GOETHE'S RETURN FROM ROME.
Goethe has returned! Goethe is once more in our midst! He arrived quite
unexpectedly yesterday evening, repaired at once to his summer-house in
the park, raised the little draw-bridge, and has yet seen no one!
This was the intelligence that ran like wildfire through the good city
of Weimar on the morning of the nineteenth of June, 1788, exciting
joy and expectation in the minds of many, and perhaps also some
little discontent in the minds of others. All were anxious to see
the poet once more, who had been enthroned in Weimar as the genius
of gayety and happiness, and who had taken these two most beautiful
ideals of humanity with him on leaving the capital of Thuringia.
Weimar had changed greatly since Goethe's departure. It had, as the
Duke Charles August often complained to his friends, become dull, and
"terribly old fogyish." The genial freedom from care and restraint,
and the poetic enthusiasm and exaltation had all vanished with Goethe.
Weimar lay slumbering in its dullness and tranquillity on the banks
of the murmuring Ilm, and the staid and honest burghers of the good
city considered it a positive blessing that this restless spirit had
departed. The court was also very quiet--so quiet that the genial
Duchess Amelia could no longer endure it, and was preparing to journey
to Italy in the company of her friends, Wieland and Herder, to
indemnify herself under the bright skies of Italy, and in the midst of
rare works of art, for the dull life she had led for the past few years.
No wonder that the intelligence of Goethe's return agitated the little
city, and infused a little life and excitement into slumbering society!
Goethe's servant had appeared at the ducal palace at an early hour
on the following morning, had communicated the glad tidings of his
master's arrival to the duke's chamberlain, and had begged to be
informed at what hour the privy-councillor would be permitted to pay
his respects. The duke had briefly replied that he would send the
privy-councillor word; nothing more! But half an hour later, instead
of sending word, the duke quietly left his palace, crossed the Market
Square with hasty footsteps, and passed on through the streets, into
the park, and along its shady avenues to Goethe's little summer-house.
The bridge was raised, but the Ilm was almost completely dried up by
the summer heat, and but a narrow, shallow rivulet flowed in the midst
of its sandy bed. What cared he, the genial duke, although his boots
and Prussian uniform should become somewhat soiled in wading across to
the little island? He had not come to pay a visit of state, but only
to call on his dear friend in an unceremonious manner, and to give him
a warm embrace, after a long separation. Therefore, forward, through
mud and water! On the other side lies the modest little house of his
cherished friend! Forward!
Goethe's servant had not yet returned from the city; no one was there
to announce the duke, and, if there had been, Charles August would have
preferred coming unannounced into his friend's presence; he desired to
surprise him. Noiselessly he crept up the stairway, and threw the door
open.
"Welcome, my Wolf! A thousand welcomes! To my arms, beloved brother!"
"His highness the duke! How unexpected an honor!"
Goethe rose hastily from the sofa, and bowed profoundly to the duke,
who still stood before him with extended arms.
"And in this manner you receive your friend, Wolf? Truly, I came
running here like a lover to a rendezvous with his adored, and now you
receive me with a cold greeting?"
"I beg leave to assure your highness, that the heart of your humble
servant is also filled with joy, in beholding his dear master once
more, and that this moment reconciles me to my return, and--"
"Wolf, tell me are you playing a comedy? Are you only jesting, or has
your sojourn in Rome really made you the stiff and courtly old fellow
you appear to be?"
"I a stiff old fellow? I a courtly old fellow?" asked Goethe, with
sparkling eyes; and now he was again the Goethe with the Apollo
countenance, as he had been in Rome and Castel Gandolfo--once more the
poet of Italy, and no longer the privy-councillor of Weimar.
As the friends now looked at each other--as the duke's merry brown
eyes encountered Goethe's fiery, passionate gaze--the last vestiges
of the privy-councillor fell from the poet. His handsome countenance
brightened, and with a cry of joy he sprang forward, threw himself into
the duke's arms and kissed his eyes and lips.
"May God forgive me if I am guilty of disrespect! I had determined to
return home as a well-trained and respectable privy-councillor and
courtier. But I am not to blame if the sight of your dear countenance
scatters all my good resolutions to the winds. Let me embrace, let me
kiss you once more, my dear duke and friend!"
And he did so, again and again, with great ardor. The duke's laughter
while submitting to this embrace seemed to be only assumed in order
to conceal his emotion, and to make his friend believe that the tears
which stood in his eyes had not come from the depths of his heart, but
were only the consequence of his violent laughter.
"I see you are still the same wild, unaccountable genius, Wolf! You are
as capricious as a beautiful woman, and as imperious as a tyrant! You
are still the same Goethe!"
"Not at all times, my duke. I have determined that the sober-minded
world here in Weimar, shall behold in me a sober-minded
privy-councillor, and that I will give no further cause of offence to
madame the Duchess Louise, and all other sensitive souls, by my wild
behavior. But, for a quarter of an hour, and in the presence of my dear
master, I let the mask fall, and am once more the old Goethe or the
young Goethe. Your Goethe, my duke and friend!"
"Thanks, Wolf, thanks! I hardly knew what to make of you, and was quite
ill at ease when I saw you standing before me with your formal manner
and courtier countenance. I thought to myself, 'This is not the Goethe
you expected to see; this is only his outward form; the inner man has
remained in Italy.'"
"Alas! that such should be the case, my duke, but it is so," sighed
Goethe. "The inner man has not yet quite returned; only after a painful
struggle will it be able to tear itself from the beautiful home of art
and poetry. But since I see you, my dear friend--since I behold your
brave, handsome countenance, I feel that my wounds are healing--that I
am coming home! They are healing under your loving glances, and I begin
to rejoice in my return, and to consider what I did only from a sense
of duty as a real pleasure."
"Then you did not return gladly, Wolf? It was reason, and not your
heart, that prompted you to return!"
"It was reason only, my duke--the conviction that it was necessary
for my well-being. Do not be angry with me for saying so, but in this
hour my heart must be laid bare to my friend, and he must see and read
its every quivering fibre. No, my duke, my heart did not prompt me to
return. I returned only because I recognized the necessity of so doing,
if I hoped to accomplish any thing great and beautiful. I was compelled
to flee from Italy, the siren in whose toils I lay bound, and by whom
my being was about to be divided, making of the poet that I really
am, or at least can become, a talent-monster, who acquires a certain
artistic ability in many things, without attaining to perfection in
any one of them. Had I remained in Italy, I would perhaps at last have
been able to paint a tolerably good aquarelle picture, and to make a
passably good statue according to all the rules of art, and might also
have manufactured dramas and poems in my hours of leisure; but I would
have knocked in vain at the temple-gates of each individual art. Not
one of them would have been thrown open to permit me to enter, as the
elect, the chosen! At the door of each temple I would have been turned
away, and advised to apply for my reward at the abode of another art,
and thus I would be considered a worthy applicant nowhere! He who
desires to accomplish something great and complete, must bend all the
energies of his soul to the accomplishment of one end. He must not
diffuse his talents, but must concentrate them in the attainment of one
object. He must strive upward; in the spirit he must see before him a
summit to which he is determined to climb, removing all obstacles that
may retard his progress. This conviction forces itself upon me, and I
also became convinced that I possessed only one talent--that is, but
one great talent--that could carry me to the summit, and this talent
is my talent of poetry. All others are but secondary; and when I take
this view of myself, I am reminded of the magnificent marble group in
Rome, 'the Nile, with its Tributaries.' There lies the godlike form in
its manliness, strength, grandeur, and sublimity. On his sinewy arms,
mighty shoulders, and muscular legs, a number of beautiful little
boys are gracefully dancing, reclining, and playing with his limbs.
These are the tributaries of the god Nile, who lies there in sublime
composure. He would still be a god although he were entirely alone. We
would still admire him and rejoice in his beauty, although he were not
surrounded by these graceful, boyish forms. But they would be nothing
without him, would not be able to stand alone, and would be passed
by as unworthy of attention, if they were not reposing on the grand
central form. Thus it is with all my other talents and capacities:
they are only the little boys of the statue, and with me the poet is
the main figure. Yes, your highness, thus it is with me. My poetic
talent is my Nile, and my other little talents are the tributaries that
flow into my being to strengthen me, to make the waves of poetry surge
higher, and fill the air with music that shall resound throughout the
world, and find an echo in heaven and in hell!"
"Oh, Wolf!" cried the duke, now that Goethe had paused for a moment,
"how happy I am to have you once more in our midst! It is as though the
sun had returned, and I had just stepped out of a dark cellar into the
fresh, free air, and were walking hand in hand with a friend toward a
glittering temple that had been closed to me during his absence. Wolf,
I was becoming a very prosaic and stupid fellow, and had almost begun
to consider the dark cellar in which I was sojourning an agreeable
dwelling. I thank God that you have come to relieve me from this curse!
Speak on, my friend; your words are as sweet music that I have not
heard for a long time."
"I must speak on, my duke; I must unburden my heart completely, for
who knows whether it will often open itself again, and lay aside
the covering in which I enveloped the poor thing when I took leave
of bright, sunny Italy? But I must admit that, since I crossed the
borders of Germany, I have been twenty times on the point of retracing
my footsteps, in defiance of reason and conviction--on the point of
giving up every thing, and deciding rather to live in Italy as a happy,
worthless dilettante, than to dwell in Germany as a high official and
celebrated poet. I am angry with myself, but I must nevertheless make
the admission. I feel that I have been disenchanted since my return
to Germany: I now view, with sobered sight, many things that memory
painted in glowing colors, and the result is that I am by no means
pleased. I long to return to Italy; and yet, in my inmost soul, I
feel that I must remain here, in order to become that for which Fate
has destined me. I feel like crying, as a bad boy over his broken
playthings, and I could box my own ears for entertaining such a desire.
I now conjure you, my duke and friend, stand at my side and help me to
allay the fury of the storm that is raging in my inmost being. See,
what an infamous irony this is on my being! I have happily passed the
stormy period of my poetic labors, and have freed myself from the
bombast of sentimentality. I despise all this from the bottom of my
heart, and am at times so angry with myself about that sentimental
fellow, 'Werther,' that I would gladly disown him. Now a new storm is
raging within me in its former fury, and my heart longs for Italy as
for a lost paradise. So help me, duke; help me to become a sensible man
once more!" Goethe stamped furiously on the floor as he uttered these
words, and his eyes sparkled with anger.
"Now you look like the Thunderer, like Jupiter," said the duke,
regarding him lovingly. "You have returned handsomer and sublimer than
when you departed, and I can readily comprehend that all the goddesses
and nymphs of Italy have endeavored to retain in their happy land the
heavenly being in whom the sublimity of Jove and the beauty of Apollo
are united."
"Duke!" cried Goethe, furiously, "I conjure you, speak seriously! Do
not annihilate me with your ridicule!"
"Well, then, we will be serious," said Charles August, tenderly. "Come
here, Wolf, and seat yourself at my side on this little sofa, where we
have so often sat together in brotherly love. Thus it shall be to-day
again. I see, to my joy, Wolf, that you are unchanged, and your quick
temper and fierce anger against yourself are therefore refreshing to
your old friend. Now let us see what can be done; but this I tell you
in advance--you must overcome your longing to return to Italy, you must
remain here, for only in tranquillity and peace can you attain the
high ends of your existence, and climb to the summit of which you were
speaking. Of this you were convinced yourself, and on this account you
left Italy and returned home. Therefore be true to yourself, you dear,
great fellow, and journey on toward your high aim with undaunted heart
and steadfast gaze! Accomplish your sublime mission as poet, and I will
endeavor to procure you the leisure and honorable retirement essential
to your poetic labors."
"My duke and master, you are indeed my savior!" cried Goethe; "you
have spoken what I scarcely dared utter! Yes, that is it! Leisure and
retirement I must have. My official sprang wholly from my personal
relations to your highness. Let our old ones be modified--let a new
relation hereafter exist between us. Let me fill the whole measure of
my existence at your side, so that my strength may be concentrated and
made available, like a newly-opened, collected, and purified spring
situated on an eminence, from which your will can readily cause its
waters to flow in any direction! Continue to care for me as you have
heretofore done; thus you will do more for me than I could accomplish
for myself, more than I can desire or demand. Yes, I hope that I will
become more to you than I have hitherto been, if you will only command
me to do that which no one can do but myself, and commission others
to do the rest. I can only say: 'Master, here am I, do with me as you
will.'"[44]
"Let me first tell you, Wolf, what it is that no one but yourself
can do: gladden my heart, elevate my mind, and restore sunshine to
our little city. During your absence I have made a fearful discovery
concerning myself; I am fast becoming an 'old fogy,' and if new life
and activity are not infused into my sluggish spirit, I greatly fear
that my case will soon be hopeless. As it is, I resemble the stagnant
waters of a ditch. In its depths swims many a fine fish and blossoms
many a fair flower, but the concealing duck-weed covers its surface and
hides the treasures that lie below. You and you alone can brighten the
mirror of my soul. And if you but now called yourself my servant, I can
reverse your poetic phrase, and say to you: 'Servant, here am I--do
with your master as you will.'"
"See, my duke, you make me blush for shame. You alone are master, and
you only can do as you will."
"Then let me tell you what my will is, Wolf, and I will be brief, for
I observe that the quarter of an hour to which you proposed to limit
your outpouring of the heart is almost at an end, and the worthy
face of my cabinet president and privy-councillor is already peering
forth from behind the godlike countenance of the poet. I wish you to
retain the rank and dignities with which you were invested when you
left for Italy. You are herewith relieved of the duty of presiding
in my cabinet and in the war office. You, however, still retain the
right to attend the various meetings, if you should find time to do
so, and whenever you appear you will seat yourself in the chair set
apart for me. I will see that instructions to this effect are issued.
On the other hand, you will retain the superintendence of the mining
commission, and all other institutions of science and art which you
now hold. Your chief occupation will, however, be to stand at my side
as friend and councillor, and to tell me the plain, unvarnished truth
at all times. These are your duties, and you will now perceive that I
have known how to read your soul, although we were widely separated,
and that I have endeavored to make your future honorable, and not too
burdensome. And, that you may not suppose, Wolf, that these are only
fine phrases and that these thoughts first occurred to me in your
presence to-day, I have brought you the written order addressed to the
bureau of my cabinet, and the letter in which I acquainted you with all
these matters, and which I was about to forward to you in Rome when the
letter came announcing your departure from that city."
"As if my dear, my noble duke ever needed witnesses to confirm his
statements," cried Goethe, as he gently refused to receive the papers
which the duke held in his extended hand.
"Ah, I perceive the cabinet president is himself once more," cried
the duke, laughing. "I must now retire to my ducal palace. Others
will, I have no doubt, think I have played the barbarian and tyrant by
remaining with you so long, and thereby robbing them of the time to
which they imagine they have a fairer title."
"Duke, I know of no one who has a higher and better title to my time
and person than yourself, my dear patron and friend."
"Wolf, it is well that I alone have heard these words," cried Charles
August, gayly; "I believe there is a woman in whose ears they would
have had a discordant sound. The responsibility must not rest on me, if
a difficulty should arise on your first meeting. Therefore I am going,
Wolf, although I am very curious to hear of your promised land and of
your discoveries and purchases, but for this I will have to wait till
the afternoon. You will, of course, dine with me to-day, Wolf, and
dispense a little of the incense of your eloquence on the altar of my
household gods. Farewell till we meet again, my returned wanderer! I
must, however, request you not to come as the privy-councillor, but as
the poet. You may show your official mask and the star on your breast
to the court, but appear before me with your Apollo countenance and the
stars of your eyes."
"My dear duke," said Goethe, affectionately, "your presence has cheered
and strengthened me; I feel as though I had been bathing in nectar, and
had been refreshed with ambrosia. When I am with you, nothing will be
wanting to my joy and happiness. You must, however, not be angry, my
dear duke, if I should sometimes appear grave and stiller than usual
in the presence of others, and you will then know that it is only the
longing after the distant land of the gods that is tormenting me."
"I will know how to account for it, Wolf, and will respect your
longing; I very much doubt, however, whether others will be equally
considerate--I doubt whether one person of whom I am thinking will be
particularly pleased with such conduct on your part. Have you seen her
already, Wolf?"
"Whom does your highness mean?" asked Goethe, with a perfectly innocent
expression of countenance.
The duke laughed. "Oh, Wolf, Wolf, I hope you have not exchanged names,
as Hector and Patroclus exchanged armor, and become Von Stein.[45] I
hope you return to your old love, faithful and true. Ah, there I have
made a pun without intending it. Excuse me, I entertained no evil
design, but now that I have said it I will repeat it. You return to
your old love, faithful and true. Remain here, you must not accompany
me; I came _sans cérémonie_, and I will take my departure in like
manner. It is understood that we dine together to-day. Adieu!"
A cloud gathered on Goethe's brow as the duke left the room. "My old
love!" said he to himself, in low tones. "I wish he had not spoken that
word; it sounds so ridiculous!"