with all his aspirations. The work into which he threw all
his genius was the dramatization of the history of the imperial knight
of the Middle Ages, Gottfried or Götz von Berlichingen. The immediate
cause of this enterprise was his enthusiasm for Shakespeare. After
reading him he felt, he said, like a blind man who suddenly receives his
sight. The study of a dry and dull biography of Götz, published in 1731,
supplied the subject for his awakened powers. From this miserable sketch
he conceived within his mind a complete picture of Germany in the
sixteenth century. The chief characters of his play are creatures of his
imagination, representing the principal types which made up the history
of the time. Every personage is made to live; they speak in short, sharp
sentences like the powerful lines of a great master's drawing. The first
sketch of Götz was finished in six weeks, in the autumn of 1771. It ran
like wild-fire through the whole of Germany.
Goethe left Frankfort in the spring of 1772 for Wetzlar, a quiet country
town on the Lahn, one of the seats of government of the Holy Roman
Empire. The emperors lived at Vienna; they were crowned at Frankfort;
they held their parliaments at Ratisbon, and at Wetzlar their courts of
justice. It was the custom for young lawyers to attend the sittings of
these courts for a certain time before they could be admitted to
practice on their own account. The company of these students, of the
embassies from the component parts of the empire, and of various
imperial officials, made the society a pleasant and lively one. Goethe
soon found friends. His favorite house was occupied by one of the
officials of the order, by name Buff, an honest man with a large family
of children. The second daughter, Lotte, blue-eyed, fair and just twenty
years of age, was first met by Goethe, shortly after his arrival, at a
ball at Wolpertshausen. She strongly attracted him; he became a constant
visitor at the house. He found that Lotte was a second mother to her
brothers and sisters. Lotte, was really, though not formally, engaged to
Kestner, a man of two-and-thirty, secretary to the Hanoverian legation.
The discovery of this relation made no difference to Goethe; he remained
the devoted friend to both. But the position was too critical to last.
On September 10 they met in the German house for the last time. Goethe
and Schlosser went together to Wetzlar in November. Here he heard of the
death of Jerusalem, a young man attached to the Brunswick legation. He
had been with Goethe at the University of Leipsic. Of a moody
temperament, disheartened by failure in his profession, and soured by a
hopeless passion for the wife of another, he had borrowed a pair of
pistols under pretense of a journey, and had shot himself on the night
of October 29.
Goethe immediately afterwards began his Werther. Goethe tells us that it
was written in four weeks. In October it spread over the whole of
Germany. It was enthusiastically beloved or sternly condemned. It was
printed, imitated, translated into every language of Europe. Götz and
Werther formed the solid foundation of Goethe's fame. It is difficult to
imagine that the same man can have produced both works, so different are
they in matter and style. Götz was the first manly appeal to the
chivalry of German spirit, which, caught up by other voices, sounded
throughout the Fatherland like the call of a warder's trumpet, till it
produced a national courage, founded on the recollection of an
illustrious past, which overthrew the might of the conqueror at the
moment when he seemed about to dominate the world. Werther, as soft and
melodious as Plato, was the first revelation to the world of that
marvelous style which, in the hands of a master, compels a language
which is as rich as Greek to be also as musical.
The spring of 1773, which witnessed the publication of Götz, saw him
actively employed as an advocate. In November, Goethe's sister Cornelia
was married to Schlosser and left Strasburg. Goethe felt the loss
deeply. She lived but a short time. Her married life was tortured with
suffering, and she died in 1777.
The summer of 1774 was spent in a journey to the Rhine. Goethe returned
to Frankfort at the beginning of August. On December 11, Goethe was
surprised by the visit of a stranger. It was Karl Ludwig von Knebel, who
was traveling with the two princes of Saxe-Weimar, the reigning duke,
Karl August, then just seventeen, and his younger brother, Constantine.
This meeting decided the future course of Goethe's life.
He now came under the influence of Lili Schönemann, the daughter of a
rich banker. This passion seemed to be of a more lasting nature than the
others.
Neither family approved of the engagement between the youthful couple.
Goethe tore himself away, and went for a tour in Switzerland.
He returned to Frankfort on July 20. August was spent delightfully with
Lili at Offenbach; his letters speak of nothing but her. He wrote some
scenes in Faust--the walk in the garden, the first conversation with
Mephistopheles, the interview with the scholar, the scene in Auerbach's
cellar. Egmont was also begun under the stimulus of the American
Rebellion. A way of escaping from his embarrassments was unexpectedly
opened to him. The duke of Weimar passed through Frankfort both before
and after his marriage, which took place on October 3. He invited Goethe
to stay at Weimar. It was not for his happiness or for Lili's that they
should have married. She afterwards thanked him deeply for the firmness
with which he overcame a temptation to which she would have yielded.
At this time the smaller German courts were beginning to take an
interest in German literature. Before the Seven Years' War the whole of
German culture had been French. Even now German writers found but scant
acceptance at Berlin or Vienna. The princes of the smaller states
surrounded themselves with literature and art. The duke of Brunswick had
made Lessing his librarian. The duke of Würtemberg paid special
attention to education; he promoted the views of Schubart, and founded
the school in which Schiller was educated. Hanover offered a home to
Zimmermann, and encouraged the development of Schlegel. Darmstadt was
especially fortunate. Caroline, the wife of the landgrave, had
surrounded herself with a literary circle, of which Merck was the moving
spirit. She had collected and privately printed the odes of Klopstock,
and her death in 1774 seemed to leave Darmstadt a desert. Her daughter,
Louisa, seemed to have inherited something of her mother's qualities.
She married, on October 3,1775, the young duke of Weimar, who was just
of age. She was of the house of Brunswick, and after two years of
marriage had been left a widow at nineteen, with two sons. She committed
their education to Count Görz, a prominent character in the history of
the time. She afterwards summoned Wieland to instruct the elder, and
Knebel to instruct the younger.
Upon this society Goethe rose like a star. From the moment of his
arrival he became the inseparable companion of the grand-duke. The first
months at Weimar were spent in a wild round of pleasure. Goethe was
treated as a guest. In the autumn, journeys, rides, shooting parties; in
the winter, balls, masquerades, skating parties by torch-light, dancing
at peasants' feasts, filled up their time. Evil reports flew about
Germany. We may believe that no decencies were disregarded except the
artificial restrictions of courtly etiquette. In the spring he had to
decide whether he would go or stay. In April the duke gave him the
little garden by the side of the Ilm. In June he invested him with the
title, so important to Germans, of /Geheimlegationsrath/, with a
seat and voice in the privy council and an income.
Goethe's life was at no time complete without the influence of a noble-
hearted woman. This he found in Charlotte von Stein, a lady of the
court, wife of the master of the horse.
The close of 1779 was occupied by a winter journey to Switzerland. Two
days were spent at Frankfort with Goethe's parents. Sesenheim was
visited, and left with satisfaction and contentment. At Strasburg they
found as to Lessing. The repertoire of the Weimar theater was stocked
with pieces of solid merit, which long held their place. In August,
1792, he accompanied the duke to the campaign in the Ardennes. In 1793
he went with his master to the siege of Mainz. Goethe took the old
German epic of Reynard the Fox, with which he had long been familiar,
and which, under the guise of animals, represents the conflicting
passions of men, and rewrote it.
Thus far he had produced but little since his return from Italy. His
friendship with Schiller was now to begin, an alliance which, in the
closeness of its intimacy and its deep effect on the character of both
friends, has scarcely a parallel in literary history. If Schiller was
not at this time at the height of his reputation, he had written many of
the works which have made his name famous. He was ten years younger than
Goethe. The Räuber plays the same part in his literary history as Götz
plays in that of Goethe. This had been followed by Fiesco and Kabale und
Liebe. In 1787 he settled at Weimar. The first effect of Schiller's
influence on Goethe was the completion of Wilhelm Meister's
Apprenticeship. It stands in the first rank of Goethe's writings. A more
solid result of the friendship between the poets was the production of
Hermann und Dorothea.
The latter half of 1798 was occupied with a tour in Switzerland. Before
its commencement he visited his mother at Frankfort for the last time,
and presented to her his wife and his son. In the beginning of 1805
Goethe was convinced that either he or Schiller would die in that year.
In January they were both seized with illness. Schiller was the first to
recover, and, visiting Goethe in his sick room, fell on his neck and
kissed him with intense emotion. On April 29 they saw each other for the
last time. Schiller was on his way to the theater, whither Goethe was
too ill to accompany him. They parted at the door of Schiller's house.
Schiller died on the evening of the 9th of May. No one dared to tell
Goethe the sad news, but he saw on the faces of those who surrounded him
that Schiller must be very ill. On the morrow of Schiller's death, when
his wife entered his room, he said, "Is it not true that Schiller was
very ill yesterday?" She began to sob. He then cried, "He is dead!"
"Thou hast spoken it thyself," she answered. Goethe turned aside and
covered his weeping eyes with his hands. Since that time Schiller and
Goethe have been inseparable in the minds of their countrymen.
On October 14, 1806, the battle of Jena was fought. The court had fled
from Weimar. On the 15th Napoleon and Goethe met. It was at the congress
of Erfurt, where the sovereigns and princes of Europe were assembled.
Goethe's presence was commanded by the duke. He was invited to an
audience on October 2. The emperor sat at a large round table eating his
breakfast. He beckoned Goethe to approach him. He asked how old he was,
expressed his wonder at the freshness of his appearance, said that he
had read Werther through seven times, and made some acute remarks on the
management of the plot. Then, after an interruption, he said that
tragedy ought to be the school of kings and peoples; that there was no
subject worthier of treatment than the death of Caesar, which Voltaire
had treated insufficiently. A great poet would have given prominence to
Caesar's plans for the regeneration of the world, and shown what a loss
mankind had suffered by his murder.
The idea of writing Faust seems to have come to Goethe in his earliest
manhood. He was brooding over it at the same time with Götz von
Berlichingen. Faust justly stands at the head of all Goethe's works.
Founded on a well-known popular tale, indebted for its interest and
pathos to incidents of universal experience, it deals with the deepest
problems which can engage the mind of man.
In 1809 he finished The Elective Affinities.
It was natural at the beginning of a new course of life that Goethe
should write an account of his past existence. The study of his
collected poems made it apparent to him how necessary it was to furnish
a key by which they might be understood. These various causes led to the
composition of /Dichtung und Wahrheit/ (Poetry and Truth), an
autobiographical history of the poet's life from his birth till his
settlement at Weimar. This work is the cause of much embarrassment to
the poet's biographers. Where it ought to be the most trustworthy source
of information, it is most misleading.
Once more in his old age Goethe came under the sovereignty of a woman.
She was Marianne von Willemer, the newly married wife of a Frankfort
banker. Goethe made her acquaintance in a journey which he took in the
Rhine country. The correspondence between Goethe and Marianne was
published in 1877. It extends almost to the day of his death, and
includes letters from Eckermann giving an account of his last moments.
The last twelve years of Goethe's life, when he had passed his
seventieth birthday, were occupied by his criticisms on the literature
of foreign countries, by the Wanderjahre, and the second part of Faust.
He was the literary dictator of Germany and of Europe. The Wanderjahre
contains some of Goethe's most beautiful conceptions, The Flight Into
Egypt, The Description of the Pedagogic Province, The Parable of the
Three Reverences.
The second part of Faust has been a battlefield of controversy since its
publication, and demands fuller attention. Its fate may be compared with
that of the latest works of Beethoven. For a long time it was regarded
as impossible to understand, and as not worth understanding, the
production of a great artist whose faculties had been impaired by age.
By degrees it has, by careful labor, become intelligible to us, and the
conviction is growing that it is the deepest and most important work of
the author's life.
He had much to darken his latter days. His wife had died in 1816. He
felt her loss bitterly. The Duchess Amalia had died eight years before.
He had now to undergo bitterer experiences when he was less able to bear
them. Frau von Stein, with whom he had renewed his friendship, if not
his love, died in January, 1827; and in June, 1828, he lost the
companion of his youth, the Grand Duke Karl August, who died suddenly,
away from Weimar.
We must pass to the closing scenes. On Thursday, March 15, 1832, he
spent his last cheerful and happy day. He awoke the next morning with a
chill. From this he gradually recovered, and on Monday was so much
better that he designed to begin his regular work on the next day. But
in the middle of the night he woke with a deathly coldness, which
extended from his hands over his body, and which took many hours to
subdue. It then appeared that the lungs were attacked, and that there
was no hope of his recovery. Goethe did not anticipate death. He sat
fully clothed in his arm chair, made attempts to reach his study, spoke
confidently of his recovery, and of the walks he would take in the fine
April days. His daughter-in-law Ottilie tended him faithfully. On the
morning of the 22d his strength gradually left him. He sat slumbering in
his arm chair, holding Ottilie's hand. Her name was constantly on his
lips. His mind occasionally wandered, at one time to his beloved
Schiller, at another to a fair female head with black curls, some
passion of his youth. His last words were an order to his servant to
open the second shutter to let in more light. After this he traced with
his forefinger letters in the air. At half-past eleven in the day he
drew himself, without any sign of pain, into the left corner of his arm
chair, and went so peacefully to sleep that it was long before the
watchers knew that his spirit was really gone. He is buried in the
grand-ducal vault, where the bones of Schiller are also laid.
AUTOBIOGRAPHY TRUTH AND FICTION RELATING TO MY LIFE
AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
As a preface to the present work, which, perhaps, more than another,
requires one, I adduce the letter of a friend, by which so serious an
undertaking was occasioned.
"We have now, my dear friend, collected the twelve parts of your
poetical works, and, on reading them through, find much that is known,
much that is unknown; while much that had been forgotten is revived by
this collection. These twelve volumes standing before us in uniform
appearance, we cannot refrain from regarding as a whole; and one would
like to sketch therefrom some image of the author and his talents. But
it cannot be denied, considering the vigor with which he began his
literary career, and the length of time which has since elapsed, that a
dozen small volumes must appear incommensurate. Nor can one forget,
that, with respect to the detached pieces, they have mostly been called
forth by special occasions, and reflect particular external objects, as
well as distinct grades of inward culture; while it is equally clear,
that temporary moral and æsthetic maxims and convictions prevail in
them. As a whole, however, these productions remain without connection;
nay, it is often difficult to believe that they emanate from one and the
same writer.
"Your friends, in the mean time, have not relinquished the inquiry, and
try, as they become more closely acquainted with your mode of life and
thought, to guess many a riddle, to solve many a problem; indeed, with
the assistance of an old liking, and a connection of many years'
standing, they find a charm even in the difficulties which present
themselves. Yet a little assistance here and there would not be
unacceptable, and you cannot well refuse this to our friendly
entreaties.
"The first thing, then, we require, is that your poetical works,
arranged in the late edition according to some internal relations, may
be presented by you in chronological order, and that the states of life
and feeling which afforded the examples that influenced you, and the
theoretical principles by which you were governed, may be imparted in
some kind of connection. Bestow this labor for the gratification of a
limited circle, and perhaps it may give rise to something that will be
entertaining and useful to an extensive one. The author, to the most
advanced period of his life, should not relinquish the advantage of
communicating, even at a distance, with those whom affection binds to
him; and if it is not granted to every one to step forth anew, at a
certain age, with surprising and powerful productions, yet just at that
period of life, when knowledge is most perfect, and consciousness most
distinct, it must be a very agreeable and re-animating task to treat
former creations as new matter, and work them up into a kind of Last
Part, which may serve once more for the edification of those who have
been previously edified with and by the artist."
This desire, so kindly expressed, immediately awakened within me an
inclination to comply with it: for if, in the early years of life, our
passions lead us to follow our own course, and, in order not to swerve
from it, we impatiently repel the demands of others; so, in our later
days, it becomes highly advantageous to us, should any sympathy excite
and determine us, cordially, to new activity. I therefore instantly
undertook the preparatory labor of separating the poems, both great and
small, of my twelve volumes, and of arranging them according to years. I
strove to recall the times and circumstances under which each had been
produced. But the task soon grew more difficult, as full explanatory
notes and illustrations were necessary to fill up the chasms between
those which had already been given to the world. For, in the first
place, all on which I had originally exercised myself were wanting, many
that had been begun and not finished were also wanting, and of many that
were finished even the external form had completely disappeared, having
since been entirely reworked and cast into a different shape. Besides, I
had also to call to mind how I had labored in the sciences and other
arts, and what, in such apparently foreign departments, both
individually and in conjunction with friends, I had practised in
silence, or had laid before the public.
All this I wished to introduce by degrees for the satisfaction of my
well-wishers, but my efforts and reflections always led me farther on;
since while I was anxious to comply with that very considerate request,
and labored to set forth in succession my internal emotions, external
influences, and the steps which, theoretically and practically, I had
trod, I was carried out of my narrow private sphere into the wide world.
The images of a hundred important men, who either directly or indirectly
had influenced me, presented themselves to my view; and even the
prodigious movements of the great political world, which had operated
most extensively upon me, as well as upon the whole mass of my
contemporaries, had to be particularly considered. For this seems to be
the main object of biography,--to exhibit the man in relation to the
features of his time, and to show to what extent they have opposed or
favored his progress; what view of mankind and the world he has formed
from them, and how far he himself, if an artist, poet, or author, may
externally reflect them. But for this is required what is scarcely
attainable; namely, that the individual should know himself and his
age,--himself, so far as he has remained the same under all
circumstances; his age, as that which carries along with it, determines
and fashions, both the willing and the unwilling: so that one may
venture to pronounce, that any person born ten years earlier or later
would have been quite a different being, both as regards his own culture
and his influence on others.