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The LIFE OF GOETHE
By
Jtlbert Bielschoivsky, Ph.D.
XKree volumea* 6-vo, Illustrated
1. From Birth to the Return from Italy,
1749-1788
2. From the Italian Journey to the Wars of
Liberation, 1788-1815
3. From the Congress of Vienna to the Poet's
Death, 1815-1832
G.P. Putnam's Sons
New York London
THE
LIFE OF GOETHE
BY
ALBERT BIELSCHOWSKY, Ph.D.
AUTHORISED TRANSLATION FROM THE GERMAN
- BY
WILLIAM A. COOPER, A.M.
ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF GERMAN^ STANFORD UNIVERSITY
THREE VOLUMES
VOLUME III -
1815-1832
FROM THE CONGRESS OF VIENNA
TO THE POET'S DEATH
ILLUSTRATED
G. p. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
Zbc IRnicftcrbocfter ipress
1908
ID rT"
^.11HU3
Copyright, igo8
BY
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
ICbe Itniclierbocfier iPcesc, mew Kork
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
IN the preface to the first volume I promised to insert here a
statement of what was added to Bielschowsky's un-
finished manuscript to make his biography of Goethe'
complete. Long before it became probable that he might
not be spared to complete his great task he had cherished the
wish that a special discussion of Goethe as a scientist might
be contributed by some one especially well versed in that
phase of the poet's activity. This wish is fulfilled in the
chapter entitled "The Naturalist" (iii., 81-134), which was
written by Professor S. Kalischer of Berlin. Professor Max
Friedlander of Berlin adcfed the note bearing the heading
"Goethe's Poems Set to Music" (pp. 374-376). The most
extensive additions were made by Professor Theobald
Ziegler of Strasburg, who finished the chapter on Faust
(beginning in the middle of p. 271) and wrote the concluding
chapter (pp. 359-369), beside inserting an account of
Goethe's attitude toward romanticism (pp. 143-149), and
his relation to the philosophers Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel
(ii., 1 79-181). The notes signed "Z" are also by him.
Professors Imelmann and Roethe of Berlin revised Biel-
schowsky's manuscript from the point of view of style,
and Dr. Franz Leppmann of Berlin lent the German publisher
other assistance in bringing out the finished work.
In the preparation of the index of the translation it has
seemed best to work independently of that of the original.
I have included among the topics the various subjects in
which Goethe was interested and the first line of each pas-
sage of German verse cited in the text, except extracts
from a work under consideration. In case the source of the
iv translator'© ipreface
quotation is not given in the context I have indicated it in
the index.
In verifying references, so far as the books were accessible
to me, I found it necessary to correct a number of misprinted
names, dates, titles, and editions. A few errors of the
kind that escaped me at first, together with some misprints
which were not corrected in the first two volumes of the
translation, may be found in a list of errata at the end of
this volume.
I wish to acknowledge here my indebtedness and grati-
tude to Professor B. O. Foster for his valuable criticism
of the manuscript of the second and third volumes and for
his help in reading the proof ; also to Professor G. J. Peirce
for helpful suggestions on certain portions of the two volumes.
To know Goethe well is an education in itself. An
intimate acquaintance with his inner life and his conception
of the mission of the poet in the world cannot fail to broaden
and deepen the spiritual life of the serious-minded man of
to-day. This biography, with its rare insight into the poet's
true nature, is accordingly sent forth in its new form with
the hope that it may bear to an otherwise inaccessible public
its story of a great genius devoted to the higher ideals of
human culture.
W. A. C.
Stanford University.
CONTENTS
I. — Marianne von Willemer .... i
Goethe's mental flight to the Orient — Hafiz's Divan and
Goethe's West-ostlicher Divan — Journey to the Rhine —
Sankt Rochus-Fest zu Bingeh — Goethe designs a painting
for the altar of the restored chapel — Guest of the Bren-
tanos on the Rhine — And of the Schlossers in Frank-
fort — Sulpiz Boisser^e interests him in old Dutch paint-
ing and in the movement for the completion of the
Cologne cathedral — Goethe his guest in Heidelberg —
Return to Frankfort — The Willemers — Goethe and
Marianne, Hatem and Suleika — Goethe returns to the
Rhine the following sflmmer — Guest of Minister vom
Stein — ^They journey together to Cologne — Goethe the
guest of the Willemers at the Gerbermuhle — Love be-
tween the poet and Marianne — Their poetical epistles —
Later meeting in Heidelberg — Memories of Lili and
Friederike — Goethe's sudden departure for home —
Death of Christiane — A return to the Rhine prevented
by an accident — Marianne's poems incorporated in
West-ostlicher Divan.
TI. — ^The Lyric Poet ...... 30
Goethe the inspired poet — ^The mystery of his power —
His talent an irresistible natural force — Spinozistic ex-
planation of the poet's twofold nature — Goethe's object
in writing poetry — His poetic vision and creation — His
normality and superiority — Comparison with Heine —
Goethe's poems are like painted window-panes — ^The
genetic method of interpreting them — Harzreise im Win-
ter — Various ways in which poems originated — Trans-
formations through which they passed — An den Mond
and Der Fischer — Goethe's reasons for making altera-
tions — His advance beyond his predecessors — Influence
of Herder and folk-poetry — Subject matter of his poems
true and genuine — They reflect typical truth — Their
deep significance and symbolism — Wonne der Wehmut —
vi Contents
CHAPTER PACa
Social songs — Ballads — Subjects from religious history —
Die Braut von Korinth — Die erste Walpurgisnackt — Pa-
ria — Der Gott und die Bajadere — Hochzeitlied — Ballade
vom vertriehenen und zurUckkehrenden Graf en — Symbolic
meaning of these ballads — Der getreue Eckart — Erlkonig
— Der Konig in ThuU — Inwardness in Goethe's ballads —
His own experiences embodied in them — Goethe's em-
ployment of contrast in his poems — His resolution of
apparent discords into harmonies — His serenity — His
mastery of the art of representation — Objectivity —
Inclination to symbolism — ^Vivid word-pictures, espe-
cially of nature and human beings — Auf dem See — Music
in his verse and prose, even letters — Sources of his word-
music — ^Verse forms which he employed — ^Tones lacking
in his lyre — Place of Goethe's poetry in the spiritual life
of Germany.
III. — The Naturalist ...... 8i
Harmony between Goethe's science and his art — His
natural inclination toward science — Anatomy and oste-
ology — Spinoza's influence on Goethe — Consistency of
nature — Discovery of the intermaxillary in man — ^The
discovery rejected by most of the leading anatomists of
the day — Not fully recognised till forty years later —
Botany — Discovery of the metamorphosis of plants —
Its significance — Long denied recognition — Idea of evo-
lution contained in it — The genetic method — Mastery
of art by study of nature — Beauty the manifestation of
secret laws of nature — Goethe's rejection of teleology —
Discovery of the new science of morphology — The orig-
inal t3rpe — Goethe and Linn^ — Theory of descent — Fun-
damental principle of continuity — Struggle for existence
— Formative impulse — Mutual influence of parts — Ver-
tebral theory of the skull — Geology — Paleontology —
The ice age — Meteorology — Meteorological stations —
Theory of colours — ^The law of visual processes — Ab-
klingen — ^Translucent media — Goethe's rejection of New-
ton's theory — Antagonistic colours — Fundamental law
of colour harmony — Polarity — Goethe's history of the
theory of colours — His scientific lectures — Museums of
science — Goethe's influence on later scientists — His
method — His study of nature and his religion — The
poet and the investigator.
IV, — ^After the Wars of Liberation . . . 135
Weimar becomes a grand duchy — Goethe's position in
the new ministry — Karl August grants a constitution —
Goethe's attitude toward it — His displeasure with free-
dom of the press — The Wartburg celebration and its
Contents vii
CHAPTEB PAGE
consequences — Murder of Kotzebue agitates Germany —
Goethe's attitude toward the reaction — He objects to
romanticism in the tercentenary of the reformation — His
relation to the older romanticists — To the younger gen-
eration — Bettina Brentano — Romanticism in Goethe's
writings — Contrasts between his theory of art and that
of the new school — His pronounced Protestantism —
His self-liberation as compared with political freedom —
His resignation as theatre director in reality a dismissal
— Causes leading up to it — Effect on him — His seventieth
birthday — Interview with Metternich — Sojourn at Ma-
rienbad — The Levetzows — Goethe's relation to Ulrike —
His desire to marry her — His misunderstanding of her
veiled refusal — Conditions in his home since August's
marriage — The Marienbad Elegie — August's reception
of the news of his father's matrimonial project — Goethe
wavers between resignation and hope, but finally resigns
himself — Ulrike's further history.
V. — From 1824 TO 1830. ..... 162
Goethe's house his monastery — Description of it — His
way of working — His assistants — Eckermann and his
Gesprache mit Goethe — Great stream of visitors at Goe-
the's home — Distinguished guests — Goethe a grand-
father — His youthfulness, in spite of his years — ^Typ-
ical extracts from his conversations — His humour — His
angry moods — NoveUe — Biographical writings — New
complete edition of his works — His many-sided inter-
ests — His thirst for knowledge — His attitude toward
new literary tendencies — His reading of newspapers and
periodicals — His habit of viewing things in their broad,
general relations — His recognition of his own place in
history — His striving after goodness and purity — His
spiritual transformation — ^The springtime of his soul —
His humility — His power over his contemporaries due
to his great humanity — ^The jubilees of Karl August's
coming to the throne and Goethe's arrival in Weimar —
Death of Karl August — Goethe's sojourn at the Castle
of Domburg — Dem aufgehenden Vollmonde — Zwischen
heiden Welten — Death of Frau von Stein — Death of
Grand Duchess Luise — Death of Goethe's son August —
The poet's power of recuperation.
VI. — ^WlLHELM MeISTERS WaNDERJAHRE . . . 1891
Die Lehrjahre implies a sequel — Composition of the new
novel — General plan — Die Wahlverwandtschaften — Pub-
lication of "First Part" — The novel gains by holding
back of "Second Part" — New sociological theories —
The work finally published — Additions to second and
viii Contents
CHAPTER
third volumes eliminated, in later editions — The novel
an aggregation — Carelessness in redaction — Work and
resignation the fundamental ideas — Wilhelm com-
manded to travel — His instructions — Aimless wander-
ings — Visit with a handicraftsman — Sankt Joseph der
Zweite — The handicraftsman a symbol of the working
world — Reasons for this choice — Wilhelm visits Jamo —
His inclination to become a surgeon — ^The age of special-
ties — ^The giant's cave — Visit to the uncle — The uncle's
work — Contrast with the uncle of Die Lehrjahre — Die piU
gernde Torin — Wer ist der Verrater? — ^Visit to Makarie —
Contrast with the Beautiful Soul — Wilhelm's introduc-
tion to astronomy — The starry heavens and the moral
law — Das nussbraune Mddchen — Felix in the pedagogical
province — Der Mann von funfzig Jahren — Wilhelm finds
Nachodine — Visit to Mignon's old home — Journey to
Lago Maggiore — Lenardo — Wilhelm studies surgery —
Tour of the " pedagogical province" — The social com-
munity and the democratic community — ^The " Bond " —
Economic revolution foreshadowed — Nachodine and
Lenardo — Work of the " Bond" — Die neue Melusine —
Goethe and emigration — Odoard's colonisation scheme
— ^The " Bond" divided — Purification of Philine and
Lydie — Felix's suit for Hersilie — Rejected, he rides into
a river, but is rescued by his father — Natalie and Frau
von Stein — The emigrants in the New World — Their
government — Valuation of time — World piety — Need of
new men — New educational theories — Goethe's system,
as seen in the "pedagogical province" — Subjects and
methods — Prominence of music — Reverence for the di-
vine in one's self — Three picture galleries — Three styles
of greeting — Impression of the novel as a whole — The
gospel of labour — The educated class of the day — Goe-
the's plea for less theory and more practice — General
lack of interest in public affairs — ^The brotherhood of
man — World piety.
VII. — Faust 247
Faust Goethe's life-work — The theme — Unconscious
work on the drama — Seeking after God — The puppet
play of Doktor Faust — Correspondences between its mo-
tives and Goethe's experiences — Beginning of conscious
work on the drama — Scenes probably written first and
probable order in which they were written — Goethe's
willingness to read portions of the work to friends — ^The
Urfaust — Further work on the drama — ^The Fragment
(Tontents ix
CHAPTER FAGB
of 1 790 — Comparison between it and the Urfaust —
Composition again resumed at Schiller's urging — Com-
pleted First Part published in 1808 — Influence of By-
ron's death on composition of Second Part — The Helena
published in 1827 — Further work lightened by enthusi-
asm over idea of completing Second Part — Fragment of
the first act pubUshed in 1828 — ^The drama finished July
22, 1831, but not published till after the poet's death —
The historical Faust — ^The first Faust book — Marlowe's
Faustus — Faust motives in the sixteenth century — Sim-
ilar motives in the period of Goethe's youth — Analysis
and criticism of the Fragment of 1 790 : Faust's first mono-
logue, the macrocosm, the Earth-Spirit, conversation
with Wagner, Mephistopheles, his relation to the Earth-
Spirit, the humorous devil and his function in the
drama, Mephistopheles and the Student, "Auerbach's
Cellar," " Witches' Kitchen," first scenes of the Gretchen
tragedy, Faust's confession of faith, the closing scene in
the cathedral — ^The Gretchen tragedy not finished in the
Fragment — Anal3^is and criticism of what the complete
edition of 1808 contained more than the Fragment: the
close of the Gretchen tragedy, Valentine, " Walpurgis
Night," " Walpurgis ■ Night's Dream," " Dismal Day,"
" Night — Open Field," "Prison," end of the First Part,
Goethe's change of style, Faust now a symbolical char-
acter, distinction between the symbolical and the alle-
gorical, the philosophical element in Faust and the
difiaculty it gave Goethe, " Prelude on the Stage," " Pro-
logue in Heaven," the mystery of evil in the world, the
wager between the Lord and the devil, the problem of
Faust's salvation, Faust's second monologue, Easter
chimes, youthful remembrances, " Before the City Gate,"
Faust's third monologue, the exorcism of Mephistophe-
les, the devil goes away and then comes again, Faust's
curses, chorus of spirits, compact and wager between
Faust and Mephistopheles — From the little world to the
great — Difficulty of the transition for Goethe — Analysis
and criticism of the Second Part: Opening scene, the
Emperor's Court, the paper money scheme, the masquer-
ade, the "mothers," Helena conjured up, the second act,
Homunculus, the Baccalaureus, " Classical Walpurgis
Night," the Helena act, its significance, the fourth act,
the fifth act, Care, Faust learns self -limitation, the su-
preme moment, Faust's death, the contest over his soul
at the grave, he is saved, his ascension, unsatisfactori-
ness of the ending — Closing criticism of the Second Part
and the whole drama — Faust a universal human type —
What the drama may mean to us.
X Contents
CHAPTER PAGB
VIII. — Last Days , 359
Goethe warned by illness to set his house in order — ^The
last works he finished — Interests and occupations of his
last days — ^His last distinguished guests — ^His last birth-
day — ^Visit to Ilmenau — Wanderers NachtUed — Goethe
sets his house in order — His religion — Last illness and
death — ^The funeral — Goethe's significance to Germany
and the whole world.
Notes . ........ 373
Index 387
ILLUSTRATIONS
PASS
Goethe, Aetat. 79 . . . . Frontispiece
(From Life and Times of Goschen, by permission of John Murray)
Marianne 8
(From KOimecke's Bilderatlas)
Goethe by Kolbe 94
(From Heinemann's Goethe)
The Goethe Montunent at Rome .... 320
(Designed by Gustav Eberlein)
The Life of Goethe
MARIANNE VON WILLEMER
Goethe's mental flight to the Orient — Hafiz's Divan and Goethe's West-
ostlicher Divan — Journey to the Rhine — Sankt Rochus-Fest zu
Bingen — Goethe designs a painting for the altar of the restored
chapel — Guest of the Brentanos on the Rhine — And of the Schlos-
sers in Frankfort — Sulpiz Boisser^e interests him in old Dutch
painting and in the movement for the completion of the Cologne
cathedral — Goethe his guesi; in Heidelberg — Return to Frank-
fort — The Willemers — Goethe and Marianne, Hatem and Suleika
— Goethe returns to the Rhine the following summer — Guest of
Minister vom Stein — They journey together to Cologne — Goethe
the guest of the Willemers at the Gerbermuhle — Love between
the poet and Marianne — Their poetical epistles — Later meeting in
Heidelberg — Memories of Lili and Friederike — Goethe's sudden
departure for home — Death of Christiane — A return to the Rhine
prevented by an accident — Marianne's poems incorporated in
West-ostlicher Divan.
DURING the storms of war Goethe had more and
more withdrawn, in spirit, from the European
world and taken refuge in the original abode of
man in Asia, in order in those far-off regions to restore
that serene harmony of his being which had been disturbed
by the discordant notes of the restless age. It was only
natural that the trend of events should turn the eyes of
all to the Orient. As in the days of the crusades, the
West, under the banner of Napoleon, had invaded the East,
and the Syrian highlands were drenched with Occidental
2 ^be OLife of (5oetbe
blood. And again almost all the Western nations advanced
united, if not directly on Asia, at least on a city which lay
close to its portals, the ancient capital Moscow. Then, as
after the crusades, though much more quickly, great floods
of Orientals came sweeping over Western Europe. Mo-
hammedan troopers watered their steeds in the Seine,
and a Mohammedan religious service was held in the Weimar
Gymnasium. This close touch of Orient and Occident,
which the war had brought about, was paralleled by peace-
ful developments. A general spiritual drift toward the
East had made itself felt. Scientific striving after knowledge
was accompanied by a fantastic longing for the sensuous
charms of the Orient and for a long, peaceful dream in
its spiritual atmosphere, in which poetry, philosophy, re-
ligion, and life were inseparably intermingled.
Goethe participated in this general movement, though
in a different sense, and for a different inmiediate reason,
than that which actuated most people. Such a course of
investigation had long been one of the recognised necessities
of his education. Of the European countries and their
intellectual life he had formed clear conceptions; Asia,
with the exception of the small comer into which the
Bible had given him an insight, had been wholly, or at
least half, veiled from his view. And yet there was so much
in religion and history, in art and poetry, that pointed
to those remarkable regions, which had early risen to a
high state of civilisation and then sunk into a silent lethargy.
Goethe undertook the investigation on a comprehensive
scale. He carried his studies eastward to the shores of the
Pacific Ocean, in order to get a fuU grasp of the pectoliarities
of the neighbouring continent. China and India could not
hold his attention ; China was too barren, India too monstrous
a jumble. Persia, on the other hand, tempted, him to
linger. He became acquainted with, the culture of this
country through its most congenial representative, Hafiz,
the celebrated poet of the fourteenth century. Hammer's
translation of Hafiz's collection of songs, the Divan, had
appeared in 1812 and 1813, and Goethe needed but to read
flDarianne Don TKHUIemer 3
the introduction to this work to be most strongly attracted
by the life and writings of his Oriental brother. The
bard of Shiraz seemed the very image of himself. Had he
himself, perchance, lived once before upon the earth in
the form of the Persian? Here was the same joy of earth-
and love of heaven, the same simplicity and depth, truth-
fulness and straightforwardness, warmth and passionate-
ness, and, finally, the same openness of heart toward every
thing human and the same receptive mind, free from
institutional limitations. Did not the same thing apply to
him that the Persians said of their poet, when they called him
"the mystic tongue." and "the interpreter of mysteries," *
and when they said of his poems that to outward appearance
they were simple and unadorned, but that they had a deep,
truth-fathoming significance and highest perfection of form?
And had not Hafiz, like him, enjoyed the favour of
the humble and the great? Had he not also conquered a
conqueror, the mighty Timur? And had he not out of
the destruction and ruin saved his own serenity, and con-
tinued to sing peacefully as Before under the old accustomed
conditions?
Thus Goethe found in Hafiz a beloved brother of a
former age, and, gladly treading in the footsteps of his
Oriental kinsman, produced, to compete with the Eastern
Divan, one in the West, which had to be styled West-Eastern,
as the Western poet blended the ideas and forms of the
East with those of the West, and boldly assumed the
mask of the Persian singer without sacrificing an iota of
his own pronounced personality. Behind this inwardly as-
sumed mask Goethe joiimeyed in July, 1814, to the re-
gions of the Rhine and the Main. The first laconic word
in the journal of his travels is " Hafiz."
For many years he had longed to see again the beloved
region of his native country, with its greater wealth of pro-
ducts and its more gaily coloured dress. But physicians
and politics had always compelled him eastward. Now
* Goethe applies these names to himself in Offenhar Geheimnis (W.,
vi., 41).
4 tTbe life of (Soctbe
that benign peace reigned over Europe and Germany he
could no longer be restrained. He persuaded his physicians
to send him to Wiesbaden and, on the 25th of July, set
out for the Rhine.
It gave him infinite pleasure; he was as happy as on the
day when he first set out for the classic scenes of Italy.
His divining spirit anticipated new life and new love, and as
a corroboration of his anticipations he saw through the fog,
as he drove out from Weimar, the heavens spanned with
a rainbow. " It is white, to be sure, but still it is a rainbow."
@o foUft bit, mimtrer ®rei§,
®i(| nic^t betruben,
@inb glci^ bie $aare wei^,
®odE) wirft bu lieben.*
He did not have as many white hairs as his rhjrme would
lead us to believe ; they had hardly begun to appear among-
the brown, with which his head was still thickly crowned.
The poet continued his journey, passing through Erfurt,
where his old acquaintances the shop-women nodded him
friendly greetings — "and I still seemed, after many years,
to be well received and well liked." On the following day
he gazed up at the Wartburg and the forests which envelop
it. Memories of the days when he had here spent his rage
as he followed the chase, the days when he had experi-
enced the joys and the sorrows of love, arose again within his
breast :
Unb ba buftet'g roie cor alters,
®a wir no(i^ Don JJiebe litten,
Unb bie (Saiten nteineg ^jjfalterS
9)?it bent SDforgenftra^l fid^ [tritten;
9Bo has Sagblieb au§ ben S3ufd^cn
giiHe runben SEonS entljau^te,
* On thee the years sit light,
Let hope elate thee;
E'en though thy hair be white.
Love's joys await thee.
flDarlanne von iKfllllenicr 5
Slnjufciierti, gii crfrifcfien,
aSic'g ber ©ufeii luoUt' imb brnurf)te.*
In Hunfeld he mingled with the visitors at the fair,
and as he had become young again, and it seemed to him
as though he were once more Lavater's disciple, he revived
his physiognomic skill and examined the faces of soldiers
and maids, civilians and peasants, after the fashion humior-
ously described in his Jahrmarkt zu Hunfeld. The restora-
tion of his youthful powers is shown in the way in which
every little event shaped itself in his mind into a poem.
On the fourth day of his journey he arrived in his native
city, from which for seventeen years he had been separated
by apparently insuperable hindrances. Recently, while
engaged in writing the history of his youth, he had felt
in his heart a great yearning to visit once more the scenes
of those early years. Hence he announced his entry
into the city in words almost as solemn as he had used of
his first arrival in Venice. f "And so I drove into Frank-
fort, Friday evening, the 2*th," is the opening sentence
of his Frankfort letter to his wife. For the present, how-
ever, he remained only a short time. He wished first to
take the cure at Wiesbaden and then to look about leisurely
in his old home surroundings. So he continued his journey
on the second day.
How happy he was to view again this beautiful, more
southern landscape, with its " highly favoured fields, with
its meadows reflected in the river, with its vine-clad hills
in the distance"! Even the dust of the fatherland, as a
sign of the south, made him as happy as it had on the way
from Bozen to Trent.
* Then 't is fragrant as the pleasures
And the woes of love long gone,
When my lyre's soft-swelling measures
Vied with brightly beaming dawn;
When the huntsman's merry singing,
Echoing through copse and mead.
Soul-refreshing, spirit-bringing,
Filled our heart's desire and need,
t Vol. i., p. 373.
6 ^be Xlfe of (Boetbe
©taub, ben ^ab' \i) langft entbel^rct
3n bent ftet§ um^uUten Storben,
Slbcr in bem l^ei^en ©iiben
3ft er mir genugfam roorben.*
A rain-storm approaches, and "the wind-tossed dust is
driven by the rain-drops to the earth" —
Unb fogleid^ entfpringt cin Seben,
©d^roiHt cin fieilig ^eimlid^ SBirfen,
Unb e§ grunett unb eg griinet
3n ben irbifd^en SBejirfen.f
Under these good omens Goethe arrived in Wiesbaden.
He met there his noble friend Zelter and spent with him
and Councillor of Mines Cramer, an able mineralogist and
an agreeable companion, five beautiful weeks. Numerous
excursions to the Rhine, whose majestic waters and beautiful,
fertile banks never lost their charm for him, afforded
a most welcome variety in the midst of the monotonous
cure at the baths. One such excursion was to St. Rochus's
chapel above Bingen. The injuries which the chapel
had suffered during the war had been repaired and the
sacred edifice was now rededicated. As the dedicatory
service assumed somewhat the nature of a peace-celebration,
in which, after a long period of sorrowful separation, the
dwellers on the right bank of the Rhine were once more able
to unite joyously with those on the left shore, many thou-
sands of people poured in from all sides. The unfolding of
the spectacle on a most perfect day and in a most glorious
setting gave Goethe great joy, and the pious naiveU of
the countrymen, no less than the history of the chapel and
its saint, aroused his interest so deeply that he began at
* Dust I long have been deprived of
In the northern cloud- veiled clime,
But this sunny southern region
Hath the dearth supplied betime.
t Straightway then new life upspringeth,
Swelled by sacred powers unseen,
And the buds and blooms of springtime
Fill the earth with grateful sheen.
flDarlanne von Mlllemer 7
once an enthusiastic description of the celebration, which
he greatly enriched by historical observations, as well as
by comments on the people and their physical environment.
After his return home he also designed an altar picture,
which was executed by Heinrich Meyer and Luise Seidler
and in 1816 was presented to the chapel.
The r61e of a painter of pictures of saints was a tone
that had hitherto been lacking in Goethe's register. But even
here he remained true to his nature, painting neither the
agonies of martyrdom nor the raptures of a saint, neither
an emaciated body nor a corpse. He portrayed, rather,
a pleasing, sympathetic scene, in which a handsome youth
(St. Rochus) with amiable, gentle features leaves the
palace of his fathers as a joyous pilgrim, who takes cordial
delight in distributing his gold and valuables among the
children.
On the ist of September Goethe accepted an invitation
from the Brentanos to visit them at their country-seat in
Winkel on the Rhine. He had known the husband. Franz
Brentano, from childhood, he being one of the five mother-
less little ones of whom Maximiliane [La Roche] assumed
charge upon her marriage with their father, Peter Brentano.
At the death of his father, Franz became the owner of the
business establishment and the head of the great family.
He was an excellent man and enjoyed Goethe's highest es-
teem. His wife, Antonie, the daughter of the Austrian
statesman and art-collector von Birkenstock, was amiable
and liberally educated and had made Goethe's acquaintance
in Karlsbad in 18 12. Goethe spent eight glorious days
at their country-seat and while there visited again every
nook and comer of the Rheingau. In memory of the
visit Frau Brentano wrote in his album, in imitation of a
Klopstockian stanza: "Here Nature paused, with lingering
tread, and from a lavish hand poured abounding life over
hill and dale — ^here you, too, were pleased to linger eight
beautiful days, and the sunshine of your presence seemed to
me the perfection of grace."
Returning to Wiesbaden for a 'few days Goethe left
8 Zl)c Xlfe of (5oetbe
on the 1 2th of September for Frankfort. On this occasion
he was able to observe that the prophet had begun to enjoy
some honour even in his own country. Die Oherpostamts-
zeitung took respectful notice of his arrival in the following
announcement: "His Excellency, the Ducal Saxe-Wei-
marian Privy Councillor Herr von Goethe, the greatest
and oldest living hero of our literature, arrived yesterday,
en route from Wiesbaden, in his native city, which had been
deprived of his enjoyable presence for twenty years."
In Frankfort Goethe enjoyed, as he had in Winkel, the
hospitality of the second generation. He was the guest
of Fritz Schlosser, the son of Hieronymus, and the nephew
of his brother-in-law Georg Schlosser. The elder generation
had passed away. The sons of Hieronymus, Fritz, and
Christian, were respected among the citizens of Frankfort
and had inherited their admiration for Goethe from their
parents. "From the days of our childhood," said Fritz
later, " Goethe's star had shone above us with unwavering
splendour." Fritz's wife, likewise a native of Frankfort,
now became well acquainted with Goethe for the first time,
and thereafter so fully shared the feeling of her husband
that, whenever strangers said anything against the poet
after his death, she was likely to end the dispute with an
abrupt "You did not know him."
Goethe was extremely happy in Schlosser's home, in
spite of the fact that a broad chasm yawned between him
and his hosts. The two brothers, deeply emotional natures,
having fallen in with the romantic tendency of the times,
worshipped the unity and beauty of the Middle Ages and
showed a preference for the Catholic Church. Christian
had already taken the full consequences of his attitude and
had returned to the bosom of the old Church ; Fritz and his
wife were just on the point of taking the same step. Their
sentiments could not remain a secret to Goethe, but how
could he, who recently, in his Dichtung und Wahrheit, had
ascribed so much good to the seven sacraments, and, in
his Wahlverwandtschaften, had with unmistakable personal
delight carried Catholic ornamentation and belief in miracles
cJ/. ^'M^^.
JL^ ^
Marianne
(From Konnecke's Bilderatlas)
fIDarianne von Mlllemer 9
into a Protestant church and region, and who had himself
promised an altar picture for St. Rochus's chapel, — ^how-
could he find fault with the Schlosser family for taking such
a step, when they did it out of the purest motives ? And
yet, little as he may have expected such a thing of this
family, living in Frankfort, a stronghold of Lutheranism,
he had long before known that pietism had there assumed
a form which led, almost inevitably, to Catholicism. Even
his dear Christian friend Fraulein von Klettenberg is hardly,
in his characterisation of her, to be distinguished from a
Catholic believer.
Goethe's Frankfort circle of Catholic and Catholicising
friends was further enlarged by the arrival of Sulpiz Bois-
ser6e. This young man from Cologne was no stranger to
him. He had made his acquaintance in 1811 in Weimar
and had found him very congenial. Sulpiz and his brother
Melchior had inherited a large commercial establishment.
They applied the means which came to them from this
source to a most worthy purpose. Through the current
of the age, which their faith supported, they were drawn
into that enthusiasm for the Middle Ages which with them
found expression in a most lively interest in mediaeval,
particularly Lower-Rhenish, architecture and painting.
Out of pure devotion Sulpiz, the better known of the two,
became absorbed in the ruins of the Cologne cathedral
and portrayed its beauty and grandeur in a series of careful
drawings as a contribution toward the propaganda of
Gothic art and the completion of the sublime structure.
He felt that the cause would be certain of a mighty advance-
ment if Goethe could be persuaded to take a kindly interest
in it. To be sure, this seemed impossible, in view of the
pronounced declaration of adherence to the principles of
antique art which Goethe had made to the world ten years
before, in his introduction to the Winckelmann letters. But
Sulpiz made the attempt. He sent Goethe a part of his
drawings and then went to visit him in person. Through
the fine, deep understanding with which he explained his
drawings he succeeded in curing the reluctant poet, who
lo Zl)C %itc of (Soetfte
at first growled like a wounded bear, of his aversion for
Gothic art, to such an extent that he admitted that this
art is an historically important phenomenon in which
one ought to take due interest. Along with the gain for
the cause he succeeded in winning the Olympian's interest
in his own personality through the genuine cordiality and
the modest independence of his bearing. The privy
councillor, at first stiff and reserved, dismissed him as a
friend with a hearty embrace, and soon afterward, when
he came to deal, in Dichtung und Wahrheit, with the Stras-
burg cathedral, he made cordial recognition of Boisseree's en-
deavours. Boisser6e had now no more ardent wish than
that Goethe should visit the gallery of old Lower-Rhenish,
and old Dutch masters, collected by himself, his brother,
and his friend Bertram, which they had taken with them
when they moved to Heidelberg in 1810.
This wish seemed at last near fulfilment and Sulpiz
came to Frankfort to escort the great patron to his and
his brother's home in Heidelberg. Goethe arrived there on
the 24th of September and was the guest of the Boisser^es.
for fourteen days. The afternoons and evenings were spent
in social intercourse with the many Heidelberg friends,
among others Voss, Paulus, Thibaut, and Frau von Hum-
boldt. The mornings were given up entirely to the study
of the Boisser^e collection. Goethe devoted himself to
it with astonishing perseverance, being determined to obtain
a clear and firm grasp of this field of art heretofore unknown
to him. Every morning he was in the hall by eight o'clock
and remained there till noon. He had every picture taken
down separately and placed on an easel in order that he
might enjoy it to the full, without being disturbed by its
neighbours on the wall. His admiration increased from day
to day. "O children," he exclaimed several times, "how
stupid we are! We fancy that our grandmother was not
beautiful also. They were entirely different people from
us, you see. Let us take them for what they were, let us
praise them, let us praise them again and again!" The
Boisser^es were quite rejoiced over their success, and
fIDarianne von Millemer n
Sulpiz announced with beaming countenance that he had
converted the old heathen king to the adoration of the Ger-
man Christ child. But if he meant by this that Goethe
learned to value old German art, if not above, at least as
highly as, Greek, he deceived himself.
On his return journey to Frankfort, when, in Darmstadt,
Goethe wandered about among the plaster casts of antique
sculptures, including some of the figures of the Parthenon
frieze, old German art again receded far into the back-
ground, and when he reached home he remarked to Knebel :
"I have feasted at the Homeric and at the Nibelungen
tables, but have found nothing better suited to my personal
taste than the broad, deep, ever-living nature in the works
of the Greek poets and sculptors."
On the nth of October Goethe was again in Frankfort.
Although the season was far advanced, and he had already
made one long sojourn in his native city, he nevertheless
remained nine days within its walls. It took a strong
magnet to hold him there. The magnet in question was
the young wife of the banker Privy Councillor Jakob Wille-
mer, who later received a patent of nobility. Willemer
was only eleven years younger than Goethe, and had long
been acquainted with him — ^was in fact his friend. He
fully deserved the poet's respect and friendship, for in
talent and character he towered far above the average
man. Being unhampered by his calling, he cultivated a
surprising number of fields of study and endeavour, and
his influence was felt in all of them. He was a writer,
a philanthropist, a pedagogist, a political economist, a
statesman, a critic, and a member of the board of directors
of the Frankfort Theatre. In the year 1800 he had taken
into his house the charming actress and ballet-dancer
Marianne Jung, a native of Linz, Austria, in order to pro-
tect her from the dangers of the stage. He could not offer
the sixteen-year-old girl a mother, for he was a widower;
but he did provide her with sisters in the persons of his
two younger daughters, with whom she was to live and
acquire an education. With her charming open face,
12 Zl)c %ifc Of <3oet\3C
about which hung a wealth of brown curls, and with her
rich spiritual gifts, she soon became the star of the home.
She was of a very naive and most delicate nature. There
was no artificiality, no calculation, in her conduct, and
with all her cordiality, vivacity, and gaiety, there was some-
thing thoroughly reserved and modest, which gave her
whole being an air of happy harmony. The depth of her
emotions and thoughts was made particularly beautiful
by the wonderful graciousness with which they were ex-
pressed. As her perceptions were clear and distinct, the
great poetical talent which the gods had bestowed upon her,
in addition to her other good qualities, enabled her to
compose stanzas not to be distinguished from Goethe's
on the same occasion; indeed, some of them shone as real
pearls among his own.
It was a by no means unimportant factor in the hospi-
tality of the Willemer household that Marianne possessed
rare social talents. By virtue of an agreeable resoluteness,
which won for her from Goethe the nickname of "little
Bliicher," she knew how to guide and control every social
gathering ; and by her expressive singing she contributed '
a very refreshing share of the entertainment. Since, after
the marriage of her younger foster-sister, she was Wille-
mer's only companion in the home it was inevitable that her
foster-father should become her lover and soon after (1814)
her husband.
When Goethe arrived in Frankfort in September she
was not yet married. He met her, not in the city itself,
but out at the Gerbermiihle, Willemer's charming country-
seat on the upper Main. She seems to have made a deep
impression on him at first sight. He found in her much
that recalled his former sweethearts, Lotte, Lili, and Frau
von Stein. By her name, her character, and to some
extent by her life history, she reminded him also of two of
the characters in his writings of which he was most fond,
the Mariannes of Die Geschivister and Wilhelm Meister, and,
to a less degree, of Mignon and the bayadere. Doubtless
the sight of her often caused him to lose himself in medita-
flDarianne von MUIemer 13
tion and in secret wonderment at the return of those van-
ished figures. And how could her soul have remained un-
affected by his presence? Willemer's oldest daughter, the
widow Rosette Stadel, wrote in her diary after her first
meeting with Goethe: " He is a man whom one cannot help
loving like a child and to whom one would gladly intrust
one's self entirely." Do we not hear the same confession
in a poem which Marianne sent to Goethe in Weimar, " If
one sees thee one must love thee" ?
Thus when Goethe came from Heidelberg he entered
the Willemer house as a lover and one beloved. Meanwhile
the expected change in Marianne's position had taken
place. On the 2 7th of September she had become Willemer's
wife, but remained, as Goethe diplomatically expressed
himself to Christiane, "as friendly and kind as before,"
which means, when translated into clearer language: she
gave him the same love as before her marriage, and this
fact made him uncommonly happy. After having visited
her on the 12th of October, the next day after his arrival,
he was there again on the« 14th for the greater part of the
day. "We were very merry and remained a long time
together, so that I have no further events to record of this
day" (letter to Christiane, October i6th). On the evening
of the i8th they all went together up to Willemer's tower
on the Miihlberg to watch the bonfires which were every-
where kindled in commemoration of the first anniversary
of the battle of Leipsic. This evening must also have had
its special charms, as Goethe often recalled it in later years.
On the following day they were together again, and on the
next morning, the last that Goethe spent in Frankfort,
he paid his farewell visit.* In the afternoon he returned
to "the northern cloud- veiled clime." The premonition,
"Love's joys await thee," which had come over his spirit
as he set out from Weimar, had come true.
During the winter Goethe's dearest thought was that
of visiting again the following summer these glorious regions
*The passage in Tb., v., 135, "Visited Marianne R.," I interpret as
meaning Marianne Rosette Stadel.
14 tEbe Xife of (5oetbe
of the Rhine and the Main and the many dear friends who
inhabited them, and who had cried out to him, "Come
back! Come back!" Marianne sang to him:
3u ben tleinen jd^l' Of mic^,
,, Sicbe ttcine " nentift bu tnii^.
SSiUft bu immer mid^ fo ^ei^cn,
SEBcrb' i<i) ftetg mii) gludflid^ preifcn.*
In her his W est- ostlicher Divan had for the first time gained
a love-nucleus, from which it grew vigorously in all direc-
tions. Marianne became the Suleika whom he had sought,
and, rejecting the "little dear" as too "little" for his
poetry and too German for the Orient, he answered :
®a^ bu, bie fo longe mir erl^arrt roar,
geurige SugenbblidCe mir Wid\i,
' Setit mid) Itebft, mic^ fpdter begliicfft,
®aS foUcn meine fiieber prti\m,
@oIIft mir eroig (Suleita ^ei|en.t
For her he himself assumes the name Hatem, the one who
gives and receives most bountifully, for as a lover he desires
to give and receive.
While Goethe was making his plans for a beautiful sum-
mer Timur (Napoleon) suddenly rose again and seemed
to dash them to pieces. For, even if the war should be
kept within French territory, it was certain to drive away
his mood and to bring swarms of troops to the Rhine.
Hence Goethe began to be undecided in his mind as to
whether it would not be better for him to return to the
baths of Bohemia, which he had been accustomed to visit.
* I belong among the small,
Me thou "little dear" dost call.
If this title ne'er forsake me,
It will ever happy make me.
t That thou, whom I have so long awaited.
Me with thine eyes' youthful fire dost bless,
Lovest me now, wilt later caress, —
This sljall my numbers proudly proclaim,
Thee shall I ever Suleika name. \
flDarlanne von ICinicmer 15
Pinally, however, the hope that a friendly spirit would come
to the aid of the lovers gained the victory, and he set out
on another pilgrimage to the Rhine. His faith in the god
of love did not deceive him. During his sojourn at Wies-
baden, which extended from the end of May till past the
middle of July, the storm of war spent its rage, and he was
able to enjoy the rest of the summer on the Rhine under
a perfectly serene political sky.
At the beginning of July Goethe had met Minister vom
Stein at the court table of Nassau, and had received from
him an invitation to visit him at Nassau Castle, his ances-
tral seat. As Goethe wished to study more thoroughly
the geological relations of the Taunus Mountains, and
later to go to Cologne, this seemed to fit into his plans very
■well. So he spent from the 2 ist to the 23d of July in cross-
ing the mountain range and arrived at Nassau Castle on the
24th. When Stein heard that Cologne was Goethe's ul-
timate goal he decided immediately to accompany him
on the journey. The two travelled down the Rhine, partly
by carriage, partly by boat, and, as we know from Amdt,
each found the other an exceedingly agreeable companion.
•Cross-grained, fiery Stein was more gentle and mild than
anybody had ever before seen him. What a contrast with
1774, when the child of the world followed the same route
with the two prophets, and what a greater one still with
1792, when, all alone, in a leaky boat, and very early in the
morning, he had rowed indifferently past Cologne and its
cathedral!
This time he came expressly on account of the cathedral,
to examine with his own eyes what Boisser^e's drawings
had disclosed to him, and to see if he could do anjrthing
to aid in the completion of the structure. He studied it
very carefully outside and inside, from the top and from
the base, and formed a high opinion of it. He gave an
account of his observations in his Reise am Rhein, Main
und Neckar. It is to be noted, however, that the strong
accents in which he here speaks of the cathedral as a won-
derful work, designed with equal genius and understanding,
i6 Zl3e Xlfe of (Boctbe
and executed with perfect art and workmanship, are chosen
essentially with reference to his ulterior purpose of agitating
for the completion of the cathedral.
Apart from the cathedral, his eyes were open to the
mediaeval paintings, to which he had paid no attention
in 1774, and the picture of the Jabach family by Lebrun
was again warmly praised, although he was scarcely able
to recall the extravagant enthusiasm with which it had in-
spired him forty years before.
After a two days' sojourn Goethe and Stein set out on
the return journey, making short stays in Bonn, Neuwied,
and Coblenz. They were favoured with good weather and
Goethe viewed the wonderful landscape with great delight.
He may have felt the beauty of nature more keenly than in
his youth, for his companion got the impression that the
Rhine and the Main were not only Goethe's birthplace
but also his real home. The feeling led Stein during the
following winter to join Antonie Brentano in the plans which
she was spinning to transplant him thither for the rest of
his life. In Coblenz Goethe. met Gorres, who at that time
was the champion of romantic democracy, but not yet of
German ultramontanism. It was through the medium of
his organ, Rheinischer Merkur, that Stein brought his con-
stitutional plans before the public.
Stein invited Goethe to Nassau Castle again for several
days. It is a pity that the poet gave no good account of
this visit either in letters or anywhere else. Judging by
the scanty notes in his diary, it must have been very ani-
mated and unique. Many men of prominent position and
distinguished ability came to the castle, among others
Eichhorn and Motz, both later Prussian ministers and joint
founders of the ZoUverein. In a certain sense it was a
congress of the chief representatives of German constitu-
tional unity. What attitude Goethe, with his political
pessimism, assumed toward them is hard to say. There
seem to have been conflicts with Stein in which the sparks
flew, in spite of the moderation which the statesman took
pains to observe. In a passage in Goethe's diary we read,
fIDarlanne von iKHinemer 17
after the words, " In the garden with Herr vom Stein and
the ladies," the unusual remark, which tells a great deal
more than it says, "Talking and contradicting." It did
not diminish their friendship, however, for the two great
men had learned to understand each other.
Returning to Wiesbaden on the 31st of July, Goethe
remained there till the loth of August, then spent a day
viewing the Roman antiquities in Mainz, and finally, on the
1 2th of August, in company with his dear friend Boisser^e,
who had joined him during the last week in Wiesbaden,
turned to Frankfort, or let us say, rather, to the Gerber-
muhle. This time he came as the guest of the Willemers,
which is an indication how intimate the relation was into
which he had entered with them the previous year. He
doubtless accepted their friendly invitation without hesita-
tion. He felt himself firm in his resignation and expected
the same firmness on the part of Marianne. Assuming
that such was the case, why should they not enjoy the
charm and the exaltation of soul which arises from the har-
monious intercourse of great kindred spirits?
Those were delightful days, matchless weeks, that Goethe
spent out there in the rural quiet along the broad Main,
which glowed with beautiful colours in the evening sunshine.
Just forty years before, very near this spot, but a little
farther down the stream, he had lingered by Lili's side in
the gardens and terraces of the Bernards and the d'Orvilles.
He was now almost a greybeard, and yet he was happier
than he had been then; he was no longer one moment in
heaven and the next in hell; an undisturbed serenity had
filled his soul and secured for him the full enjoyment of
the rarest happiness.
He surveyed the intervening years with profound sat-
isfaction. Forty years before, in the midst of his sorrows,
he had taken a vow that his inmost being should for ever
be devoted to sacred love, because he hoped more and more
through the spirit of purity, which is sacred love, to re-
fine the dross out of his soul. This hope had been realised.
And with this spirit of purity he embraced the new love
1 8 ^be Xlfe of (Boctbe
and sought through it to rise to higher purification. The
love of a noble woman was to him a symbol of the love of
God. In this lofty conception of love he had something
in common with the Oriental and Occidental mystics. It
was because of it that he said of the Book of Suleika: " The
veil of earthly love seems to infold higher relations."
There is no good ground for supposing that Marianne
was not animated by the same spirit, and her husband
must have been in sympathy with both of them. He
knew very well that the fiery kisses and embraces which
the two exchanged in their love-songs existed only in
fancy, and that in reality the emotional basis of the poems
was nothing more than innocent delight in each other's
company. Willemer had reason to be proud that his
wife aroused such feelings in Goethe's breast. And how
could he blame her if she felt so toward the poet? Were
they not all, men and women, old and young, in love with
the great, good man ? Did not he himself love him? Hence
not only did he not look askance on the intercourse of the
two, in many ways he encouraged it. It required an ex-
ceptionally noble soul to do such a thing, and Goethe
recognised this with feeling and admiration. After a visit
from Willemer in Weimar he wrote to Marianne: "The
sight of his true nature brought vividly to my mind all
the privileges which he so willingly and nobly grants
us."
While the locality may have conjured up LUi's image,
the peculiarity of this love reminded Goethe of Lotte.
He had come to the Gerbermtihle for a visit of about a
week, but life was so engaging there that he was unable
to depart after so short a stay. The airy balcony, the
shady garden, the neighbouring forest, the outlooks upon
water and mountains, the most generous and most informal
hospitality, and, above all, the amiable society, forced
him again and again to postpone his departure. Especially
beautiful were the evenings when there was a gentle
spicy breeze blowing through the house and garden and
when Goethe read aloud and Marianne sang. Whether
flDarlanne von TKHUIemer 19
consciously or not, she always chose songs that were rich in
allusions, such as Mignon (Sehnsuchtslied) , Fullest wieder
Busch und Tal, and the ballad Der Gott und die Bajadere.
The^^rst time she sang this ballad Goethe wished she
never sing it again. His inmost being was stirred
thought that her own life's history had come so near
identical with the story of the poem. She, on the
■ hand, may in her innocence have interpreted the poem
- to mean that her soul was borne aloft by Mahadeva I
(Goethe) from the earthly depths in which it had lain to
the heavenly heights above. This may account for the
amount of expression which she put into the singing of this
particular song, of which Goethe months afterward spoke
to Zelter with great enthusiasm.
Five weeks of this mildly passionate, enchanted existence
had passed by before Goethe was aware, and he was now
forced to think of parting. It was not, however, to be
the final separation. He wished to go to Heidelberg for
a time in order to make a more thorough study of Boisseree's
collection of paintings, aftd planned to pass through
Frankfort again on his homeward way. Nevertheless
it was a separation, the end of a glorious state, of which
he was not certain whether it would ever be realised again.
The previous winter words had risen to song at the moment
of parting; now the exaltation came with the approach
of the time of separation. On the 12th of September
began the long series of individual songs and amoebean
verses which the lovers exchanged with one another.
Goethe composed the clever, impassioned song about the
thief "Opportunity," who had stolen from him his last
remnant of love, to which Marianne replied, with roguish
ardour, that, being herself greatly rejoiced by his love,
she would not scold " Opportunity." On the evening of the
17th, the last that Goethe was to spend at the Gerbermuhle,
the song of love swelled to more solemn tones. Suleika
had dreamed that a ring which Hatem had given her had
fallen into the Euphrates. ' ' What doth this dream signify ? ' '
she asked Hatem.
20 Zl3c Xife of (Boetbe
®ie§ 311 beiiten bin erbotig!
^ab' id^ bir nid^t oft erjo^t,
SBie bcr ®oge oon SBenebig,
9Kit bem SDJeere fidE) oennd^It ? . . .
Wii) Bermd^Ift bu bcincm gluffc,
■©er S^erraffc, biefem §ain,
§ier fott bi§ pm Ic^ten Siiffe
®ir mein ®etft gemibmet fcin.*
The beautiful moonlight held them together till late
in the night, and the poet read aloud songs to Suleika,
which added still more fervour to their feelings. The fol-
lowing day the little wife begged him urgently to leave.
The ardency had grown too intense for her in Goethe's
presence. At a distance they could allow each other
harmless liberties. For this purpose they had invented
the charming new plan of communicating their sentiments
to each other by means of references to pages and verses
in Hammer's translation of Hafiz. As they wrote nothing
but numerals they had the courage to express themselves
even more freely than they had done in their songs. On
the 2 ist Goethe received such a letter in cipher, to which
he answered the same day with two songs, one of which,
a most sublime hymn in unrhymed vers irriguliers, is a
veritable torrent of emotions and images.
A few of the verses run :
SBenn in, Suleifa,
Wi6^ ubcrfd^rocnglic^ begtfidfft,
Seine fieibenfc^aft miv guwirfft,
SllS mar's ein SBatt . . .
®a8 ift ein SCugenblidf 1 '
* This I can interpret clearly. ;,'
Have I not recounted thee
How the Doge of Venice yearly
With a ring doth wed thefea ?
>i|lx''
Me dost thou to thy river marry.
To thy terrace, to this grove;
Near thee shall my spirit tarry
Till the parting kiss of love.
fIDarianne von MUIemei* 2 1
§ter nun bagegen
©id^trifcfie ^erlen,
®ie mir beiner Seibenf^aft
©croaltige SBronbung
SBarf an beg Sebeng
SJerobcten ©tronb au8.*
Every day now brought new songs. "Prom Suleika
to Suleika is my coming and my going." Their feelings
were fanned to a new glow by the surprise of meeting again.
On the 23d Willemer and Marianne came to Heidelberg.
On the way Marianne had quieted her heart's beating for
her friend by the most beautiful stanzas that ever flowed
from the pen of a German poetess :
SBag bebeutet bie SBetoegung?
SBringt bcr Dftroinb fro^c Sunbe?
(Seiner Sd^roingen frifdie [Jlegung
Su^It beg ^er^enS tiefe SBunbe.
Sofenb fptelt er mit bem ©taube,
Sagt i^n auf in Icid^tcn SBoltd^cn,
Sreibt jur fid)ern Stcbcniaube
®er Snfeften frol^cS SSoHd^en.
Sinbert fanft ber Sonne ©lul^en,
Sii^It aui) mir bie ^eifen SSangen,
Sii&t bie Sleben nod^ im f^lic^ew,
5)ie auf gclb unb ^iigel |)rangen.
Unb ntid^ fott [ein leifeg gliiftern
SSon bem greunbe lieblic^ grii^en;
* When thou, Suleika,
Makest lue boundlessly glad.
Dost toss to me thy passion,
As 't were a ball. . .
Oh, what a moment!
Here now return I
Pearl-strings poetic.
Which the surging billows
Of thy bosom's passion
Tossed on the desolate
Shore of my life.
22 Zhe Xlfe of (Soetlic
61^ nod^ btefe ^ugcl buftem
@i^' id^ ftiH jufeinen gu^cn.*
The poet extended to his Suleika the enthusiastic
greeting:
3ft eg moglic^! (Stern bcr ©terne,
SrucE' ic^roieber bid^ ang ^erg!
Sld^, »og ift bie ^aijt ber gerne
giir ein Stbgrunb, fur ein ©darners I J
3a bu bifteS! meiner greuben ^
@u^er, lieber SBiberpart;
©ngebenf uergangner Setbcn
Sc^aubr' ic^ bor bcr ©egentoart-t
That evening the moon was full and they promised to
think of each other at every full moon thereafter. The
following evening was another evening of parting, and it
seems to have passed like the one on Lago Maggiore de-
scribed in the Wanderjahre, "breath for breath and bliss?
* What doth all this stir reveal ?
Tidings glad the east wind brings?
In my heart's hot wound I feel
Coolness wafting from his wings.
Fondly he the dust doth greet,
And in filmy cloudlets chase;
To the vineyard's safe retreat
Frights the merry insect-race.
Lenifies the sun's fierce glow.
Rids my cheeks of burning pain,
Kisses, flying, vines that grow
Flaunting over hill and plain.
And his whispers soft convey
From my friend a message sweet,
Ere the hills own night's dark sway
I shall nestle at his feet.
t Do I truly, star of stars.
Press thee to my heart again?
How the night of distance bars!
What abyss! What flood of pain!
Yes, 't is thou art come at last.
Of my joys sweet fountain head.
But the thought of sorrows past
Fills the present hour with dread.
flDarianne von Millemcr 23
for bliss." On the morning of the 26th the Willemers de-
parted, and while Marianne composed out of the depths
of her heart that song, " West wind, for thy humid wings,
oh, how much I envy thee!" which is a worthy companion
to her song to the east wind, Goethe brooded over the
question whether he still possessed himself or was lost
in Marianne, shaping his doubts into the profound dialogue
in verse between Suleika and Hatem, of which the first
stanzas spoken by Suleika —
SSoIt unb Sned^t unb Uberwinber,
(Sie gefte^n ju jeber 3cit:
§od&fte§ ©liidf ber erbentinber
@ci nur bie ^erfonlid^feit.
SebcS Sebcn [et ju fii^rcn,
SBenn man fi^ nic^t felbft bermiP;
Slllcg Mnne man Oerlieren,
SBenn mon blkbt, roaS mon ift *—
are often taken as the confession of his own deepest faith.
This interpretation is only 'half correct. True, it was his
opinion that we can be happy only when we preserve the
innermost kernel, the really valuable part, and hence that
which alone is essential, of our personality; not, however,
by clinging stubbornly to our personality and falling back
upon it, but by giving it to others and for others. We enjoy
ourselves most in others and through them. Hence Hatem
replies to Suleika:
Sonn tool^l fcini fo toirb gcineinet;
5)od^ id^ bin ouf anbrer @pur:
SlHcS (Srbengliiif Bereinet
ginb' id^ in Suleifa nur.
* Peoples, slaves, and lords of earth
All this testimony bear:
Personality of worth
Highest bliss brings everywhere.
He who rightly heeds life's call
In the end may guerdon win ;
He, in turn, may lose his all
Who remains what he has been.
24 XTbe Xlfe of (Boetbe
SBte fie fic^ an mid) derfc^tnenbet,
5Bin id^ mir ein rcertcS Sd);
§dtte fie fi(^ toeggewenbet,
J, Slugenblidf^ derlor' id^ ntii^.*
On the following day Goethe took up the theme once
more and in a leaf of the gingo biloba, which is one and yet
divided, " gave her hidden sense to taste what the knowing
edifies."
The more ardent his passion grew under the glamour of
Marianne's love, as it revealed itself more and more in
her exquisite poetical epistles, the more he felt the weight
of years lifted from his shoulders, — a glorious renewal of
youth! To be sure, he has, as he sings, nothing to compare
with the brown locks of his beloved —
Stur bteS $erg, e8 tft Don Doucr, ^
©c^roiHtin iugenblid^ftcm glor; '
Unter (Sd&nee itttb 9tebelfd^aucr
Staf t ein Sletna bir l^eroor.
®u befd^dmft Wic SDJorgenrote
3ener ©ipfel ernfte SBanb,
Unb nod^ einmal fiil^Iet ^atem [®oetl|e]
gm^Iingg^aud) unb Sotnmerbranb.t
* That may be, for those inclined;
But I choose another course:
Ev'ry earthly bliss I find
Has Suleika for its source.
Loving me so lavishly
She my worth to me hath shown;
Had she spurned me haughtily,
I had straightway been undone.
t Save this heart which, never aging,
Swells with warmest youthful glow.
Like the fire of .^Etna raging
Neath its veil of mist and snow.
Yonder summit's solemn splendour
Thou like rosy dawn dost shame.
And in Hatem's breast engender
Spring's sweet breath and summer's flame.
fIDarlanne von Mlllemer 25
Otherwise the sojourn in Heidelberg was characterised
by the same associations and the same occupations as that
of the preceding year, except that, in addition to the
Willemers, Goethe received a two days' visit from the Duke,
who had been for a long time in the valley of the Rhine.
At the request of his prince Goethe was obliged to ex-
tend his journey to Karlsruhe, in order to view Gmelin's
cabinet of minerals and the specimens selected for the
Duke. He planned to join the Duke later in Frankfort.
Goethe spent only two days in Karlsruhe. He derived no
pleasure from a visit with his old friend Jung-Stilling, who
resided there. Jung-StiUing had grown rigid in spiritless
piety, and his manner of life had made him vain. The
two friends, between whom there had once existed such
cordial ties, had lost all sympathy with each other. Goethe
was much more favourably impressed with Hebel, for
whose Alemannische Gedichte he had long cherished a
fondness.
His sojourn in Karlsruhe would have brought the
keenest delight if he had met Lili there, as he had hoped.
She doubtless often came thither from Alsatia to visit her
relatives. Through the Gerbermuhle, and later through
Heidelberg, the memory of her had become extraordinarily
fresh in his mind, and on the way to Karlsruhe he had told
Boisseree all the details of his betrothal with her, of which
he had hitherto said very little and to few people. But
in his expectation to find her in Karlsruhe he was dis-
appointed. In fact he was never again to see the betrothed
of his youth. On the 6th of May, 1817, she died in Alsatia,
in the full enjoyment of the highest esteem of her husband
and children, and of the friends and acquaintance of the
family. "The eternal Father," wrote her husband to her
brother, "who, in his mercy, gave me this beautiful spirit
for my companion and through her caused so great a blessing
to descend upon me, has summoned fair Lili hence."
We wonder whether Goethe, while in Karlsruhe, may
not have thought of another loved one of his youth —
Friederike, whose home beyond the Rhine was not very
26 ^be Xife of (Boetbe
far away. If he had sought to find her he would have
been obliged to make a pilgrimage to a grave. And this
grave was very near, in Baden, in German soil. After
many hard experiences in the home of her brother-in-law,
Parson Marx, she had found a place of refuge, first in
Diersburg, then in Meisenheim (between Lahr and Oflfen-
burg) , where she died on the 3d of April, 18 13. Throughout
her life she had enjoyed the love and respect of aU who
knew her.
Through these memories many things had been re-
freshed in Goethe's mind, and his conversatiop on the re-
turn journey touched only upon his experiences in the
past. Among those remembered was Minna, the original
of Ottilie.
On the following morning he declared to Boisser6e that
he was not going to Frankfort, but would journey home-
ward by way of Wurzburg, and that he intended to set
out at once. He said that he did not feel well.^ He spoke
occasionally of his disinclination to meet the Duke and
the latter's mistress, the opera singer Karbline Jagemann.
It was only with difficulty that his young friends were able
to persuade him to take one more day of rest. Then he
parted from Heidelberg — "a sad, hard farewell." Sulpiz
accompanied him to Wurzburg. The farther Goethe
journeyed from Heidelberg and from the road to Frank-
fort, the better he felt. Boisser6e says it was because he
gained in assurance that he would not be overtaken by
the Duke and Karoline Jagemann. We shall assign another
reason when we have read the following letter which he
sent Willemer from Heidelberg:
"Dear, esteemed Friend: That I am constantly oc-
cupied with you and your happy surroundings, that I see the
groves which you yourself planted and the lightly built, yet
substantial, house more vividly than in their presence, and
that I go over in memory again and again all the pleasure,
consideration, kindness, and love, which I enjoyed by your
side, you yourself doubtless feel, as I certainly cannot be
banished from those shady spots, and must often meet you
fIDarlanne von TKHillemer 27
there. I have had a hundred fancies as to when, how,
and where I should see you again, as until yesterday I had
the duty assigned me of spending some charming days with
my prince on the Rhine and the Main, perhaps even of
joining in that brilliant anniversary celebration on the
Muhlberg. Now these plans are upset and I am hastening
■ home via Wurzburg. My only consolation is the fact that
without caprice and without resistance I am wandering
the prescribed way and hence may all the more innocently
direct my longing toward those whom I leave behind."
He wished to depart before there should be any occasion
to regret anjrthing he had done. The shades of Lili and
Friederike had given him the quick, firm determination.
This is our explanation of his sudden change between
evening and morning. On the road he regained his freedom
more and more and became more and more happy. In
Meiningen, where he arrived on the loth of October, he
was again able to jest in poems with the dear mistress of
the Gerbermuhle. In one of them he makes the maidens
to whom Hatem has formerly paid court call Hatem to
account for remaining true to Suleika alone, protesting
that they too are pretty. Hatem admits that they are
and praises the particular beauty of each of them. We
begin to divine their flattered expressions when suddenly
he makes the astounding declaration that Suleika possesses
all these beauties combined. When the maidens, as a last
resort, ask him whether Suleika is as powerful in song as
they are, he answers haughtily:
Sennt i|r folc^er S^icfc (Srunb ?
©clbftgcfu^ltcg Sieb entquittet,
©elbftgebii^teteg bem STOunb.
S5on mi) Sic^terinncn oUen
3ft il)r eben Icine gleid^ . . .*
* Do ye such profoundness know?
Songs self-felt in her own bosom.
Self -composed from her lips flow.
Of your number, poetesses.
There is none with her compares.
28 tTbe %ltc of (5oetbc
With these songs, and further numbers added in Weimar,
he sought to help himself and his friends bear the sorrow
of longing.
The new year brought Goethe a great bereavement.
On the 6th of June, 1816, his wife died after a period of
severe suffering. In her he lost much. In hard days,
in times of illness and distress, she had proved true and
brave, and she had at all times relieved him of many of
the petty burdens of everyday life. Furthermore she was
a life companion whose happy naturalness imparted an
agreeable atmosphere to his home, even though she was
able to show but little appreciation of his higher spirit-
ual life. Sorrow over her loss, deep gratitude, memo-
ries of the indignities which she had been forced to endure
from the outer world for his sake, together with the natural
desire to show most forcibly to this outer world what she
had been to him, inspired the sentimental verses on the day
of her death:
®u berfud^ft, Sonne, eergcbenS,
®nr^ bte biiftern SBolten ju fdieinen!
®er gonjc ©eroinn tneineS ScbenS
3ft, i^ren SJerluft gu bemeinen.*
As the summer advanced the question arose as to
what watering place he should visit. So far as the effect
was concerned it was immaterial whether he went to Wies-
baden, Teplitz, or some other thermal springs. Love for
the Rhine and for his friends in that region, especially
Marianne, attracted him strongly toward the west. But
dared he go in that direction? Zelter seemed to bring him
to a decision. Zelter was going to Wiesbaden and ob-
tained a promise from Goethe to accompany him thither.
But Goethe soon changed his plan. He did not wish to
traverse again the dangerous route, which would take him
* Thou, O sun, dost labour in vain
The obscuring clouds to divide;
My life's one inefEable gain
Is grief o'er her loss from my side.
flDarlanne von MUIemer 29
through Frankfort and into the vicinity of his beloved
Marianne. He clung to his determination to go to the
Rhine, but changed the goal of his journey to Baden-Baden,
which he planned to reach via Wurzburg, instead of via
Frankfort.
On the 20th of July he entered upon the journey in
company with Meyer. Two hours after they left Weimar
the carriage was upset and Meyer received a wound in the
forehead. Goethe took him back to Weimar and gave up
the journey. The accident seemed to him an ill omen.
In spite of hundreds of most alluring temptations from
within and without he never again visited the Rhine, his
German Italy. 2 And as Marianne did not come to Thur-
ingia he never saw her again. But he kept up his tender
correspondence with her as long as he lived, and his letters
were occasionally adorned with verses which surprise us
with their fervour. Upon Marianne's songs he bestowed
•the highest honour by including them among his own in
West-ostUcher Divan. Toward the end of 18 18, when he
sent her the proof sheets containing the Buch Suleika,
she replied, " I was surprised and deeply affected, and wept
over the remembrances of a happy past."
II
THE LYRIC POET
Goethe the inspired poet — The mystery of his power — His talent an irre-
sistible natural force — Spinozistic explanation of the poet's twofold
nature — Goethe's object in writing poetry — His poetic vision and
creation — His normality and superiority — Comparison with Heine
— Goethe's poems are like painted window-panes — ^The genetic
method of interpreting them — Harzreise im Winter — ^Various ways
in which poems originated — Transformations through which they
passed — An den Mond and Der Fischer — Goethe's reasons for mak-
ing alterations — His advance beyond his predecessors — Influence of
Herder and folk-poetry — Subject-matter of his poems true and
genuine — They reflect tjrpical truth — Their deep significance and
symbolism — Wonne der Wehmut — Social songs — Ballads — Subjects
from religious history — Die Braut von Korinth — Die erste Walpur-
gisnachi — Paria — Der Gott und die Bajadere — Hochzeitlied — Bal-
lade vom vertriebenen und zurOckkehrenden Graf en — SjrmboKc mean-
ing of these ballads — Der getretie Eckart — Erlkonig — Der Konig
in Thule — Inwardness in Goethe's ballads — His own experiences
embodied in them — Goethe's employment of contrast in his poems
— His resolution of apparent discords into harmonies — His serenity
— His mastery of the art of representation — Objectivity — Inclina-
tion to symbolism — ^Vivid word-pictures, especially of nature and
human beings — Auf dem See — Music in his verse and prose, even let-
ters — Sources of his word-music — Verse forms which he employed
— ^Tones lacking in his lyre — Place of Goethe's poetry in the spirit-
ual life of Germany.
THE discussion of Goethe's lyric poetry brings us to
the heart of all his poetic activity. In the origin
and completion of his songs he himself recognised
the best proof of his poetic talent. Early in life it seemed
to him something wonderful and enigmatic. The songs
sprang forth of themselves, without previous meditation
or volition, at times even against his will; often in finished
form, often merely the beginnings or outlines, but with an
30
Ebe Xiprlc poet 31
irresistible impulse to finish them. Even in the middle of
the night the poetic visions would come to him and would
vanish again as they had come, if he did not quickly hold
them fast.
A subject might repose in his soul for years and decades
and then suddenly shape itself into a poem. One experience
would sink in the sand and be lost for ever, while another,
perhaps a less important one, would spring forth as a song into
a new and eternal existence. His involuntary poetic creation
went so far that even things which he had not experienced,
or read, or wrought out in his fancy, suddenly presented
themselves to him as songs. They were inspirations in
the fullest sense of the word. Hence he was justified in
saying: "The songs made me, not I them," "The songs
had me in their power," " It sang within me," and it would
have been no meaningless phrase if he had applied to
himself the words of his minstrel, " I sing myself as carols
the bird."
What kind of a mysterious power was this, of which
he had become the instrument? Out of it grew, not merely
rhymes and rhythms, but highly artistic structures, which
revealed life with the transparency of crystal and rocked
the poet on the waves of harmony.
Goethe himself was fond of studjdng this question, but,
with his modest fear of appearing guilty of self-deification, he
confined himself to describing his poetic power, instead of
pointing out its original source. When he was writing the last
part of his biography he felt the need of giving others an
account of his thoughts; but again he did not go beyond
certain fragmentary indications, which are very difficult to
interpret. He gave a detailed account of how Spinoza's
philosophy had taught him to grasp the All as a necessary
whole, how he had received from it peace and enlighten-
ment, how it had made him capable of resignation; and
then, to our surprise, added the statement that he had
brought all this forward for the sole purpose of making
comprehensible what he was about to say concerning his
poetic talent. He described this talent, however, only
32 TLbc %\tc of (Boetbe
from the point of view of the compulsion which it exercised,
obliging him to look upon it as a force of nature. But he
says that this force of nature was not always active, for
which reason he considered it proper for him, during the
pauses, to make use of his other powers and to devote
them to the affairs of the world. He left it for his readers
to find the connection between this utterance and the
teachings of Spinoza. Let us seek to find it by explaining
Goethe's conception of the philosopher.
Spinoza sees in the world an embodiment of God. But,
though all the parts" of this body are necessary members
of the divine whole, they are not equally permeated by
God. Only the fully divine are essential, eternal, and
harmonious; those less divine are changeable, fleeting
phenomena, ripplings of the waves crowding and dashing
against each other at the surface of the sea, which in its
depths is not moved.*
In this picture of the world Goethe recognised his own
twofold nature.! The fully divine, the essential, in him
was the poet; the confused earthly, the accidental, was the
everyday man, the man of affairs and society. It was for
this reason that the world lay so clear and harmonious
before him, and that such profound repose came over him,
when he looked out into the world as a poet, a part of the
pure essence of God, with the eye of God; it was for this
same reason that the world seemed so confused and con-
tradictory when he moved about in it with the blurred
vision of an ordinary son of earth. Hence it was that his
poetic talent asserted itself as a force which acted of itself
and found its way with sovereign certainty, whereas the
other things which he attempted in the world were charac-
terised by uncertainty, doubt, and error.
It was for this reason that he was able to practise
resignation more easily than others. Resignation gave him
pleasure, if not immediately, at least through the after
effects, both in the specific instance and in general. He
* The Earth-Spirit, in Faust, characterises itself as an " eternal sea."
tC/. W., xxix., 9, 8, and 17, 5; xxviii., 311, 6 and 22.
^be %^v\c poet 33
resigned only what was ephemeral and apparent, whereas
he saved his own peculiar nature, his poetic genius, so
much the more fully. But this resignation must not be
a renunciation of the world, for as God needs the world
in order to perfect himself, so does the poet. It is his
food and his task.
Seeing things in their distinctness and harmony, the
poet perceives them in their true light. It was an astounding
new discovery that Goethe made in his own soul. So soon
as an experience transformed itself in his soul into a poem,
it became clarified and purified, and its real substance
appeared then in its true relations. In .the temporal he
saw the eternal, in the small the great, in the narrow the
broad, in the accidental the necessary. In this way that
which was specific lost its empty, meaningless isolation.
He himself declared on one occasion that " the lively poetic
perception of a limited state raises a specific phenomenon
to a circumscribed and yet unlimited universal, so that
in the small space we believe we see the whole world." The
specific instance became the 'model of a thousand similar
things and cases and a S3anbol for a thousand analogous
ones. It became typical and symbolical. Bearing in
mind this grasping of truth by means of poetic perception,
we can understand Goethe's confession, which at first
blush is so perplexing, and sounds so like a disciple of Gott-
sched, that he wrote poetry not merely for the sake of
pacifjdng himself, but also for the purpose of correcting
his conceptions of things.
Poetical enthusiasm, in the original sense of a state
of being filled with God,* furnished him with prophetic
power, raised him to a lofty point of observation, from
which the labyrinths of the world lay before him in perfect
order. • " How could I behold the world so clearly as now
when I have nothing further to seek in it?" he once
wrote. This is supposed to be a token of homage to Frau
von Stein, but the words might also have been addressed
to the muse of poetry, who, as we well know, appeared
to him in the form of his beloved. Thus he receives the
34 ^Ije %\tc of <5oetbe
veil of poetry from the hand of truth, and says to
her:
Sld^, ba i^ irrtc, ^att'ii) biel ©efpielen;''
Sa i(^ bill fenne, bin i(| faft allein.*
In the realm of truth one is usually very much alone. In
the "Prelude" to Faust the poet requires the "longing for
truth," if he is to write poetry.* This point of view gives
us the full meaning of the words, "The poems made me,
not I them." By revealing to him the truth, they developed
his higher being.
When with his divine soul Goethe sees, feels, recognises,
and experiences the world as a poet, he expresses not
only himself, but also the world in its normality, so that
every man finds himself reflected in the poet's world.
The mysterious peculiarity which great geniuses possess,
of uniting in a wonderful way marked spiritual superiority
with normality, the extraordinary with the common, man-
ifests itself in Goethe as in almost no other man. High as
he stands above the average man, there is something
thoroughly normal about his nature. An emotion may
rise higher and grow more ardent in his soul than in the
soul of another man, and yet this emotion is aroused only
in conditions in which it is aroused in men of smaller calibre. ,
Likewise his thoughts are, as a rule, deeper than those
of other men, but they move in a direction which does not
depart from the normal line. Hence, as a matter of course,
he experiences only what any normal man experiences or
might experience. This normality of the man is not
lessened by the poet; it is increased, rather, both by the
selection and the purification of the features of the experience
or the picture which he portrays, and by the moderation
of the expression of them. This is especially important
in the expression of his passion; for, although we know
that his passion is aroused only by a normal occasion,
nevertheless it rises to such a height that it might become
* Alas! while erring I had comrades many;
Since thee I 've known I 've lost them almost all.
Zhc %'Qv\c poet 35
somewhat abnormal because of its intensity. At this
point, however, the muse steps in and with her heavenly
hand " calms every wave of life."
The contrary is true of many other poets, especially
of "demi-geniuses." There is something about them that
is eccentric, awry, tmwholesome, and extreme. Because
of this temperament they either experience or fancy things
which are not Kkely to happen to other mortals, or else
they accompany their experiences and fancies with emotions
and thoughts such as very rarely, if ever, occur to others.
The act of writing poetry does not exercise a pacifjdng
influence on them; it inflames them, rather, so that even
normal subjects, thoughts, and feelings are expressed by
them in a way indicating an overheated imagination. In
order to gain a clear consciousness of this let us take a
single example. Heine's love passion was certainly never
greater, and was hardly ever as great as Goethe's. And
yet the expression of his passion surpassed anything that
Goethe's love-fire inspired him to sing. Take for example
these lines:
Slug 9tormc9« SBalbern
Stei|' irf) bie ^oc^fte Sanne,
Unb tauii)e fie cin
3n beg ttnaS glii^enben (Sd)Iunb, unb mttfold^er
gcuergetrantten Stiefenfcber
@c^rcib' id^ an bie bunfle §immel8bedCe:
,,3l9neg, id^ licbebic^I"
Sebroebe ^a6)t lobert aUbann
®ort oben bie cloige glammenf(|rift,
Unb aHe na(|mad&[enben gnfelgef^Ied^tcr
Sefen jau^jenb bie §immeIgH)otte:
„3lgne8, id^ licbe bid^!".*
* From Norway's forests
I snatch their tallest pine tree
And plunge it deep
Into the glowing crater of ^tna,
And with this gigantic, fire-filled pen
I write on the dark dome of heaven :
"Agnes, I love thee!"
And then each night the sky will blaze
36 Zl)c %\fc Of (5oetbe
Such poems, with their half-true, cleverly exaggerated
thoughts, and their beautiful violence of expression, may-
excite our admiration, they may delight us and hold our
attention, but our deepest inner self is not wedded to them,
and they do not become active factors in our soul-life,
emerging at the proper moment with their grateful in-
fluence to enlighten, or to confirm and strengthen, our
own being. They never give us that feeling which we all
have, and which Felix Mendelssohn once expressed, when
he said that it had often seemed to him as though the same
thing must have occurred to himself under similar circum-
stances, and that Goethe had merely chanced to say it.
How far this general human character and this beneficent
effect extends, every one can give abundant testimony from
his own experience. However, it may not be out of place
to cite here a remarkable example — ^the verses which the
poet addressed to Heaven from the slope of the Ettersberg
on the 1 2th of February, 1776 —
®er bu. tson bent ^inttnel bift,
SlHeS Seib unb Stfimerjen ftiHeft,
®en, ber boppelt elenb ift,
©oppclt tnit ©rquidf ung fMeft,
^i), ii) bin beg SreibenSmiibel
SBaS foU att ber Sd^merg unb fiuft?
©u^er grtebe,
komxa, a^ tomm in meine SBrnft 1*
had their most special occasion, and yet Pestalozzi makes
a Swiss peasant woman sing them with her children at
evening prayers, and they suit the situation so excellently
that one cannot read them there without being affected.
This general human character would stand out more
vividly and oftener if Goethe had not had the habit of keep-
ing close to personal experience in his poems. With him
With the eternal flaming legend,
And all coming generations of men
Will joyfully read the heavenly vrords:
"Agnes, I love thee! "
* The original form in which Goethe sent this poem to Frau von Steitt
is quoted on p. 287 /. of vol. i., where a translation is given. — C.
. ^be Xijrlc poet n
this habit was a necessity, as we already know. In the
epic and the drama, where the author must represent an
experience in a picture that is consistent in itself, where,
that is, he must sever his personal connection with it,
this method of procedure has its advantages. It is different
with Ijrric poetry, where the experience passes directly into
the poem, without being transformed into a picture. In
addition to the distinct advantages arising therefrom,
which we shall discuss later, there is a disadvantage which
not infrequently makes itself felt. Poems bom of a par-
ticular situation are permeated with such specifically per-
sonal, local, and contemporary allusions, that they are
obscure to the uninformed reader. This fault was found,
even while Goethe was still alive, and so he took up his
pen in his own defence and wrote :
©ebid^tefinb gemalte f^enftcrfdieibcn !
@ief)t man oom SKatft in bie Sirc!^e ^inein,
®a tft oHeS bunfel unb biifter;
Sommt aber nur einmal l^ereinl
SSegrii^t bie l^eilige topeHel
®a ift'8 auf einmal forbig ^elle,
©ef^ictit' unb Sierrat gtanjt in ©li^nclle,
Sebeutenb mirft ein eblcr @d)ctn. . . .*
That is the secret. We must work our way into the
interior of Goethe's poems and view them from within,
must seek to discover their process of crystallisation under
the combined influence of experience in life and philosophy
of the world, if they are to reveal themselves to us in their
full blaze of splendour. This is true even of those which
seem clear and transparent the first time we meet them.
* The poet's lines are painted window-panes.
If into the church from the market we look,
All within is dark and obscure;
But when we once within repair
To see the chapel's sacred light,
yv colour-splendour greets the sight,
The words and ornaments grow bright,
And we the poet's rapture share.
38 tTbc Xife of (Boetfic
They, too, have their hidden special roots, the laying bare
of which will enhance their charm and worth.
To many people this may seem a rather toilsome road
to the enjoyment of a poem; but they must not forget that
a truly great work of art — and such the smallest of Goethe's
poems often are — does not reveal its full value without some
effort on the part of the observer, however strong a first
impression it may make.
We shall obtain, then, the best grasp of the substance
and import of a poem by Goethe if we acquaint ourselves
with its history. At the same time that we are doing this
we shall catch most interesting glimpses of the interior
of the poet's workshop, even though but through a cranny.
We shall see a large part of his songs spring up quickly and
develop to full flower out of a simple occasion. We shall
see a smaller part also shoot up quickly, and then stand
still, until new occasions come to force them to maturity.
J We shall see a third part pass through several transforma-
tions; at times only the outward form being affected, at
other times the whole tendency undergoing a change.
The most instructive of these three groups is the second.
Let us trace the development of a few of them. First the
Harzreise im Winter.
On the morning of the 29th of November, 1777, the
poet is riding all alone toward the Harz. He sees a vulture
soaring among the dark snow clouds above him. So shall
the impressions made upon his liberated soul on this lonely
journey soar as a song high above the turmoil of earthly
life. The first stanza of the poem has taken shape. On
this journey the poet is to visit a self-torturing youth.*
Involuntarily he paints to himself the contrast between
his own condition and that of Plessing. This comparison
is crystallised in the second stanza. He rides on and the
following day beholds a comfortably situated city ; the sight
of it brings another stanza to life. Thus the song keeps
on growing in sections, always following his experiences,
with an occasional secondary thought which suddenly
flashes through his mind, until in the ascent of the Brocken,
* Vol. i.,p. 338.
tTbe Xi^rlc poet 39
on the twelfth day of the journey, it reaches its culmination
and end.
If the composition itself did not teach us that the poem
is not a subsequent grouping of the experiences and emotions
of the journey, Goethe's diary and other accounts of those
days would prove it. It was conceived and its various
parts written down under immediate impressions. Never-
theless, thanks to Goethe's instinctive artistic power, it
received a unity, which is disturbed only by the little
digression to call down a blessing upon his friends who have
gone out to the chase. It is of the great theme of the
happiness in the love of men and the unhappiness in the
hatred of men that it treats, and the Brocken, which at
the end looks down out of the clouds "on the kingdoms
and glory of the world," stands as a symbol of God, who
bestows his treasures upon the happy and the unhappy
in equal measure.
We must think of the composition of Willkommen und
Ahschied as having taken place in exactly the same way,
except that the chain of many links in the Harzreise is here
shortened to one of three. In this poem likewise each
link took shape under the excitement of the moment. This
is shown by the atmosphere of the poem and by the outward
circumstance that among Friederike's posthumous papers
were found only the first ten lines of the poem, and they
were not set off in stanzas.
Another peculiar example is found in Ilmenau. The
great central part, the vision, which brings back to the
poet the Duke and his companions in camp in the forest at
night, was very probably composed in 1776, likewise under
the fresh impression of the scene, and was then put aside
for seven years, until it was woven into a second composition
which Goethe dedicated to the Duke.
Whereas the growth of these songs along with a chain
of impressions extends over a series of days or even years,
in other cases the process lasts but a few hours. But the
development is the same. We are not to think of the
poet as sitting down at his desk afterward and making a
combination of a variety of impressions; we must think
40 Zbc Xife of (Boctbc
of an immediate conception, creation, and arrangement.
The same is true of Wanderers Sturmlied, which he sang
to himself as an accompaniment to his different impulses
on a walk; An Schwager Kronos, which he chanted to him-
self during a ride in the post chaise ; Auf dem See, in which
he immediately gave poetic form to the pictures and feelings
that greeted his eyes and stirred his heart on a boat ride,
entering the lines afterward in his diary; and, near the end
of his life, Dem aufgehenden VoUmonde, in which the quickly
changing views of the moon in a lightly overcast sky are
brought into harmony with his own feelings.
There is still another way in which he incorporated in
one song several motives which were not all present in his
breast at the beginning, but came to him afterwards one
by one. The first motive by itself would give no signs of
poetic life until a second was added, and a third and a
fourth, and then they would all gain life at once and vinite,
and from their union would issue a poetic fruit. In that
case we have outwardly but one, or perhaps two, acts of
creation; but inwardly more such acts have taken place.
Such was the case with the song An den Mond, which
brings us back again to the journey to the Harz Mountains.
On the 1 6th of January, 1778, a young woman of the
Weimar Court circle, Christel von Lasberg, drowned her-
self in the Ilm, near Goethe's Gartenhaus, out of unhappy
love — and, it was said, with a copy of Werther in her pocket.
Goethe was deeply affected by the tragedy and "lingered
for several days about the scene of the death in quiet mourn-
ing." His usually mobile, glowing heart was fixed on the
river by his thoughts, as by a ghost. He was greatly
depressed for weeks. His depression grew worse when
Frau von Stein shut herself off from him. At the beginning
of the new month his beloved turned to him again, and,
happy in her possession, he was glad to observe his " con-
tinued, absolute estrangement from men." A walk with
her in the moonlight perfected this beautiful, pure mood,
and his soul felt at last entirely free from the depression
and the suspense of the past weeks. The first four stanzas
Zt)c X?rlc poet 41
of the song An den Mond were crystallised in their original
form. A few days more passed and on the 2 2d of February
he visited Plessing, who "drank hatred of men out of
fulness of love," and lived a secluded life in bitter estrange-
ment. This furnished the last stanzas, which the poet
directed to Plessing, to Frau von Stein, and to himself.
At the same time they take us back to Christel von Lasberg,
to whom it was not granted to enjoy with a husband the
best things of life. The poem in its original form runs:
giillci't roiebcr'§ liebe Sol
<Stitt tnit Stebclglanj,
Sofeft enbtid^ aud^ einmal
SOteine Seele ganj ;
SBrciteft fiber niein ©efilb
Sinbernb betnen SBlidf,
aSic bcr Sicbften Sluge milb
iiber mein ®e[^idf.
S)a8 bu fo betoeglid^ tennft,
®icfc8 §wj im 58ranb,
§altct il)r rote ein ©cipcnft
Sin ben glu^ gebannt.
Sffienn in ober SBintcrnadit
®r bomSobcftfiroillt,
Unb bei grublingSlcbenS ^tai^t
Sin ben Snofpen quiHt.
Selig loer \ii) Dor ber SBelt
D^ne §0^ t)erf(|Ue^t,
(Sincn SlJfann ont S5ufen l^dlt
Unb mit bem genie^t,
SBog bem SJfenfc^en unbcrou&t
Ober roobl Berad)t
©urd^ bog Sflb^rint^ ber Sruft
aSonbelt in ber Sliocbt.*
* Fill'st the lovely vale again
Still with misty light,
And dissolvest all the strain
From my soul to-night.
42 Zbc Xife of (Soetbe
Whereas one root of this song rests in the sorrowful end
of Fraulein von Lasberg, there is a ballad which sends down,
all its roots to the tragedy. It is Der Fischer, which de-
scribes the natural fascinating power of water. During
the days when Goethe was busy with pickaxe and spade,
converting a comer of the park into a monument to the
dead girl, he wrote to Frau von Stein, "We worked till-
after nightfall, and finally I alone till the hour of her death."
He warned Frau von Stein, whose melancholy moods he
knew, not to go down to the river; for "this inviting grief
has a dangerous attraction, like the water itself, and the
reflection of the stars of heaven, which shines out of both,
entices us."
Socft bii^ ber ttefe §iintnel tttci^t,
®aS feuc^toerttdrte Slau ?
Socft bid^ bein eigcn Slngeftd^t
Stid^t ^er in ew'gen Sau ? *
O'er my meadows from on high
Send'st thy soothing gaze,
Like my sweetheart's gentle eye
O'er my fortune's ways.
And this heart, thou know'st it well.
Mobile and agleam,
Hold ye by a ghostly spell
To the silent stream,
When in winter's cheerless night
Deadly swell its floods,
And in spring's new-born deUght
Mirror bursting buds.
Happy he who, free from hate.
Leaves the world's vain noise.
To his bosom clasps a mate.
And with him enjoys
What, by common folk unguessed.
Or esteemed but light.
Through the mazes of the breast
Softly steals by night.
* Doth it not lure thee — ^heaven's deep,
The lustrous, limpid blue ?
Doth not thine own face bid thee leap
Within th' eternal dew?
^be X^ric poet 43
Here we have an example of one occasion giving rise to
two poems, which tend in opposite directions, not merely
because the experience was rich enough in content to
arouse different thoughts, pictures, and moods, but also
because in Goethe's harmonious soul the one demanded
the other as a counterpoise. With the dangerous natural
fascination of the water, in whose floods glistens a deceptive
image of the moon, is contrasted the healing charm of the
real heavenly sphere, which sheds its light over bush and
vale.
The song An den Mond may serve as an example of the
class of poems which experienced a more or less thorough-
going transformation. Goethe did not publish it in the
original form. It doubtless seemed to him too harsh
and obscure. It appeared in print for the first time in 1789
in a new version. The beginning and the end were changed
but little — ^the most important alteration was the substi-
tution in the second stanza of " des Freundes" for " der
Liebsten" ("friend" for "sweetheart"). The middle of
the poem, however, was considerably lengthened, and all
reference to the death of the young lady of the Court was
expunged. A new motive was introduced into the poem,
which became the fundamental motive, and with it the- mo-
tives which were retained were most artistically blended.
The song became the lament of a woman whose lover
has forsaken her, and whose soul experiences an alleviation
of its sorrow as she strolls forth by the glorifying light
of the moon to the scenes of her bittersweet memories.
The last stanzas mark the culmination of these remem-
brances. Their seriousness has previously been referred to
in the lines, "Once, alas, this treasure rare I myself did
own."
We may assume that this new song was composed in
Italy, as an expression of Frau von Stein's sorrow at the
time when she interpreted Goethe's secret flight and stub-
bom silence as a sign that he had forsaken her faithlessly
and for ever. Through this song he liberated himself
from the pain which the sorrow of his beloved caused him,
44 Zl)c %itc Of (5oetbc
and he thought he was also alleviating her pain by sending
her this complaint against himself, which gives evidence
of such keen appreciation of her suffering. But the un-
believing, sorely disappointed woman found it an inade-
quate expression of her emotions. She intensified the
lamentation and the accusation, and in this changed form
it was found among her papers.
An example of a more gentle, and yet significant, trans-
formation is the famous poem to Friederike, Kleine Blumen,
kleine Blatter, which the poet never published in its original
form. He erased the stanza,
(Sc^iiffal, fegne biefc Sriebe,
Sa| mid) i^r unb Ia| fie mein,
So| bag Seben unfret fiicbe
Sod^ !etn Stojenleben fein,*
He also changed the second line of the last stanza from
"Reich mir deine liebe Hand" ("Place thy darling hand
in mine") to " Reiche frei mir deine Hand" ("Freely place
thy hand in mine"), and substituted "Blick" ("glance")
for "Kuss" ("kiss") in another verse, thus lowering the
tone of the love song, in which the lover longs for eternal
union with his sweetheart, to that of a poem of warm
homage, which, after the fashion of the eighteenth century,
desires nothing but lasting friendship. He had two reasons
for making these alterations: his spiritual desire to bring
the earlier docimient into harmony with the later course
of his youthful love, and his artistic taste, which sought
to avoid the repetition of similar thoughts and comparisons
in the last two stanzas.
With the alterations which are not, as in the case of
An den Mond, determined by new personal motives, there
is usually introduced into the composition something less
individual and farther removed from the impressions of
the moment. As a result the poem is made easier to under-
* Fortune, bless this pure emotion,
Keep me hers and keep her mine,
Let the life of our devotion
Never like the rose decline.
Zlic Xprlc poet 45
stand, but is robbed of some of its personal charm. In
Willkommen und Abschied, for example, the second line,
" Und fort, wild, wie ein Held zur Schlacht" ("Swift as a
warrior to the fight"), — ^so characteristic of young Goethe
dashing away at mad speed toward Sesenheim — ^is changed
to the tamer reading, " Es war getan, fast eh gedacht" ('T was
done almost as soon as thought"). In the poem Jdgers
Abendlied, a Weimar echo of his former relation to Lili,
the poet replaces the stanza which reminds one so much
of Orestes and Faust —
®eS 9J?enf(^en, ber in aUcr SBelt
Sdie finbet 9lu^ nocf) 3loft;
®em ttiie 311 §aufe> fo im gelb
@ein ^erge fc^willt jur Soft *—
by a new one, which suggests nothing but the unhappy
lover:
®eS STOcnfd&en, ber bie SBelt but^ftreift,
SSoH Unmut unb SBerbrul;
9la(^ Often unb m^ SBcften fc[)ttietft,
SBcil er bic^ laffcn rauf.t
In his effort to make his poetry intelligible to all he has
effaced many a beautiful and interesting feature, character-
istic of his former self, by the changing of a single word.
In Wonne der Wehmut, which he composed in 1775 out of
sorrow over his separation from Lili, we read in the origi-
nal version : " Trocknet nicht, trocknet nicht, Trdnen der
heiligen Liehe!" (" Dry ye not, dry ye not, tears of a love
that is holy"). We find the same adjective applied to love
in a letter to Auguste Stolberg of the same period. Out
of fear that the reader might not fully understand why he
characterised love as holy, he later erased the word "heili-
gen" and substituted for it "ewigen" ("everlasting"). In
the Wanderers Nachtlied of February 12, 1776, he changed
* Cf. vol. ii., p. 2.
t The man of trouble and unrest,
Who roameth far and wide,
Now tow'rd the east, now tow'rd the west,
Since forced to leave thy side.
46 JLbe Xife of (Boetbe
" AUe Freud' und Schmerzen stillest" (" Every joy and sorrow
stillest") to "Alles Leid und Schmerzen stillest" ("Every
pain and sorrow stillest"). In the poem Einschrdnkung
(August 3, 1776), one of the most exquisite documents of
the beginning of his career in Weimar, he made many altera-
tions out of consideration for Karl August; there were other
changes which he made without being constrained by this
motive. The phrase," In reineDumpfheitgehullt" ("Wrapped
in a pure dream-veil"*), which characterises so aptly
young Goethe's and the Duke's striving, a striving that was
a groping about in the dark, and yet pure, was reduced to
the simple, but hardly more intelligible, expression " einge-
hullt" ("inwrapped").
We have put forward prominently the inward and out-
ward truth of Goethe's poems. Outward truth, in that
they portray experiences; inward truth, in that the ex-
periences are of a normal and typical character and their
typical value is further enhanced by artistic elaboration.
In this element of truth they show a very great advance
over Goethe's predecessors. If we except, perhaps, the un-
fortunate poet Johann Christian Gunther, and Klopstock,
whose productions in this field were essentially intellectual
lyrics, the lyric poetry before Goethe, in so far as it made
any literary pretensions, was, like all the poetry of the time,
nothing but "polite learning," as it aptly styled itself.
Poets read the lyric models, both good and bad, among
the ancients and among the French, they learned their
modes of expression and their artificial manner, and with
this knowledge patched together tender, gallant songs.
Young Goethe said with reference to this state of affairs:
"We are actuated by an artificial feeling; our imagination
composes its poetry with a cold heart." The worthy
Anacreontic poet Christian Felix Weisse had no idea at
all to what extent he was mocking himself when he affirmed,
in the consciousness of his innocence :
* The word Dumpfheit, as here employed by Goethe, connotes so
much that it defies translation. For a scholarly and most interesting dis-
cussion of the semasiology of the word see Boucke, Wort und Bedeutung
in Goethes Sprache, pp. 156 if., 297 jf., and 306. — C.
^be %^tic poet 47
3d^ trSumte ftetg in Slofenlauben,
Unb ronrb am Sc^reibetifdie ttiac^.
3d) troutntc Sftoft au8 ^odEil^eitnS S^raubcn,
Unb fd^opfte meinen auS bem ^a^.* '
The fundamental truthfulness of his nature had led
Goethe, even while a student at Leipsic, ^ to break away from
this empty, vapid dalliance in verse, even though he may
later, now and then, have paid homage to the fashionable
gods and donned the wig and sword of gallantry. But the
bursting of the last bits of the shell which still clung to his
genius and cramped it was accomplished by his contact with
the teachings of Herder and folk-poetry. When, a short
time after his return from Strasburg, he begged the genius
of his fatherland to cause to rise up a youth in whose songs
there should be truth and living beauty, not gay, soap-
bubble ideals, such as were floating about in hundreds of
German songs, he knew very well that this youth had
already arisen in his own person. He had already sung
Willkommen und Abschied, Mailied, Heidenroslein, Der
Wandrer, Wanderers Sturmlied, Felsweihe-Gesang, Elysium,
and Pilgers Morgenlied, which were soon followed by Adler
und Taube, Mdhomets Gesang, Prometheus, Ganymed, An
Schwager Kronos, Kunstlers Abendlied, and the many other
effusions of his youth, some breathing Storm and Stress,
'Others enveloped in the aura of peaceful repose.
Before this virile_ afflatus the old fictitious world of
namby-pamby shepherds and shepherdesses disappeared
on every hand, the Chloes and Phyllises, the Damoetases
and Philintes vanished, and made way -for true existence
and for living human beings, grasped by a vigorous hand
from the jangling confusion of the world. Here there was
no imaginary lover, no imaginary sweetheart — ^he hardly
ever drew on the old stock of properties for a name to
cloak his originals; nor was there any imaginary circum-
* I ever dreamed in rosy bowers,
And at my writing desk awoke;
I dreamed new hock of wondrous powers,
And dipped my own from out the brook.
48 Zl)e %iU of (Boetbc
stance — except perchance a real circumstance transformed
into a symbolic picture — or any "pretended emotions."
S In Goethe, the mortal enemy of empty words, we shall seek
in vain for meaningless phrases. Strike where one will
the many hundred statues, large or small, of his lyric
Pantheon, they will nowhere sound hollow. On the con-
trary, one may say of the most of them that their metal is
of too compact a nature. The lyric moulds were too small
to contain comfortably the abundance of material which
he poured into them. This quality of compactness became •
more and more marked as he grew older. The over-abun-
dance of material caused the meaning of many of the poet's
songs to be shrouded in darkness, or at least in a kind of
crepuscular light, such as we have previously seen resulting i
from the individual nature of the experiences to which they
owed their origin. Again we are reminded of his com-
parison of his poetry to painted window-panes.
When we say that Goethe's poems reflect t57pical truth, \
we at the same time declare that their thought-content is \
true and genuine. It is not necessary that every true
thought should be distinguished by depth. The truth
contained in Goethe's poems, however, causes our eyes to
penetrate to their utmost depths the human breast and
the riddles of the universe.
Let us choose as examples of his lyrics of feeling very
short poems, because in them the significant content will
be most clearly revealed.
Wonne der Wehmut is a poem of 5nly six lines :
SrodCnet tti(|t, trodCnet nid&t,
Sranen ber eitiigen Siebe!
Slc^ 1 ttur bem E)alb getrodfneten Stuge
SBic obe, wte tot bie SBelt i[)m er[^eint!
Srocfnet nid&t, trodCnct nid^t,
S^ranen ungliirflic^er fiiebe ! *
* Dry ye not, dry ye not,
Tears of a love everlasting! '
Ah! to the eye still half dimmed with weeping
How dreary, how dead the world doth appear!
tTbe X^ric poet 49
Yet how deep an insight these few lines give us! There
is no great, true happiness without pain. Hence even the
happiness of true love must be accompanied by pain and
tears. True love is of God, a part of the divine love per-
meating the universe. Hence it is everlasting, or, as we
read in the original version, holy. If the tears of this love
were to dry up, it would be a sign that the love itself had
withered. Without love the world appears dreary and
dead, a souUess, jangling mechanism. And, as Goethe,
late in life, in one of the most beautiful songs of his WesU
ostlicher Divan, distinctly pointed out, God seemed lonely to
Tiimseif ^bifore he had sent love into the world. To this
philosophy of the world unhappy love is a thing unknown;
and in the original version the last line spoke only of " tears
of a love everlasting." For even the tears of unhappy
love have something blessed about them. Indeed, they
enable us to feel our intimate relation to the world more
clearly than do the tears of happy love. With the situation
in mind in which he had composed the little song, when
his love for Lili had proved to be an unhappy love, he
wrote, "Through the most glowing tears of love I gazed
on the moon and the world, and everything about me was
soulful." In so far the last line now appears as a climax,
and it is an evidence of Goethe's good judgment that he
gave "unhappy" love a place in the poem, instead of merely
repeating the first two lines as a refrain.
True love is a fructifying influence which radiates in all 1
directions. Not only does it unite us more closely with the v
world, in general it makes man nobler and purer. It casts
out all that is ignoble, crude, and harsh, melts selfishness
hidden away in deep "wintry caves," and, because it is
"the spirit of purity itself," it helps the good in man to
attain to a free and happy growth. Out of this feeling
Goethe composed Herbstgefilhl, about the same time. The
vine outside his window is bedewed with the tears of ever-
animating love, and so the song begins :
Dry ye not, dry ye not,
Tears of a love all unhappy!
VOL. in, — 4
50 ^be Xlfe of (BoetDc
getter grune, bu 2aub,
5lm [Hebengelcinber
$ier mein genfter l^erauf I
©cbrangter queHet,
SwiHinggbeeren, unb rctfet
(Sd^neHer unb glanjenb ooHcr! *
Then from this little glimpse of Autumn we are carried
by a quick turn to the most fruitful foundation of the
moral world.
In this connection we must recall the concluding stanzas
of the song entitled An den Mond, in which the poet says,
I " Happy he who leaves the world's vain noise and to his
Ibosom clasps a friend." But not for weak self-enjoyment.
Hence the condition, " without hate." This is not meant to
convey the idea of indifference ; the poet means, rather, with
love toward the world and with the determination to con-
tinue to exert an influence in the world, as we see more
clearly from the further lines, "And with him enjoys,
what, by common folk unguessed, or esteemed but light,
through the mazes of the breast softly steals by night."t
In order to gain the best things in the life of man, and
in this way to strengthen himself for active participation
in the work of the world, the individual not only has the
right, but it is his duty at times, to withdraw from the
world. For the world, with its noise and superficiality,
prevents the awakening of the best that is in man, which
can be drawn from the depths of the soul only by a like-
minded friend and when all around is still. Unknown to
men, or not taken into account by them, it passes through
the labyrinth of the breast in the night. This is not obscure
rhetoric, such as is so frequently employed by shallow
minds to give confused thought the semblance of pro-
fundity; like the " labyrinthian caverns" of the original
* Green more richly, ye leaves,
That up o'er the trellis
Past my window do rise!
More densely swell ye,
Berries twin, and more quickly
Ripen to fuller splendour!
t See page 42.
version of the Marienbad Elegie, it is an impressive symbol
of the labyrinthian intricacies of our soul-powers, which
psychology only with difiiculty is able to unravel.
To these examples may be added one more little song.
It numbers four lines and is placed in the mouth of Suleika.
®er Spiegel jagt mir: ic^ bin fd)5n !
S^r fagt: ju altern fei auc^ mein ©efd^icf. i
85or ®ott mu^ aM emig ftc^n, 1
3n mir liebt 3^n, fiir biefen Slugenblidf.
It begins with outward things. Suleika is standing
before a mirror and admires her reflection — "The mirror
tells me I am fair!" She hears mocking voices: "Ye say,
to age my certain fate will be." True, but: "To God all
things eternal are." Even though ye, like this mirror,
look upon my beauty as something ephemeral, before
God it stands eternal; for, like everything else, it is an ema-
nation from Him. "For this one moment, then, love
Him in me." At least for the moment that my beauty
endures. Thus the diminutive song leads us from a look
into the mirror to the Eternal, to the Most High ; and while
the poet, in these narrow Hmits, is developing the quickly
rising thought, he at the same time has space enough to
show us Suleika in her beauty, her depth, and her humility.
The social song is looked upon as a lower order of emo-
tional lyric. Yet what inspiring earnestness Goethe has suc-
ceeded in imparting to his cheery symposiac compositions !
To his faithful friends who share the cup with him he grants
absolution only on condition that they shall strive unceas-
ingly to break themselves of their habit of half-doing
things, and to live resolutely whole lives of goodness and
beauty {Generalbeichte, 1804). He advises one to count on
the vanity of the world, by which he means to declare
one's complete resignation in order the more surely to make
the world one's own possession (Vanitas! Vanitatum Vani-
tas! 1806). For him who takes people just as they are,
with toleration, he prophesies their willing co-operation
(Pffne Tafel, 18 13). He lauds honest, joyful, determined
52 Zl)c Xlfe of (Boetbc
action and condemns eternal sighing and groaning, and,
above all else, affected sorrow over the wickedness and
miserableness of the world {Rechenschaft, 1810). To the
good and strong, who always keep up their courage, he prom-
ises not only happy hours when a bibamus shall rejoice their
ears, but even happier ones when the clouds hanging over
the world shall part and through the rift the Deity shall
appear in splendour (Ergo Bibamus, 18 10). Indeed, the
happy couples belonging to the Wednesday Club go out
from the sacred feast and scatter throughout the broad
universe, as social monads creating new worlds (Weltseele,
1803). The serious appeals and the profound interpre-
tations of this worldly wisdom are not delivered in an awk-
ward, obtrusive, and pedantic way; they are presented
gracefully, fluently, humorously, even perkily, so that the
peculiar character of the social song is preserved. Goethe
knew how to transform the old saying, Pro patria est,
dum ludere videmur, into a Pro deo est.
In a lyric of feeling we demand a certain depth of
thought, but not in a narrative poem. We are satisfied,
may even be moved and delighted, if the event which the
poet relates to^us is presented in an effective way. Thus
we have ballads, under which name we include here all
narrative poems, which have little or no thought-content
and yet are valued highly as works of art; such as Burger's
Lenore, Schiller's Der Taucher, Uhland's Des Sdngers Fluch,
Heine's Belsazar, or Goethe's own Alexis und Dora.
The highest artistic value, however, attaches to those
poems which unite significant content and the portrayal
of a very interesting action. Goethe wrote more such
ballads than any other poet. And these poems have such
a magic charm for us because the thought in them is either
entirely, or most forcibly, expressed through the picture, and
the effect of the picture is like that of an enveloping veil
through which it is possible to divine the thought. The
charm is further enhanced by the fact that Goethe has
woven the veil out of wonderful material. Realising with
fine discrimination that the deepest things that stir the
Zhc %^x\c poet 53
human heart are deposited in popular myths and legends
in which supermundane and inframundane powers and
forces are real factors in ordinary life, he drew his material
from these sources. To this category belongs Die Braut von
Korinth (1797).
We see in this poem the consummation of the effects
of an event of world-wide significance, the clash between
Christianity and heathenism, in the smallest, and yet most
important, circle of mankind, the family. This clash,
furthermore, may be looked upon as a symbol of all conflicts
arising from differences in faith, views, and convictions,
whether in matters pertaining to God, the state, society,
rank, family, or to the single individual with whom one is
associated by choice or by accident in a common life. We
see how egoism (here that of the sick mother) is only too
willing to take faith into its service, with the pleasing self-
delusion that the sacrifices which one demands in one's
behalf will serve the good cause, the generality of mankind.
We see the conflict between the ever-justifiable claims
of nature and the bigoted laws and fancies of men; we see
the infinite power of love, which unites the lovers beyond
the grave, and how the one person draws the other to himself,
first the living youth the dead maiden, by imparting to
her life-blood, then the dead maiden the living youth, bj
drawing from him his life-blood. But this common death is
only an awakening to new life, an awakening again with
the kind old gods, who have remained alive and will continue
to live, because in them are incorporated the laws of nature.
Whereas in Die Braut von Korinth Goethe described the
conflict between Christianity, and heathenism on Greek
soil, in Die erste Walpurgisnacht (1799) the scene is on Ger-
man soil, and here the poet's sole purpose is to bring out
the contrast. Hence the two forms of belief are set off
against each other with characteristic distinctness.
It is a very Uvely night scene. The heathen have gath-
ered on the mountain top for their May festival, and as they
approach All-father with nocturnal fire and song. Christian
warriors pursue them, as though they were dangerous wild
54 ^be Xife of <5oetbe
animals. They frighten away the Christians with the
devil, whom the Christians fable, and then finish their
exalted festival in peace.
Goethe throws all the light on heathenism and leaves
all the shade for Christianity. To be sure, he did not
mean Christianity as Jesus taught it; he meant, rather,
that born^, erroneous view of the world which considers
nature hostile to God, a domain of the devil, whereas his
heathenism sees in nature the self-revelation of God. The
Christians appear in the ballad as cruel persecutors of those
of different belief, because they feel themselves hindered in
their belief by these creatures of the devil; at the same
time they are cowardly and are filled with terror in the
presence of nature, which they look upon as a work of the
devil. The heathen, on the contrary, are gentle; they con-
sider every being a creature of God, which may well impair
the existence, but not the belief, of another. Hence they
only ward off those who attack them, while the Christians
slay even the peaceful. Nor are they afraid of anything
that is natural. No devil can fill them with terror, because
they find him nowhere in nature. The Christians consider
their faith a faith fully revealed to them by God, and
hence perfect; the heathen consider theirs a faith true in
itself, but as yet imperfect, because God-Nature is only
gradually revealed to man. But as the fire is purified
of the smoke, so they hope that in time their faith will also
be purified of all obscurity.
Unb raubt man~un§ ben alten SSraud^,
®ein Sic^t, mer fann eg rauben!*
A third time Goethe treated the theme of dogmatic and
natural religion, this time limiting himself to a short pre-
sentation of the final conflicts between the two, in the legend
of the Ephesian goldsmith (Gross ist die Diana der Epheser,
1812), who prefers to picture God according to his likenesses
in nature, rather than according to the conceptions "back
of the silly forehead of man."
* Rob us they may of customs old ;
Who can thy light deny us?
Zlic l^ric poet 55
We have wandered far with the poet in order to assure
ourselves of the depth of his ballads, — ^from Greece to
Germany, and thence to the soil of Asia Minor. Let us
make a somewhat broader search and go with him now to
the waters of the Indus and the Ganges. There is to be
found the outward home of the songs Paria and Der Gott
und die Bajadere. He laid the scene of the most profound
pictures of his conception of God in the original home of
the Indo-Europeans. We find this conception most elabo-
rately expressed in the Paria, which accounts for the fact
that he carried the material about in his mind for forty
years* and only in 1824 finally determined "to remove
it from his inmost soul by means of words."
Its fundamental idea may perhaps be expressed in this
way : The great masses long for God, but cannot find him of
themselves ; they need a mediator. Such mediators are the
geniuses of mankind. They have a double nature : " dwell-
ing with their heads in heaven, they feel the earth's down-
drawing power." This double nature is a necessity willed
by God ("Thus hath Brahlna this decreed") ; for it is only
because of their earthly part that they are able to make
known to God the frailties of mankind and to move him to
have mercy on the weary and heavy-laden. This idea is ex-
plained by the fiery words of the Indian mediator, the Brah-
mani, to whose noble head is joined the body of a sinful
woman. Her closing words, " What I think and what I feel,
May that a secret e'er remain," are very surprising. We
had thought that she had expressed all her thoughts and
feelings concerning her position as a mediator, and now we
learn that her final, inmost thoughts and feelings have re-
mained a secret. Can it be that it is impossible to reveal
this secret?
The Brahmani has spoken of God as something outside
herself; but her secret thought is that it is only within her
that God lives, lives in the highest sense of the word. And
she not only thinks this, she feels it; indeed, she thinks it
because she feels it. Nevertheless it seems best to her to
keep these thoughts and feelings silent, because the crowd
56 ^be %ltc of 6oetbc
would shudder at them, as at a display of blasphemous pre-
sumption, and would see in her a destroyer of God, in-
stead of a helper before God. It is easy to see why Goethe
cherished and guarded this "mo^t significant fable" as a
"sUent treasure" for decades.
Der Gott und die Bajadere (1797) is, in a certain sense, a
prelude in which these fundamental motives of the Paria are
clearly anticipated. Mahadeva, the lord of the earth, be-
comes man in order that he may be God. " If he is to spare
or punish he as man must men observe." It is the sinners,
not the pure, who need him. Therefore he associates with
a sinful woman, inspires her with love for him so strong that
while his dead body is being burned on a funeral pile she leaps
into the fire and thus is purified from the filth into which she
had sunk. She is now permitted to ascend with him to
heaven.
In some of these examples which we have chosen the
poet himself has now and then lifted the symbolic veil, in
others he has woven it light enough to enable us to recognise
the meaning which it covers. There are other of his ballads,
however, in which the veil is so heavy that we are unable to
see through it ; indeed we may well believe that it is here not
a question of a veil at all, but that what we see is all that the
poet desired to say to us. The Ballade vom vertriebenen und
zuruckkehrenden Grafen (1816) and the Hochzeitlied (1802)
seem to belong to this category. But we begin to waver in
this opinion so soon as we hear that Goethe placed these two
ballads in a group with Die Braut von Korinth, Der Gott und
die Bajadere, and the Paria, and said of them all that he had
carried the subjects in his mind for decades and had kept
them alive and effective in his inner self. " It seemed to
me the most beautiful possession," he continues, "to see
such worthy pictures often renewed in tJie fancy."
After this confession there is no room to doubt that these
two ballads were also symbols of deeper-ljdng thoughts,
which were constantly refreshed in Goethe's mind by all
sorts of experiences, and became effective means of pacifica-
tion and enlightenment. The very fact that he tenderly
^be X^ric poet 57
guarded the subjects for such a long time would speak in
favour of this view. If they had had no deeper significance to
him he would have yielded to some momentary impulse and
would have elaborated them quickly, or, what is more proba-
ble, would have dropped them. For this reason we naust
seek to grasp their meaning.
What do we see in the Hochzeitliedf
A count, who returns to his castle after a long absence,
finds it entirely empty and deserted. Servants and posses-
sions have vanished, the wind sweeps through the windows.
This does not disturb him in the least; he preserves his
happy spirit, goes cheerfully to bed, and, like a good-natured,
great lord, allows the dwarfs, who visit him in his slumbers,
to take possession of the castle and do in it what they will.
They celebrate a wedding, during which the castle is filled
with wealth and splendour. " And what he had seen on a
scale neat and small. He after enjoyed on a large scale." The
count is one of those strong personalities whom Goethe loved
and whose example he sought to emulate. If one will not
weep, not lament over past misfortune, but with fresh, joy-
ous courage will bmld up again what has been destroyed, and,
if possible, give to others from the little that one has left,
then one can count upon receiving, in addition to one's own
strong arms, the aid of the mighty arms of one's compan-
ions, and what was lost will be restored in greater beauty
than before. " Thus it was, and thus it is to-day."
This is the meaning of the poem and is one of the poet's
favourite themes.*
The Ballade vom vertriebenen und zuruckkehrenden Graf en f
may be called a h)min to the great benefactors, the "high
nobility" of mankind. The count belongs to this class. He
is a returning Christ, a returning Mahadeva. He is best un-
derstood by children. " O thou good one," they address him
as soon as they see him, in spite of his beggar's garb. His
love and his kindness are not to be disturbed by anything;
* Cf. Ttirck, Eine neue Faust-Erkldrung, p. 66.
t Goethe planned to treat the theme of this ballad dramatically in his
projected opera. Der Lawenstuhl (cf. H., i., 287; W., xii., 294 if.). — C.
58 ^be Xlfe of (5oetbe
neither by the injustices of harsh fate, nor by the injustices
of harsh men, whom we here see in the picture of the princely
son-in-law. In fact, misfortune, suffering, and want always
seem only to make him better and gentler. He gives away
his daughter, his most precious treasure, without hesitation,
and does not even desire that he be given a home with her
by his princely son-in-law, preferring to remain in his beg-
gar's misery, because he feels that it will be best so for his
daughter; he "beareth his sorrow with gladness." Long
years he avoids them and his grandchildren, then appears at
their castle, but does not make himself known imtil he is in
a position to make them all happy — both the just and the
tmjust. " Blissful stars " shine down upon his entrance. He
is a herald of " gentle laws," he breaks " the seals of the treas-
ures" and thereby identifies himself as the rightful lord.
Is it still necessary to point out the "moral" of the fable?
It has a parallel in the seven sleepers (Siebenschldfer, in the
West-ostUcher Divan), who are buried alive and come back
to live again. Their chosen representative, Jamblika, also
" establishes his personality" by opening for the new genera-
tion the treasures which had been walled in like the seven
sleepers. "As an ancestor resplendent stands Jamblika
in prime of youth." Such benefactors of mankind remain
for ever young.
Der getreue Eckart (1813) appears to be nothing but a
versified children's fable with the moral, " Silence is golden,"
added by the poet himself. Yet there is more in it than the
poet calls upon us to believe, for he did not dare burden the
innocent song addressed to children with too heavy and too
broad a moral. The pith of the story is not in the silence,
but in the entertainment of the unfriendly spirits, which
become friendly because of the kind hospitality shown them.
The gold of silence may be more closely interpreted to mean
that one should keep silent about the visit of the good spirits ;
otherwise they are frightened away and the mugs go dry.
There is a dangerous diminution of the good in the mere
speaking of it. This is true not only of ethics, but also of
poetry, as Goethe had very often learned by experience. So
Zfic X?rtc poet 59
soon as he talked about inspirations of good spirits, about
his plans and projects, they ceased to grow and were in
danger of drying up.
Let us further consider the deep S3mibolism which he has
embodied in two more of his most famous ballads, namely,
Erlkonig and Der Konig in Thule.
The symbolism of the Erlkonig (written in 1781, pub-
lished in 1782) paints the power of the lower gods over weak
spirits, whom they approach in alluring garb. The weak
spirits are brought before us in the character of the sick
child. Werther had treated his own heart like a sick child
and had fallen a victim to suicide. In 1776 Goethe had writ-
ten of Lenz that he acted in their company like a sick child,
and two years later Lenz tried more than once to commit
suicide. Christel von Lasberg, who found her death in a
region reminding one strongly of the scene in the Erlkonig,
may also have made upon Goethe the impression of a sick
child. When Erlkonigs Tochter appeared in 1779, in the
second volume of Herder's Volkslieder, Goethe doubtless
recognised in the Danish ballad a picture which could be
made to suit the motive reposing in his mind, by changing
Herr Olaf into a sick child and the Erl-King's daughter, who
may have seemed to him too tender to represent the dark
spirits of the earth, into the Erl-King himself. The whole
thus became a companion piece to Der Fischer, by the side
of which Goethe placed it in the collection of his poems, cer-
tainly not without his reasons for so doing. Moreover, the
consciousness of this parallel may have determined him to
have it sung by the heroine of his operetta. Die Fischerin,^
who out of vexation over her betrothed has no little desire to
throw herself into the water. To be sure, she is no sick
child — ^is, on the contrary, very healthy — and this very fact
gives us an indication that Goethe wished the symbolic con-
tent of the ballad to be given a still broader interpretation.
In order to make our meaning clear from the beginning
we have spoken somewhat arbitrarily of sick children. The
ballad itself speaks of the child only in a general way, but we
may very well imagine it to be ill, without doing violence to
6o Zl)e Xife of (Boetbe
Goethe's meaning. Behind the sick child, however, are
children in general. Most people are like such children,
except that they are well. They see things not as they are,
but as their fancy, free from any restraint of strict morality
or objectivity, paints them. This fancy is especially excit-
able when people are under the strain of any anxiety. Then
they see ghosts and evil spirits everywhere. In Die Fisch-
erin, for example, Niklas, the fisherman, a sturdy fellow,
wholly free from sickly sentimentality, consumes his bread
and brandy, and yet in his anxiety about his Dortchen he
hears screams where all is still and allows himself to be tor-
tured by premonitions and by evil spirits, who soon flutter
away as creatures of his delusion. Men are just such Nik-
lases. Through their imagination they lose their lives with-
out dying. Thus the inward truth of the song is found to
have a quite general application to the children among men.
Der Konig in Thule was written between 177 1 and 1774.
■ The nucleus of the explanation of this ballad lies in the sacred
golden goblet. The goblet is the sweet, yet painful, mem-
ory which a great experience leaves behind. Goethe, draw-
ing from his own life, employs here as the symbol of a great
experience an ardent love of deep significance. It is now a
thing of the past. The- beloved one is dead. His remem-
brance of her is still sweet and golden ; for it recalls precious
pictures, and brings him to a consciousness of the great
moral advancement which he has experienced through her,
both at the time and under her enduring influence. Hence
the goblet is valued by the king above all else. His remem-
brance is also full of pain and is sacred, for it reminds him of
days long gone, and of the dear departed, a noble personality,
sanctified by her purity and her sufferings. The king's eyes
fill with tears as oft as he drinks from the goblet. Such
remembrances cannot be bequeathed. They sink with us
into the ocean that engulfs our lives.
In addition to truth and genuineness, intrinsic merit and
depth, Goethe's poems have the further precious quality of
inwardness. "Inward warmth, spirit-warmth — central
point!" was the sententious demand which the fiery youth
tCbe Xi^rlcipoet 6i
had made of his cold-hearted century. His genius was
Phoebus Apollo, the sun which fills man with natural
warmth, not Father Bromius, Bacchus, through whom others
sought to give themselves artificial warmth. " Whom thou
ne'er forsakest, Genius, him wilt thou wrap warmly in
the snow-storm!" {Wanderers Sturmlied). "Thou, omni-
present Love, glow'st in Ta&\'\Pilgers Morgenlied). " I feel
what makes the poet, a full heart, filled entirely with one
emotion" (Franz, in Gotz von Berlichingen). It was out of
his full, glowing heart that Goethe wrote his poetry, for
which reason all his poems breathe refreshing warmth and
inwardness. With this inwardness is saturated not only
his lyric poetry in the narrow sense, his poetry of feeling, but,
what surprises us more, even his poetry of thought and his
ballads.
It is true that other poets have sung their thoughts with
lofty inspiration. We think first of all of Klopstock and
Schiller. Nevertheless, in comparison with Goethe, there is
something cold about their poems. How shall we account
for this? In inspired flights Goethe is inferior to them.
When Klopstock and Schiller speak to us we feel as though
we were listening to preachers or philosophers, who wish to
exert an influence and have lent poetic form to their thoughts
in order to achieve the noblest effect. It is different with
Goethe; it is not his desire to make an impression, and he
does not think of others.
We feel that these poems of thought are not the products,
or at least not merely the products, of a speculative mind,
as is the case with Schiller, nor of a somewhat confused
ecstasy, as is the case with Klopstock; they are, rather, the
results of a life grasped by the whole soul, with understanding
and reason, with heart and eyes, and dearly paid for with
joys and sorrows. Hence the deep, inward warmth which
they radiate, and the passionate symbolism which animates
them. We feel that the poet has not withdrawn from
them after they were bom. We feel his immediate presence
in them with his loving heart. There is a permanent rela-
tion between him and them. This feature is characteristic
62 ^be %itc of (Boetbe
of his thought poems in every period of his life: Wanderers
Sturmlied, Mahomets Gesang, Grenzen der Menschheit, Das
Gottliche, Proomion, Weltseele, Bins und Alles, Vermdchtnis,
Wiederfinden, arid Selige Sehnsucht, the crown and type of all.
Less striking is the inwardness which we observe in his
narrative poems. When the poet rises above the common
ballad monger, he cannot avoid taking an interest in the
events portrayed, and this interest must show itself. As
a matter of fact most poets make a point of telling how they
themselves are affected. Yet how few of them communicate
to us the feeling of warmth that Goethe's ballads radiate!
Where is the ballad that could be compared, even in inward-
ness, with Die Braut von Korinih or Der Gott und die Bajadere?
But, let us add, what other poet has his warmth and his
felicity in expressing it? He did not look upon his subjects
as mere fables that could be told effectively in stanzas ;
he considered them, rather, vessels to carry heart-stirring
experiences.
// Heidenroslein and Der untreueKnabe, * for example, — ^both ■
imitations of folk-songs which he had collected for Herder
in Alsatia — are faithful reflections of his feelings at his parting
from Friederike;yjDir Fischer (1778) is the reflection of a
genuine Werthenan longing, which he had certainly more
than once felt, to seek in the cool water, mirroring the sky, a
way of escape from a suffocating earthly existence to true
life. Gefunden (August 26, 1813) clothes his first meeting with
Christiane in- the intimate charm of an innocent allegory;
Alexis und Dora (1796) brings to us a strange echo of the
tender reciprocal affection between him and the beautiful
Milanese, which, as in the poem, first revealed itself at the
moment of parting. Der Sanger (1783) , which paints a min-
strel at the court of a king, lends typical form to the author's
own most peculiar feelings and experiences.
There was a twofold element of personal experience in
the background of Die Braut von Korinth. The more im-
mediate background was drawn from the contrast between
the poet and the pious circles "on the coast of the Baltic
Sea" — ^the Stolbergs in Eutin, the Reimarus "tea circle"
Zbc %^xic poet 63
in Hamburg, and their following, among whom were num-
bered Fritz Jacobi and Schlosser. These circles included,
as we see, some of the poet's closest friends and relatives.
Not long before the writing of the poem Goethe had been
characterised by them as a heathen, and, besides, in Eutin
his Wilhelm Meister had been burned as an immoral book.
The other element of personal experience which he had felt
keenly in recent years was the result of that most narrow-
minded and destructive of all delusions, infectious misbelief.
A wrong understanding of him had sprung up with the
Herders and Frau von Stein, and the thousand-fold " love
and fidelity" which he had shown them "was torn up by
the roots like a noisome weed."
The general contrast between his belief and that of the
"Christians" who engaged in the feud against him bore
further fruit in Die erste Walpurgisnacht. He himself is
that " one of the Druids ' ' who regrets that he is forced to sing
the praises of the All-father by night, and who speaks to
himself the consoling words :
®oii^ifte§2;ag,
©obolb mon mag
(Sin reincg ^erj Sir bringen.*
The third poem that treats of this contrast. Gross ist die
Diana der Epheser, grew out of his defence against Jacobi's
essay Von den gottlichen Dingen und ihrer Offenbarung
<i8ii).
It is easy to see what personal experiences occasioned-the
"writing of Der Gott und die Bajadere. Behind the poetic
veil is Goethe's relation to Christiane, who was considered
the bajadere by Weimar society, the " chorus without mercy
which increased her heart's distress." Another poem based
on Indian legends and conceptions, the Paria, finished for the
most part in the summer of 1816, seems intended to por-
tray a possible tragic climax in the fate of Marianne von
* So soon 't is day
__ As thee we may
A heart unsullied oflEer.
64 ^be %ifc of <5oetbe
Willemer,* who, like the wife of the Brahman, at the sight
of the divine youth, felt in Goethe's presence, for the first
time in her life, her "inner being stirred to its deepest
depths. ' ' Goethe wrote the poem for the purpose of strength-
ening himself in his determination not to see her again, just
as on a previous occasion he had allowed himself to be
affected by the downfall of Egmont.
In addition to its observation of the world, Der Zauber-
lehrling (1797) has more than one personal experience as a
basis. In this poem Goethe is just as much the apprentice,
who thoughtlessly calls up the spirits, as the master, who
by his power over them forces them to retire into a comer.
He himself had let loose the Storm and Stress in Strasburg,
Frankfort, and Weimar, and even now observed how from
the same seed the rampant growth of romanticism was
shooting up with the unrestraint of insolent youth. As
twenty years before, so now he was obliged to summon all
his powers as a master in order to free himself from these
spirits encamped about him and to drive them back into
their proper bounds.^ As indicated in Die Lehrjahre, the
poem is in still another sense a sjmibolic picture of his own
experiences. Reading, reflection, and life created in the
fancy of the apprentice Goethe a thousand forms which sur-
rounded him, alluring and urging him, and awakened " a thou-
sand emotions and capabilities" — ^individual spirits in his
great spirit, which longed passionateljr for deliverance and
manifestation. His only means of rescuing himself from this
overcrowded state was by his magic word, "limitation."
He was apprentice and master in one person.
We shall not seek further to point out the personal ele-
ments contained in Goethe's ballads. They are not always
clearly distinguishable. But from the indications which the
poet has given us there can be but few of his ballads which
do not embody some of his experiences. We do not doubt,
for example, that even Der Konig in Thule has some connec-
tion with Goethe's life, or, to speak more specifically, with
the tragic idyll of Sesenheim. This will help us to under-
* Cf. Burdach, in GJ., xvii., 28.
lEbe Xi^ric poet 65
stand how, in his autobiography, he was able to say of this
poem and of Der untreue Knabe that at the time when he
recited them to Fritz Jacobi, in the summer of 1774, they
were still bound to his heart and rarely crossed his lips, and
then only to very congenial friends.
If we inquire further into the elements of the beauty of
Goethe's poems we discover his many charms in the field of
contrast. We have in mind hereonlythe contrast in subject-
matter, not the contrast which has its source in the art of
presentation. This contrast in subject-matter is frequently
lacking in other poets, and even in folk-songs. As a usual
thing only one tone is struck, such as sorrow, joy, repose,
comfort, longing, hope, and the like, and that tone runs with
varying, strength through the whole poem. In Goethe,
on the other hand, the most diverse tones swell in glorious
contrast with one another : repose and passion, joy and sor-
row, happiness and unhappiness, hate and love, renunciation
and desire, guilt and innocence, guilt and atonement, dismay
and courage, indolence and energetic action, dream and
reality, reason and fancy, in^ulse toward life and the power
of fate, art and life, mastership and dilettanteism, ingenuous-
ness and sentimentality, nature and civilisation, narrowness
and world-broadness, youth and old age, life and death, the
present and the past, Christianity and heathenism, God and
man, God and the world, and all the other contrasts that stir
the breast of man.
Very often several contrasts are introduced, giving the
poem a stronger pulse and a deeper significance. To men-
tion but a few instances, in Die Braut von Konnth, for ex-
ample, we find Christianity and heathenism, the happiness of
love and the sorrow of love, renunciation and desire, life and
death ; in Der Wandrer, nature and civilisation, ingenuousness
and sentimentality, contentment in narrow surroundings and
longing to go out into the wide world ; and in number fifteen
of the Romische Elegien, North and South, past and present
individual fate and world history, — wonderfully combined
into symphonies, at times thrilling, at times exalting, and
at other times charming, serious, and merry. Even in
VOL. III. — s.
66 ^be !lLife of (5octbe
the smallest poem there is not infrequently more than one
effective contrast. In the above-mentioned short quatrain,
which is supposed to be spoken by Suleika, we have a mo-
ment and eternity, an individual and God, youth and old
age. At times the contrast is only suggested, as in the song
tJber alien Gipjeln ist i?«/t (September 6, 1780), the next to
the last line of which, in the words "wait" and " ere long, "
gives us the first intimation that it is an agitated heart that
is singing itself to rest.
These contrasts stand out with especial beauty and
clearness when they find parallels in the natural scenery
of the background. Such is the case in Schweizeralpe, in
which the counterpart of youth appears as the brown summit
of the mountain, and that of old age as the snow-capped
peak. It is also true of Euphrosyne, in which the night ac=
companies the lamentation for the dead, and the morning
announces new life ; and of Dem aufgehenden Vollmonde (Dom-
burg, 1828), in which grief and bliss alternate with the cloud-
obscured and the brightly shining moon.
We have chosen the word "symphonies" to characterise
the manner in which these contrasts are treated, because
the poet does not leave us in the midst of contrasts, nor
does he allow the contrasting elements to exclude each other ;
on the contrary, he makes them supplement each other. In
a word, he resolves the apparent discords of the world and
his own personality into harmony. He views things from
a standpoint that is high enough to enable him to recognise
the innocence in guilt, the happiness in sorrow, the pain in
happiness, the plenty in solitude, the wealth in simplicity,
the gain in renunciation, the salvation in sin, and to see the
harmony of hate and love, separation and reunion, life and
death, God and the world, and of a thousand other opposites.
So he speaks from the bottom of his heart when he says,
in Die Lehrjahre, that the poet has received from nature the
gift of keeping in harmony with many, often incompatible,
things ; that while the man of the world either drags out his
days in life-sapping melancholyover some great loss, or meets
his fate with unrestrained joy, that is to say, always moves
Zhc X^ric poet 67
at one of the opposing extremes, the poet's soul, like the
revolving sun, advances from night to day and with easy-
transitions attunes his harp to joy and sorrow, that is,
combines opposites in harmony. In the " Prelude " to Faust
it is said still more clearly of the poet :
SBSoburi^ befiegt cr jebeg Elctnent?
3ft eg bcr ginflang nic^t, ber aug bem SBufen bringt,
Unb in fein0cr3 bie SBelt juriicfe fd^Iingt?
SBenn bic 9latur be8 gabcng cro'ge Sange,
©leic^gultig bre^cnb, auf bie iSpinbel groingt,
SBcnn aHer SGSefen unl^armon'fc^e 3Kenge
SSerbrie&Iid^ burc^cinanberflingt;
SBer teilt bie flic^enb immer glei^e Stei^e
SBelebcnb ah, ba^ie fid^ rl^^t^mifd^ rcgt?
SBer tuft hai ©n^elne jur allgetneinen SBeil^e,
SBo e§ in ^errlic^en Slccorben fc^ldgt? *
If we make search for the deepest foundation of this lofty
gift of the poet, let us say at once, of the poet Goethe, it is the
same foundation upon which the pure truth of his poetry
rests, that sacred power of viewing the world as a uniform,
divine whole, in which every tone, every colour is a necessary
element, an element which needs only to be grasped in its
general significance, in its inward relation to the other ele-
ments, in order to blend in glorious consonance. By means
of this point of view the poet transforms the desolation and
confusion of chaos into a living, beautifully ordered cosmos.
Hence the great serenity and mild, warm splendour which
rest upon his poems. And at the same time that in these
poems he conquers grief, sorrow, and pain, by means of the
* Whereby doth he each element subdue?
Is 't not the harmony which from his bosom wells
And into his embrace the world compels?
When nature's spindle with unchecked gyration
Takes up her even thread through weary years.
When the discordant tones of all creation
With fretting jangle fill the spirit's ears,
Who gives this changeless order animation,
Transforming it into a rhythmic dance?
Who calls particulars to general ordination,
Where they may blend in glorious consonance?
68 ^be %\U of (Boetbc
sun which shines for him, he achieves a like victory in our
hearts.- Heine, who is so unlike him and who very often
dismisses us with harsh discords, has beautifully and aptly
declared, in Atta Troll, that serenity is the most genuine
characteristic of our poet :
Sd^ erfannte unfcrn SBolfgang
Sin bem f)eitern ©lana ber Stugen.*
But for his art of representation, much of the beauty,
sublimity, and depth of Goethe's poems would not b^e fully
realised. Apart from minor matters, this art shows itself
in his cleverness in laying bare the emotions of the human
heart, in the atmosphere of feeling with which he surrounds
the whole and all the parts, in the delicacy of his lines and
colours, which are free from angularity and harshness, in
his skiU in drawing contrasts so as to bring out each indi-
vidual colour more forcibly, in the animated brevity with
which situations open and develop, and in the sure object-
ivity of the pictures unfolding before us.
Let us tarry a moment to consider this last point. There
is a twofold objectivity. The one offers us plain, solid
facts which our understanding can easily comprehend in
their outward connection; this characterises, for example,
all the poems of Uhland. The other brings these facts
before us at the same time in bodily form, so that our eye can
grasp them. Goethe's poems possess both kinds, although
he was in danger of losing the second along with the first. In
danger, not on account of too great brevity, as in the Ballade
vom vertriebenen und zuriickkehrenden Grafen, or on account
of too close a connection with the actual experience, as in the
Harzreise im Winter, but on account of his inclination to
symbolism. Among the poets Goethe is perhaps the great-
est symbolist that ever lived. Inasmuch as every detail in
his life, in nature, in history, appeared to him symbolical,
standing for something else, broader, higher, and more gen-
eral, he gave a symbolic significance even to those of his
poems which were only a mirror of his inner self. Indeed
* By his eyes' serenest splendour
I our Wolfgang recognised.
JLbc Xi^ric poet 69
it may be said that he was not moved to transform material
into poetry until it was found to be capable of a deeper,
symbolical significance. This is true even of his subjective
poems, which apparently express only a definite inner
state. He was justified in saying of them that there dwelt
within each of them the kernel of a more or less significant
fruit. This inclination to symbolise found, however, a
most happy counterpoise in his need of definite, clear visu-
alisation ; and whereas with other symbolists a modest sym-
bolic content dissolves all their poetry into pale, wavering,
airy visions, his poetry, even that of most profound sig-
nificance, is marked by lustrous colours and most firm
proportions.
While with other symbolists the action pales away to
allegory, and without an understanding of the allegory is
devoid of interest, with Goethe it has a wholly independent
significance and stirs our minds and spirits in a high degree,
even though we may not grasp the symbolic meaning. The
reason for this difference is easy to discover. Others acquire
their ideas in an abstract, deductive way, Goethe acquires
his in a concrete, inductive way. The more clearly he saw
the thing itself, the more clearly was revealed to him the
spiritual significance contained in it; and as the writing of
poetry was to him an act in which he strove after elucida-
tion, he sought all the more earnestly to represent things in
his poetry as clearly as possible. The older he grew the
more he became convinced of the inadequacy of words as a
means of clear expression. " I should like to give up en-
tirely the habit of speaking," he once said in later years.
" There is something about it that is useless, idle, foppish.
I should like to speak like nature, altogether in
drawings." But he underestimated the power of his words.
The word under his hand is marvellously transformed into
line, colour, body, and picture, so that many a painter and
sculptor might envy him such " words" as are contained, for
example, in Mignon. The demand which he makes of the
poet, "Speak ncrt, artist, paint: be thy poem but a breath!"
he knew how gloriously to fulfil. This was most conspic-
70 Zlic %\tc of (5oetbe
uously true in the realm of nature, whose son, friend, lover he
early called himself, and whose characteristic features, whose
most secret life and activity, he saw and felt. He was able to
commune with her understandingly, whether he drew near
to her in field or garden, in forest or cave, in the fair valley or
on snow-capped peaks. " All nature, every blade of grass,
speaks to him."
We have often had occasion to admire his nature pictures,
but they are most deserving of admiration in his lyrics,
where the narrowness of the space challenged him to achieve
the highest results with the most limited means. With a
few strokes, often with a single stroke ("Fillest bush and
vale again, still with misty light ") , he sketches sky and earth,
sea and mountains, brook and river, meadow and forest, in
the many moods of the atmosphere, the day, and the season,
so clearly that they stand in palpable form before us. We
shall not conjure up these pictures here; they stand out
vividly before the eyes of everybody who knows Goethe.
Let us cite only a few exanaples of descriptions of the human
body, to which less attention is ordinarily paid. In Hans
Sachsens poetische Sendung he gives this description of the
"fair maiden":
SJ^it aBgcfenftem §aupt utib STug*
@i^t'8 unter einem Slpfelbaum
Unb fpurt bie SBelt ringg um fid^ laxaa,
§ot Sftofen in i^r'n @d^o$ ge^jfliidCt
• ••■•• ■
©0 fi^t fie in ftc^ felbft geneigt.
3n ^offnunggftta' i^r SBufcn fteigt.*
Who else ever painted such a speaking picture of the quiet
dreaming of a budding maiden?
In Der Besuch we have a realistic portrait, that of the
* With stooping head and downcast eye
She sits beneath an apple tree,
Doth scarce the world about her see,
Hath roses plucked into her lap.
Thus sits she in herself retired,
Her bosom heaves with hope inspired.
^be X^ric ipoet 71
beloved who has fallen asleep on the sofa in the midst of her
work:
®a8 ©eftticEte mit ben Slabelti rul^te
Swiften ben gefaltnen jarten ^onbcn;
®a betrad^tef ii) ben fc^onen gricben,
®cr ouf i^ren Slugenlibern rul^te :
Unb bie Unfd^ulb eineS guten ^crjenS
Slegte fid^ im Sufen ^in unb wieber.
Sebeg i^rer ©lieber log gefaQtg
Slufgeloft oorafufen ©otterbalfam.*
In Der Wandrer he says of the sleeping child :
SBie'8 in l^imtnlifd&er ©efunb^eit [
@c^n)iminenb ruE)ig attnet! f \
I
In Vollmondnacht he paints the moving of lips which
long for a kiss and yet only in secret, and half-consciously,
breathe their longing :
§errin, fag*, maS \ti^i \iQ& gluftern?
SBo« beroegt bir Icig bie Sip^jcn?
Sifpelft immer Dor bii^ l^in,
fiicblic^er oil SBeincg Sfippen! •
Senfftbu beinen SUtunbgefd^miftem
9loc^ ein ^cird^en ^erjujie^n ? %
* And the knitting, with the needles, rested
'Twixt her tender hands together folded;
Then I mused upon the peace so lovely
Which upon her slumb'ring eyelids rested:
And her good heart's innocence unspotted
Now and then did stir within her bosom.
All her limbs most gracefully reposing
Lay relaxed with heaven's sweetest balsam.
t Swimming in heaven-showered health,
How calmly he breathes!
X In thy whispers, pray, what meaning?
What so softly art thou lipping?
Thy half-uttered lispings are
Lovelier than nectar sipping!
72 Zl3c Xife of <5oetbe
In Die Braut von Korinth he characterises a most fervent
embrace of the lovers with the three words :
3Be#I^auc^ unb Su$!
fiiebeguberflup! * /'■\
We shall get a better conception of the various powers of
Goethe's art of representation if, instead of considering them
one at a time and apart from the organic connections in
which they belong, we study the living impression of the
operation of all combined. Let us choose for this purpose
the poem Auf dem See, which, like Mignon's Kennst du das
Land, is only a song of moods, and offers but little in the
way of thought or action :
Unb frifd^e Sttal^rung, neueS Slut
Saug' ic^ aug freier SSelt:
SBie ift 9tatur fo l^olb unb gut,
®ie mid^ am SBufen l^alt!
®ie SBeHe wieget unfern Ral^n
3m 3lubertattJE)inouf,
Unb Serge, roolttg ^immelan,
Segegnen unfenn fiauf.
Slug', mein Slug', njagfinfft bu nieber?
@oIbne Srdume, fommt il^r mieber?
SBeg, bu Zxawm. ! fo golb bu bift :
^ §ier aud^ fiieb' unb Sebcn i[t.
5luf ber SBette blinten
Soufenb fd^mebenbe Sterne,
28cid^e %ebel trinfen
3tingS bie turmcnbe gerne;
SO'torgenroinb umgitgelt
®ie be[(^attete SBu^t,
Unb im @ce befptegelt
@tc^ bie reifenbe gruc^t.
To thy pair of lips art -weening
To attract a kindred pair?
* Mingled breath and kiss !
Flood of lovers' bliss !
^be Xpric poet 73
It begins in a very lively and striking way with the word
" and." "And I fresh nurture and new blood Draw from the
free world blest. ' ' By this ' ' and ' ' we are transported imme-
diately into the middle of the situation. From a chain of
emotions one of the chief emotions is selected. The poet is
in a blessed free world. He is drawing from nature new
blood. A contrasting motive is suggested. His life's nur-
ture had ceased to flow. " How dear is nature and how good !
Who holds me to her breast." We discover in silent contrast
with nature the people on whose bosoms he has suffered, and
feel that the free world stands here as the contrast, not only
of the narrowness of the city, but also of some inward con-
straint. The " free world" in which he now finds himself is
more closely indicated. " Upstream our boat by waves is
tossed To oar blades' rh>'thmic beat, And cloud-capped
peaks,in heaven lost. Our onward voyage meet." He is on the
water, the water is bordered by mountains, the unusual height
of which is shown by the word " cloud-capped," and still more
by "in heaven lost." There is hardly need of anything
more to tell us that we are at the foot of the Alps. The
landscape is painted in its main outlines. But we receive
a further bit of detail. The boat is tossed by waves, we are
told. So the water must be agitated. Its agitation strength-
ens our impression of the freshness of nature which affects
the poet. The boat is rocked up-stream. The word " up-
stream" is not chosen capriciously, but as a pregnant form
of expression. We must be on a river or on a lake through
which a river flows, and we must be rowing up-stream. Fur-
thermore the boat is called " our boat." So the poet is not
alone. By means of the description of the landscape new
points of contrast are interspersed, which arouse our fancy
in a pleasing way. In external nature we find water and
mountains, the lowland and the height, agitation and repose.
Then comes a dramatic interruption. Tlie journey is no
longer the thing described. The eye of the poet is absorbed
with introspection. The change finds its resonance in a
change of rhythm. " Eye, mine eye, art backward yearning?
Golden dreams, are ye returning?" What kind of dreams
74 Zl)e %lte of (3oeti3c
are they? As they are golden, and as they come over him
with great power in the midst of a merry boating party, they
can hardly be anjdihing but love dreams. Yet, in spite of
their golden gleam, they must pain him, for he turns them
away. "Out! thou dream, though gold thou be." Our
suspicion that he has been suffering from moral constraint
is now confirmed, "Here are love and life for me." What
the "our" above suggested is now more definitely shown.
The poet is in company, in the company of some one dear to
him. But it can hardly be a new sweetheart. The dreams
of his forsaken beloved would not have been so golden, and
his thoughts of a new love would not have expressed them-
selves so briefly, in this single word. It is only a company
of friends. A new turn, and we come back again to outward
things, to nature; but, as the word "life" affords a transi-
tion, the metre is only slightly varied. Over against the
golden dream is set golden friendship, and now a further con-
trast is drawn with the golden landscape, which greets his
eyes. "On the wave are blinking Myriad starry lights." The
landscape glistens in the bright sunshine, which could not
be pictured to us in a more exquisite and more impressive
way than by this short stroke. " Myriad starry lights." It
must be a broad body of water, a lake, upon which the poet
is rocking. Once more the great mountain-background is
painted in a daring way. It is not quite the same now
as a while ago ; the clouds are no longer so dense. " Soft
white mists are drinking Distant towering heights." "Tow-
ering heights." The impression of loftiness is supplemented
by a conception of the form of the mountains. "Morning
breeze is flying Through the bay's encircling wood." The
tone of the picture suggests the morning. The breeze blows
gently over the bay, softly stirring the trees along its rim.
The mention of the bay indicates that we have come near the
shore and announces the approaching end of our journey
and of the song, which closes with a detail of the picture of
the bay : " Ripening grain is lying Mirrored in the flood."
The composition of the whole third part of the poem is
perfectly objective, being accompanied by no expression of
ZTbe %^xic poet 75
mood, and yet we can feel the author's mood clearly. By
merely returning to the landscape he quiets the inward com-
motion which the second part had aroused, and the last stroke
in the picture, by a most happy turn, brings even the out-
ward movement to complete repose. In the sheltered bay
the waves smooth down to a clear mirror, in which we see a
most hopeful reflection, the ripening grain. In this manner
deep symbolism is woven into the fugitive song.
We have sought to point out the beauties of this little
song; yet, when we take these all together, they do not ex-
plain entirely the magical attraction which it exerts upon
us. There must be something else that we have not men-
tioned. It is the music of the song. Whence does this
arise? From the rh3rthm? That has much to do with it,
to be sure, for it suits itself aptly, in cadence and tempo, to
every change in the content. The rhyme also contributes
its share. But that here, as elsewhere in Goethe's poems
where the music captivates us, it is neither the rhyme nor the
rhythm that is the deciding factor, may easily be proved
by his prose, in which we find passages of almost equal mu-
sical charm. As it might be said of the prose of his finished
literary creations that it is purposely composed in a form
approximating verse, we refer the reader to his letters, in
which artistic effect was the thing furthest from his mind.
They have a higher right to be included here than would
at first appear; for, as a matter of fact, a large number of
Goethe's lyrics are to be found in his letters. ■ Such letters
and passages from letters, which might be called poems in
prose, we have frequently interwoven in the course of otir
presentation. Here we may insert another letter from a
period to which we shall soon come, because its substance
throws accidental lights upon many of the heights of Goethe's
spirit, of which we have caught a glimpse in oxir consideration
of his lyrics.
The letter was written in 1823 to the far-away friend of
his youth. Countess Auguste Stolberg, who now, an old wo-
man with snow-white hair, was the widow of Count Bern-
storff. After a silence of decades, being anxious about the
76 Zhe Xlfe of Goetbe
salvation of Goethe's soul, she had again taken up her pen
and, in a letter full of touching sentiment, but showing a sad
misunderstanding of his works and his influence, had begged
him to desist from earthly striving and to " turn his eyes and
his heart to the eternal." To this he answered :
"To receive again after so many years a written token
of most cordial memory from my earliest dear friend, whom
in my heart I have well known, though with my eyes I have
never seen, was for me a most pleasing and most touching
experience. . . . Long Hfe means outliving very many
things: beloved, hated, indifferent people, kingdoms, capital
cities, yea, forests and trees which we have sown and planted
in our youth. We outlive ourselves, and yet are altogether
thankful if we still retain but a few of our gifts of body and
spirit. All these ephemeral things we bear with patience,
and, if we are but conscious every moment of the eternal,
we do not suffer from the transitoriness of time. All my
life long I have been honest with myself and others, and in
all my earthly striving I have always had my eyes fixed
upon the highest things. You and yours have done the
same. Then let us ever continue to work while the day lasts
for us. For others a sun will also shine ; they will rise in its
strength, and a brighter light will meanwhile illumine our
way. So let us look into the future undisturbed. In our
Father's kingdom are many provinces, and, as he has pre-
pared for us such a happy dwelling in this country, we shall
both surely be provided for over there. Perhaps we shall then
be vouchsafed what we have hitherto been denied, to know
each other face to face and the more thoroughly to love one
another. Remember me in tranquil fidelity."
It will not be denied that this letter breathes soft music.
As it has neither metre nor rhyme we ask again, whence flow
the wonderful, mysterious melodies which ring through
Goethe's poetry and so many passages of his prose? Is it
perhaps the sound of the words chosen? One is likely to be
greatly deceived on this point. How few combinations of
sound make a pleasing impression upon our ears! The
greater" number are indifferent, not a few are discordant.
Zhc Xi?rlc poet 77
Let one pronounce to one's self one word after another of
the letter cited, and ask one's self which word has a pleasing
sound. Or let one examine the words of most musical verses
from this point of view. Has "Welle," has "blinken," has
"tausend," " schwebende," "Sterne," or has "fullest," "wie-
der," "Busch," " Tal," "still," " Nebelglanz," in and of itself
musical charm? Certainly not. If then it is not the sound
of the words that is melodious to us, it is their significance,
the significance of the individual words and still more of
the combinations of words. They produce conceptions,
awaken pictures and thoughts in us which faU upon our ears
like lovely harmonies. This is the chief source of Goethe's
word-music.
If we ask ourselves why it is that Goethe's poetry and
prose possess this music in such marked measure, we can
only repeat what has already been said : because he possessed
the greatest harmony of spirit, which arranged everything in
consonance. This harmony of spirit is especially conspic-
uous in his lyric poetry, as harmonj'- of eye and soul. As the
essential element of Goethe's«language-music is of a purely
spiritual or, we may say, metaphysical nature, we can un-
derstand why it is so hard for musical composers to translate
it into physical sounds. Either they must put like harmony
into their work or they are doomed to failure. Goethe's
spiritual harmony creates fitting expression for itself in its
language dress by means of his choice of words (strength
and gentleness, sensuous power of expression) and word
cadences, which appear in his prose in the rhythmical sen-
tence structure. In his poetry we find the auxiliary factors
of verse and stanza structure, frequently also rhyme, but
seldom alliteration.
The great variety of forms of verse and stanzas which
Goethe employs almost equals the great variety of motives
and moods which his lyrics reveal. He tried the most cur-
rent forms which the German literature from the sixteenth
to the eighteenth century had produced, then went back to
the ancients, and from these to the Romance literatures,*
* Ottava rima, sonnet, terza rima.
78 ^be %\te of (Soetbe
finally exacting tribute of Oriental rhythms. But he modi-
fied freely all traditional and all newly invented forms to suit
the genius of the language and the needs of the poem. He
could not bear the thought of allowing himself to be fettered
by mechanical forms and would rather make what prosodists
would call bad verses and imperfect stanzas and strophes
than do violence to language, substance, or mood. To him
the form was not a thing that could be appHed to the song ex-
ternally; it was, rather, an inner necessity, something that
had grown out of the nature of the song. Little as a tree
grows without bark did a song grow for him without rhythm.
"The measure comes as though unconsciously from the
poetic mood. If one were to think about it when one com-
poses a poem one would go mad and would produce nothing
worth mentioning" (to Eckermann, April, 1829). Indeed,
it sometimes happened that the rhythm was in existence
before the text had assumed form. In Die Wanderjahre he
says, through the mask of Wilhelm: " It often seems to me
as though an invisible genius were whispering something
rhythmical to me, so that on my walks I always keep step
to it, and at the same time fancy I hear soft tones accora-
panjring some song, which then comes to me in one way or
another and delights me."
For this very reason his most genuine lyric poems can
be thought of only in the form in which he has given them to
us. We should think we were destroying their substance
if we were to put them into any other form.
Great as is the wealth of forms and the variety of motives
— and there are whole large groups, such as the humorous-
satirical, that we have not been able to touch upon — ^never-
theless we have the feeling that both might have been greater,
might even have been infinite . We have the feeling that gaps
exist only because of the limitation of human life and human
strength. The limitations are due partly to outward neces-
sity, partly to chance. With the moods it is different.
Here we recognise certain gaps as an inward necessity, as the
result of Goethe's spiritual organisation. His lyric poetry
is lacking in genial intimacy, pious humility, and the specifi-
Zbe Xi^ric poet 79
cally national element, — ^the latter in a twofold sense. We
miss the most familiar atmosphere of the German landscape
and of the modest life of the common folk, as well as political
and patriotic enthusiasm. These are moods that have been
cultivated by Voss, Holty, the younger Stolberg, Uhland,
Eichendorff, Schenkendorf, Morike, and others, and have
been mirrored in the pictures of Ludwig Richter and Schwind.
These deficiencies arise from the reverse of Goethe's super-
iorities. He was too thorough a cosmopolitan to become
very much at home in the poetry of the nooks and comers
of the German house, apart from all connection with the world
at large, as is plainly seen even in Hermann und Dorothea;
his nature was too thoroughly filled with God as a pro-
ductive energy for him to find consolation and piety else-
where than in himself and in influential activity; he was a
power moving with too fiery impulses for him to sink into
quiet dreams and fashion the genial musings of the small
circle and the narrow individual into the actuating motives
of a poetic whole. Hence nowhere in his songs do we find
the perfect, profound reposo which permeates the folk-song.
There is always some conflict present, as we have seen ; and
we know that his chief aim in writing poetry is to resolve
discords into harmony.
As in the folk-song we feel as though the tree standing
in the grain field, the brook gliding through the meadow,
the placid pond with its border of rushes, and the dreamy,
motley heath were singing to us their real emotions, so in
Goethe we have the feeling that the rustling forest, the surg-
ing lake, the rushing river, and the field glistening with sun-
beams and echoing with the song of the lark are pouring
forth their own true melodies.
To many individuals and many moods the more reposeful
lyrics in the style of the folk-song will make the stronger
appeal, while others will evince a greater liking for an art
which carries them through a powerful suspense and stirs
their deeper emotions. And not onlythemajority — even the
most capable and the most mature, in the hours when they
feel driven to rise above the perplexing confusion of every-
8o ^be Xife of (5oetbe
day life into the pure higher regions, will turn with a feeling
of longing to Goethe's poems, and when they lay them down
it will be with a consciousness of deep composure, of recon-
ciHation with the world, and of fresh courage for the strug-
gle of hfe. On returning to them again and again one will
discover that they always strike new chords, open new out-
looks, reveal new depths. Thus as one advances in years
they grow in significance. And what they are to the indi-
vidual they are to all. Goethe's lyrics are to-day an incom-
parably greater power in the spiritual life of the German
nation than they were a hundred years ago,* and it may
safely be predicted that the hope of the poet will yet be
realised, which he once expressed in an earnest hour:
SBiffet nur, ba^ ®ic&terrootte
Um bc§ ^atobici'eS ^Pforte
Smtner letfe flopfenb \6)mhm,
®xi) erbittenb ew'QeS fieben.*
* Sofjly words of poet mortal
Knock at Paradise's portal,
Hov'rtng round that bourne supernal,
Still imploring life eternal.
Ill
THE NATURALIST '"'A '^ ' ■ - ' .»! Cil\yv^
Harmony between Goethe's science and his art — His natural inclination
toward science — Anatomy and osteology — Spinoza's influence on
Goethe — Consistency of nature — Discovery of the intermaxillary
in man — The discovery rejected by most of the leading anatomists
of the day — Not fully recognised till forty years later — Botany —
Discovery of the metamorphosis of plants — Its significance — Long
denied recognition — Idea of evolution contained in it — The genetic
method-|-Mastery of art by study of nature — Beauty the manifes-
tation of secret laws of nature — Goethe's rejection of teleology —
Discovery of the new science of morphology — The original type —
Goethe and Linn6 — Theory of descent — Fundamental principle of
continuity — Struggle for existence — Formative impulse — Mutual
influence of parts — Vertebral theory of the skull — Geology — Pale-
ontology — The ice age — Meteorology — Meteorological stations —
Theory of colours — The law of visual processes — Abklingen —
Translucent media — Goethe's rejection of Newton's theory — An-
tagonistic colours — Fundamental law of colour harmony — Polar-
ity — Goethe's history of the theory of colours — His scientific
lectures — Museums of science — Goethe's infiuence on later scien-
tists — His method — His study of nature and his religion — The
poet and the investigator.
THE peculiarity of Goethe's personality rests, in the
final analysis, upon the inward harmony between his
study of nature and his artistic life. The two direc-
tions of his creative activity, the artistic and scientific,
sprang from the same source, and each permeated and deeply
affected the other. It is only from this point of view that
we can understand why he should have devoted more than
fifty years of his precious life, with hardly an interruption,
to the science of nature.
Goethe himself has told us what occasioned him to take
up his various studies of nature, but we may assert with
8i
VOL. III. 6
82 Zlic %\U of 6oetbc
confidence that the occasions were merely accidental, and not
in themselves determining factors ; that, rather, he would have
become a naturalist under any circumstances, for he had
been led to nature in a most individual way and by his own
most characteristic impulses* As he tells us in Dichtung
und Wahrheit,-f he had from his earliest years felt an impulse
to investigate natural things. That this is truth and not
" ^etr y we know from the fact that the young friend of the
liberal arts and belles-lettres and the student of law evi-
dently took the greatest interest in his scientific lectures while
at Leipsic, and still more so while at Strasburg, where he
studied anatomy and even attended a course of lectures
and the clinic on midwifery. Animated by an insatiable
desire for knowledge, he was further encouraged in these
efforts by his associates, both in Leipsic and in Stras-
burg, who for the most part were students of medicine;
and he pursued these studies with the greater industry
since he thought thereby to retain the respect and confi-
dence of his Strasburg " society" which he had immediately
won by his " strange rudimentary learning or, rather, his
overleamedness. ' '
These studies prepared him for collaboration on Lavater's
Physio gnomische Fragmente, which became a great determin-
ing influence in his life in so far as it introduced him again to
that field of knowledge in which he was destined to make dis-
coveries of most fundamental importance, viz., anatomy,
and more especially osteology. In physiognomy Lavater
urged the necessity of giving special consideration to the solid
parts of the organisation, the bone formations, and in his con-
tributions on animal skulls t (1776) Goethe expressed his con-
viction that one can see most plainly by the difference between
skulls " how the bones are the foundations of formation, and
embrace the qualities of a creature. The movable parts are
formed according to them, or, to be more exact, with them,
and perform their functions only in so far as the solid parts
permit them."
* Cf. Campagne in Frankreich (W., xxxiii., 189).
t First Part, fourth Book (W., xxvi., 187).
t Physiognomische Fragmente (W., xxxvii., 347 f.).
Zbc maturallet 83
®3 ift nic^t« in ber $out,
SGSag nid)t int Snoc^cn ift. *
Without these prehminary studies how would it have
been possible for Goethe, even though he was able to " grasp
much in a few days," to gain in a week such a mastery
of osteolog y and myolog y — Loder began to demonstrate
the subject to him in Jena at the end of October, 1781 — that
shortly afterward from a pupil he developed into a teacher,
able to deliver lectures on the human skeleton at the Acad-
,emy of Drawing ?t This fact leads us to surmise that he
'may have been guided in these studies chiefly by artistic
interests and aims. But the more profoundly he grasped
the subject, and the more familiar the knowledge became
to him through conversation and correspondence with the
most learned anatomists of his day, the more absorbing
became his interest in osteology from the scientific side. In
his understanding of this branch of anatomy he was aided
particularly by Merck, who, though but an amateur, possessed
a rare knowledge of the si^sject, stood high in the estima-
tion of specialists, and, like Goethe, was an enthusiastic and
fortunate collector of specimens. In the spring of 1784,
probably on the 27th of March, J Goethe discovered a little
bone in the upper jaw of a human skull which scholars
asserted did not exist there, and this successful outcome
of his investigations gave him so great joy that "it sent a
thrill through every fibre of his being. " He wrote to Herder :
" In accordance with the teaching of the Gospel I must hasten
as quickly as possible to inform thee of the good fortune that
has come to me. I have discovered — ^neither gold nor silver,
but something that gives me unspeakable joy — the os inter-
maxillare in man! "
Was the little bone deserving of such enthusiastic joy?
* There is naught in the skin
But in the bone exists.
The quotation is from the beginning of the poem Typus {W., iii., 119).
t According to his diary the course of lectures was finished on the i6th
of January, 1782.
J Letter to Frau von Stein.
84 ^be Xife of 6oetbe
The answer to the question can be given, the real value which
the discovery had in Goethe's mind can be understood, only
when it is considered in the light of his whole philosophy
of nature.
Back in his Strasburg days, or perhaps even earlier,
Goethe had come under the influence of Spinoza's genius,
not as exerted directly by that philosopher himself, but
'through the medium of his spiritual kinsman Giordano
Bruno. It was his desire, as he says in Ephemerides* not
to separate God from nature, but rather to connect God with
nature. For everything that is belongs necessarily to the
essence of God, as God is the only reality and embraces
iever5rthing. Such pantheistic inclinations were betrayed
by him even when a boy,t in the manner in which he sought
to approach directly "the great God of nature" and to wor-
ship him in nature and through nature. The youthful
priest built to him an altar of the best specimens of a collec-
tion of minerals, "the representatives of nature," and, after
sunrise, kindled by means of a burning glass the sacrificial
flames of sweet-smelling incense tapers.
When Goethe, in later years, gave an account of his first
acquaintance with Spinoza's Ethics% he was unable to distin-
guish between what he had gotten out of the work and what
he had read into it ; but after his statement just referred
to there can be no doubt that it was the unity of the All ,
which he here found expressed with most luminous penetra-
tion, united with endless unselfishness and pure humanity,
that from the very first brought him under the spell of the
philosopher who had "risen to the summit of human
thought." Goethe's whole being was filled with the idea, so
that he here found himself again in a "necessary elective
affinity," and here discovered the reason of his inclination to
fix his attention on the thought of unity in the whole of na-
ture, in the All ; here he gained the assurance of scientific
consciousness for his own conception of nature:
* W., xxxvii., 90 f.
t Cf. DW., first Part, first Book {W., xxvi., 63 if.).
% Ibid., third Part, fourteenth Book (W., xxviii., 288).
^be IRaturallet 85
Unb eg ift bag emig Sine,
Sag fi(| oietfac^ ojfenbart.*
With reference to the unity of the universe the unity of
the organic world is but a specific case. It is one thing,
however, to grasp this idea in its general application, and an
entirely different thing to hold it fast, with the consistency
of nature herself, in every individual phenomenon ; to follow
out, as it were, the thought of nature everywhere, and to be-
I hold in every individual phenomenon the manifestation of
her inherent law. Goethe's sublime observations of nature
were due to the fact that, by virtue of his spiritual constitu-
tion, it was impossible for him not to behold the general prin-
ciple in the individual case.'" Each of nature's works, we"^
read in the wonderful hymn Die Natur, has its own peculiar/
being, each of her phenomena a most isolated conception,!
and yet they all together form a unit. Hence Goethe every;^
where sought reality in the highest sense of the word, not
reality of phenomena alone, but reality as the fulfilment of
law. This method of observing nature sprang from his in-
nermost being. In this connection it is always necessary to
go back to Heinroth's felicitous statement, that Goethe's
mind worked objectively,t which means that his thought
did not separate itself from objects, but that "the elements
of objects, the observations, enter into it and are most inti-
mately amalgamated with it." They become, as it were, a
light within him, which by reflection casts its rays out upon
objects and illuminates them.
Slnfdiaun, ttienn eg bir gclingt,
®ap eg erft ing Snitrc bringt,
®ann itadEi au^en mieberfel^rt,
SBift am l^errlid^ften Belel^rtt
* And it is the One eternal,
Which so multiform appears.
Quoted from the poem Parabase (W., iii., 84), which, without this title,
of course, formed the motto to his Erster Entwurf einer allgemeinen Ein-
leitung in die vergleichende Anatomie, ausgehend von der Osteologie.
t NS., xi., 58 (Bedeutende Fordernis durch ein einziges geistreiches
Wort).
% Observation, made aright,
Floods at first the soul with light;
86 Zhc Xife of (5oetbe
As Goethe, on the basis of experience, has risen to the
view that the higher animal world up to man was formed
according to a uniform type, it must have seemed to him.
impossible that nature should have been untrue to herself
in one point. He could not be satisfied with the outward
impression which forces itself on every man ; he had to take
' seriously the idea that man is most closely related to the
animal world.* It was only from such a commanding point
of observation that it was possible for his poetic eye to dis-
cover what men who all their lives had been practised and
experienced in such observations and investigations failed
to see. How inconceivable it is that man, who, as we know,
has incisor teeth, should lack the bone in which the roots of
the incisors are fixed! And yet the anatomists and distin-
guished investigators of that day not only stubbornly denied
the existence of the intermaxillary bone in man; their bias
even went so far that, although they were not conscious of
the general law involved, they proved the consistency of the
skeleton in animals which had no incisors in their upper jaws
and yet had the intermaxillary bone. Still they would have
us believe that man, who possesses incisors, lacks the bone
which bears them! ^^
Goethe, on the other hand, had gained too deep an in-
sight into the framework of the animal world and into the
workings of nature to have any doubts in his mind as to the
fact that nature never disregards her great maximsf; he
recognised and admired the cleverness J with which she,
although limited to a small number of fundamental max-
ims, is able to produce the greatest variety. To him "the
great self -activity of nature § consists in the fact that she
Then if this be outward turned
Thou hast glorious wisdom learned.
The above is the last of the three stanzas of the poem Genius, die
Biiste der Natur enthullend, which since 1833 has appeared also among
the Zahme Xenien (VI).
* Letter to Knebel, Nov. 17, 1784.
t Zur Morphologie {NS,, viii., 122).
J NS., xi., 165.
§ NS., vi., 327 f.
Zhc maturalist 87
can conceal certain organs and bring others into greater evi-
dence, and in the same way can do just the opposite with
the one as well as the other." The intermaxillary bone was
a brilliant example by which Goethe was first able to illus-
trate the great self-activity of nature, as he was again, a few
years later, by the metamorphosis of plants. In his " speci-
men," as he called the little article on the intermaxillary,
in a letter to Merck of the 19th of December, 1784, — and in-
deed it is a specimen, a model, of scientific presentation —
he not only proves the existence of this bone in man : he also
shows how its shape varies according to the shape of the ani-
mal, the formation of the teeth, and the kind of food, extend-
ing forwards in some and backwards in others, and finally
in the noblest creature, man, "modestly hiding itself for fear
of betraying animal voracity." *
Sllfo beftimmt bie ©eftalt bie SebenSroeife bc8 Sieteg,
Unb bie SBeife ju Uben, fie wirftauf alle ©cftaltcn
attad^tig jurucf.t ^^
The discovery was no-fc an easy one to make ; otherwise
it would not have remained a moot question for centuries.
The difficulty of recognising the real truth lay in the fact
that in full-grown skulls the bone is completely grown to-
gether with adjacent bones, and it is only in young speci-
mens that the attentive observer is able to see sutures along
the side. Goethe arrived at his discovery by the comparison
of animal and human skulls of different ages, and this
method of comparison, which, instead of confining itself to
the exterior, enters into the structure and contexture of the
forms under investigation, is a further feature of the dis-
covery that is of fundamental importance. The bone could
not be wanting; it had to be present; it was required to
* NS., viii., 94 and 120.
t Thus by the animal's form is its manner of living determined;
Likewise the manner of life affecteth every creature,
Moulding its form.
The above lines are quoted from the poem Metamorphose der Tiere
(W., Hi., 90); the poem also appears under the title A0PUI2MO2 (,NS.,
viii., 58 ff.-).
88 zisc Xife of (Boetbe
complete the harmony of the whole. A similar method of
reasoning, based on his contemplation of the great Stras-
burg cathedral, had revealed to the young student Goethe
the original plan of the architect that the tower of the edifice
should end with a five-pointed crown.*
Goethe was fully conscious of the fact that his investiga-
tion prefigured the future development of science, that it
gave expression to a great principle, the idea of the consist-
ency of the osteological type through all forms ; that, at the
same time, the way was pointed out to deeper insight into
the formation of the animal world and to a broader outlook
upon the great whole of nature. " How natural it will be
to proceed from this one little bone to the rest of compara-
tive osteology thou canst doubtless see, and later it will be
even more apparent" (letter to Merck, December 19, 1784).
" One could then go more into detail and, by careful compar-
ison, step by step, of several animals, advance from the
simplest to the more complex, from the small and cramped to
the huge and extended." t
Goethe's interest in this subject was stimulated from
another quarter. The most celebrated anatomists of his
time, Blumenbach, Camper, and Sommering, saw in the sup-
posed lack of the intermaxillary bone the only mark of dis-
tinction between man and the ape, and so the old moot
question again engaged the leading minds in a spirited
controversy. As opposed to this view Goethe expressed the
conviction that the difference between man and the animals
could not be found in any particular part of the body. J ' ' The
harmony of the whole makes every creature what it is, and
man is man by the form and nature of his upper jaw as well
as by the form and nature of the last phalanx of his little toe.
Then again every creature is but a tone, a modulation, of a
great harmony, which must be studied as a whole and in all
its grandeur ; otherwise each individual part is but a lifeless
letter. This little work is written from this point of view
* Cf. vol. i., p. 105. — C.
t NS., viii., 102.
J Letter to Knebel, November 17, 1784.
Zbc IRaturaUet 89
and that is really the interest that lies concealed in it."
Goethe was so fortunate as to show that even in apes cases
occur in which the intermaxillary bone is so grown together
with the adjacent bones that the outer suture is scarcely
visible.
All his efforts to obtain the recognition of his discovery
among specialists failed, except in the case of his teacher,
Loder. For the present it was not given the poet to " legit-
imate " himself in the " learned body " of anatomists by means
of his "inaugural disputation." It was sent first, on the
19th of December, 1784, to Darmstadt, to Merck, then to
Cassel, to Sommering, and finally to Stavoren, Holland, to
Camper, the most celebrated anatomist of the time, who did
not receive it till the middle of September, 1785, nine months
after it had been started on its round. It took the work so
long to make the journey because it was not despatched till
suitable opportunities offered. Most carefully prepared
and very distinct drawings of the skulls investigated by
Goethe were intended to demonstrate the difference in form
in different animals of the bone wedged in between the two
halves of the upper jaw, and to show its existence in man.
They also contained among their number different animal
skulls in which the bone was either partly or wholly grown
together with adjacent bones. The author's name was not
mentioned, and Camper in all honesty subjected the treatise
to a thorough test, making a new investigation of skulls of
various ages ; but he held fast his old view that man has no
intermaxillary bone. In other respects he confirmed all of
Goethe's observations, even that concerning the walrus, in
which the bone had not been recognised because of its com-
pressed, misshapen, form, and of which it had also been said
that it had no incisor teeth. Goethe remarked that, judg-
ing by the form of the intermaxillary, one must ascribe to
the walrus four incisors. Camper considered this remark
likewise correct and wrote to Merck concerning the inter-
maxillary: " Votre ami, je suppose. Mr. Goethe, nous a mis
en train et k 1' examen d' un os, qui serait reste inconnu
dans le morse, si nous n'avions pas eu ces 6claircisse-
90 Zfic Hlfe of (5oetbe
ments"*; but he continued to deny the very thing about
which Goethe cared most :" L'os intermaxillaire n'existe pas
dans r homme." t From Sommering Goethe received, as he
wrote to Merck, "a very light letter. He even wants to
talk me out of it. Humph!" t
With such opposition on the part of specialists Goethe
lost all desire to publish the treatise. Loder announced the
discovery to the scientific world in 1788 in his Anatomisches
Handbuch. Sommering and Blumenbach gradually became
converted, but it was almost forty years before Goethe's
discovery attained full recognition. He himself did not pub-
lish the little work till 1820, when it appeared with important
additions in one of the numbers of his periodical Zur Natur-
wissenschaft,^'^ and it was not until a year before his death
that he experienced the joy of seeing it reprinted, together
with the drawings, in the Verhandlungen der Kaiserlich Leo-
poldinisch^Karolinischen Akademie der Naturforscher.
Goethe was, however, not disconcerted ; he knew before-
hand that he was on the right path,§ or, as Herder put it, on
the true path of nature, 1 and that from now on he would
lose nothing. His scientific activity broadened from day
to day, but the vegetable kingdom especially engrossed his
attention.
Immediately on his arrival in Weimar his interest was
aroused in the plant world, partly because his official duties
turned his attention in that direction. In nature's open
workshop, in meadow and field, in forest and game preserve,
began his studies, which found rich nourishment in the lay-
ing out of gardens for the Duke and in the desire to beautify
his own garden out of his own resources. Even as early as
1788 we find him occupied with observations on mosses; not
until later did he turn to books, for it was not in his nature to
* Your friend — Herr Goethe, I presume — ^has set us to seeking and
examining a bone which would have remained unknown in the walrus,
if we had not had these explanations {Brief e an Merck, 470).
t The intermaxillary bone does not exist in man {ibid., 481).
J Letter to Merck, February 13, 1785.
§ Letter to Prau von Stein, Oct. 2, 1783.
I Knebels literarischer Nachlass, ii., 236.
ITbe maturalist 91
learn any thing from them,* and it was only after he had
looked about him for a long time in nature and had discov-
ered some of the secrets of her workings that he knew how
to use books. From 1785 on he was wholly absorbed in the
plant world, and "in botany he had soon made very fine
discoveries and combinations which corrected many errors
and threw light on many points." f But he was not seeking
to find out isolated facts ; it was his aim here as everywhere
to discover a general, fundamental law to which individual
phenomena can be reduced. J Upon this was centred the
" productive passion " which he had conceived for the natural
sciences. The gay bustle of the "children of nature with
their quiet charms" crowded itself upon him with irresistible
power, and whereas it had hitherto rejoiced only his senses
it now took possession of his mind and soul. Indeed, every-
thing that he observed in nature assumed for him the char-
acter of experience, as he declared in numerous utterances.*^
In his mind outer world and inner world are most intimately
connected ; " he had never separated the two." In this one-
ness, and in the manner in %hich he was able to " unite the
productive with the historical," lies the inexhaustible charm
of his presentations of his knowledge of nature, of which he
might have said, as he did of his poems : " I did not make
them; they made me." On the 9th of July, 1786, he wrote
to Frau von Stein: "The vegetable kingdom is raging
again in my soul; I cannot rid myself of it for a single mo-
ment; am, however, making fine progress." On the follow-
ing day he wrote: " What rejoices me most at present is the
nature of plants, which is pursuing me, and that is really
the way a thing becomes one's own. Everything is forcing
itself upon me, I no longer reflect upon it, everjrthing comes
to me, and the vast kingdom is simplifying itself in my soul,
so that I shall soon be able to accomplish with ease the most
difficult task."
This anticipation of his discovery of plant metamorpho-
* Letter to Merck, Oct. 11, 1780.
t Letter to Merck, April 8, 1785.
t Eckermann, Gesprache mit Goethe, i., 232.
92 ^be %ltc of (Boetbe
sis, which at that time hovered before his mind under the
sensual form of a supersensual Urpflanze, accompanied him
across the Alps. In Italy, so rich in form, he saw fresh and
happy, side by side, beneath the open sky, a fulness and
variety of thronging life such as was hardly to be found,
scattered, in the narrow hot-houses of his northern home;
he found here ever3rthing more unfolded and further devel-
oped, and many things which he had previously only surmised,
and had sought with the microscope, he here saw with his
naked eye as an indubitable certainty. The plant world
had taken such a mighty hold upon him that it more than
once crowded out his poetic dreams. In Palermo he went
to the public gardens to think over the plot of Nausikaa
more fully, but the thoughts which the wealth of plants sug-
gested to his mind disturbed his poetic plan: "The garden
of Alcinous had vanished and a world garden had appeared
before me." He had seen and reflected enough in the world
garden ; he was now able to pluck the ripened fruit. To be
sure, it did not fall into his hands without some effort on his
part ; in fact, in later years he insisted that the same was
true of his works in general. Of this particular fruit of
his labour he said: "What a long chain of observations
and reflections I had to carry out before the idea of plant
metamorphosis dawned upon me!" * But now everything
developed from within, f and in Sicily, at the goal of his
"flight," the idea of the metamorphosis of plants stood out
clearly before his soul and mind and "gave spiritual con-
tent" to his sojourn in Naples and Sicily.
In this epic of the coming into being of higher plants, as
Alfred Kirchhoff aptly calls the little treatise which appeared
in 1790 under the title Versuch, die Metamorphose der Pflan-
zen zu erkldren, Goethe revealed to the scientific world an idea
of creative power continuing in operation. He sought in
this way to reduce " the manifold specific phenomena of the
glorious world garden to a simple, general principle," J and
* Bedeutende Fordernis durch ein einziges geistreichesWort (NS., xi., 62).
t SGG., ii., 114.
** Schicksal der Handschrift (AfS., vi., 132).
Zhc maturalist 93
it may be said that our poet was the first man to raise botany,
and at the same time zoology, to the rank of a real science-
Hitherto these disciplines had consisted solely in empirical
description, in collecting and arranging, and in distinguish-
ing and separating. To draw an illustration from botany,
the plant in its totality, and each organ of it, was considered
only as a finished thing distinguished from all other things.
Now Goethe had studied comparative anatomy and com-
parative osteology, and in this way had had the good fortune
to make fine discoveries ; what could have been more logical
than that, so soon as he turned to this field, he should study
comparative botany — that he should observe the relations
of different plants to one another, and those existing between
the organs of a single plant ? Hence it was necessary for him
to watch the plant in its germination and growth, in " its de-
velopment out of the seed and all the way to the formation
of new seed" (§ 84) ; and with the eye of a genius he recog-
nised that cotyledon, stem, leaf, sepal, petal, filament, in
short, — ^to borrow a common expression of modern science —
all appendages, or lateral ofgans, of the plant axis are only
transformed or metamorphosed leaves ; that is to say, that
all those organs of a higher plant — for it is only with such
that Goethe's doctrine of metamorphosis deals — may be
reduced to a primordial organ, which he calls leaf . Accus-
tomed to view every manifestation of nature in its relation to
her other phenomena, in the conviction that only in this way
is it possible to entice from her her secrets, he directed his
attention to formations deviating from the norm, to certain
monstrosities, as, for example, double flowers, in which
"are developed petals instead of filaments and anthers," —
that is to say, a petal is formed where under ordinary cir-
cumstances a filament appears — and from these facts he
deduced the inward relationship of these organs, their simi-
lar origin, and their predisposition to assume the same form.
Such phenomena of abnormal or retrogressive metamor-
phosis aided him in his investigation of the normal course
of plant development.'*
It is worthy of note in this connection that Goethe did not
94 ^be %lte of (Boctbe
see in the leaf as the fundamental organ the final simple ele-
ment to which the plant form may be reduced. He chose
this designation for lack of a better. Modem science em-
ploys the term leaf -organ. In order to have gone back to
the beginnings of plant growth he would have had to have
a knowledge of the elementary organism, the cell, which
was impossible before the perfection of the microscope.
But that Goethe's genius had divined the truth clearly and
with surprising accuracy is apparent from his words : " Every
living thing is a multiple, not a single, being; even in so far
as it seems to us an individual it remains nevertheless an
aggregation of independent living beings, which in idea or
plan are homogeneous, but in appearance may be homo-
geneous, or similar, heterogeneous, or dissimilar. In part
these beings are united from their origin, in part they find
each other and unite. They separate and then enter into
new unions, thus securing an endless production in every
way and in every direction." *
In his doctrine of vegetable metamorphosis Goethe had a
predecessor in the person of Kaspar Friedrich Wolff, who
expressed the same idea, that all lateral organs of a higher
plant are modified leaves, but he observed with the micro-
scope what the poet saw with the eyes of his spirit. Wolff's
work, however, had remained entirely unknown to him, as
it had to Germany in general, and Goethe was one of the
first to point oat its merits. He called him with joyful recog-
nition an "excellent predecessor." Wolff's method of rea-
soning was altogether unacceptable in so far as he ascribed
the course of development of a plant to maturity to a stunt-
. ing of its growth — an idea which Goethe characterised
as absurd.
As a matter of fact, science acquired the doctrine of met-
amorphosis from Goethe ; but it was decades before the new
conception was really adopted by scientists as a working
principle. Disregard, indifference, rejection, misinterpreta-
tion, misunderstanding, — such was the fate which the " lit-
tle botanical work" experienced, so that Reichenbach was
* Zur Morphologie (NS., vi., lo).
Goethe by Kolbe
(From Heinemann's Goethe)
^be "IRaturalist 95
justified in saying of the poet, in 1828: "Back in his youth
he discovered the dryad's secret, but he had to become a
greybeard before the world understood him." It was a
tragic feature of our poet's life that the recognition for which
he yearned, especially in his scientific work, was so long
denied him. It may well have been this fact that prevented
his writing "the second essay on the metamorphosis of
plants," * of which only a short fragment has been preserved.
When Goethe, in the summer of 183 1, through the mediation
of his spiritual kinsman Geoffroy de Saint-Hilaire, sent the
French translation of his Metamorphose der Pflanzen, for
which Soret had arranged under his direction, to the Acad-
6mie Frangaise, de Saint-Hilaire said in his report: "When
Goethe came out with his work in 1790 it was little noticed ;
indeed, scientists came near considering it an aberration.
To be sure, there was an error at the bottom of it, but such
a one as only genius can commit. Goethe's only error con-
sisted in allowing his treatise to be published almost half a
century too soon, before there were any botanists who were
able to study it and underst^jid it." f
It would be giving to this little work but the smallest
part of the recognition due it, if one were to see in it nothing
more than the proof of the identity of aU the parts which we
have characterised as the lateral organs of the plant axis. It
is based, in fact, on an infinitely greater, higher, and more
comprehensive, idea, the idea of evolution, the germ of which
is thus seen to be contained in Goethe's first scientific writ-
ing. Never before had the sciences of the organic world
received such a mighty impulse as through this idea, which
was destined to awaken them, as though with a magic wand,
out of their long lethargy, to a new flourishing existence.
In his essay on Joachim Jungius, in the passage in which
he speaks of Francis Bacon, who, he says, considered " dif-
ferentiation and exact representation of differences as true
natural philosophy," Goethe says: "The conviction that
everything must be in existence in a finished state, if one
* Letter to Knebel, July 9, 1790; NS., vi., 279.
f MuUer, Goethes letzte Uterarische Tdtigkeit, $4.
96 ^be Xife of (Boetbe
is to bestow upon it proper attention, had completely be-
fogged the century . . . and so this way of thinking has come
down as the most natural and most convenient from the
seventeenth to the eighteenth, and from the eighteenth to
the nineteenth century. ..." In Linn6 this method of in-
terpreting nature had found a perfect, incomparable system-
atist, who showed no desire to seek the inward connection
of the whole, and hardly betrayed the faintest conception
of the fact that science rises to its full dignity only when it
has investigated the origin of organisation. The school of
Linn6, which, thanks to the sovereign talent of its founder,
ruled the scientific world for a time, considered its task
limited to the elaboration, completion, and explanation, of
this system, and became more and more fixed in the idea
that " nothing can come into being but what is already in exis-
ence,"* a conception which had gained complete control
over all minds.
According to this view the whole plant, for example,
was said to be incased in the seed, entirely preformed on a
small scale. Hence there was no evolution, there was only
an unfolding, and this doctrine of emb'oitement, or preforma-
tion, was held fast, in spite of the fact that it led, by logical
necessity, to the absurd conclusion that in the plant germ
of any particular species all future generations were from
the very beginning inclosed one within another. The idea
found its pregnant expression in Haller's " nil noviter gene-
rari." To this apparent death Goethe opposed real life in
his conception of evolution. Evolution means the continual
development of the diverse and manifold out of the single and
simple, and he knows that in the organic world endurance,
rest, and final state are nowhere to be found, f rather, that
everything varies with constant motion. That which is
formed is immediately transformed, and, if we desire to
arrive in some measure at a living conception of nature, we
must follow the example which she sets and keep ourselves
in a live and formative state.
* Campagne in Frankreich (W., xxxiii., 197).
t NS., vi., 9 f.
^be IRaturallst 97
The idea of evolution was a lightning flash that rifted
the clouds of the century and shed a flood of light upon the
world of life. The metamorphosis of plants is but a special
application of this idea. It shows the progressive formation""!
and transformation of the fundamental organ into more and /
more perfect and efficient organs, until in the end it reaches /
the highest point of organic activity, the setting apart and (
separation of individuals from the organic whole by the )
process of procreation and birth.* -^
Finally Goethe identified the idea of metamorphosis with
the idea of evolution in general. In this sense he called the
former a eV nai nav, and it was this idea, which embraces
the whole organic world, that guided him through the laby-
rinth of the world before he had worked out that special
application of the idea. Nothing else can be meant by the
statement in his letter of July 6, 1786, to Frau von Stein, " I
have again been able to observe very beautiful qualities in
flowers, and before long all life will appear to my mind in a
bright and clear light"; and he cannot have been thinking
of anjrthing but the idea of evolution underlying his concep-
tion of metamorphosis when he wrote from Naples, on the
17th of May, 1787 : " It will be found that the same law can
be appUed to every other form of life."
Only when he had before him a magnificent visible cor-
robation of his idea of evolution, in the discovery of the met-
amorphosis of plants ; only when he knew the true history of
the plant, its successive stages of growth from small begin-
nings to maturity — "just as true history does not recount
occurrences, but events, as they appear in the various stages
of their development" f — only then was he able, as a true
investigator, to proclaim the idea of evolution as a supreme
scientific principle. From that time on Goethe knew no
higher, indeed, no other, method of viewing nature, and no
other way of dealing with natural phenomena, than the
genetic method,} and one of our greatest naturalists § says
* iVS., vi., 305. t ^5., ix., 27s f. t iVS., vi., 303.
§ Virchow, in tiexis, Die deutschen Universitdten (1893), ii., 250.
vol. III. —7.
98 Zbe Xlfe of (Boetbe
without qualification that Goethe established the universal-
ity of the genetic method. Even his mode of thinking was
genetic.
We have now reached a point where it is possible to
bring the poet-naturalist nearer to our understanding. In
attempting to do so we shall give our reasons for the open
ing statement of this chapter.
In a fragment of manuscript containing an early version
of a part of his Geschichte seiner botanischen Studien Goethe
introduced his study of plants in Italy in the following sen-
tence, which, however, did not appear in the same form in
the final redaction : " In the year referred to I ventured on a
journey to Italy, with the hard task of solving more than
one riddle which was a burden upon my life. Thei study of
plants forced itself upon me." * Viewed aright, the riddles
which Goethe went forth to solve may be reduced to a single
one. He sought to find the crowning piece for his structure
of nature, to gain under the Italian sky the final insight into
nature, and to see what he had divined demonstrated as a
certainty. For it does not seem for a moment to have been
concealed from him that he thereby would have gained the
deepest insight into art ; that by the completion of his know-
ledge of nature he would have attained to full artistic con-
sciousness, just as in the knowledge of nature he had for the
first time found a key to unlock the door to the knowledge of
art. Hence we can understand why he should have written
to Frau von Stein as early as the 24th of November, 1786:
" Thou knowest my old manner. I am treating Rome as I
treat nature, and it is already beginning to rise to meet me."
And on the 20th of December: "As I have hitherto viewed
nature I now view art, and I am gaining what I have so long
sought, a more complete idea of the highest things that men
have accomplished, and my soul is expanding more in this
direction and looks out upon a freer field." Finally, on the
29th of December, to Herder: " My dear old friend : — ^Archi-
tecture and sculpture and painting are now to me like min-
eralogy, botany, and zoOlogy. Furthermore, I have now
* NS., vi., 386.
tCbe IRaturallst 99
grasped these, the arts, aright, and I shall not let them go,
and I know for certain that I am not catching at a phantom. " * f
Thus to Goethe's mind it was from the outset clear, not "
only that the deepest knowledge of nature is none too good
for the highest perfection of art, but also that the road to the
mastery of art is the same that he had travelled in order
to master nature; "that finally in the practice of art
we can compete with nature only when we have learned
from her, to some extent at least, the manner in which she
proceeds in the production of her works. "f Now how does
nature proceed? How else than by the way of evolution
does she go about the production of a " living creature as the
model for all artistic creations? " Therefore, in the highest
sphere it is not really what has come into being, what is, as
such, that is a subject for art ; but in so far as in it a trace of
growth, evolution, and living motion, is observed, and the
relation of the parts to one another and to the whole is visi-
ble. ' ' The human figure cannot be comprehended by merely
looking at its surface; one must lay bare its interior, separate
its parts, note the connections, know the differences, study
action and reaction, and keep clearly in mind the hidden,
the fixed, and the fundamental, elements of appearance, if
one would really see and imitate that which moves before our
eyes in living waves as a beautiful, undivided whole." t Not
only is this true of the human figure, " the non plus ultra of
all human knowledge and activity," § "the alpha and omega
of all things known to us"; || even the artist, for example,
who desires to represent flowers and fruits will only "be-
come the greater and more thorough if, in addition to his
talent, he is a well informed botanist : if from the root up he
knows the influence of the different parts on the growth
and prosperity of the plant, knows their various functions and
their effects upon one another, and if he comprehends and
.* SGG., a., pp. 223, 240, and 333.
t Einleitung in die Propylden (W., xlvii., 14 f.).
t Ibid., (W., xlvii., 13).
% Italienische Reise, Rome, Jan. 10, 1788.
I Ibid., Rome, Augt. 23, 1787.
/(^
loo ^be Xife of (Boetbe
reflects upon the successive evolution of leaves, flowers, fer-
tilisation, fruit, and the new germ." *
At the time when these words were written the revelation
of the metamorphosis of plants had already come to the poet ;
he had given himself up to the idea with joy and delight,
had applied it everjrwhere, even in art; /and yet with respect '
to the highest art, antique art, it was more than a year before
his conjecture gave way to certainty, of the correctness of
the view that nature and art are but manifestations of one
and the same reality — a view which later dominated and
satisfied his artistic and scientific consciousness. At that
time he was still engaged in " investigating how those incom-
parable artists went about it to evolve out of the human
figure the circle of divine formation, in which neither a single
chief character nor the transitions and agencies are lacking.
I surmise that they proceeded according to the laws which
guide nature and of which I am on the track^But there is
something else about them that I am unable to express in
words." t
After he had gone to Sicily and returned to Rome it was
no longer a surmise, it had become with him a "Colum-
bus's egg;" J he had not only found the clue, he had the
"master key," and was in a position to declare that "these
great works of art are at the same time the highest works of
nature, produced by man in accordance with true and nat-
ural laws; everything capricious and imaginary falls to the
ground ; here is necessity, here is God." He was able to look I
into the depths of art with all the greater joy as he had!
accustomed his sight to the depths of nature. §
Goethe's philosophy of art, then, is based on the laws
which he read in the open book of nature. The great prin-
ciples underlying the realm of nature, the conception of unity
and the idea of evolution, when applied to art, become the
typical in art and individual freedo m in the development
* Einfache Nachahmung der Natur, Manier, Stil (W., xlvii., 82).
^ Italienische Reise, Rome, Jan. 28, 1787. Cf. also Anhang zur
Lebensbeschreibung des Benvenuto Cellini, XVI {W., xliv., 384 /.).
J Italienische Reise, Rome, Sept. 6, 1787.
§ Letter to Karl August, Jan. 25, 1788.
ITbe maturalist
lOI
and assertion of personality, the highest bliss of the sons of
earth. Their union represents that inward unity, that true-
to-nature character, of the creations of his muse, which lends
them the stamp of eternity. And art was by no means one
of the least potent factors in prompting him always to take
" very seriously ever)rthing that concerns the great eternal
relations of nature." * Even the supreme revelation of art,
the beautiful, comes to us " when we behold life in accord-
ance with law in its highest activity and perfection, by which
we are stimulated to reproduce and are made to feel our-
selves animated and transported to highest activity." t
Thus art reproduces whatever it may have received from
nature; for art is not an imitator of nature, but her "wor-
thiest interpreter," J and an irresistible longing for art is
felt by all to whom nature begins to disclose her open
secret. Hence art becomes, so to speak, a touchstone for
the discovered laws of nature, and, on the other hand, is able
to reveal natural laws. This divine spark is the beautiful;
for " the beautiful is a manifestation of secret laws of nature,
*
which but for this phenomenon would have remained hidden
from us for ever." §
Goethe found the philosophical justification and confirm-
ation of his conception of the relations between nature and
art in Kant's Kritik der Urteilskraft, to which he owed, for
this reason, one of the most joyous periods of his life. 1 It
pleased him to learn in this work that poetry and the com-
parative science of nature are so closely related, ,in that both
are subject to the same power of judgment. He found here
the fulfilment of his own demand that a work of art should
be treated like a work of nature, and a work of nature like
a work of art, and that the value of each should be derived
from itself and considered by itself .1 And as, in every work
* Letter to Knebel, Jan. 28, 1789. ■i'2
t Campagne in Frankreich (W., xxxui., 234);,,-'' iJj0
^y^XMaximen und Refiexionen uber Kunst {W., xlviii., 179); Spruche in
Prosa, No. 214.
§ Spruche in Prosa, No. 197.
II Einwirkung der neueren Philosophie (NS., xi., 47 ff.).
^Campagne in Frankreich (W., xxxiii., 154).
I02 ^be Xife of (5oetbe
of art, art should always be represented as a whole, Goethe
desired also that in every single being the workings and the
design of nature should be viewed as a whole, and every
single part in its relation to the whole.
j SBiUft bu bic^ am ©attsen erquidfcn,
I @o muft ha has ©anje im Sleinften txhMea*^
Here again we have to do with a point of view at which
Goethe had arrived far ahead of his age. For if the value of
each being is to be derived from that being itself and to be
considered by itself, then every creature must have its pur-
pose in itself, and cannot be explained by external purposes ;
much less by subordination to the purposes of man, — ^who,
in spite of Copernicus, still considered himself the centre of
the universe. This teleological way of thinking, however,
still held sway over the investigators of nature and prevented
the scientific comprehension of organic nature and the pro-
gress of investigation. In his energetic rejection of teleology
our poet stood almost alone. His philosophical teacher had,
with his usual acumen, long ago discovered the anthropo-
morphism of final purposes and had declared that " all final
causes are human inventions." In this particular Goethe
followed him unconditionally. His utterances concerning
the scientific inadmissibility of teleology as an explaining
principle are extraordinarily numerous, and he left among
his papers a little essay, Einleitung zu einer allgemeinen
Vergleichungslehre,^ which is devoted exclusively to this
subject. One cause of the happy period of his life which
Kant's Kritik der Urteilskraft was chiefly instrumental in
bringing about was the fact that his disinclination toward
final causes was now explained and justified.
Closely related to this attitude was his unwillingness to
tolerate the view that every variation from the norm is
pathological, and in his observation of nature he carried his
objectivity so far that he repeatedly referred to the rela-
tivity of such conceptions as " defect," " abnormal develop-
* If in the All thou thy soul wpuldst regale.
The All thou must see in the smallest detail.
1[ NS., vii., 215 if.
^be IRatutalist 103
ment," "malformation," "deformity," and "stunt," and
advised caution in the use of these terms, inasmuch as
everything takes place in accordance with the simple law of
metamorphosis, " which by its efficacy brings before our eyes
both the symmetrical and the bizarre, the fertile and the
barren, the comprehensible and the incomprehensible." i^
He desired that one should become thoroughly permeated
with the truth that one can by no means obtain a compre-
hensive view unless one always considers normal and abnor-
mal at the same time, in their variations and effects. This
insight had led him, as we know, to the discovery of the
metamorphosis of plants.
The perfecting of the ideas concerning formation and
transformation of organic nature, which Goethe brought
back from Italy in far more finished form than when he set
out on his journey to the south, occupied his mind cease-
lessly, even in the midst of the distractions into which he
was drawn during the succeeding years. The first fruit
was Die Metamorphose der Pftanzen. Called soon afterward
to the seat of war in Silesia, during his sojourn in Breslau he
devoted himself chiefly to comparative anatomy. On the
31st of August, 1790, he wrote from Landshut to Friedrich
von Stein, " In the midst of all this turmoil I have begun
to write my treatise on animals."
His plans were far-reaching. The works which he him-
self published, together with the many preparatory studies
in the fields of botany and comparative anatomy, which
have been brought to light from among the archives, show
that it was his intention to write a general theory of the sci-
ence of organic nature, in which no branch should be left
unconsidered. The little "treatise" seems to have been
preserved in the Versuch uber die Gestalt der Tiere* of which
Goethe speaks in several letters of the years 1790 and 1791,
and the ideas of which he seems to have incorporated in
later works; but what his "youthful assurance dreamed of
as a comprehensive work" came out into the world as a
mere outline, a fragmentary collection of material.
* NS., viii., 261.
104 ^be %ite of (Soetbe
He often thought that he was about ready to publish it.
In 1807 everything was prepared for publication and he
wrote introductions and prefaces to these " sketches of many
I years," but they were again laid away, and not until 1820
did he begin the pubHcation of his anatomical writings,
I together with the reprinting of the Metamorphose and other
botanical essays, under the common title Zur Morphologie.
Goethe created not merely a name for the science, but
the science itself. He was the founder of scientific morphol-
ogy. He said unequivocally that in morphology he was
setting up a new science, not in subject-matter, it is true,
but in point of view and in method.* What he means by
this needs no further explanation after what has already
been said. Morphology is to include the theory of forms,
the formation and transformation of organic bodies. Form
is variable, coming into being and passing away. The theory
of forms is the theory of metamorphosis. The theory of
metamorphosis, he adds to these aphoristic utterances, is
the key to all the signs of nature. Hence morphology is the
focus to which the other sciences of organic nature tend,
like the radii of a concave mirror. By this high conception
Goethe made morphology both the foundation and the end
of all biological sciences. It finally developed into the
science of evolution.
The fund of particular knowledge which had been grad-
ually collecting could not fail to bring about a state of confu-
sion in these sciences, — especially iij comparative anatomy —
as there was no one common line of reasoning according to
which they could be considered both externally and with
respect to their inward substance and their mutual relations,
— ^no leading idea to which they had to be subordinated. In
his Erster Entwurf einer allgemeinen Einleitung in die ver-
gleichende Anatomie, ausgehend von der Osteologie, which he
wrote in 1795, Goethe proposed " an anatomical type, a gen-
eral composite pattern in which so far as possible the forms
of all animals should be contained. In its universality the
type embraces the whole animal world, and in the same way
* NS., vi., 293 and 446.
Zbe maturalist 105
the plant world is reduced to a "vegetative" type. More
particularly the type belongs to the higher animals, or to a
single class. This type is found by process of abstraction
from empirical knowledge of the parts which in appearance
are different, but in plan are alike. Goethe repeatedly calls
the type a Proteus, whom we " must be skilled to follow in
all his versatility"; for from the versatility of this type are
" to be derived without exception the many genera and species
known to us." Nevertheless, the type is an element that
persists and endures through all the change and transforma-
tion of forms. In a fragment published for the first time in
the Weimar edition of Goethe's writings we read: "Great
difificulty of establishing the type of a whole class in general,
so that it will fit every genus and every species; nature
can produce her genera and species only because the type
which is prescribed for her by eternal necessity is such a
Proteus; and this Protean type escapes even a very keen
comparative sense and can be caught only piecemeal and, as
it were, only and always in contradictions." *
Now what is the type? ' There has been a great deal of
controversy about whether it represents merely a general
image, a pattern, an ideal character, or includes the concep-
tion of the ancestral form. ^* The settling of this question
has been considered a matter of importance because upon it
seemed to depend the question of whether Goethe assumed
the permanence of species or was a believer in the theory of
descent. It is impossible for us, in the brief space here allot-
ted to us, to enter upon a discussion of the former question,
but it is our opinion that from the whole spirit of Goethe's
philosophy of nature a perfectly clear conception may be
gained of his position with respect to the theory of descent.
Goethe once said that after Shakespeare and Spinoza
the greatest influence was exerted upon him by Linn6, not
because he felt himself related to him as he did to those two
spirits, but because of the very opposition to which Linn6
challenged him, because of the discord which the scientist
produced in his breast. What he " sought with violence to
* NS., vi., 312 /.
io6 tCbe %lte of 6octbc
keep apart had to strive after union to satisfy the inner-
most requirements of my being." * Then in Linn6's Funda-
menta Botanica, as well as in Pkilosophia Botanica, which
was his " daily study," the dogma of the permanence of spe-
cies confronted him with unbending rigidity: "Species tot
sunt quot diversas formas ah initio produxit Infinitum Ens;
quae formae, secundum generationi inditas leges, produxere
plures at sibi semper similes." In contrast with systematis-
ing, registering Linn6, who separated genus from genus,,
species from species, as a thing that had " existed since the
days of Adam" and was unchangeable, our poet confesses i
"It seemed to me a task that defied solution to charac-
terise genera with certainty and to arrange the species un-
der them." t He thought that it would be possible truly to
determine genera and species only by developing all plant
forms out of one. % He was convinced that the plant forms
all about us were not originally determined and established :
that, rather, together with a stubborn generic and specific
persistence, they were given a happy mobility and flexibility,
in order that they might accommodate themselves to the
many var3dng conditions influencing them throughout the
earth, and form and transform themselves accordingly, so
that "genus can change to species, species to variety, and
under other conditions varieties can change ad infinitum;
.... and yet those farthest separated from each other
have a pronounced relationship." §
Unb um3ufd^offen bo8 ©cfd^offne,
®amtt fi(i^'6 nid^t jum ©torren toaffn^
SBirft emigeS, lebenb'geS Sun.
@§ foUfiii^ regen, fd^affenb l^anbeln,
©eft \ii) geftalten, bann bcrwanbeln;
Stur fd^cinbar fte^fS SWomente ftitt-t
* Geschichte meines hotanischen Siudiums (NS., vi., 390 /.)•
tATS., vi., 117.
t Italienische Reise, Padua, Sept. 27, 1786.
§ NS., vi., 120 f.
II To metamorphose the creation,
Lest rest become complete stagnation,
^be IRaturalifit 107
In this respect it was naturally impossible for Goethe,
the unitary thinker, to make any distinction between plants
and animals. He had recognised, rather, that "when one
considers plants and animals in their most rudimentary stage
they are hardly to be distinguished. A nucleus, stationary,
locomotive, or semi-locomotive, is what our senses are able
to perceive, and that with diflficulty. . . . But thus much
may be said, that the creatures gradually evolving as
plants and animals out of a relation in which it is scarcely
possible to draw a separating line between them develop
toward perfection in two opposite directions, so that in the
end the plant culminates in a tree, enduring and stationary,
while the animal reaches its highest degree of locomotion
and freedom in its crowning representative, man." * More-
over Goethe did not consider that in man the process of cre-
ation had been definitely finished. "Who knows," he once
said, "but that, after all, the complete man only indicates
an aim at a still higher mark? "t On the other hand, he
often refers to the common origin of man and the animals, as,
for example, after mentioning the hollow spaces in the
human sktill, the frontal sinuses, he continues: "In this
case the question Why? would not lead very far, whereas
the question How? teaches me that these cavities are the
remnants of the animal skull, which are found larger in pro-
portion in rudimentary organisations, but in man, in spite
of his high development, have not been entirely lost." f
If we compare Goethe's general statements concerning
the transformation of organic natures with his observations
on individual genera of animals, such as are found, for exam-
ple, in his essays Die Faultiere und die Dickhdutigen and Die
Skelette der Nagetiere, we find that they will admit of no
Eternal, living motion works.
This endless force, itself exerting,
Creating forms and these converting.
Doth only seem at times to rest.
— Prom Eins und Alles (W-> iii-i 8i).
* NS., vi., 13.
t Biedermann, Goethes Gesprdche, ii., 263.
t Eckennann, Gesprache, ii., 191.
io8 zhe %ltc of (Soetbc
other interpretation than that he assumed a real blood and
ancestral relationship of genera and species. An interesting
passage bearing on this point is a remark which he made
in his essay Fossiler Stier concerning some discovered fossil
bones, out of which it was possible to reconstruct the skele-
ton of an extinct species of gigantic ox: "In any case this
ancient creature may be considered a widely distributed
extinct parent stock of which the common ox and the zebu
may be looked upon as descendants." If we but follow out
Goethe's discovery of the intermaxillary, the idea which led
him to it, and his frequent utterances concerning it, to the
logical conclusion, we are forcibly convinced that his work-
ing hypothesis was essentially that embodied in the theory
of descent. His philosophy of the world in general allowed
him no choice. In this respect there are but two possible
hypotheses : either the species originated essentially as they
are through an act of creation, or they have developed out
of one or a few archetypes to the diversity now filling the
earth. But one act of creation would not suffice; for the
palaeontological remains, which Goethe knew and valued at
their true worth, teach us that innumerable genera of former
periods became extinct, "were unable to perpetuate them-
selves by vital propagation." * Then, as it is practically
certain that the now living species did not then exist, one
who does not assume a repetition of creative acts is forced
to the logical conclusion that the living species are descend-
ants of extinct species.
There is still another great principle which plays an im-
portant r61e in Goethe's thought, and which makes him
appear to us a believer in the theory of descent, and hence
a forerunner of Darwin. Natura non facit saltum is a very
old saying, which is often quoted, but was formerly little
considered, as is shown, for example, by the theory of cata-
clysms. Goethe was the first to raise it to a principle of
research, and to apply it on a grand scale to the question
here under consideration. " Nature can achieve everything
that she desires to make only by a continuous series of
* NS., vi., 185.
^be IRaturalist 109
gradations. She never breaks the continuity of the series.
For example, she could not make a horse, if all other ani-
mals did not precede, upon which she mounts, as by a lad-
der, to the structure of the horse." *
Goethe carried this idea over to the positive and in this
form calls it the fundamental principle of continuity. This
principle is the foundation of all his scientific research. He
knows no other norm of action in nature than that charac-
terised by continuity, and even his geological views are
based entirely on the principle of continuity. " I have con-
tinued my observations on plants and insects," he wrote to
Schiller, on the 30th of July, 1796, "and have been very
happy in them. I find that if one has rightly grasped the
fundamental principle of continuity and can use it with ease
one needs nothing further to make discoveries and to present
one's views on organic nature." On the loth of August he
wrote : "I am more than ever convinced that one can arrive
at an excellent understanding of organic nature by means
of the conception of continuity."
In this Goethe showed a truly mathematical sense, and
it is only a different expression of the same trend of mind
that he everywhere seeks after transitions. Indeed, as he
says, his natural turn of mind forces him to consider all
natural phenomena in a certain sequence of development,
and to follow attentively the transitional stages forward
and backward. Likewise we have heard him say, in praise
of the plastic works of antique art, that even in them the
transitions are not lacking (p. 100). "What a chasm," he
exclaims in his first scientific treatise, " between the os inter-
maxillare of the tortoise and that of the elephant ! And yet
it is possible to imagine a series of intermediate forms con-
necting the two." Judging by what has thus far been said,
is it likely that Goethe, who could not make the application
of the conception of development broad enough, should,
with respect to the existence of the whole of the plant and
animal world, have found satisfaction in the hypothesis of
isolated processes?
* Riemer, Brief e von und an Goethe, 311.
no ^be Xife of (Boctbe
It is admitted in many quarters that at least near the
end of his Hfe Goethe arrived at a clear conception of the
idea of descent, and that in the last scientific work of his
life, his review of the remarkable controversy between
Cuvier and Geoffroy de Saint-Hilaire, he gave expression
to the idea by placing himself uncompromisingly on the side
of the latter. But if that is true it is no less true that these
ideas had long been his own, for we have his testimony:
" This event is for me one of altogether incredible value, and
I have a right to rejoice that I have finally lived to witness
the general victory of a cause to which I have devoted my
whole life, and which is pre-eminently my cause." In speak-
ino- with reference to Herder's Ideen zur Geschichte der
Menschheit, which as we know was in part the product of his
own mind, he said: "Our daily conversation was occupied
with the very beginnings of the water-earth and the organic
creatures that have been developing upon it since the earliest
times. The very beginning and the ceaseless continuation
through development were always talked about and our sci-
entific knowledge was daily clarified and enriched by mutual
communications and oppositions."
For the variation and transformation of species Goethe
assigns the same reasons as those set forth by the modem
theory of evolution, viz., adaptation, use and disuse of or-
gans, and inheritance; and even for the catchword " struggle
for existence" — not only in the sense of a struggle of organ-
isms with their environment, but also in the sense of a com-
petition of organisms among themselves for the conditions
of existence, and the resulting victory of one and defeat of
the other — ^he finds an excellent equivalent: "Everything
that comes into being seeks room for itself and desires dura-
tion; hence it crowds another out of its place and shortens
its duration." * So the poet also makes Prometheus, the
fashioner of men, who must have known about it, say:
®cnn \oli)tS fio§ bem SWenfd^en mie ben 2;ieren ttarb,
Stad^ bercn Urbilb \^ mir SSeffreS bilbete,
®a| etnS bem onbern, einjeln ober awi) gefd^art,
* NS., xi., 156; Spruche in Prosa, No. 981.
^bclFlaturaliet m
©id^ miberfe|t, fic^ ^affenb ancinanbcr brongt,
SBig eing bcra anbern iibcrmad^t betdtigte. *
The forces of formation and transformation do not reside
alone in environment; they are to be found first of all in the
organisms themselves. That the laws which reign and ope-
rate in inorganic nature do not offer an adequate explanation
■of organic nature could be denied only by an age which was
forced to assume the role of most extreme reaction from the
•extravagances and vagaries of a recent past. Since that
time science has approached more and more the point of
view of Goethe in the tendency to recognise laws of forma-
tion. The "formative impulse" reigning in organic nature
is, however, limited in its operations by the counterpoise
.given to it in the mutual influence of parts.
^oi) im Snncrn fd^cint ein ©ctft gewaltig ju ringcn,
2Bte cr buri^brad&e ben SreiS, SSillfiir ju f^affen ben gonnen.t
But these are the limitations of organic nature, and in
the principle of mutual influence of parts Goethe again pro-
potmded a leading idea, td which he continually referred,
and which science has completely adopted as its own.
Through its limitation of modification the mutual influence
of parts itself represents in turn a factor of formation and
transformation, since " the formation itself must be brought
forth and determined by a mutual influence, both in its con-
forming to the unity of type and in its variations from the
type." % Economic nature has prescribed for her use a cer-
tain budget, according to which, in all her modifications of
form, nothing can be given to one part that is not taken
from another. Such is the gist of Goethe's many utterances
on this point. Is this not the highest manifestation of the
principle of conservation of energy?
* The lot vouchsafed to man is that bestowed on beasts,
Upon whose archetjrpe I have myself improved:
It is that one oppose the other, all alone.
Or else in troops, and foe press foe with grinding hate.
Till stronger over weaker brutal triumph gain.
t Cf. vol. ii., p. 160, where a translation is given.
i NS., viii., 7S.
112 ^bc Xlfe of (Soetbc
Prom the wealth of material in Goethe's Morphologie we
must mention here one more discovery, the so-called verte-
bral theory of the skull. As a result of his faithful and dili-
gent study of vegetable metamorphosis, says Goethe, the
year 1790 had in store for him a new view concerning the
animal organisation which pleased and satisfied him. It
was an idea, analagous to the metamorphosis of plants, that
in the higher animal world the skull is a modified section of
the vertebral column. He had earlier recognised the verte-
bral form of the occipital bones, but it was not until 1790,
during his sojourn in Venice, that, as a result of a happy
accident, he thought he perceived that the bones of the face
are likewise to be derived from vertebras. In spite of the
fact that the latter inference has proved to be erroneous, and
that Goethe did not go more deeply into the question of the
vertebral nature of the occipital bones, which is accepted as
a fact, nevertheless the idea itself has been extraordinarily
fruitful in its influence on the investigation of the skeleton of
the head.
Goethe's earliest scientific activity was in the field of
mineralogy and geology. Soon after his arrival in Weimar
he prepared himself, on his wanderings through Thuringia,
while "living in chasms, caves, and forests, in ponds and
under waterfalls, with the subterrestrials," for serious scien-
tific work, to which was added a practical interest when the
plan arose of improving the old Ilmenau mines, and he was
officially entrusted with the undertaking, to which he de-
voted such faithful efforts. To these sciences he had soon
"jdelded himself with a perfect passion." Mineralogy was
for him, however, but an auxiliary science to geology, which
he called the skeleton of the earth. To Count Sternberg he
wrote, " My whole salvation comes from the geological side,"
adding that he had already been travelling this road for
many years. The investigation of the earth's crust in the
region of his beloved Karlsbad and Bohemia was, from the
beginning of his acquaintance with that part of the world
till the end of his life, Very dear to his heart. In general he
always held the view which he had early formed that granite
^be IRaturalist 113
is the solid foundation of the earth, as he asserts in his highly
poetic essay Uber den Granit*
At the time when Goethe became absorbed in this science
geologists were divided into two hostile camps, the Nep-
tunists and the Vulcanists. Against the latter 's "abomi-
nable lumber-room of the new creation of the world," which
was irreconcilable with his sense of continuity, he hurled
most violent invectives and a great many biting lampoons,
especially in the Second Part of Faust. This, together with
his many confessions that anything in the nature of violence
or an interruption of continuity was odious to him, — ^for it
is not according to nature — ^and that he " held in abomina-
nation all explanations by violence," has led men to consider
him a Neptunist. But in doing this they confuse the Vul-
canists with volcanism. His declaration of war was not a
general one against the co-operation of volcanic forces in
the formation of the earth's surface — ^for example, he him-
self declared that at least in its origin the Kammerberg, near
Eger, about which he wrote several articles, was volcanic;
it was directed, rather, agailist the extreme Vulcanists, who
asserted that great mountain chains, such as the Pyrenees
and the Apennines, arose suddenly and all at once out of the
depths of the fiery, molten interior of the earth.
Goethe was by no means an out-and-out Neptunist.
There was nothing that he abhorred more than the dogmas
of a " school," when they begin to become firmly established.
"The view of the world of all such theorists, whose whole
thought is in one single direction exclusively, has lost its
innocence, and objects no longer appear to it in their
purity." t Goethe was hardly more of an advocate of the
teachings of the Neptunists than are most geologists of
to-day, in so far as they ascribe to water a more profound
and a more comprehensive effect upon the formation of the
earth's surface than to fire. It may be said, rather, that
even in geology Goethe's leading principles are those at
which more recent science has arrived, that in an explana-
*Ars., ix., 171 ff.
t Eckermann, Gisprache, iii., 37.
114 ^be %\fe of (Boetfie
tion of the formation of the earth's surface all forces known
to us and all causes still active are to be considered accord-
ing to their nature and the degree to which they are involved.
" One of the greatest rights and prerogatives of nature," he
says, "is to be able to achieve the same ends by different
means and to occasion the same phenomena by many kinds
of relations." The same forces that were active in the past
are constantly at work now. He believes that " it is possi-
ble even to-day for nature to form precious stones of a kind
unknown to us." * This follows from the principle that
nature, " working slowly and quietly, may well produce the
extraordinary"; and the fancy of our poet grants "a free-
working nature," even for her local transformations, the
countless thousands of years which geology requires to ex-
plain them. He has given us an example of such a theory
of quiet processes in Die Luisenburg hei Alexandersbad. It
is in accordance with his view of nature as working quietly
that his theory inclines more to the chemical than to the
mechanical, that he deduces the heat of the interior of the
earth from chemical and electrical action, and ascribes even
the temperature of hot springs to chemical causes. In this
regard he stands by no means alone. In this instance, for
example, he agrees with Charles Lyell, the reformer of
modem geology.
What broad and unobstructed views Goethe revealed in
geology is shown by the significance which he prophesied
geology would some day attach to fossils, which were then
just beginning to be studied. On the 27th of October, 1782,
he wrote to Merck : " All the remains of bones of which you
speak, and which are found everywhere in the upper sand
of the earth, are, as I am fully convinced, from the most
recent age, which, however, in comparison with our usual
method of reckoning time, is exceedingly old. In that age
the sea had already receded, but the rivers were still very
broad. ... At that time elephants and rhinoceroses were
at home with us on the exposed mountains and hills, and
their remains could very easily be washed down by forest
* NS., X., 87.
Zlic IRaturallst 115
streams into those great river valleys or sea-levels where,
more or less impregnated with stony matter, they were pre-
served, and where we now turn them out with the plow or
bring them to light in some other accidental way. . . . The
time will soon come when fossils will no longer be a mass of
confusion, but will be arranged to correspond in general to
the ages of the world."
These are truly prophetic words, which have found their
complete fulfilment in science. Petrifactions afford geolo-
gists the best means of distinguishing and determining rock
strata and of systematising the geological ages. Hence we
may say that, judging by the historical documents which we
possess, Goethe was actually the first man who recognised
the great importance to geology of those petrified remains
of former ages, while the Wemerian school, on the other
hand, failed to see any significance in them. According to
all appearances Goethe was also the first man who, in ex-
planation of the long stone drifts, the moraines, such as, for
example, the group near Thonon, which " fill us with amaze-
ment," expressed the view that in a former age the Swiss gla-
ciers extended down to Lake Geneva;*' and he was certainly
the first man who, with perfect definiteness and full confi-
dence in its reality, repeatedly promulgated the idea that
there was once an " age of great cold," that is to say an ice
age, which, as we know, plays a great r61e in geology and
palaeontology. Hence our poet deserves a prominent place
in the history of geology.
What Goethe wrote on geology is little when compared
with what he planned. Apart from a few articles that ap-
peared in the years 1807-1809, it was not until 1820 that he
began to publish what he wrote. Geology was not his ulti-
mate aim in the study of the earth ; it was merely a starting-
point. He entertained in his mind no less a project than
the writing of a general history of nature, a kind of cosmos.
The disposition * of the material, which has been preserved,
shows, in spite of the gaps in it, how magnificently he had
planned the work. It may be that he referred to this plan
* Bildung der Erde {NS., ix., 268 ff.).
"6 zhe life of (5oetbe
in several early utterances, as, for example, in his letter to
Frau von Stein on the sth of October, 1784, "I explained
to him [Fritz] according to my new system the first two
epochs in the formation of the world," and in his letter from
the top of the Brenner on the Sth of September, 1786, " For
my creation of the world I have conquered many things,
but not altogether new and unexpected things."
In meteorology Goethe was not so felicitous as in his
ideas and works on the three kingdoms of nature. His inter-
est in this science, which was at that time still in the rudi-
mentary stage, was profound and was probably affected
by his sensitiveness to the changes in the condition of the
atmosphere. He suffered to an unusual degree under the
inclemencies of the weather and belonged, finally, to "the
few men who have an immediate feeling of the state of the
barometer." He provided himself with barometer and
thermometer and evidently began early the study of com-
parative meteorology. For example, he wrote from Rome
requesting that the record of the weather in Weimar during
his absence be copied for him from the " Weather Observa-
tion Museum" of Dr. Siewer in Upper Weimar.* But, as
he says himself, it was impossible for his nature to grasp, or
be interested in any way in, the whole complex of meteor-
ological data as they are represented in tables by means of
figures and signs, f Only after he had become acquainted
with Howard's scientific nomenclature for the cloud forma-
tions which had earliest interested him did he feel that he
had a fixed point of departure, and he gladly grasped the
offered thread. He now compared the cloud forms with
the readings of the thermometer and from the latter was
able to guess the former. As a matter of fact, as science
has progressed, it has paid more and more attention to
these ephemeral forms in connection with atmospheric
phenomena, and has attributed more and more significance
to them. To the terminology of Howard, which has been
retained up to the present time, Goethe added a new member,
* SGG., ii., 230.
t WolkengestaU nach Howard {NS., xii., 7).
^be IRaturallst u;
which he calls paries, wall, which was adopted by Kamtz
in his voluminous Lehrbuch der Meteorologie (183 1), but has
not found its way into the more recent text-books on the
subject. It was entirely out of the question to accept with
approval the hypothesis which Goethe set up in explanation
of the variations of the atmospheric pressure, upon which,
as we know, meteorological conditions essentially depend.
He assumed that the gravitation of the earth is not constant,
but changeable and pulsating, as a result of which the at-
traction on the atmosphere, and hence the pressure of the
latter, increases at times and at times diminishes. This
h5T30thesis, which Goethe first published in his Italienische
Reise in 18 16, and then often repeated in his meteorological
essays from 1820 on, cannot well be made to harmonise with
our physical conceptions.
Nevertheless Goethe's work in this field was not in vain.
If meteorology has since his time advanced extraordinarily
this advance is due in no slight measure to the network of
meteorological stations r^ching out farther and farther
over the earth ; and so it is no more than just to mention
the co-operation of our poet in the erection of a number of
meteorological stations in the Grand Duchy of Weimar,
and the fact that he himself wrote out the instructions for
the observers placed in charge of them.* When the Berlin
Academy in 1823 introduced the taking of meteorological
observations an invitation was sent to the Weimar institu-
tions to take part in the undertaking, and Goethe at that
time expressed in a letter the idea that corresponding ob-
servations should be taken at certain distances out on the
North and Baltic seas.t
Of Goethe's theory of colours it must be said that it was
with him a life work in the highest sense. His writings
on this. subject fill not a few pages more than what he wrote
on all other scientific subjects taken together. No one of
the products of his genius has he enveloped with warmer
love and, if we are rightly informed, he ranked this work
* NS., xii., 203.
t Goethes Briefwechsel mit Schultz, p. 275; Br., xxxvii., 69.
II 8 trbe %lte of (Boetbe
far higher than his poetic writings.* To no work did he
apply himself with greater pains and in none did he show
greater perseverance. After his Beitrdge zur Optik, Erstes
Stuck and Zweites Stuck had appeared in 1791 and 1792,
respectively, it took no less than eighteen years of untiring,
painstaking application, during part of which time he en-
joyed the most devoted interest and encouragement of
Schiller, the " unreplaceable," before his chief work, the
two- volume treatise, was finally finished and in print. Even
to his last years he followed every new phenomenon with
the energy and freshness of youth and sought to bring it
into harmony with his earlier work.
When he finally held in his hands the work which had
weighed upon him like an "insolvable debt," he wrote to
Frau von Stein (May 11, 18 10): "I am not sorry that I
have sacrificed so much time to these studies. They have
been the means of my attaining to a culture which I could
hardly have achieved in any other way."
In spite of the error contained in it, this work has created
a new culture, not alone for the author himself, but for the
scientific and artistic world as well. The opposition it met
with was not because of the experiments recorded in it,
which were never questioned as to their correctness and
are unparalleled in their variety, but because of the physical
interpretation of them. The error in the work has not re-
tarded science; the truth in it has not only advanced science,
it has even become the foundation of a new science, that of
physiological optics, of which our poet must be looked upon
as the originator. He has opened our minds to a sphere of
human observations hitherto but little considered. Scien-
tists before him had hardly attempted to discover the laws
of visual processes in their relation to light and colour.
Goethe was the first man to reduce to a scientific formula the
phenomena of colourless and coloured after-images, of suc-
cessive and simultaneous contrast. The description of
these delicate phenomena, their origin and gradual sub-
sidence, — ^for which he coined the suggestive expression
* Eckermann, Gesprdche, ii., 59.
Zbe IRaturaUst 119
Ahklingen (colour reverberation*) — ^the theory of coloured
shadows, about which he wrote a separate treatise,! and
many other details which throw a great deal of light on
visual phenomena, form the first part of the Didaktischer
Teil of the work, to which he gave the subtitle Physiolo-
gische Farben.
The fundamental idea of this part of the work is that
it is the nature of the eye to demand brightness when dark-
ness is offered it, and to demand darkness when it is con-
fronted by light (§38). Likewise when a colour is offered
it it demands the opposite colour. For example, yellow
demands ,violet, orange blue, purple green, and vice versa
(§50). These demanded colours are a product of the eye
and belong to it entirely; there is nothing like them cor-
responding to them in the outer world. The discovery of
this law of visual processes has made Goethe's name one of
the most prominent in connection with the latest develop-
ment of the physiology of colours, which is more and more
taking the place of the Young-Helmholtz theory. The new
theory is based on the law of antagonistic colours, according
to which there are four fundamental colour sensations,
which go together in pairs: yellow and blue, red and green.
In addition to these there is a black- white sensation, as
Goethe had also maintained. To be sure, the colours are
here and there differently designated, as a natural conse-
quence of a certain difference of conception, but in essence
Goethe's theory and the new one are the same, as will be
apparent later on.
Goethe was perfectly conscious of the importance of
"physiological" colours. He tells us in the first paragraph
that they "form the foundation of the whole theory." At
the same time they give us an insight into the cause of the
error into which he fell in the field of physical colours.
His classification included a third group, the chemical
colours.
* Professor Frank Angell has suggested to me this translation of Ab-
klingen. — C.
t Von den farbigen Schatten {NS., vi., loi ff.).
I20 zbc Xlfc of (5octbe
The world of colours had not captivated him solely by
virtue of the charms with which they envelop nature. As
he often confessed, his point of departure was picturesque
colouring. He desired to find the law of artistic harmony,
colour harmony, and in the colour splendour of nature in Italy
and of the temples of art in Rome this desire grew to be a pas-
sion. Now we know that it is not the province of the painter,
and that it by no means lies within his power, to imitate the
colour of objects in nature, either in quaHty or in degree.
It is his task to produce the impression which these objects
make upon the eye of the observer. It is well known what
a r61e the distribution of light and shade plays in the works
of painters, in that it not only helps to accomplish the illu-
sion of corporeal form, but also helps to determine the
tone given to the whole picture. The reproduction of
the relation of brightnesses is one of the chief tasks of the
painter. Limited by the colour materials at his command
and by the illumination in which paintings are usually seen,
it is necessary, for example, in the case of simple landscape
subjects, where the relation stands out most clearly, to use
the yellow and yellowish red for the light, as Goethe says,
and the blue and bluish red for the shade.* Parallel with
this contrast of light and shade runs, then, the contrast of
warm and cold colours — a technical term coined by painters
to indicate the effect of colours on the observer — ^and hence
one is tempted to think that Goethe may have gained from
his observation of works of art his fundamental view that,
physically considered, colour arises from the reciprocal
action of light and shade, of brightness and darkness, of
light and the absence of light, and that there are only two
pure colours, yellow and blue. But as light and the absence
of light are nothing but light, it follows, in the Goethian
sense, that colour arises from the weakening or softening
of light (§312). And for this he found a confirmation in
turn in a physiological phenomenon which he describes very
vividly, namely, that the Abklingen of a dazzling, colourless
image, when the eye, after observing it, is turned to a dark
* Campagne in Frankreich (W., xxxiii., 260).
ZIbe IRaturaliat 121
place in the room, is accompanied by colour phenomena.
For here the eye produces colours of itself, merely by a
weakening of the impression which it has received through
a strong illumination.
Since, however, in the outer world shade or gray arises
merely by the cutting off or the softening of light, another
specific cause must enter into the production of colours,
and this Goethe finds in translucent media. If one looks
at a bright, colourless light through a translucent medium
the Hght appears yellow, and as the opacity of the medium
increases the colour changes to yellowish red and then to
ruby. "If, on the other hand, one looks at darkness
through a translucent medium illuminated by a light falling
on it, one sees a blue colour, which becomes brighter and
paler as the opacity of the medium increases, but darker
and more saturated as the medium becomes more trans-
parent. With the smallest degree of opacity short of perfect
transparency the most beautiful violet becomes perceptible
to the eye" (§150/.). The most magnificent example of the
effect of translucent media presented itself to him in the
atmosphere and the blue of the sky, and Goethe was probably
the only man of his time who held the view of' this phe-
nomenon which has recently been confirmed as the correct
one.
What an important factor in painting is aerial perspec-
tive, the artistic representation of aerial hght, which shows
such a variety of gradations, according to the degree of
opacity of the air, and causes objects themselves to appear
in such finely shaded tones! In Italy Goethe did not fail
"to observe the splendour of atmospheric colours, which-
afforded striking examples of most distinct gradation of
aerial perspective, and of the blueness of distance, as well
as of near shadows."* In his Farhenlehre he repeatedly
makes the assertion that aerial perspective is based on the
theory of translucent media. The sky, distant objects,
even near shadows appear to us blue. At the same time,
the illuminating object and the object illuminated appear
* Confession des Verfassers (NS., iv., 291).
122 zbc %\fe of (5octbe
to us in shades varying all the way from yellow to purple
(§872). He recognised also the relation between the action
of the ground of paintings on the painter's colours and the
laws of colours of translucent media (§172), and it requires
but a generalisation to characterise the phenomena in
connection with translucent media as the "primitive phe-
nomenon" (Urphdnomen) of the theory of colours. It is
perfectly obvious that we may call all media translucent,
since no absolutely transparent medium is known. " Em-
pirically considered, even the most transparent medium
contains the slightest degree of opacity" (§148). And so
Goethe tells us on every page that "the whole theory of
colours rests on the pure conception of the translucent,"
and this "primitive phenomenon" is the very comer stone
of the theory. Even though we are unable to perceive
herein the finality of experience, or to ascribe to it the
character of the "inscrutable," nevertheless Goethe has
caused more attention to be paid to these phenomena and
has provoked more careful investigation of them, and his
own observations in the field have permanent value in
themselves.
It is only natural that Goethe should have employed
the same principle to explain the spectral colours, those
colours which appear when white or colourless light is re-
fracted by a prism ; and herein lies the secret of the difference
between his theory and the Newtonian theory, which he
combated all his life, with a passion which at times vented
itself in very unjust accusations. The Polemischer Teil
of the Farbenlehre is devoted to this controversy.
Newton believed that he was forced to draw from his
experiments the conclusion that these colours are not pro-
duced by a particular quality of the prism, but arise from
light itself, which consists of different kinds of light, per-
ceived by us as so many different colours and distinguished
only by their refrangibility. ^ Goethe, on the other hand,
ascribes to the substance of the prism, in so far as it is a
translucent medium, a specific effect, but in order to explain
the phenomenon of the spectrum he is forced to bolster up
^be IRaturalist 123
his theory by resorting to many other hypotheses which are
physically difficult to comprehend. According to Newton,
then, colours come from Ught, they are contained in it,
and hence white light is composed of different kinds of
light, each of which, as a part of the whole, is darker than
light. In reply to this Goethe would ask the question.
Can there be a more awkward error than the assertion that
pure, clear, unclouded light is composed of dark lights?*
Light is, rather, "the most simple, most indivisible, most
homogeneous thing we know." This corresponds to our
sensation; diverse refrangibility is a delusion.
Newton shows that if any separate part, that is, any one
of the kinds of light composing the spectrum, is made to
pass through a second prism, it is again refracted, that is,
it appears in a higher or lower position; but its colour re-
mains unchanged. Goethe questions this; after repeated
refraction he finds rims or borders of different colours. But
he evidently never saw a pure spectrum, and it was only at
the middle of the last century that Helmholtz finally suc-
ceeded in separating entirely the colours of the spectrum,
and in demonstrating their unchangeableness when re-
fracted. This separation can be achieved only by a com-
bination of prisms and lenses. Experiments of this kind
were to have been communicated in a Supplementarer Teil
of the Farbenlehre, which, however, was never published,
though Goethe wrote something on the subject and, in
1822, sent an essay dealing with it to von Henning. What
became of the essay is not known.
This lack of a pure spectrum doubtless accounts for the
fact that Goethe considered green not a simple, but a
mixed, colour, composed of yellow and blue in their purest
condition. As a matter of fact, however, it is not possible
to produce green by combining these pure prismatic colours.
If the coloured lights which the spectrum of sunlight
reveals to us really exist in sunlight then the recombination
of them must in turn produce a white image. Goethe does
not question the fact that, if a spectrum thrown on a screen
* Cf. Spruche in Prosa, No. 994; NS., xi., 96.
124 JLf)e Xife of (Boctbe
is looked at through a prism at a certain distance, the eye
perceives a "quite white" or colourless image, nor the fact
that the same phenomenon appears when the yellow and
the bluish red, or the blue and the yellowish red, of the
spectrum are thrown on the same spot; but he does not see
the reason for it in the mixing or combining of these colours ;
on the contrary, he sees the reason in the fact, which he
repeatedly emphasises, that they counteract or neutralise
each other. Here again Goethe expresses an idea that is
one of the fundamental principles of the most recent theory
of the physiology of colours, according to which yellow and
blue, red and green, that is to say, the antagonistic, or, as
Goethe would say, the opposite or complementary, colours
do not mix in the human eye, but rather destroy each other,
indeed one can only understand Goethe's Farbenlehre
when one has learned to read it throughout, from beginning
to end, from the physiological point of view.
According to Newton's theory the colours of the pris-
matic spectrum follow each other in the order of their refran-
gibility; according to Goethe the prism shows the colours
antagonistic to each other. " On this fundamental principle
rests everything," we read in Goethe's early work, Beitrdge
zur Optik (§55). Hence not only the physiological part of
his theory of colours, but the whole of it, is built up on the
idea of antagonistic colours.** And in the treatise Von
den farbigen Schatten, written in 1792, in a way clearly
indicating his point of view, Goethe refers to the "agree-
ment with those prismatic experiments" in the Beitrdge
and expresses the hope that " the theory of coloured shadows
would join itself immediately" to the whole mass of the
theory of colours and "would contribute much toward the
explanation and elucidation of the subject."* From his
remark in this connection, that in coloured shadows we
find the idea of antagonistic colours productively realised,
in that these colours "produce each other alternately,"
one might be inclined to draw the conclusion that he con-
ceived the idea of antagonistic colours of the spectrum before
*'NS., v., 115.
lEbe IRaturalist 125
he did the idea of antagonistic physiological colours. But
if one considers the way in which Goethe came to take up
the theory of colours, what aim he was pursuing, and if one
remenabers that in his early youth his attention had been
attracted by a phenomenon of coloured shadows which he
had occasion again to admire in Italy — ^where, during the
sirocco and the purple sunsets incident to it, the most beau-
tiful sea-green shadows were to be seen * — one will be in-
clined to concede priority to the discovery of the antagonistic
quality of physiological colours, and to admit that Goethe
objectified, so to speak, this antagonistic quality and in this
way came upon the idea of referring to it physical colours
as well. Hence we do not feel inclined to believe the story
that Goethe looked through impatient Biittner's prism at
an extended white surface and when he saw what, according
to Newton's theory, he could not help seeing — ^namely, that
where a dark surface joined a bright one only the borders
were jcoloured, yellowish, red on the one hand, bluish red
on the other — ^he immediately, "as though by instinct,"
declared to himself, but loud enough to be heard, that the
Newtonian theory is wrong. We incline rather to the
belief that his view of the nature and origin of colour was
already on the very verge of consciousness and he saw here
the physiological antagonism objectively before him. It
was now too late for him to be further influenced by the
observation that a narrow white surface seen through a
prism seems really dissolved into colours.
The point of view here taken throws a surprising light
upon a passage in Goethe's letter to Schiller of the isth of
November, 1796: "The observations of nature please me
very much. It seems peculiar, and yet it is natural, that
they should result in a kind of subjective whole. It is
really becoming, if you will, the world of the eye, which is
exhausted by form and colour. For when I pay close at-
tention I need make but sparing use of the aid of the other
senses, and all reasoning is converted into a kind of repre-
sentation." Thus the world of the eye is rounded out in the
* Confession des Verfassers (NS., iv., 291).
126 Zbe %ltc of (Boetbe
theory of colours, in that the beginning and the end blend
together to form a circle. Here the foundation is laid for
the discovery of the fundamental law of all harmony of
colours, as is suggested in the Farbenlehre (§6i). In the
splendid chapter entitled Sinnlich^sittliche Wirkung der
Farhe, the esthetic content of which is still far from being
duly appreciated, the subject is explained and followed
through all its ramifications. Here we are referred again
to the beginning, and hence it cannot be otherwise than
that harmony is to be sought in the eye of man. ^^ Thus
he happily found the way back to art through physio-
logical colours and their general ethical and esthetic effect.*
When Goethe's essay Die Natur was rescued from
oblivion, in 1828, he confessed that the observations it con-
tained agreed very well with the conceptions which he had
formed at the time of writing it, but that he had then
lacked a " clear notion of the two great driving wheels of
all nature, the conceptions of polarity and intensification."
His theory of colours is subordinated to these principles,
which were very familiar to the discoverer of the inter-
maxillary and the metamorphosis of plants.
He is fond of considering all the workings of nature
tinder the conception of polarity. Times without nvimber
and in an infinite variety of ways he gives expression to this
idea everjrwhere, and especially in the theory of colours,
where it appears under the form of active and passive, plus
and minus. No figure does he employ more frequently than
that of inhalation and exhalation, systole and diastole, under
which the polar contrasts are represented. " It is the
eternal formula of life which here finds another expression"
(§38). Together they form the totality, the unity. Even
as early as his Beitrdge zur Optik he called the two funda-
mental colours, yellow and blue, poles. By increasing the
opacity of the medium, which brings out the former, the
latter is intensified till it finally becomes a ruby red; by
increasing the transparency blue is intensified to violet, t
* Confession des Verfassers {NS., iv., 308).
tC/. p. 121.
^be IRaturalist 127
Yellow and blue mixed in their purest state give green;
united in their intensified state as yellowish red and bluish
red, they produce purple. With that the Goethian circle
of colours is closed.
Goethe had planned to treat the historical part of the
Farhenlehre as a symbol of the history of all sciences, and
although he finally gave it the modest title of "Materials
for the History of the Theory of Colours," his contemporaries
and succeeding generations have declared with delight, and
even with enthusiasm, that he did full justice to the exalted
task which he set for himself. Even in the " hasty sketch
of the history of the theory of colours," which Goethe sent
to Schiller on the 20th of January, 1798, Schiller found many
important fundamental features of a general history of
science and human thought. A light-bearer, Goethe leads
us through thousands of years and lets us listen to the con-
versations which a sovereign genius holds with the great
men of the long past. He usually shows us the personalities
on the historical background of their times, in order to give
us a clearer understanding of them. How felicitous the
master is in conjuring up before our mind's eye with a few
strokes a picture of the intellectual nature of a Plato and an
Aristotle! With what deep, wisdom-laden observations
on the philosophy of history he fills up the "gaps"! And
who has ever said truer and more beautiful things about the
Bible than Goethe in his history of the theory of colours?
"The spirit of true, deep humanity reigns throughout the
work," wrote Knebel (August 10, 18 10). Ever3rthing in
it is there because of its substance; there is nothing in it
for the sake of appearance, and nothing for any other such
motive. And thus in the end it leaves upon us the impres-
sion of reconciliation with the shades of Newton.
Goethe's scientific activity was by no means limited to
these finished works. He also aroused and nurtured love
for science and the dissemination of scientific knowledge
as a "volunteer" teacher. In the Weimar Court circle
and among his friends he repeatedly delivered lectures in
almost all fields of natural science, even on the physical
128 zi)c Xlfe of (5oetbe
disciplines, and the outlines of some of the lectures have
been preserved. These may not have been wholly without
effect upon his finished works, for he once said: "I never
delivered a lecture without gaining something by it. Usu-
ally while I was speaking new light dawned upon me, and
in the flow of speech I was most certain in my invention."*
The impetus which Goethe gave to the foundation of
scientific museums and collections has not yet been fully
appreciated. His efforts in the little country of Weimar
to enlarge and enrich in every way the museums already in
existence and to establish new ones were crowned with
success. But that was not all. He made his influence felt
more widely by referring in his conversations and in his
writings to the importance of such collections as aids to
study and teaching. If nowadays it is a matter of course
that every institution devoted to the teaching of natural
science should have its museum, it is no more than right to
remember that the idea originated with Goethe. And if
at present academies and learned bodies unite for common
activity, herein is likewise to be found the realisation of an
idea and desire often expressed by him. He deserves credit
for an infinite number of things beside the scientific dis-
coveries which he made and which laid such deep foun-
dations for further development. His way of presenting
things and the suggestions which he threw out in every con-
nection formed ferments that have gone on inspiring new
conceptions and gaining an ever widening sphere of in-
fluence. We shall content ourselves with referring only to
the testimony of Johannes Miiller, that but for several years
of study devoted to Goethe's Farbenlehre, in connection with
observation of the phenomena, his work, Zur vergleichenden
Physiologie des Gesichtsinnes, would probably not have
been written. In this work is contained the very important
discovery of the law of specific sense energies, the founda-
tion of all physiology. As a matter of fact the germ of this
law is unmistakably contained in the physiological part of
the Farbenlehre.
* Campagne in Frankreich (W., xxxiii., 197).
lEbe IRaturallst 129
In ways unknown to us ideas of no less vital power
have passed from Goethe's conversations into science. In
speaking of ideas suggested during Herder's composition
of his Ideen zur Geschichte der Menschheit Goethe remarks:
" It may perhaps not seem presumptuous if we fancy that
many things which sprang therefrom and were propagated
in the scientific world by tradition are now bearing fruit
in which we rejoice, although the garden is not always
named from which the scions were obtained."* It was
certainly his conversations with Goethe that Alexander
von Humboldt had in mind in his testimony, on return-
ing from his American journey: "Ever}rwhere I was pos-
sessed with the feeling ... of how, exalted by Goethe's
views of nature, I had, as it were, been provided with new
organs, "t
Thus Goethe's genius Uves on. Not alone in the sciences
with which he was best acquainted; for, if we were always
conscious of the culture which radiates from his spirit, we
should find its trace in all the sciences. It is here particu-
larly a question of that method which alone in the long run
can lead to great results, the method based on a combination
of induction and deduction, analysis and synthesis, ex-
perience and idea, or whatever other technical terms of the
theory of knowledge we may employ to express the anti-
theses. We take it for granted that we should use these
opposite functions of the understanding, that in investigation
we should proceed in both ways, in order to arrive at the
same goal. But if this had always been true, or if it had
been true in Goethe's day, he certainly would not have
pointed out in hundreds of different ways the necessity of
such a combination and would not have dwelt so constantly
upon the importance of it. We know, as a matter of fact,
how the progress of science was retarded by the preponder-
ance of first one and then the other function of the intellect.
Hence Goethe repeats time and again : ' ' Only both together,
* Zur Morphologie (NS., vi., 20 f.).
t Alexander von Humboldt, eine wissenschaftUche Biographie, heraus-
gegeben von Karl Bruhns, i., 417 f.
VOL. Ill — 9
I30 Zlic %ifc of (5oetbe
like inhalation and exhalation, make the life of science."*
"Time is ruled by the oscillations of the pendulum; the
moral and scientific world, by the alternation of idea and
experience. "t He warns the investigator against "clinging
stubbornly to one mode of explanation."! He demands
"thoroughness in observation, versatility in method of re-
presentation." §
These are rules that have become the common property
of investigators and their great value is constantly observed,
especially at the present day, in the progress of the natural
sciences. We are daily forced to learn our subjects over
again ; ideas which to-day seem firmly established must give
way to others to-morrow. To us it sounds almost trivial in
Goethe to teach that in the pursuit of scientific aims it is
equally harmful to rely upon experience exclusively and to
follow an idea absolutely; that a conception, an idea, may
well lie at the bottom of an observation, may aid an ex-
perience, may even favour discovery and invention. Where
is the man to-day who doubts that, without a guiding idea,
investigation is likely to degenerate into uncertain groping
and to end in dabbling? At the time when Goethe wrote
the above words, however, the state of the sciences of organic
nature showed signs of stagnation on the one hand, and of
fantastic speculation on the other. We have already seen
how he aroused science from its torpor and substituted for
the fantastic the ideal, ideas gained by contemplation on the
basis of experience. For idea and experience are not op-
posites which invalidate each other; an idea, according to
Goethe, is the result of experience, and he characterises a
conception as the sum of experience. [
Thus Goethe, whom many, half-ignorant as to his true
nature, count among the discredited natural philosophers,
far though his head may tower into the ethereal region of
ideas, never forsakes the firm ground of the real — ^an
* Ajmlyse und Synthese (NS., xi., 70).
t NS., vi., 354. J NS., vi., 349.
§ NS., xi., 44-
II NS., xi., 158; Spriiche in Prosa, No. 1016.
^be maturalist 131
unconquerable Antseus. Hence in the famous conversation
with Schiller concerning the metamorphosis of plants, which
marked the beginning of their unique friendship, when
Goethe, with a few strokes of his pen, drew a "symbolic
plant" for Schiller, and Schiller remarked concerning it,
" That is not an experience, it is an idea," Goethe had good
reasons for his answer that he was very glad to have ideas
that he could even see with his feyes. He saw the ideal in
the real. While the "symbolic plant" makes a strange
impression upon us, and while Goethe often confessed that
he was able to express himself only in symbols, still he does
not leave us in doubt as to how we are to understand him.
" That is true symbolism in which the particular represents
the general, not as a dream and a shade, but as a living,
momentary revelation of the inscrutable."* To stand in
the forefront of science one " must develop all the manifesta-
tions of the human being — sensuousness and reason, imagina-
tion and understanding — to a distinct unity, "f Nowadays
there can hardly be any one who would question the asser-
tion that, without imaginafion, as Goethe says, a great natur-
alist is inconceivable.} Not an imagination that wanders
vaguely and pictures to itself things which do not exist ; but
one that never forsakes the ground of earthly reality, and,
guided by the standard of the real and the known, advances
to things that it has surmised and divined to be true.
Goethe's is the ideal mode of thinking, which causes him
to see the eternal in the transitory, § as Spinoza saw things
sub specie ceterni. Hence with him study of nature was in
more than one sense a matter of the heart, his devotion
to her a natural necessity, the outgrowth of his religious
longing. In Spinoza's deus sive natura he found only his
own natural, clear, profound view of the world, which had
taught him ineradicably to see God in nature and nature in
God. II True, it is becoming in man to concede that there
* Spruche in Prosa, No. 273.
t Stiedenroths Psychologie (NS., xi., 75).
I Eckermann, Gesprache, iii., 196.
§ Leben und Verdienste des Dokior Joachim Jungius {NS., vii., 120).
]l Tag- und Jahreshefte, 1811 {W., xxxvi., 72).
132 Zbc %ifc of (Soetbe
are inscrutable things, but he must set no hmit to his inves-
tigation. He must pursue the inscrutable step by step to
its final retreat, until he may be satisfied and willingly give
himself up as defeated. Goethe once wrote to Frau von
Stein that the book of nature was becoming so legible to
him because he had no system and desired nothing but
the truth for its own sake. The true is identical with the
divine,* and he who makes the epitome of the true a part of
himself, in so far as it is given to man to know it,
SBcr SSiffetifd^aft unb Sun|t bC|i^t,
§at m^ ateligion.f
From the storms of passion, from the depression of
spirit into which he was thrown in his contact with men and
things, he fled for refuge to scientific investigation. Here
he sought and found "salvation and comfort," and, thanks
to his ideal mode of thought, he was able " to overcome his
temporary displeasure with the finite by rising to the in-
finite. "J Two years after his return from Italy he wrote
to Knebel that his soul was driving him to natural science
more than ever before and that in the consistency of nature
he was finding beautiful consolation for the inconsistency of
men. To him nature was "the great, good mother," and
the reason that he for so long a time felt repulsed by Schiller
was because the latter had treated her with such harsh ex-
pressions, as, for example, in his essay, Uber Anmut und
Wiirde. To be sure, she had provided him himself with all
the organs of sense and faculties of soul with which to grasp
her, and he felt drawn to her as to a friend, as we read in
Faust's hymn of gratitude :
®r^abner ®etft, bu gabftmtr, gabftmir alleS,
SBarum id^ bat. ®u l^aft mir ni^t umfonft
®cin Slngefid^t im gcucr sugctoenbet.
©abft tnir bie ^crrli^c 9iatur jum ^ontgrei(§,
Sraft, fie p ful^len, ^n genie^en. 9itc&t
* Versuch einer Witterungslehre (NS., xii., 74).
flf art and science one possess.
One bath religion too.
t NS., vi., 348.
Zbe maturalist 133
Solt ftoutienbcn Sefut!^ eriaubft bu nur,
SSergonneft mir, in il^rc tiefe S5ruft,
2Bie in benSBufen eine§ greunbg, ju fdiauen.*
In his love-inspired absorption in nature Goethe has
left to the world a beautiful legacy from which we derive
great benefit. His descriptions of his travels, his poetic
glorifications of nature, have aroused in us for the first time
a genuine feeling for nature and have opened our minds to
the majestic beauties of high mountains and to the magic
charms of the world of glaciers, and we wander in his foot-
steps when we feel ourselves driven out into these regions.
In a fragment published for the first time in the Weimar
edition of his writings Goethe speaks of four kinds of in-
vestigators, the last of which he calls the comprehensive.
These, " whom one might call in a proud sense the creative,
are productive in the highest degree. By the mere fact
that they make ideas their starting-point they assert the
unity of the whole, and after that it is, so to speak, nature's
business to accommodate "herself to this idea."t A few
lines further on we read, " Productive imagination with
greatest possible reality." Thus Goethe, in his relation to
nature, is at the same time an artist and an investigator, an
" after-creator," as it were. With the eye of an investigator
he seeks to grasp her works as an artist. Nowadays the
person of the poet scarcely stands any longer in the way of
the recognition of the naturalist. "Scientific imagination"
has become a proverbial expression. It is even becoming
popular to draw a parallel between creative talent in science
and artistic creation, and mathematicians Uke to designate
themselves artists. The investigator must possess some of
* Exalted spirit, thou hast heard my prayer
And granted all. 'T was truly not in vain
That in the fire thou turn'dst thy face to me.
Thou gav'st me for my kingdom nature grand,
And power with her communion to enjoy.
Not distant, awed acquaintance grant'st thou me;
Thou dost allow me in her deepest breast,
As in the bosom of a friend, to gaze,
t NS., vi., 302.
134 Zlie %IU of (Boetbe
the intuition of the poet, says Helmholtz.* The " manifesta-
tions of the human Toeing," which blended into a harmonious
unity in Goethe, composed his greatness and his uniqueness.
His "goddess," the ever active, ever new, strange, daughter
of Jove, was not fantastic, but "exact, sensuous fancy. "f
Hence it was possible for him to become the poet-naturalist,
as a supreme living evidence that poetry and science must
not be looked upon as "the greatest adversaries," that, as
"science has developed out of poetry," "science and poetry
may be combined."^ It will ever remain a matter of un-
failing interest, a constant source of inspiration to new
investigation, and a phenomenon of incomparable sig-
nificance to the knowledge of human nature, that in one of
its highest embodiments the two manifestations of the
spirit have been united in such perfection.
* Leo Koenigsberger, Hermann von Helmholtz, ii., 339.
■\ Stiedenroths Psychologie (NS., xi., 75).
% Zur Morpkologie (NS., vi., 139 and 167.)
IV
AFTER THE WARS OF LIBERATION
Weimar becomes a grand duchy — Goethe's position in the new ministry —
Karl August grants a constitution — Goethe's attitude toward it —
His displeasure with freedom of the press — The Wartburg celebra-
tion and its consequences — Murder of Kotzebue agitates Germany
— Goethe's attitude toward the reaction — He objects to romanti-
cism in the tercentenary of the reformation — His relation to the old-
er romanticists — To the younger generation — Bettina Brentano —
Romanticism in Goethe's writings — Contrasts between his theory
of art and that of the new school — His pronounced Protestantism —
His self-liberation as compared with political freedom — His resig-
nation as theatre director in reality a dismissal — Causes leading up
to it — Effect on him — His seventieth birthday — Interview with
Metternich — Sojourn at Marienbad — The Levetzows — Goethe's
relation to Ulrike — His desire to marry her — His misunderstand-
ing of her veiled refusal— Conditions in his home since August's
marriage — The Marienbad Elegie — August's reception of the news
of his father's matrimonial project — Goethe wavers between
resignation and hope, but finally resigns himself — Ulrike's further
history.
PEACE and quiet reigned throughout Germany and
Europe after more than twenty years of struggles
and upheavals. Germany came out of the age of
revolution with an entirely new body politic. With thor-
oughgoing internal changes were united equally great
transformations in external form. Several hundred small
territories were absorbed by larger ones. "What the Prin-
cipal Decree of the Imperial Deputation (1803), earlier
and later treaties, and Napoleonic edicts had not yet
brought about was accomplished by the Congress of Vienna
in 1815.
135
136 ^be OLife Of (5oetbe
In the new distribution of lands the Duchy of Weimar
did not come off empty-handed. As a reward for the Ger-
man spirit of the Duke, and the heavy sacrifices which his
country had made during the wars, it was increased in size
by twice its area and was raised to a grand duchy. Karl
August, ready as ever to share his good fortime, allowed his
most distinguished councillors to benefit by the elevation
and enlargement of the state. In the new Ministry of
State, into which the old Privy Council was converted,
Goethe was appointed prime minister, although the only
official responsibiHty he retained was the superintendence
of the immediate institutions of science and art. His salary
was fixed at three thousand thalers, a very large sum for
that day and for Weimar. Since, through the favour of
his prince, Goethe possessed, in addition, two houses with
large gardens, Karl August may be said to have offered the
aged poet as comfortable an existence as possible.
The Grand Duke did not assume his new dignity and
his new possessions without redeeming loyally the promise
of a constitution which the "Vienna agreements" had
made each German state. The constitution which he gave
his country was thoroughly modem and Hberal. Repre-
sentatives chosen by free ballot from all the estates, burgher
and peasant included, were from that time on to have a
share in pubHc legislation and administration.
On the 7th of April, 18 16, when the new legislature paid
its solemn homage to the Grand Duke, Goethe stood next
to the throne. He must have had very strange sensations
during the ceremony. He was taking part in an act which
he inwardly condemned. He had stubbornly held fast
his conviction that politics is an art which, Hke every other,
has to be learned, and for this reason a large majority of
the so-called representatives of the people know practically
nothing of this art; that, indeed, as a rule, nothing reason-
able is to be expected of a many-headed assembly in which
the majority rules. Personally he must have felt in addition
a shudder of indignation when he thought how in the
future he should be held to give account to a stocking manu-
after tbe IKHars of ^Liberation 1 3 7
facturer of Apolda, or the burgomaster of Burgel, or the
village mayor of Sttitzerbach, for any measures he might
take for the advancement of the University of Jena, or the
School of Art in Weimar. In spite of the new constitu-
tional conditions he may still have found consolation in the
hope that the old tried authorities would be able to make
their influence count, just as he himself continued, so far
as the state diet was concerned, to exercise his powers auto-
cratically ; but he could not get over the fact that complete
freedom of the press was assured by the constitution. This
sharp instrument in the hands of alert and clever writers,
as a rule politically inexperienced, short-sighted, and ex-
citable, such as Weimar and Jena possessed in great numbers,
could not fail to work mischief and bring the country into
confusion internally and into danger externally, especially
at a time when in the rest of Germany the freedom of speech
was either limited or wholly suppressed.
Journals shot up like mushrooms in the little country.
Five appeared in Jena alone : the Nemesis and the Staatsver-
fassungsarchiv, edited by Pi-ofessor Luden ; the Isis, by Pro-
fessor Oken; Des teutschen Burschen fiiegende Blatter, by
Professor Fries; and the Volksfreund, by Ludwig Wieland, a
son of the poet. One appeared in Weimar, the Oppositions-
blatt* Goethe would have liked best of all to turn his eyes
away from these paper horrors. When the first evil products
were laid before him he remarked angrily to his colleague
Voigt that with so much liberty of the press he must
certainly be allowed to retain the liberty of not reading .
With a certain irony the liberty of the press was turned
first of all against the constitution which had introduced it.
Oken criticised in his Isis the fundamental law of the Weimar
State, which was otherwise received in the grand duchy, and
in fact in all Germany, with joyous enthusiasm. His very
adverse criticisms thoroughly aroused the anger of the Grand
Duke, who begged Goethe to advise him what steps should
be taken against Oken. Goethe's advice agreed entirely with
* Concerning the fate of Bertuch's journal, cf. Dilntzer, Goethe und
Karl August, aded., p. 792. — C.
138 Zl3C%\feof<Soctl3e
his general attitude of mind : severity toward the thing, gen-
tleness toward the person ; the journal should be suppressed,
but Oken should in no wise be persecuted. Even a dis-
ciplinary reproof he considered out of keeping with the
dignity of a scholar and a university teacher. The Grand
Duke would not agree to the suppression of the journal
when six months had hardly elapsed since his proclamation
of the freedom of the press, and, as he wished to heed
Goethe's advice not to inflict any^ personal injury, he pre-
ferred to suppress his own anger and let the matter go.
But things developed rapidly to a crisis.
After the wars of liberation a deep sense of dissatis-
faction came over all aggressive patriots who were not, like
Goethe, willing to await the calm progress of history. The
most active fermentation was going on in the breasts of the
younger men who had fought in the war, or had lived
through it, with enthusiastic hopes for the future. It had
been their dream that the fairest flower springing up from
the soil enriched with the blood of fallen heroes would
be a Germany united in liberty, a mighty and independent
state. But that all proved a vain delusion. In the in-
dividual states there was narrow-minded tutelage and op-
pression, and the whole country was bowed beneath the
sovereignty of half foreign Austria and wholly foreign,
barbaric Russia. Things had come to pass as Goethe had
prophesied, and he sympathised fully with the young
men's vexation at foreign suzerainty. As though to vex
him personally, the execrable wretch Kotzebue had taken
up his abode before Goethe's door in Weimar, as a Russian
agent and spy. Kotzebue had been labouring for years to
debase Goethe and his high art.
The third anniversary of the battle of Leipsic and the
three hundredth of the reformation were approaching.
The students of all Germany, at the suggestion of those in
Jena, prepared to celebrate the two occasions together at
the Wartburg. About five hundred Burschen met there,
under the leadership of the most popular Jena professors,
and celebrated the great memorial days with inspiring.
after tbe Mars of Xiberation 1 39
devout orations, in order to lift themselves up to a higher
existence and to gather strength for the continuation of
their struggles for liberty, honour, virtue, and native coun-
try. The celebration closed with an auto-da-fi — arranged,
to be sure, by only a part of the assembled crowd, — which
delivered to the flames a number of writings whose contents
or authors the young men hated. This celebration, to-
gether with garbled and exaggerated reports of the orations,
and especially the heav§n-licking flames of the punitive
fire, called forth a storm of horror and indignation in
conservative circles.
Although Goethe was at that time as conservative as
anybody, nevertheless he was unable to see anything in-
herently harmful either in the orations or in the funeral pile.
The latter may have reminded him how, in his early years,
he had destroyed whatever picture or book was odious to
him by shooting or knocking it to pieces, or by nailing it up,
with the raging cry, "That shall not survive!" And he
doubtless allowed himself to believe that the writings burned
were calculated to arouse a similar repugnance in the minds
of the young. Even he, old as he was, took special delight
in the fact that on the burning pyre Kotzebue's Geschichte
des deutschen Reiches had atoned for its sinful existence.
He could not refrain from giving vent to his satisfaction
in a few verses :
5)u fiaft eg lange genug gctriebcn,
9licbertrdd)tig bom §o^en gefd)riefaen,
§dttc)'t gem bie tieffte 9licbertrad|t
©em SlUer^oc^ften gleid) gebrad^t.
S)ie Sugcnb l^at eS Sir bergoltcn:
SlUcr @nb' ^er tamen fie jufatnmen,
Sic^ ^aufenrocife ju Berbammcn;
©antt 5|Jeter freut ftc^ Seiner glantmen.*
* Quite long enough hast thou been borne,
Heaping on higher things thy scorn;
Thou hadst gladly placed the deepest malignity
On equal plane with highest dignity.
HO ^be %\tc of (Boetbe
As for the orations, the spirit which -pervaded them was
wholly in accord with his own feelings. " What could be
more beautiful," he asked Frau Frommann, "than that the
youth should assemble from all parts of the world to league
themselves more firmly together for the promotion of
good?" Likewise the general ideaHstic movement which
had sprung up in the student world and was leading them
to give up boisterous drinking and fighting, and still worse
things, met with his heartiest approval. But he held that
because of their ignorance of affairs young people should
hold themselves aloof from politics and not seek to exert
an influence in practical life. When one of their spokes-
men with flashing eyes set forth to him his political views he
would fain have fallen on his neck, and said, " But, my dear
boy, don't be so stupid!"
By the side of all the good and noble things springing
up around him on all sides the one thing that caused him
anxiety w^s the political short-sightedness with which, in
his opinion, the Grand Duke and his ministers were no less
afflicted than were the professors and students of Jena. He
was the only man in Weimar who had foreseen the conse-
quences of the Wartburg celebration, and had expressed
deep regret when permission was granted to hold it. Com-
plaints now poured in from all sides. There were visions
of conspiracy and rebellion, and the Weimar government,
which had permitted the celebration, which had even
favoured it by allowing it to be held in the Wartburg, was
looked upon as an accomplice. The Prussian chancellor
von Hardenberg and the Austrian ambassador in Berlin,
Count Zichy, came in person to Weimar to make expostu-
lations against the revolutionary manifestations there.
Behind Prussia and Austria were the remonstrances and
complaints of Russia and France. Affairs in the grand
duchy seemed to have reached a crisis. Karl August bore
it with grim humour. He wrote to Goethe: "The thing
On thee hath Youth its vengeance wreaked :
From every quarter of the nation
Came hordes demanding thy condemnation;
Saint Peter delights in thy conflagration.
after tbe Mars of !lLil)eration 141
which one cannot so readily rid one's self of is the feeling
of disgust at the insipidities, which by frequent repetition
and much rumination become in the end positively bad
taste." Goethe took the matter more seriously: "Present
conditions disturb' me to such an extent that I avoid aU
society."
Before he had gone any farther than Weimar Harden-
berg became convinced of the gOod intentions of the govern-
ment and of the comparative harmlessness of the movement
among professors and students ; but Zichy went on to Jena
in order to look into the volcano's crater. After Goethe
had there administered to him some soothing powders, he
too departed with quieted feelings. However, the mis-
trust and anxiety of the governments had been too much
aroused, and the academic hotspurs were no longer to be
cooled ; indeed, they grew even hotter under the prohibitions,
reprimands, and punishments which it was deemed neces-
sary to deal out to them in the interest of public peace.
And as though the most evil forebodings of the pessimists
were to be proved well foi!nded, in March, 1819, the Jena
student Sand, an earnest, industrious man, but a political
fanatic, murdered Kotzebue as a calumniator, a seditionary,
and a traitor to his country. The German Confederation,
which had superseded the former Empire, now passed a
series of strict measures against aU professors and students
who should endanger public peace and order, established in
Mainz a central commission for the investigation of dem-
agogical machinations, and introduced a censorship of all
publications of less than twenty signatures. Even before
the Confederation had taken these measures Weimar had
taken the most necessary step to meet the present emer-
gency by prohibiting the publication of Oken's Isis, which
was most diligent in agitating the fire, and by dismissing
the editor himself. This accomplished but little, to be sure,
so far as the Great Powers were concerned. Prussia and
Russia put Jena under the ban and forbade their subjects
to attend the university.
How Goethe was affected by the political events, which
142 Zl)e Xife of (Boetbe
everywhere brought in their train so many terrors, animosi-
ties, and indignities, and dealt especially heavy blows to his
beloved university, which after the war had blossomed forth
to new life, may best be seen from the fact that he called
Minister von Voigt, who died on the 226. of March, 1819,
a happy man because he had not lived to witness the murder
of Kotzebue and to be disturbed by the violent commotion
with which Germany was thereafter agitated. It is also
worthy of note that Goethe in turn now used greater pre-
caution than before in the publication of his own writings.
When that same year his Prometheus drama, which he
thought had been lost, came into his hands in a strange,
roundabout way, he sent a copy of it to Zelter, with the
strict warning not to let it become too public, lest perchance
the drama might appear in print. " It would come as a
very welcome gospel to our revolutionary youth, and the
high commissions in Berlin and Mainz might make wry
faces in disapprobation of my youthful whims." He used
this precaution in spite of the fact that the objectionable
part of it, the monologue, in which Prometheus rebels against
the Olympian authorities, had already been printed in 1785.
Goethe speaks here of his youthful whims; but even the
man of advanced years was not so very much out of sym-
pathy with the spirit which the poem breathes. Not only
had his philosophy of the world retained essentially its
old pantheistic character, although it now sought other
forms of expression; but even the desire for combat, which
led him' to throw down his gage to the opposition, had not
abated in any appreciable degree. He was not a reaction-
ary. " In their principle of conserving existing conditions
and anticipating revolutionary movements I am entirely in
accord with them [the monarchists], but not in their choice
of means to that end. They call to their aid stupidity and
darkness; I, understanding and light." And just as little
was he the quietist, the man looking about anxiously for
peace and dwelling in the comforts of peace, that many of
his contemporaries, especially the younger ones, considered
him to be. Within him there was the same boiling and bub-
after tbe Mars of Xiberation 1 43
bling as before, and he was daily tempted to enter the lists
against the low, the harmful, the untrue, and the unhealthy,
as is proved by the unbroken chain of his sarcastic and
serious attacks in verse and prose, as well as by his con-
versations and letters. The considerations of self-preserva-
tion and public order prescribed for him certain narrow
limits which he dared not exceed in the outward expression
of his sentiments.
The approach of the tercentenary of the reformation,
for example, aroused within him a strong desire for combat.*
In a poem entitled Dem 31. Oktober iSiy he declared his
intention " not to lose his God-given power by failure to use
it," but rather "as always to protest in art and science."
To be sure, only in art and science. But he may have said to
himself that these are the highest emanations of the human
mind, and that if one keeps his mind sound in these fields
it must of itself bring forth sound and helpful products in
other fields. In the celebration of the three-hundredth
anniversary of the reformation the harmful feature which
he attacked, because it was the source of the much lamented
reaction in Germany and Europe, was romanticism, with
its return to the Middle Ages, in which it thought could be
found the most genuine and most profound type of Chris-
tianity, religion, and German patriotism. Hence he pub-
lished at that time, in common with his friend Meyer, a
determined manifesto — in the essay Neudeutsche religios-
patnotische Kunst.
Goethe's attitude toward romanticism was not always
the same throughout the various periods of his long life. ^°
At first the relation was a friendly one and for a moment it
looked like a brotherhood in arms. In the nineties the
two Schlegels stood on the, same ground with him of en-
thusiasm for the Greek, and on his Wilhelm Meister was
based the romantic theory of the truly "poetical." "The
French revolution, Fichte's Grundlage der gesammten Wis-
senschaftslehre, and Goethe's Wilhelm Meister are the
* Cf. the draught of a letter (never sent) to von Leonhard, Br., xxvii.,
420 /. — C.
144 tEbe Xlfe of (Boetbe
greatest tendencies of the age." "If any one were to give
a thorough characterisation of Meister, he would in so doing
really say what are the demands of the time in poetry; he
might then rest on his laurels, so far as poetical criticism is
concerned," declared Friedrich Schlegel. His brother Au-
gust Wilhelm called Goethe the " restorer of poetry, by whom
she has for the first time been aroused from her long slum-
ber." Novalis heralded him as " the true stadtholder of the
poetic spirit on earth." The most appreciative admirer and
prophet of Goethe's genius was very early found in Karoline
Schlegel, the clever Egeria of the romantic circle in Jena,
but also the dangerous Dame Lucifer, as Schiller called
this most intimate enemy of his among women. Schiller's
relation to the circle soon grew cold, and then the roman-
ticists were more than ever inclined to draw comparisons
between him and Goethe and to make Goethe their idol.
Goethe in turn clung to them for a long time and sought so
far as possible to make peace between them and Schiller.
He enjoyed as a continuation of the Xenien the fight of the
romantic Athendum against the platitude of the age, and
put the two dramatic failures, August Wilhelm Schlegel's
Ion and Friedrich Schlegel's Alarkos, on the Weimar stage.
He shared with lively interest their universalistic literary
tendencies, which reached from Calderon in the West to
India in the East. For himself he added a further province
in China; for the world, Persia, — ^in his West-ostlicher
Divan.
Tieck's relation to him was cooler than that of the two
Schlegels, and yet he found grace in Goethe's sight with
Genoveva, the very one of his dramas which was most ro-
mantic of all and which conjured up the whole colour splen-
dour and magic charm of the Middle Ages. Goethe " became
intoxicated," as he himself confessed, "with the wealth of
tones in this missa solemnis, in which all the nations of
Europe offer their homage to St. Genevieve." The poetic
tone of Tieck's fairy world was not so very different from
that of his own lyric creations, especially his ballads. His
friendly attitude toward Schelling, the philosopher of
Htter tbe Mars of ^Liberation 145
romanticism, was due entirely to the deep intimate relation
of their pantheistic conceptions of nature.
The second generation of romanticists stood in an en-
tirely different relation to Goethe and their admiration for
him was different from that of the Schlegels, Schelling, and
Tieck, and yet even with them he found all sorts of common
interests and many points of contact. Des Knaben Wunder-
horn, the collection of folk-songs published by Amim and
Brentano, he greeted with joy and gladly accepted their
dedication of the work to him. This, as we know, was like
the beginnings of his own lyric writing, which had its roots
in the folk-song, and it reminded him pleasantly of Herder's
collection, which, however, was of a more cosmopolitan
character. For a moment he allowed himself to be dazzled
even by Zacharias Werner, had two of the latter's dramas
presented in Weimar, and in the Frommann home vied with
him in the writing of sonnets, a poetical form with which he
had hitherto been little familiar.*
Bettina Brentano won his specially close friendship. As
the granddaughter of Sophii La Roche, as the daughter of
his once loved Maxe, as the young friend of Frau Aja, she
brought with her many pictures of happy days and caused
very many dear shades of early love and friendship to rise
before him, when she came on her pilgrimage to Weimar to
see him in June, 1807. In her book dedicated to the glori-
fication of his memory, Goethes Briefwechsel mit einem Kinde
(published in 1835), she has portrayed her relations to him
in a light certainly all too favourable to herself. She even
interpreted the last of those seventeen sonnets, Charade, as
referring to her, whereas we know that the true solution of
the charade is the name Herzlieb. But the enthusiastic
admiration with which she approached him, in her genuine
womanly manner, though outwardly often with very youth-
ful boldness, did not fail to make an impression upon him.
Bettina became really his good child, his dear little friend,
whose letters and pleasing picture accompanied him for
a time and even found their way into his writings.
* See vol. ii., p. 350 ff.
VOL. III. — 10
146 ^be Xife Of (5octbc
To these many personal relations of a friendly nature
-were added finally the manifold influences which roman-
ticism exerted upon him as a poet. That he was converted
by it to the sonnet has already been mentioned; also that
the origin of the West-ostlicher Divan is to be referred to
this movement, though it soon went far beyond the source
•of its inspiration. Directly romantic is the close of Die
Wahlverwandtschaften and, unfortunately, likewise that of
Faust, in the Second Part of which in general all sorts of
strange and foreign things point to the manner, both good
and bad, of romanticism.
And yet, in spite of all these things, the differences were
greater than the common interests and the agreements.
Even in outward things it is a significant fact that, with the
one possible exception of Schelling, these friendly personal
relations of Goethe to the representatives of romanticism
all ended in discord, ill feeling, and rupture. This, how-
ever, but revealed the deep-seated, essential differences.
Their overwrought subjectivity made him all the more
conscious of his classical objectivity, and their capricious
formlessness of his finely developed feeling for style. The
industrious man could have no pleasure in their glorification
of "divine idleness." To their frivolous dall3dng with a
manage h quatre he opposed, in Die Wahlverwandtschaften,
almost pathetically and with premeditated harshness, the
sacredness and indissolubility of this moral bond.* And
the "pathological element" which he thought to recognise
in Heinrich von Kleist made it to his mind once for all clear
that, as he later briefly and trenchantly put it, " the classical
is the wholesome and the romantic is the unwholesome."
Even Uhland, as is well known, had to suffer under this
pronouncement of condemnation.
The way for the rupture was early prepared by the
theories of art set forth by Tieck and Wackenroder in Franz
Sternbalds Wanderungen and Herzensergiessungen eines kunst-
liebenden Klosterhruders, to which the two Schlegels very
soon professed their allegiance. It is true that in his youth
* See vol. ii., p. 383 f.
after tbe Mavs of Xiberatlon 147
Goethe had evinced a thorough understanding of German
nature and art and an exultant enthusiasm for the wonderful
Gothic structure of Ervinus in Strasburg. But meanwhile
he had been in Italy and had taken that decided turn of
affecting the antique ; in the theory of art especially he had
become a "heathen," and fragments from Greek temples
were to him " sacred relics."
Romanticism took the opposite direction. It had begun
by affecting the antique; but in its flaunted "rage for ob-
jectivity " there was from the beginning an element of over-
passionateness and distinct subjectivity; their enthusiasm
for things Greek was a pathological "Grecomania." And
so after a sudden change, which soon took place, they no
longer found their ideal among the Greeks : they now saw
in the Middle Ages the source of renewal, not only for
the life of the nation and for art, but also for Church and
State, for politics and religion. Taking Diirer as a starting-
point, the movement was at first rather Protestant in tone,
but on going back to the pre-Raphaelites the leaders very
soon began to complain of the dry, rational hoUowness of
the reformation, and in the end praised the period of the
thirteenth century as the only genuinely Christian age. In
the pictures of the Middle Ages they lauded the severe,
spare figures, the naive costumes, the genial, childlike sim-
plicity and narrowness of the faces ; and in medieval reli-
gion, the love of the wonderfully beautiful woman, the
holy mother of Christendom, who with her divine power
was ready to save every believer from the most terrible
dangers. Thus in art Nazarenism was proclaimed, and in
life Friedrich Schlegel, and after him many other fellow-
romanticists, became Catholics.
This was just as objectionable to Goethe's artistic taste
as to his "pronounced heathenism." So, after many signs
pointing to the approaching rupture, he wrote, in 1805:
"So soon as ever I find anything like the necessary time
and mood I shall portray once for all the nature of these
neo-Catholic artists"; for "a treaty of peace with such
people accomplishes nothing ; they only seek the more
148 ^be Xlfc of (Boetbe
shamelessly to extend their influence." He protested pub-
licly against "the verbiage of neo-CathoUc sentimentahty
and against the unctuous nonsense of the disciples of the
Klosterbruder and Franz Stembald," and, in his Winckel-
mann, expressly declared his adherence to the opposing
school of classicism. Yet even then he was not blind to the
merits of medieval poetry and art. He found enjoyment
both in the folk-songs of Des Knaben Wunderhorn and in
the strong, healthy characters of the Nibelungenlied, and
finally, through the influence of the Boisseree brothers, even .
became, as we have already seen, deeply interested in the
Cologne cathedral and old German painters. To be sure,
the rejoicing which this conversion of the "old heathen"
produced among the romanticists was of but short duration.
In his journal, Kunst und Altertum, he immediately after-
ward turned his back again on the Middle Ages and in 1818
proclaimed once more his educational ideal and artistic
creed, " Let every man be a Greek in his own way, but let
him be a Greek."
It was not only his classicism, but just as much, if not
more, his Protestantism that revolted and protested against
the Catholicising tendencies of the romanticists, and their
fondness for the Middle Ages. Even in books which ap-
parently had nothing to do with these things, as, for ex-
ample, Friedrich Schlegel's book Uber die Sprache und
Weisheit der Indier (1808), he now discovered the despised
features: "All the subjects which he [Schlegel, in this book]
treats are, as a matter of fact, used only as vehicles to bring
certain sentiments gradually to public notice and with a
certain honourable appearance to set himself up as an
apostle of an obsolete doctrine." He expresses himself
still more vigorously. He sees in it " a very clever way of
smuggling back into good society the miserable devil, to-
gether with his grandmother and all their everlasting,
malodorous retinue. ' ' He condemned most decidedly Fried-
rich Schlegel's conversion to the Catholic faith, "because
at no time has such a remarkable case occurred, of a superior
and most highly educated talent, which, in the highest light
Hfter tbe mats of Xlberatlon 149
of reason, understanding, and knowledge of the world, has
been inveigled into dressing itself up and playing the buga-
boo." He declared boldly, on the other hand, that "to
draw nearer to Protestantism is the tendency of all those
who would differentiate themselves from the populace."
We now understand how, on the occasion of the tercentenary
of the reformation, he could declare himself so decidedly
opposed, as a Protestant, to this neo-Catholic movement
and how he could maintain that "we cannot honour our
Luther more highly than by publicly declaring with serious-
ness and with force, and by repeating often, what we consider
right and what we hold to be advantageous for the nation
and the times."
In the winter of 1816-1817 he even felt called upon to
assert his Protestant views in opposition to Schelling, when
the question arose of calling this scholar back to Jena. No-
body had a better appreciation than he of the importance
of this great thinker. But the philosopher's views, with
which his own had once so well harmonised, had meanwhile
assumed a mystic, plainly Catholicising trend. Hence
Goethe declared with determination that there was no place
for such a man in Jena. To Minister von Voigt, who was in
favour of issuing the call, he wrote that it would seem to
him comical if, at the tercentenary of "our truly great
Protestant victory, one should see the old out-of-date stuff
again introduced under a renewed mystico-pantheistic
form." To him the truly great Protestant victory meant,
above all, the emancipation of reason, the " Christian man's"
regained freedom of thought and belief. Hence in a cantata
for the celebration of the reformation he would glorify
Luther's memorable deed in no other way than by drawing
a pregnant contrast between the Old Testament and the
New, between law and freedom, which, as he adds by way
of explanation, becomes law through faith and love. He
would let it be known that the Catholic Church still stood
on the ground of the Old Testament and had departed from
it only in so far as it had added to this ground heathenism
and polytheism. Hence in the poem Dem 31. Oktober iSiJ
ISO ^e Xlfe of 6octbe
he could well consider himself and those like him as " preach-
ers," as the real successors of Luther, who continue the
reformer's battle against obscurants and Romanists:
Sag aud^ ber ^faffe finn* ««^ f^Ieid^t,
®er sjJrcbiger ftel^tgur SKad^e.*
We now see why, after a conversation with Goethe, so
much misunderstood as to his German sentiments and en-
thusiasm for liberty, Vamhagen von Ense, who had fought
in the wars of liberation and now stood on the liberal side,
should have written, full of astonishment, to his friend the
Prussian Privy Councillor Stagemann: "Goethe no German
patriot? In his breast was early gathered all the freedom
of Germania, and there it became, to the never fully ap-
preciated benefit of us all, the model, the example, the main
trunk of the national tree of education. We all walk in
the shade of this tree. Never have roots taken a firmer
hold and penetrated deeper into the soil of our native coun-
try, and never have they drawn more powerfully and more
constantly from her vital sources. Our warlike youth and
the loftier sentiments which inspired them have truly
more in common with this spirit than with many another
who boasts of having been particularly active at the time."
These words of Vamhagen show correctly Goethe's op-
position to the reactionary political tendencies which ro-
manticism had assumed through the work of Novalis and
Gentz. They also prove that as a man of liberal thought
and patriotic sentiments Vamhagen was in no sense offended
at Goethe for holding himself aloof from the national pathos
of romanticism. Indeed, at that very time Goethe was
himself one of the greatest national possessions of the German
people. As Vamhagen correctly observed, Goethe took
liberty in that high sense of the self-emancipation of man
to a life of reason. He saw herein the German's most
peculiar and most sublime task and worked at it himself
with all his strength throughout the whole of his life. Thus
* Whate'er the sneaking priest may plan.
The preacher stands on guard.
Hfter tbe Mars of Xlberation 1 5 1
he fought in his own way for the cause of Germanic freedom,
and his efforts are deserving of recognition. Everything
in opposition to his labours, whether tyranny, narrowness,
or stupidity, he either designated by the general term
"priestcraft," or called it "Philistinism," — the word which
he employed more frequently and for which he showed the
greater preference. With reference to his activity in this
field he placed himself, in righteous self-consciousness, by
the side of the greatest German liberators, BlUcher and
Luther.
31^r fonnt mir imtner ungefc^eut
SBte 33Iud^ern Senhnal fc^en;
S5on granjen f)ot ©r ®uif) befrcit,
3d&oon*P^iIiftcrne^en.*
As a liberator Goethe could hope to exert an influence
only because he himself was free and because he made him-
self more and more free from the thousand bonds which
fettered others. This spiritual self-liberation gave him also
that extraordinary equan^ity toward everjrthing that
came to him from without. True, he occasionally lost his
equanimity for a moment, but he regained it the next
moment, especially in the later years of his life. And that
was an inestimable blessing, both for him and for the world.
Without this liberating equilibrium of soul, his high degree
of sensitiveness, a necessary qualification of the great poet,
would have brought his power and influence to an untimely
end.
During the year 1817 he had more than one specially
hard trial to undergo. We have already heard of the storm
of reaction which, toward the end of the year, caused heavy
waves to break over the deck of the Weimar ship of state..
The beginning of the year, however, had brought him per-
sonally still worse experiences. The loving care with which
he had fostered the Weimar Theatre did not save him from.
* As well to me as Blticher ye
A monument may raise ;
From Frenchmen he has made you free,
I from Philistine ways.
152 Zhe Xlfe of (5oetbe
grating ingratitude. In the long years that he had superin-
tended the stage it had caused him many a hard hour. But
in so far as actors, musicians, authors, audiences, financial
distress, and disfavour of the times were the cause of his
vexation, his innermost being had not been affected. He
overcame these things as one overcomes bad weather.
In the case of the conflicts with the Duke, into which he
was from time to time drawn on account of the theatre, it
was different. These were particularly sharp from the time
that the beautiful and distinguished actress and singer Karo-
line Jagemann became the object of the Duke's love, and
desired to see the theatre conducted according to her own
ideas. As far back as 1808 the opposing forces had come to
such a violent clash that Goethe asked for his dismissal.
The difference was temporarily adjusted, but strained
relations continued, owing to the secret influence of the
actress Jagemann. In April, 1817, the gathering storm
broke.
An actor by the name of Karsten was at that time trav-
elling about with a trained poodle which he was exhibiting
to the theatre-going public in a nielodrama adapted from
the French, entitled Der Hund des Auhry de Montdidier.
He directed to Goethe a request for permission to produce
this piece in Weimar, with his dog in the title r61e. Goethe
flatly refused the request as a lowering of the dignity of the
stage. The actor then applied to the Grand Duke, and
the latter, a passionate lover of dogs, signified his desire
that the request be granted. As Goethe persisted in his re-
fusal the Grand Duke issued a command that the perform-
ance be given. Sorely offended at the disregard of his
objections, Goethe left home and went to Jena, leaving the
staging of the piece to the other members of the board of
directors.
He may at that time have made known his intention to
retire from the directorship. 2 1 But he still lived in hopes
that an amicable adjustment would be possible and that
the Grand Duke would abandon the performance. The
futility of his hopes was demonstrated on the 12th of April,
St ter tbe Mars of Xlberation 153
when the performance actually took place. And even before
Goethe had taken a decisive step, the Grand Duke, espe-
cially prompted, as is said, by the actress, wrote to Goethe
on the 13th of April, granting his dismissal, alleging as the
reason for his action that various utterances which had
come to his notice had convinced him that Goethe wished
to be relieved of his duties as director of the Court Theatre.
By reporting at once to the board of directors his disposition
of the case, he made his decision irrevocable. Thus Goethe
was turned out of the office.
As a sage and a seer he was prepared for many things,
but that his imperishable achievements of twenty-six years
at the head of the Weimar Theatre should come to such a
humiliating and offensive end had certainly never entered
the realm of his faintest suspicions. Very soon Karl August
in his natural goodness of heart felt to what an injustice he
had allowed himself, in the heat of passion, to be carried
away. He went to Jena, where Goethe was still staying,
and there appeased the poet's anger and sealed their re-
conciliation with a hearty embrace. Even though the dis-
missal could no longer be recalled, nevertheless Goethe was
able to continue with honour to perform his other official
duties, and — ^what is of more importance — ^it was possible
for the friendly relation between prince and minister to
continue. -
Though the circumstances under which his separation
from the theatre had been brought about may have affected
him very painfully — years afterward the wound still burned
so that there is not a word about the event in his Annalen —
nevertheless he could but welcome the fact itself. He had
found less and less pleasure in the institution. It was a
perpetual source of trouble to be able no longer to meet the
competition of the large theatres. The previous year he
had lost his best actors, Herr and Frau Wolf, who had gone
to Berlin, and he was too old to train others to take their
places. Furthermore his mission was now fulfilled. He
had created in Weimar a style suited to the higher type of
dramatical production, and this style had been adopted
154 TTbe OLlfe of (Boetbe
and was still cultivated by the best theatres of Germany.
He could now leave the Weimar stage to work out its own
destiny, and could devote the valuable time and the peace
of mind of which it was robbing him to the great problems
that it was still incumbent upon him to solve. By a very
peculiar, but most happy, dispensation of fate, the dismissal
in 1817 and the decrees of the German Confederation in
18 19 gave him the rest which he most ardently desired.
From that time on neither public affairs nor his official posi-
tion caused him any further disturbances. The fruits still
hanging on his tree of life had a warm serene autumn in
which to attain a perfect maturity.
On the 28th of August, 18 19, Goethe reached his seven-
tieth birthday. On this occasion, as usual, he himself with-
drew from the birthday celebration. He spent the day
quietly on the way to Karlsbad. Throughout Germany,
with the exception of Frankf ort-on-the-Main, the important
epoch in the great poet's life was celebrated only in a quiet
manner. Political dissatisfaction lay like a mountain of
lead on the spirits of all. The representatives of the German
states, assembled in Karlsbad, were just in the act of clipping
the wings of the German national spirit shorter than before.
They called it suppressing the revolutionary spirit. The
conferences were ruled by the all-powerful Austrian minister.
Prince Mettemich. He was the first person in Karlsbad to
whom Goethe paid a visit. The poet's motive for haste in
making this visit was probably not merely a desire to dis-
charge a duty of politeness toward a prince whom he had
known for some time: he doubtless recognised the oppor-
tunity to dispose Mettemich more kindly both toward
Weimar, which the statesman would gladly have erased
from the list of German states, and toward the Grand Duke,
whom he scornfully referred to as the " oldbuck." Goethe
says in his Annalen: "As usual, I found in him a gracious
lord." This means that the poet succeeded in accomplish-
ing his purposes.
After Goethe had again taken the cure in Karlsbad the
Hf ter tbc Mars ot ^liberation 1 5 5
following year, but, as it seems, without being entirely
satisfied with the results, he decided the next year (182 1)
to try the mineral springs of the newly estabhshed Marien-
bad. He met there the beautiful widow Frau von Levetzow
and her three charming daughters, Ulrike, Amalie, and
Bertha. Just as he had fomierly been so fascinated with
the mother that he compared her to Pandora, so he now
discovered an unusual attraction in her oldest daughter.
She was only seventeen years old, to be sure, but it was
younger women that the aged poet particularly liked. He
joked concerning himself at the time as follows:
Stitcr, prft bu noc^ nid^t auf ?
Stnmcr Wab^ml
3n bem jungen Scben«Iauf
2Bar'« ein Satc^en.
SiSetc&e je^t ben Sag Dcrfit^t,
©ag'8 tnit Slor^ett ! *
Whether because of the benefit derived from the waters
of Marienbad, or because of his longing to see Ulrike's dear
face once more, suffice it' to say, we find him again the
following summer at the springs in company with the
Levetzow family. What a twelvemonth before had been
a pleasant pastime became now a deeper, more serious
feeling, which developed into love. A third long sojourn
together the following summer (1823), and the fire of love
flamed forth in full force from the heart of the aged poet.
The brown hair and blue eyes, the nineteen years, the in-
genuous assurance, the serenity, cheerfulness, goodness,
and cordiality of the young girl, who had received her
education in Strasburg and hence, in a sense, was an
Alsatian, — ^these things taken together may have caused
Ulrike to appear to the poet as a Friederike brought back
to life. "Repeated reflection" is an optical phenomenon
* Greybeard, still no end in view?
Maidens ever?
In thy youth thou soughtst to woo
Katchen's favour.
Who doth now thy day delight?
Tell me frankly.
156 ^be Xlfe of (Boetbc
that he had observed more than once in the course of his
life. And did he not now awake to a new existence under
the magic influence of this budding maiden? Did he not
experience a new youth? He even found pleasure again
in dancing! He attended the dancing parties and, this
summer, finished his seventy-third and entered his seventy-
fourth year dancing. Who could have told by his ap-
pearance that this man with delicately flushed face, fiery
eyes, a full head of brown hair with hardly a trace of gray,
an elastic step, and an erect bearing, who chatted graciously
and with animation, and moved about upon the floor with
one of the youngest ladies, was really a man of seventy-four?
And had he not reason to hope that, if he should enter into
a permanent union with youth, this rejuvenation would
continue, in defiance of nature, tiU the demon death should
drag him into his grave? Why should Ulrike not be pre-
pared to enter the bond? Why should she not return his
love? He saw how all the young girls were attached to him,
how their faces lighted up when he approached, how tenderly
they treated him, how eager they were to caress him and be
caressed by him.
®c^' ii) ^ier, fie fomtnt ^eran,
9iieinanb fiel^t un§ beiben an,
SBie toir licben! *
^What a rosy hue would be imparted to his home if this
rising sun should enter it! To be sure, it had not been
desolated by the death of Christiane. Soon after her decease
his own son had married Ottilie von Pogwisch, the dowerless
daughter of a divorced lady at the Court. Ottilie had
married the son more for the sake of the father, to whom
she looked up with tender admiration. She was a cheerful, '
intelligent, original woman of fine temperament, and
Goethe had in her the best partner imaginable for his con-
versations, no matter what they might concern. She had
meanwhile brought into the world two sons, whom Goethe
* Where I go she comes to me;
No one in our looks can see
How we love.
Hf ter tbe Mats of Xiberation 1 5 7
loved dearly and who afforded him great joy. There was
now more life and variety in the house than before Chris-
tiane's death. But the married life of August and Ottilie
quickly became very unhappy. Their two natures were
incompatible. Being each endowed with a strong spirit
of liberty, they followed their own ways, August the pre-
cipitous paths from which his father had hoped to turn him
aside by means of marriage. There were many moments of
ill-humour over which the husband and wife were unable
to gain control, even in the presence of the father. In a
letter from Marienbad, in which he wished gently to prepare
the children for a knowledge of his future intentions, Goethe
referred very mildly and delicately to the situation at home
in these words: "The days we have spent together, good
and sensible people though we be, have often been extremely
dull, to my despair. We lack a third or fourth member to
complete the circle." He signed himself a " 'loving' father
in the most beautiful sense of the word."
Hopeful as the aged poet was of receiving from Ulrike
a favourable reply, he hiAself was neither able nor willing
to make a proposal to her. But a distinguished mediator
was found in the person of the Grand Duke, who happened
to be present. He acquainted the mother with Goethe's
desire. She was certainly not in doubt as to Ulrike's senti-
ments, but, as it was her duty to inquire, she did so and
received an unfavourable, or at least an evasive, answer,
which was equivalent to a refusal. 22 There was a world-
wide difference between caressing in her proud happiness
the glorious man of fame who showed so plainly his affection
for her, between giving free expression to her tender feeling
for him while allowing him the same liberty towards her,
and marrying him. Youth demands youth, and even the
most clever, most amiable, most celebrated old man can
not equal the simple, bashful youth, unknown to fame, who
beholds in his beloved his all, who becomes one with her in
heart and mind and goes through life exulting and lamenting
with her, and sharing with her his pleasure and his pain.
Out of consideration for the distinguished suitor and for
158 Zbc life of eoetbc
his highborn wooer, as well as for the undisturbed contin-
uation of the so valued, beautiful intercourse, Frau von
Levetzow probably gave, instead of Ulrike's frank or veiled
refusal, an answer which postponed the final decision and
left some room for hope. Thus the days in Marienbad,
which were followed by another series of days spent together
in Karlsbad, came to an harmonious end.
The moment of separation was a hard one for Goethe.
Every parting from a beloved person is painful. He must
have feared that a future meeting would be denied him,
either by fate — his age may have caused a vision of death
to rise before his eyes — or by the enigmatical will of the
beloved maiden, for his pain rose to an excruciating in-
tensity. He journeyed toward home filled with painfiilly
bitter feelings. But while man by misery is rendered dumb
a god gave him the gift to tell his woe. He poured his
sorrow into the soulful stanzas which later became known
as the Marienbad Elegie (second number of the Trilogie der
Leidenschaft) , and alleviated his pain by lending it words.
Along with his lamentation of sorrow he sought also to
recall as closely as possible the picture of his beloved, to-
gether with the happiness of the vanished weeks, and this,
too, helped to reconcile him.
SBie jum empfang fte an ben ^Pfortcn rocilte
Unb mi^ Don bannauf ftufcnmci§ begludCte,
Selbft nad^ bem le^en tu^ mid^ nod^ ereilte,
®en le^teften mir ouf bie Sip})en brudftc:
@o fiar betoeglid^ bleibt 'Hai SBilb bcr Siebcn
SRitglotnmenfd^rtft inS treue ^erj gef(^ricben.
9tun bin id^ fern! ®er je^igen SWinute,
SBa8 jiemt benn ber? 3d^ mii^f e« ntd^t ju fagen.
@te bietet mir jum @(f)6nen manc^e^ ®ute;
®a8 loftet niir, td& mu^ mid^ i^m entfc^logen.
Wii) treibt nmtjer ein unbesroinglic^ ©el^nen,
®a bleibt fein 9lat alS grenjenlofe Sranen.*
* As at the door she waited with a greeting
And then each step upon the stairs would bless;
The last kiss giv'n, would run, my leave entreating
after ffje mnvs of Xiberation i 159
When he arrived at home on the 1 7th of September there
was another hard ordeal awaiting him. He had to speak
frankly to his children about the intentions which he cher- '
ished. Ottilie was ill and had nothing to say. August
expressed himself all the more plainly. While he had the
highest respect for his father, he could not understand how,
with his usual wisdom and discretion, his father, at his
advanced age, and after he had come so perilously near
dying the previous spring, should want to marry such a very j
young girl. The idea may have seemed to him a crazy i
whim, a fantastic aberration, which would have to be dealt i
with without any consideration. Furthermore the thought
that his present existence, and still more his future, was
jeopardised by the proposed marriage, must unconsciously
have intensified his excited opposition to it. Ottilie's sister,
who lived in the house with them and thought as he did
about the matter, contributed nothing toward his pacifica-
tion. So a harsher clash could not have been imagined.
In a letter written at the time (September 25, 1823) Chan-
cellor von MuUer, one of Goethe's dearest and most intimate
friends in the last fifteen years of his life, characterised
August's bearing as rude and loveless. He spoke of him as
a crazy fellow, who played toward his father the part of one
piqued. He referred also to Ulrike^s (the sister-in-law's)
gruff one-sidedness and shallow naivete, adding that such
companions were ill suited to guide the poet gently and
tenderly through such a crisis. Charlotte von Schiller's
report of the affair is similar. One can fancy how the old
man's tender heart, still bleeding from the wound of parting,
suffered under the cudgelHngs of his closest environment.
A "lastest" kiss upon my lips to press. —
These flame-traced scenes of her I dearly cherish
From out my faithful heart shall never perish.
I now am far away. What is the duty
Confronts me here? No answer I can find.
The present offers much of good and beauty;
Yet of its weight I fain would rid my mind.
A ceaseless longing hath of hope bereft me,
No counsel save unbounded tears is left me.
i6o tEbe !!Llfe of (Soetbe
Chancellor von Miiller said in the same letter: "He is at
times extremely ill-humoured and depressed."
The stubborn opposition led him to reflect. Becoming
doubtful whether the realisation of his dream would mean
happiness for himself and his beloved, he decided to renounce
the plan. A week later he said to Mtiller: "I shall get
over my afEection for Fraulein von Levetzow, I know; but
it will mean a long, hard struggle." Such a resolution was
more easily formed than carried out. A revulsion of feel-
ing came. The opposition which the renunciation en-
countered in his own inner being caused him to reconsider
the matter from all points of view. For example, such
questions arose as whether the sacrifice was after all neces-
sary, and whether it was not too costly, seeing that it was
exhausting his strength. These hard struggles with himself
and with those about him were certainly contributory causes
to another serious illness in November. In this illness
the remedy which gave him most strength, and to which he
had recourse time and again, was the Elegie, that painful,
yet sweet, reflection of the wonderfully beautiful summer
days. Was not its effect upon him a clear indication of the
direction in which he should turn for self-preservation?
Thus at the close of the year we find him free from all
thoughts of renunciation and looking forward to the new
year, with anxious, but happy, expectation.
On New Year's eve he wrote to Frau von Levetzow the
significant words: "The new calendar for 1824 is standing
before me. The twelve months look neat and distinct, to
be sure, but also perfectly indifferent. In vain do I seek
to discover which days will be red-letter days for me, and
which will be black. The whole table is still a blank, while
wishes and hopes fly hither and thither. May mine meet
yours. May nothing, nothing oppose their success and
fulfilment! Talk over everything together in an intimate
hour, as you would do more extensively, perhaps, while
walking back and forth on the terrace.*"
Inspired by this hopeful expectation, he says, in the
* In front of the house in Marienbad.
Hf ter tbc Mars of Oliberation i6 1
poem An Werther (first number of the Trilogie der Lei-
denschaft), which he composed in March, 1824, for the jubi-
lee edition of the novel, that Werther's shade meets him
on newly flower-clothed meadows. In an April letter to
Frau von Levetzow we hear how his heart beats in anti-
cipation of their being together again. " Think of me with
the dear children and grant me the hope that, arriving with
the same feelings, I shall be welcome to the dear ones in the
old place. Meanwhile the neat goblet remains the confidant
of my thoughts; the sweet monograms approach my lips,
and, if it were not so far off, the 28th of August should
afford me the most pleasing prospect. A cosy clink of
glasses and so forth. Ever yours. — Goethe."
Summer came, and this year the Levetzow family went
to Dresden. Goethe received a most friendly invitation to
come there. He could have gone to the Bohemian baths
very conveniently by way of the Saxon capital; but he
stayed at home — ^in spite of all the longing letters. His
resignation was final. Whether it had meanwhile been
forced upon him by an unequivocal refusal from Ulrike —
it was said that the Grand Duke had presented Goethe's
suit once more to Frau von Levetzow — , or whether it came
from his own voluntary reconsideration, is uncertain. In
any case any further meetings after a final renunciation
would have been inadvisable. Goethe never again saw
Frau von Levetzow or her daughters; but he kept himself in
touch with the dear family by means of the friendly letters
which they now and then exchanged.
Like Friederike, Ulrike remained unmarried . She lived to
be a very old woman and died only a few years ago, on the
13th of November, 1899, on her estate Trziblitz, in Bohe-
mia. Every one who approached her went away refreshed.
As Goethe was forced to turn his thoughts away from
Ulrike, the remembrance of the beautiful mistress of the
Gerbermtihle came forward again more prominently, and in
lingering with her in the spirit and in his cordial corre-
spondence with her his love-craving heart found satisfaction
and repose.
V
FROM 1824 TO 1830
Goethe's house his monastery — Description of it — His way of working —
His assistants — Eckermann and his Gesprdche wiit Goethe — Great
stream of visitors at Goethe's home — Distinguished guests — Goethe
a grandfather — His youthfulness, in spite of his years — Typical
extracts from his conversations — His humour — His angry moods —
Novelle — Biographical writings — New complete edition of his
works — His many-sided interests — His thirst for knowledge — His
attitude toward new literary tendencies — His reading of news-
papers and periodicals — His habit of viewing things in their broad,
general relations — His recognition of his own place in history — His
striving after goodness and purity — His spiritual transformation —
The springtime of his soul — His humility — His power over his con-
temporaries due to his great humanity — The jubilees of Karl Au-
gust's coming to the throne and Goethe's arrival in Weimar — Death
of Karl August — Goethe's sojourn at the Castle of Dornburg — Dent
aufgehenden Vollmonde — Zwischen beiden Welten — Death of Frau
von Stein — Death of Grand Duchess Luise — Death of Goethe's son
August — ^The poet's power of recuperation.
THE ways toward the east and toward the west had
become dangerous paths, upon which the poet feared
to enter. Consequently he avoided all travelling for
the present. Indeed for a long time he somewhat stub-
bornly refused to go even beyond the limits of the city of
Weimar. There were four years, for example, when he did
not visit even Jena, where he had formerly been accustomed
to spend weeks and months every year; and yet the institu-
tions under his supervision must often have demanded his
attention. To be sure, Weimar had now become a more
quiet place for him since he had severed his connection with
the theatre and no longer went to Court, except on extraor-
dinary occasions.
162
Ifrom 1824 to 1830 163
As he made no other visits either, and took part in no
gatherings outside his own home, his house became his world,
his castle in which he held court. He himself preferred to
call it his monastery, though there was little aptness in the
term; for behind the walls of this monastery was unfolded
a scene of most abundant life. In these rooms there was
nothing dead. Everything spoke to him in its own language,
whether it was kept in portfolios, in cases, or in drawers, or
was fastened on the walls as an ornament. There was a
very large collection of engravings, etchings, drawings,
autographs, coins, medals, plaques, majolicas, plaster casts,
minerals, plants, fossils (about 4000), skeletons, — a small
museum of art and natural history, which he had gradually
collected and to which his fiery zeal was still constantly
making additions. A good drawing or an interesting fossil
could make him happy for days.
The many objects of art gave his rooms a very dis-
tinguished stamp. They made one forget entirely the plain
furniture and the poor,, architectural proportions. But
there was one room which was kept free from all artistic
ornamentation, namely, his study. In fact he had this
room furnished even more plainly than the rest of the
house. No curtains, no sofa, no carpet, no easy chair, —
nothing but hard, stiff, clumsy oak furniture, and bare
walls. He did not wish to let any object of art distract his
attention or any luxury, or even comfort, make him careless
or lazy. In this scantily furnished room he spent the fore-
noon, beginning at five or six o'clock, in continuous hard
work. He usually walked about the large table and dictated
to his amanuensis. He covered the greatest variety of
subjects, such as novels, biographical writings, essays, and
letters, and spoke with such fluency that the amanuensis
had difficulty in following him. To be sure, it had all been
thought over and sketched in the afternoon or evening of
the preceding day, or before eight o'clock in the morning,
the hour at which one of his amanuenses arrived. He
employed no fewer than four amanuenses. The chief burden
rested upon John and Schuchardt, the latter a man of uni-
i64 Zhc Xife of (Boetbc
versity training and in later years the director of the Wei-
mar collections of art. Goethe's servant Friedrich and the
library secretary Krauter also did some work for him as
copyists. Riemer and Eckermann served as assistants of
a higher order. The former, as we already know, had begun
with the new century ; the latter, not until the summer of 1823 .
Johann Peter Eckermann, bom on the northern border
of the Luneburg Heath, of very poor parents, had spent
his youth in peddhng, herding cattle, and gathering wood ;
had then gradually awakened to a grasp of the higher world
and, with a warm interest in art and literature, had tried
his skill in drawing, writing, and criticism, until, at the age
of thirty, feeling himself irresistibly drawn toward Goethe,
he had journeyed on foot from Hanover to Weimar, where
he was given an audience by the man whom he worshipped,
and who had accorded his poems afavourable reception. Rec-
ognising immediately the usefulness of this man, who was
endowed with fine feeling and a rare gift of hearing, and who,
as a musing, pliant child of nature, could happily supple-
ment Riemer's iron-clad book-learning, Goethe decided to
retain him in his employ. He found in Eckermann a sym-
pathetic appreciator of his half-finished writings and even
of those which had barely been sketched. The young adept
could divine the master's plans, and knew how, by means
of coaxing and flattery, to induce him to execute them. He
also had the gift of engaging his great sovereign in animated ,
conversation, and of leading him in this way to bring out
from the rich treasure-chamber of his soul the sparkling
jewels which he had not been able to set in written words.
With absolute devotion to Goethe, to whose words he
listened as to the revelations of a god, he grasped everything
with great distinctness and reproduced it in his diary with
such fidelity that not only we of later generations, who have
familiarised ourselves with Goethe's peculiar ways of think-
ing, f^ that his subsequently published Gesprdche mit
Goeth^^\xe thoroughly genuine, but even those who had
known ~ttie poet personally have assured us that in these
conversations they could hear Goethe speaking.
jfrom 1824 to 1830 165
Beside Eckermann and Riemer Goethe had other helpers :
in the science-of-art department, his old friend Meyer; in
the official supervision of the state institutions of art and
science, his son, who assisted him also in many other things ;
and in scientific studies and collections he not infrequently
was aided by Soret, who was called from Geneva in 1822 to
be the governor of Karl Alexander, who later became Grand
Duke.
And still this staff of amanuenses, assistants, and advis-
ers who read him reports on special topics,, does not exhaust
the list of those who were constantly about him. There
were further Chancellor von Muller, Chief Architect Coudray,
and, from the middle of 1826 on, his family physician Dr.
Vogel. One or more members of this circle were usually
his guests at meals. Eckermann came ordinarily at noon
and Riemer in the evening and, after eating, continued
their work with him. 7
Moreover, though the many-headed college of helpers and
family friends made all monastic seclusion an impossibility,
such a thing was further prevented by the large number of
visitors who, day in and day out, streamed into the famous
house. On a fixed day in the week appeared the Grand
Duchess Luise ; on another day . the Hereditary Grand
Duchess Maria Paulowna; together with them, or at other
times, the Princesses Auguste (who later became the Ger-
man Empress) and Marie (who later married Prince Karl of
Prussia), to be instructed by Goethe in all that was new
in art and literature. At unfixed times came the Grand
Duke, the Hereditary Grand Duke (the latter very fre-
quently), and his younger brother, Duke Bernhard. Then
came the great train of his acquaintance and that of inter-
ested people of Weimar and Jena, and, finally, the endless
procession of foreign guests from the whole civilised world,
among whom the great were not without representation.
Even for his contemporaries he was no longer the author of
Werther or of Faust, but the supreme representative and
patron of spiritual life in general. Men entered upon the
worldly, and yet sacred, pilgrimage to Goethe with heart-
i66 ^be %\fc of (Boetbe
stirring expectation. The consciousness of having gazed
into his eyes cast on many a Hfe a splendour which shone
out brightly in memory ever after.
First of all the young generation felt drawn to show him
their reverence and enthusiasm. Even their most gifted
representative, Byron, had not refused to pay literary
homage to his "liege lord." Although Goethe did not
receive every nameless writer or immature student, or the
Berlin butcher's wife who wished to express to him her
deep-felt admiration for him as the author of Das Lied von
der Glocke, ( !) nevertheless his liberality was extraordinarily
broad. If he had dared follow the promptings of his heart
he would have admitted every curious person who waited
patiently outside for an opportunity to catch a glimpse of the
famous man.
SCBarum fte^en fie baoor ?
3ft nic^t %mt hi\ iinb %ox1
Somen fie getroft herein, ,
SBiirben wo^I empfangen fein.*
The sacrifices of time and strength were still greater when
people of importance from abroad prolonged their sojourn
in Weimar and engrossed his attention on more than one
day. He himself held back not a few when they were on
the point of departing; especially if they were artists, such
as Madame Sz57manowska, who was the inspiration of one
of his most soulful poems, and Felix Mendelssohn, or if they
were friends such as Zelter, Boisser^e, Wilhelm von Hum-
boldt, Count Reinhard, and Privy Councillor Schultz. For
a man less robust, less receptive, and less productive than
he was this life would have been too noisy, too irregular,
and would have taxed his strength in too many ways; but
him it kept young. To go through his collections with
connoisseurs, to sit at a well-filled table and talk with peo-
ple of deep thought and feeling about art, science, and life,
* Outside the house why do they stand
Are there.pray, no doors at hand ?
If they bravely came within
They would hearty welcome win.
Ifrom 1824 to 1830 167
to listen to a private concert in a select circle of ladies and
gentlemen, — these to him were sources of rarest enjoyment
and refreshment.
Beside this he had his quiet, idyllic pleasures. Not in
solitude, absorbed in his collections or in some book that
he was reading — that always afforded some excitement for
his mind, which immediately wandered far afield — but in
his intercourse with his grandsons, Walther^* and Wolf-
gang, ^s born in 18 18 and 1820 respectively. His special
favourite was the younger of the two, his namesake, to
whom he gave the same nickname, Wolfchen, that he him-
self had once been accustomed to hear from his father. At
the age of eight and thereafter Wolfchen was a chief per-
sonage in his diary. " In the evening Wolfchen. Very
engaging and fawning in order to accomplish his purposes."
" Later Wolfchen, who sat down by me and read. I went
over the pictures of his child's book with him." "In the
evening Wolfchen, who cleared several drawers neatly and
was entirely well-behaved in all his play." The words
"entirely well-behaved" lead us to surmise that he was
capable of being something else. Indeed we even have a
suspicion that the elder Wolfgang was not free from blame
in the matter, and when we have read the following scene
described by Soret we may perhaps complain, with the
doctor in Werther, that he spoiled the children :
"At Goethe's house for a few moments in the evening.
I found in his company his grandson Wolf and his intimate
friend the Countess Karoline Egloffstein. Wolf gave his
dear grandfather a great deal to do, climbing about over
him and sitting now on the one shoulder and now on the
other. Goethe endured it all with the greatest tenderness,
uncomfortable as the weight of the ten-year-old boy must
have been for one of his age. ' dear Wolf,' said the Coun-
tess, ' don't worry your good grandfather so terribly! Why!
you are so heavy he must be quite weary.' 'That
makes no difference,' replied Wolf, 'we are going to bed
soon and then grandfather will have time to become
completely rested from this exertion.' 'You see,' said
1 68 ^be Xlfc of <3oetbe
Goethe, 'that love is always of a somewhat impertinent
nature.' "
The children's mother, Ottilie, ^^ understood how to give
the house an attractive, homelike, and comfortable ap-
pearance and to add to this an element of splendour. Her
graciousness and amiableness, her cheerfulness and her
sprightliness, gave the whole just such an air as Goethe
desired. And when, in addition, "the' dear daughter"
would fondle him and kiss him it made him all the more
happy. The moments of ill-humour, produced by the lack
of mutual understanding between her and her husband,
were less and less frequently observed by Goethe. They
were more and more crowded out of the field of vision by
the growing grandsons, who now hardly ever left his
presence.
We have here spoken of Goethe as an old man and a
grandfather. And yet, though his cheeks were gradually
fading and his hair growing grey, he remained ever young.
This youthfulness was time and again a source of aston-
ishment to strangers, and, what signifies more, even to those
intimately associated with him. " His whole expression
was cheerfulness, vigour, youth," wrote Eckermann in 1823.
" He stood there like Apollo, with never-fading inward
youth," said the same man in May, 1825. Schuchardt says:
"He spoke with strong voice, with dramatic expression,
and while he was dictating Die Wanderjahre to me I was
often startled when he gave a drastic or pathetic impersona-
tion of the characters." But more clearly than in these
general descriptions, which lay peculiar stress on outward
things, his youthfulness is revealed in his conversations
which have been preserved and handed down. How mer-
rily he joked, and how he could mingle seriousness with
playful humour! How he could disguise himself, and tease,
or put on a tragic air, hke Mephistopheles ! How he could
rant and rave, and that too, if in the presence of intimate
friends, in a style as vigorous as though he were still the
Leipsic student or the wild original genius of the Storm
and Stress period. Let us listen to him for a few moments.
jfrom 1824 to 1830 169
In doing so we shall recognise something more than his
youthfulness.
" Now Sommering has died," he remarked to Soret in
March, 1830, " scarcely a miserable seventy-five years of age.
What beggars men are, that they have not the courage to
hold out longer than that! I think better of my friend
Bentham, this most radical fool. He is still well preserved,
and yet he is a few weeks older even than I am." Soret
sought to defend Bentham against the reproach of radicalism,
declaring that in England Goethe also would have been
somewhat of a radical and would have inveighed against
the abuses of the administrative government. "What
do you take me for?" replied Goethe. "Do you mean
to imply that I should have spied about for abuses, and,
what is more, should have discovered them and called them
by their right names, I, who should have lived on abuses in
England? Bom in England, I should have been a rich
duke, or, rather, a bishop with a yearly income of thirty
thousand pounds sterling." Soret ventured the opinion
that it might, however, have been different if he had drawn
a blank in the lottery of life. " Do you think that I should
have committed the folly of hitting upon a blank? . . .
I should have lied and played the hypocrite so much and so
long, in verse and in prose, that my thirty thousand a year
should not have escaped me."
On one occasion Chancellor von Miiller quoted an ut-
terance of a certain author to the effect that " humour is
nothing else than wit of the heart." Goethe flew into a
most violent passion over the expression "nothing else,"
and exclaimed: "Cicero once said that friendship is nothing
else than etc. Oh ! thou ass, thou sUly fellow, thou abomi-
nable whippersnapper, to go to Greece to get wisdom and
then to produce nothing more clever than tha;t nonsensical
phrase!"
On another occasion (in June, 1830) Muller talked with
him about biblical criticism and faith. "Mankind," re-
marked Goethe, " is still involved in a religious crisis. Since
men have learned to see how much stupid stuff has been
I70 TOc !ILifc of (Boetbe
foisted upon them, and since they have begun to believe
that the apostles and saints were no better men than such
fellows as Klopstock, Lessing, and we other poor rascals, it
is only natural that there should be some strange clashes
in men's heads."
Gentle, peaceable Boisser^e visited Goethe in 1826.
Their conversation turned to the then prevailing symbolism
in art. "I am a believer in plastic art," snapped Goethe;
" I have sought to make the world and nature clear to my
mind, and now come these fellows, cast a mist before my
eyes, show me things now at a distance, now oppressively
near, like ombres chinoises. The devil take 'em!"
On the following day Boisserie was again at the home
of his revered patron. "The reviling began again," he
noted in his diary. Paris, German and French partisanship,
whims of princes, decadence of taste, follies of all kinds,
priestcraft in France and rationalistic zealotism in Germany^
Philhellenism as a cloak to hide other partisanship, and
such things, were severely satirised by Goethe. " With all
these mocking words," continues Boisseree, "it seemed to
me in the end as though I were on the Brocken! I said so
to the old man and he replied : ' Why! we are not yet ready
to descend. So long as we have not thoroughly discussed
the whole world we must continue with this clean conversa-
tion about society.' "
He gave a conversation with Chancellor von Miiller a
somewhat similar bright turn : " Whoever desires to associate
with me must occasionally put up with my churlish whims."
As Meyer was present during the conversation and kept
silent, Goethe added roguishly: "Old Meyer is wise, very
wise ; but he does n't speak out, does n't contradict me, and
that is vexatious. I am certain that down in his heart he
is ten times more inclined to scold than I am, and that he
considers me a weak light besides."
Humour did not always smooth the excited waves.
He was not in a mood for humour when his moral feelings
were wounded, not even when the man with whom he was
talking was the offending person. For example, on one
Ifrom 1824 to 1830 171
occasion Miiller showed him with a certain degree of pleasure
a mischievous epigram on a member of Weimar society. He
burst into a passion and exclaimed: "By such hostile and
indiscreet rhymery one only makes enemies and imbitters
one's own mood and existence. Why! I would sooner hang
myself than be everlastingly denying, everlastingly on the
side of the opposition, everlastingly lying in wait for a chance
to cast a venomed dart at the faults and failings of my
neighbours and fellow-creatures. You are still mighty
young and frivolous, if you can justify such a thing." If
in such cases humour could not overcome the discord of the
moment, love could, love for man and for the particular
child of man who stood before him. And so, even in the
course of this conversation, he became more and more
friendly, and in the closing sentence of his account of the
evening Muller says he was very glad that his comnaunica-
tion had provoked the explosion.
Such stormy, hot-blooded, moody, satirical, angry effu-
sions were just as much a necessity of his full heart as they
had been in his youth. The Chancellor once wrote down
the observation (March, 1823): "Like a storm cloud, he
sought to unburden himself of his over-abundance of
energy by means of spiritual lightning and thunder." In
comparison with what it had been in his youth, the over-
abundance seemed to have increased, ^^ as much because
of his broader knowledge and insight as because of his
greater receptivity and activity. In 1828, when he was in
his seventy-ninth year, he characterised his activity as
boundless, indeed, almost ridiculous.
If we seek to get some conception of this activity we
shall fittingly begin with the fact that he was first and last
a poet. To be sure, the poetic stream no longer flowed so
freely and abundantly as in his younger years, but the
amount of literary work undertaken was as great as ever
and it required more energetic application, inasmuch as
hand in hand with the decrease of his facility of creation
had gone an increase of the difficulty of the subjects, es-
pecially Die Wanderjahre and the Second Part of Faust.
172 ^be Xife of (Boetbe
After tirelessly recasting and filing, he finally succeeded in
1828, in his Novelle, in finding a finished form for an old epic
plan to which he had given the provisional title Die Jagd.
Now with epic breadth, now with courtly elegance, here
with touching tenderness, there with most solemn dignity,
he develops with deep penetration the rich symbolic content
of this court and animal story, so that we can foresee the
victory of pious, courageous love over wild force, and
believe in it, not as a strange miracle, but as the manifesta-
tion of an eternal law.
In addition to these works of pure fiction, he was con-
stantly occupied by his biographical writings. True, he no
longer allowed himself the time for the artistic elaboration
which he had given the first volumes of his autobiography.
It is the original freshness of the letters and the unfailing
clearness of the diaries out of which he composed his Italie-
nische Reise (at which he had been working since 18 16) and
his descriptions of the wars of the revolution, not his recon-
structive power of presentation, that gives these works
their permanent value. Even the fourth part of Dichtung
und Wahrheit hardly attempts to combine the biographical
details into a unified picture. The loosely compiled Annalen,
which he brought down to 1822, and his Briefwechsel
zwischen Schiller und Goethe, are, and pretend to be, nothing
but collections of material. It was a question of recording
quickly, in the time still left at his disposal, as much as
possible of his remarkable life.
In addition to all this he assumed in 1826 the burden of
a new complete edition of his works. Then, too, the serial
publication Kunst und AUertum, which he continued to edit
in collaboration with Meyer, gave him so much more to do
as in it he now devoted his critical attention to the world's
literature. These undertakings alone would have exhaustetl
the strength of even younger people. For him a few morn-
ing hours sufficed to accomplish this part of his daily task.
Then came official business to claim his attention.
He was now relieved of most of the administrative
branches which had earlier weighed upon him, but the direc-
from 1824 to 1830 173
tion of the educational institutions, which he retained, had
assumed incomparably greater dimensions. To still other
things he devoted himself voluntarily, simply because he
had once for all acquired an interest in them. Ever since
the days when he had directed the construction of highways
and had superintended the building of the castle he had
considered himself the superintendent of all Weimar con-
structions, both above the ground and beneath the ground,
and no causeway, no church or school, indeed, no gate-
keeper's lodge, could be built in the grand duchy without
the plans first having been laid before him.
After the poet and state official the scholar demanded his
rights. Here his burdens had greatly increased with the
rapid advance of the sciences. As this process is going on
almost all the time we usually see scholars, as they grow
older, limiting themselves more and more, even in the
special field which they cultivate. Goethe never thought
of such a thing. On the contrary, he broadened in his old
age the great circle in which.as an independent investigator
he had promoted the development of science by the ad-
dition of a new field, that of meteorology.
Furthermore there were the art acquisitions, the artistic
productions, and the theories of art, in the most important
European countries which demanded consideration. Even
in the fields in which he himself did no work he kept himself
informed as to the progress of science, in order to satisfy his
requirements as a far-seeing scholar no less than those as
an educated man. Philosophy, theology, history, geography,
and political economy came constantly within his range of
study. In the same way as the sciences, polite literature
had broadened its scope to an unusual degree. There was
an unheard-of productivity in all civilised countries, and
there existed such an intimate relation between the various
literatures that it was indeed possible to speak of a world
literature. To keep himself informed in the chief phenomena
of this world literature was for Goethe as much a source of
great delight as it was a command of duty. Byron, Man-
zoni, B^ranger, Victor Hugo, Carlyle, and Walter Scott, to
174 Z\)c %ite of (5oetbc
mention but a few of the foreign writers, received from him
attentive consideration, and though he may have crossed
himself ten times before Victor Hugo's Notre Dame de Paris,
nevertheless he read his works to the end. We find a
further indication of Goethe's youthfulness in the fact that
he did not assume an unsympathetic attitude toward the
newer tendencies.
With calm composure, as though he were saying nothing
of special importance, he wrote in July, 1830, to Boisser^e:
" I am now keeping my eyes on the main centres of life
in the fields of art, literature, and the sciences. Berlin,
Vienna, Munich, and Milan occupy me especially; Paris,
London, and Edinburgh, in their way." But art, litera-
ture and science, were not the only things included within
the range of his interests; it embraced also matters per-
taining directly to practical life. He was most intensely
interested in the building of canals, harbours, and tunnels,
which were being more and more urgently demanded by the
development of local and foreign commerce and by the
growing desire of man to shorten distances. Of the Thames
tunnel, the Erie canal, and the new Bremen harbour, he
sought, by means of most accurate drawings, outlines, and
descriptions, to obtain as clear conceptions as possible of
the structures themselves and of the difficulties encountered
and the means of overcoming them. Other great com-
mercial projects, such as the Panama, Nicaragua, Suez, and
Rhine-Danube canals, aroused in him such lively, indeed,
passionate, interest that he said he would like to live about
fifty years longer just on their account.
In the realm of politics he followed with close attention
the Greek war of liberty, the partisan fights in France
and England, and the naovements in Germany. German,
French, English, and Italian newspapers and periodicals
came regularly to his house. Even though out of pressure
of work, or out of vexation at the mass of worthless stuff
in the journals that covered up what was worth knowing,
and with the consciousness that he would learn about im-
portant things through his personal relations, he often gave
jfrom 1824 to X830 175
up the reading of journals for weeks, even months, at a
time, nevertheless he always came back to it again and read
then, if possible, what he had skipped. He realised that,
if he wished to understand foreign countries, he must study
them, even in their seemingly unimportant phenomena of
life.
With his stupendous thirst for knowledge — " He desires
always to be advancing, always to be advancing, always to
be learning, always to be learning!" Eckermann once ex-
claimed, astonished — and with all the variety of his interests,
it was an almost daily experience that between morning
and evening he ran through thousands of years. When
perchance in the morning he read in the newspapers the
debates of the Chamber in Paris, then turned to Walter
Scott's or Bourienne's descriptions of the life of Napoleon,
then studied a drawing by Rembrandt, became absorbed
further in the consideration of a medal of Mohammed II.,
read an essay by Villemain on the dramas of Hrotswitha
or a chapter from Niebuhr's Romische Geschichte, made a
critical examination of plaster casts of Greek statuary, and
then in addition investigated an elephant's tooth which had
been found in the calcareous tufa of Weimar, it may be
said that thousands, yes, myriads of years had marched by
before his eyes. Hence he could say of himself that he
lived in millenaries, and because of this existence of aeons
it seemed strange to him when he heard men talk of statues
and monuments, because, in the spirit, he already saw them
destroyed and wiped out.
As his eyes surveyed the restless surgings and the violent
upheavals of history it was within his power to recognise
the broad general relation of things and the small significance
of the day, and in the presence of the most important con-
\ temporaneous events he was able to preserve his composure,
or, in case it was shaken for a moment, to regain it quickly.
Events which left long-lingering impressions on other people
were to him, in the end, but " phantasmagorial clouds"
hastening by, and in every case, even though they had a
rather substantial nucleus, were but natural phenomena
176 JL\3C Xife of (5oetbe
which often occur in history and which in their origin and
development need cause the man of understanding no ex-
citement or fear. He also studied himself and his work from
this broad point of view, and succeeded in forming "the
conception " of himself as a link in the chain of historical
developments. Thus he became to himself an historical
phenomenon, as he frankly confessed to Wilhelm von Hum-
boldt. This attitude of mind became a source of deep paci-
fication, of which, with his continual overwhelming youthful
responsiveness and sensitiveness, he was in greater need
than any other man in the world.
Through this comprehension of himself in his great
world-relations he gained something more than repose.
He saw that his way of influencing the world must be based
on goodness and purity. The ruler, the statesman, the
general, the party leader, who under definite, temporary con-
ditions exert an influence in the service of definite, practical
purposes, may achieve great things, even out of impure
motives. He, the poet, who Wished to develop the minds
of men to a higher grasp of life, independent of time and
place, dared labour only with a good and pure soul. " One
must be something in order to do something," he once said
of the poet, taking "do" in the highest sense. Hence we
see him more consciously, more steadfastly, more surely than
in early life, making of himself a good and pure man. This
rising to the ideal was so obvious that when Bettina saw him
in 1824, the first time in thirteen years, she declared that
his genius had resolved itself partly into goodness. Through
this goodness and purity he possessed now far more than
ever before the power of lifting men up and ennobling them
both morally and spiritually. He redeems the highest and
the best that is in them and frees them from the dark and
the low. He consecrates them, as Iphigenia consecrated
Orestes. ' A touching example is afforded by a letter from
Privy Councillor Schtiltz, written in 1824, in which he said
of the sculptor Ranch, who had just returned from Weimar:
" Ranch came to see me one evening. He was in a certain
exalted state of feeling which I have noticed in others who
Ifrom 1824 to 1830 177
came away from your presence, of which, indeed, I myself
have been personally conscious. It is a kind of transfigura-
tion or, rather, sanctification." Young Grillparzer, who
approached him as a stranger, said of their meeting: "At
first he seemed to me like a Jupiter, then like a father."
To Goethe the transfigured state of being to which he
had attained was the highest happiness of his old age.
When he now looked back the sun of his knowledge of the
world and himself seemed earlier to have stood at a low
altitude. It had been winter then, or merely the promise
of spring. If in those past years he had accomplished any
permanent good or had manifested pure sentiments, it was
because of his happy instinct through which shone his in-
born reason, or it was done under the benign influence of
others who loved him or were loved by him. When in-
stinct had slumbered and good influence had been. lacking
he had stumbled. But now, when the sun stood at a high
altitude, his reason was freed from its crust of ice,* and it
was able to work out the divine, the essential, in his nature,
his truly genuine and eternai personality, and to attain the
goal of his longing, by " making his microcosm revolve about
a pure centre and bringing him into a worthy relation
toward the Infinite." Hence he now ventured for the first
time to speak with touching accent of the " springtime of
his soul." The beauty and splendour of this springtime
could no longer be disturbed by anything. Not even by the
sorest temptation, by the clouds of incense which arose
to him from the fires of innumerable sacrifices. Though
his fame was sung from the Mississippi ^^ to the Volga, in a
glorious symphony whose mighty accords made the croaking
of uncomprehending or malcontent individuals indistin-
guishable, though he was lauded a hundred times, in word
and writing, as a god whose existence made the world
happy, he remained the same simple man. Not as though
he were not conscious of his worth and looked upon all the
* "I presume I was late in becoming reasonable, but I have become so
at last," he remarked to Chancellor von Miiller, half in jest, half in earnest,
in June, 1830.
VOL.111 13
178 Zl)c %IU Of 6oetbc
paeans chanted in his honour as idle sound ; but in the know-
ledge that he owed what was praised in him to a favour of
fate, which had formed his nature as it was and not other-
wise, even to his ardent striving after the ideal. And as he
said, in 1830, that he was perhaps the only Christian then
living, in the sense in which Christ would use the word, he
could also call himself, with humility and pride, " the hum-
blest" of all.
It is in this high human quality, not in his works, that
we must seek an explanation of the conquering, beatific
power which he exerted over his contemporaries. If, after
all that has been said, there should still be need of testimony,
let us listen to the words of Wilhelm von Humboldt, who
was himself one of the best and most enlightened men of
the time. Nine days after Goethe's death he said that
Goethe had exercised the mighty influence for which he
was distinguished by his mere existence, unconsciously as it
were, and without any intention. " This is entirely distinct
from his spiritual creations as a thinker and a poet; it lies
in his great and unique personality."
If we now take up again the chronicle of Goethe's life
there is not much more to be recorded in the way of outward
events. As is usually the case with old people, he did noth-
ing but celebrate jubilees and bear other people to the
grave. Both these things were to him sources of deep
agitation and we can understand why, at the age of eighty,
he should have prayed to the gods for endurable sorrow
and moderate enjoyment (letter to Wilhelm von Humboldt,
March i, 1829).
First came the jubilees. On the 3d of September, 1825,
fifty years had passed since Karl August had come to the
throne, and on the 7 th of November fifty years since Goethe
had come to Weimar. By these important periods both
fully realised how infinitely much that was good, great, and
beautiful had grown out of their life and work together.
By the side of this all temporary clashes, ill feelings, and
misunderstandings sank into the sea of f orgetfulness. They
had been fugitive shadows which clouds in sailing by had
Ifrom 1824 to 1830 179
cast over the sunlit earth. At the jubilee of Karl August's
reign Goethe called himself the most favoured servant of
his ruler. And as he was the one most blessed he wished
also to be the first to congratulate his sovereign. At six
o'clock on the morning of the jubilee he went to call on the
Grand Duke in the Roman House, which was situated in
the solitude of the Park. As Goethe entered, Karl August
stretched out both hands toward the beloved friend of his
youth, his teacher, confidant, minister, and poet. Goethe
grasped his hands and, overcome with emotion, could utter
but the words: "Together till the last breath." The
thoughts of both flew back to the days when they had en-
tered into the bond with youthful, overflowing enjoyment
of life. The few who witnessed the scene heard the Grand
Duke exclaim :" for eighteen years and Ilmenau!" Af-
ter many remembrances of those days, he added with great
animation: "But let us also remember with gratitude that
even to-day we still enjoy the fulfilment of what was once
sung to us in Tief urt :
9tur Suft unb Si(|t
Unb greunbcSlieb' —
©rniiibe tiid)t,
SSem bieg no^ blieb.*
He embraced Goethe and they continued the conversation
in a low voice which the others present could not hear.
Now came the 7th of November. According to Karl
August's will it was to be celebrated not alone as the fiftieth
anniversary of Goethe's arrival in Weimar, but also as that
of his entrance into the service of the state — a most glorious
honour to confer upon his Frankfort guest after the lapse of
half a century. "For," remarked the Grand Duke in an
order issued to Chancellor von Miiller, " it was with the first
moment of his sojourn here, and not later, with the taking
of the corporal oath [at his entrance into office on the i ith
* Pure light and air
And love of friend —
Against all wear
These boons defend.
i8o Zhe %lfc of (Boctbe
of June, 1776], that Goethe began to work and labour for
the welfare and fame of Weimar." After repeating this
testimony in his letter of congratulation to Goethe he con-
tinued : " Accordingly it is with the keenest pleasure that I
recognise the fiftieth return of this day as the jubilee of my
first servant of the state, the friend of my youth, who has
hitherto accompanied me through all the changing fortunes
of my life with unwavering fidelity, affection, and stead-
fastness ; to whose prudent counsel, lively interest, and ever-
pleasing services I owe the success of most important
undertakings ; and the winning of whom for ever I consider
as one of the highest embellishments of my reign." In order
to make known to the whole populajtion the recognition
which he had expressed in his letter of congratulation he
had it posted in public. When Goethe found it out he ex-
claimed, with tears in his eyes : " That is just like him! " In
addition Karl August sent him a medal which was to stand
for all time as a memento of the jubilee. Finally he arranged
for the publication of an edition de luxe of Iphigenie, which
he doubtless considered the poet's most finished creation
and, at the same time, the noblest impress of his spirit.
He also had the play presented in the evening.* It was
preceded by a prologue, during which a bust of Goethe was
crowned on the stage.
Stun wirb, 31^m felbft aufg l^errltd^fte gu lol^nen,
®ie eble Sttrn tnit em'gcm Sii^Tnudf beloubt.t
The deep inward feeling of gratitude and the admiration
and reverence of the grand ducal pair may have been less
apparent in the facts just related than in their countenances
and words, especially during the long visit which they paid
the celebrated man. Chancellor von MuUer said to Fritz
Schlosser: "The graciousness of the Grand Duke and his
exalted wife was overwhelming." The citizens of Weimar
* Goethe was present at the performance up to the third act (Goethes
goldner Jubeltag, p. 40).
t And now is placed a laurel wreath unfading
Upon his brow, reward most glorious.
from 1824 to 1830
I»I
and the University of Jena also celebrated the day in a
way befitting Goethe's great services to the world.
The entry which the poet himself made in his diary con-
sisted of these few very suggestive words, "Most solemn
day."
It was the evening glow, casting a most gorgeous purple
light upon the bond between Karl August and Goethe. The
night was approaching, — ^for the younger of the two more
quickly than for the older.
About two and a half years had passed since Goethe's
golden jubilee, when, on the 14th of June, 1828, death
came softly, but suddenly, to summon hence his princely
friend and ruler. The end was in keeping with his life.
The brave, determined man died standing at an open
window. It was a hard blow for Goethe. He said to Ecker-
mann: "On the whole there was nobody who understood
him through and through, as I did." " He was one of the
greatest rulers that Germany ever possessed." " Only a
paltry century later, and how he, in such a high position,
would have advanced his age!" "There was much of the
divine in him. He was animated by most noble graciousness
and purest love of man. He would gladly have made all
mankind happy." With thoughts such as these Goethe
wrote to Sulpiz Boisser^e: "The surviving members who
truly belong to the family of the noble Prince now recog-
nise no other duty and cherish no other hope than to con-
tinue to live in accordance with his glorious purposes in
their broad, general application."
It was hard indeed for Goethe to overcome his grief. It
made no small gap in his life to feel no longer the presence
of this distinguished, energetic, benign ruler by his side,
and to look about in vain for the friendly patron of his
literary works, his scientific investigations, and his other
favourite pursuits, and a fellow guardian of a thousand
precious memories. In his great sorrow during the first
days he did not feel capable of going to the Grand Duchess
Luise with a message of condolence, nor even of sending her
a letter. Not until a week had passed did he succeed in
1 82 zbe %lte of (Soetbe
writing her a few lines. To Soret, who was among those
near the Grand Duchess, he wrote : " Even this little has
cost me much; for I shrink from touching with words that
which is unbearable to the feelings."
The saddest act, the funeral of Karl August, was still
before him. It was to occur on the 9 th of July. " In order
in the most painful state of his inner being to spare at least
his outward senses," he begged permission to retire to the
Castle of Domburg, which was very willingly granted him.
So he left his Weimar hermitage, from which he had not
departed for several years, and went to the Domburg for
a long stay. The castle, surrounded by flowers and vine-
yards and situated upon a height affording a broad, serene
outlook upon the Saale valley and the mountains, pleased
him so much that he prolonged his sojourn to more than
two months. This place, which charms every visitor, ap-
peared to him, after his sorrowful impressions in Weimar,
"in intensified colours, like the rainbow on a dark grey
background."
He often awoke before daybreak and lay in the open
window, feasting his eyes on the glory of the three planets
just then in conjunction and refreshing his soul in the grow-
ing splendour of the dawn. When the world in this solemn
beauty lay before him so stiU and pure, he realised viv-
idly the significance of the Homeric words, "holy mom."
Spending then almost the whole day in the open air he
directed his attention chiefly to plants and the atmosphere ;
for here botany and meteorology were his favourite occu-
pations. Out of interest in a new theory of viticulture he
" conversed familiarly with the branches and tendrils of
the grape-vines, which gave him good ideas." In this re-
juvenating intercourse with nature, in his cheerful moun-
tain lookout, and in the warm summer air, his lyric fountain
began again to flow. The man of seventy-nine wrote songs,
even a love song, and one of which he might have been
proud in the days of his youth. The soft light of the moon
united him with the last loved one whom he still tenderly
cherished, Marianne von Willemer. They had agreed to
Jfrom 1824 to 1830 183
think of each other at every full moon. On the evening of
the 2Sth of August, when he saw the moon rise in wonderful
splendour out of dark clouds into the blue nocturnal sky he
greeted it jo3^ully as a strong assurance that Marianne re-
turned his love ;
Seugcft mtr, ia^ i^ gcliebt bin,
®ei ia^ fiieb^en noc^ fo fern.
@o binan benn, l^etl unb l^ettcr,
Steiner SBabn, in ooHer ^prad^t !
@d&Iagt tncin §erg ani) ft^mcrjlid^ f(i^nellet,
ttberfeltg ift bie Stai^t*
In the copy which he sent to Marianne he was wise and
considerate enough to change " schmerzlich schneller" to the
unpoetical but less exciting " schneller, schneller."
On the nth of September he returned to Weimar with
his mind pacified and his strength renewed. A happy sur-
prise was awaiting him there. In the antechamber to his
study he found standing the great clock which had once
marked for him the hours in his father's house. After the
death of his mother it had passed into the hands of stran-
gers, from whom the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz
had bought it for the purpose of doing the poet a pleasure.
" To live long means to outlive many," Goethe once said.
He might have said, "To live long means to bury many."
In this his experience was only too rich in the course of his
long life. Even before the death of Karl August, Charlotte
von Stein, the ardently loved companion of an important
period of his life, had passed away — on the 6th of January,
1827. Of late years the relation of the two had been as
serene and harmonious as possible, free from reminiscences
of all the bitterness which they had experienced. 2 » The
* That I am loved dost thou assure me,
Though my love be far away.
Higher soar soft-pinioned greeting,
Clear thy path, thy splendour bright !
Though my heart's pain haste its beating,
Overblissful is the night.
1 84 ^be %lfc of (Boetbe
death of Goethe's wife removed the first and last hindrance,
inward as well as outward, that had ever separated them.
The period of Hfe from 1776 to 1786 arose again in its old
splendour before his eyes, and in 1820 he paid to Frau von
Stein the highest and most beautiful homage in memory of
the past. He praised her under her former poetical name
"Lida," placing her side by side with Shakespeare:.
@iner ©injigen angetjoren,
®inen ©injtgen oerel^ren,
SBie tjereint eS ^erj unb Sinn I
fiibal ®Iu(f ber nai^ften 9la^c,
SBiHiam! ©tern ber fi^onften §5l^e,
®U(| oerbanf id), wo8 t^l 6in.
S^ag' unb Satire finb t)erf(|tt)unbcn,
Unb boc^ ru^t auf jenen ©tunben
9£cineg SBertcS SSoEaetuinn.*
And to her last letter of congratulation on his birthday,
in the year 1826, he had answered, his heart plainly trembling
with emotion: "To see preserved through so many years
the mutual inclination and love of those living in the imme-
diate neighbourhood of one another is the highest blessing
that can be bestowed upon man."
The news of her death cannot have come to Goethe unex-
pectedly; for she was considerably past eighty years of age
and had grown weak and decrepit. When the end really
came, it was doubtless a great shock to him. For that very
reason he took good care to make no reference to it to any-
body, either in conversation or in writing.
The year 1830 brought the aged poet two more heavy
losses. The first came through the death of the Grand
* Only one loved idol owning,
Only one ideal enthroning,
How it quickens heart and brain!
Lida, nearest joy and rarest,
William, star on high the fairest.
For my all I thank ye twain.
Days and years the past have entered,
Yet within those hours is centred
All my life's substantial gain.
3from 1824 to 1830 185
Duchess Luise. During the second half of her life in
Weimar he had stood nearer to her than in the first half.
He admired her noble attitude of resignation, which made
petty vexations and oppositions, such as had been fre-
quent in the beginning, no longer possible; he admired the
courage and tact which she had shown during the terrible
days of October, 1806; he reverenced her as his protectress,
who sought by means of compromise to adjust -the dissen-
sions and differences between him and Karl August, as well
as the other powers of the grand duchy — for example, the
diet; he loved her for her lofty human sentiments, evidence
of which she had given in her attitude toward his marriage ;
and, finally, he loved her as his faithful, devoted spiritual
pupil. And now this eminent woman was called away from
this life, leaving another place vacant in his more intimate
circle. Those about him were apprehensive as to how he
would receive the news of her death, which occurred on the
14th of February. Eckermann gives the following account :
' ' I said to myself : for more than fifty years he has been asso-
ciated with this princess; he has enjoyed her special grace
and favour; her death must move him deeply. With such
thoughts I entered his room. . . . Already informed
of the death, he was sitting at the table with his daughter-
in-law and grandchildren ... all the bells of the city
began to toll, Frau von Goethe looked at me and we began to
speak louder, in order that the tones of the death knell
might not rouse and agitate his inner being. For we thought
that he felt as we did. But he did not feel as we felt ; the
state of his inner being was entirely different. He sat
before us like a being of a higher world, inaccessible to
earthly sorrows."
He was having his divine hour;
The hardest hour which his powers of soul were called
upon to undergo came in the late autumn of the same year,
when he was bereft of his only son. With all the love and
veneration which August cherished for his father, he had,
as time went on, become a source of ever-increasing annoy-
ance and ever-diminishing pleasure. When Goethe wrote of
i86 JOyc %ltc of (Boetfic
himself, in the year 1827, that with the highest pleasure,
which he was enjoying and which might raise him above
himself, there was still combined much that reduced this
pleasure, the most prominent moderating factor which he
had in mind was doubtless his son's condition. Though
not wanting in talents, August was not gifted enough to ac-
complish great things, and, on the other hand, was not un-
aspiring enough to be satisfied with small things — as, for
example, his office as councillor of the board of domains, or
his services as an assistant to his father. He thirsted for
more important achievements, the more so as he was chafed
by the feeling that he was everywhere esteemed only as the
son of his father. The deep dissatisfaction arising from
this source was further intensified by his unhappy, loveless
marriage, and by his own irascible and eccentric nature. By
virtue of this nature he resorted to a most dangerous remedy
to benumb his sense of inward disruption : he gave the rein to
his natural inclination toward sensual enjojmient. Under
the combined influence of such hostile powers he went to ruin,
body and soul. He saw and felt his decline and longed for
an event that would snatch him from his accustomed path of
life. A journey to Italy had left a trail of light throughout
the whole gloomy life of his grandfather, and had been the
means whereby his father had experienced a regeneration of
body and spirit. Such a journey seemed to him the event
for which he yearned.
Goethe gave his consent, but with little hope of beneficial
results. He knew that his son's condition was entirely dif-
ferent from his own and his father's. To Eckermann, who
was to accompany August, he said by way of instruction
for the journey, " The chief thing is that one learn to control
one's self." On the 2d of April the two set out on the way.
They went first to Frankfort, then up the Rhine to Switzer-
land, over the Simplon to northern Italy, of which they
made a thorough tour, and thence on to Genoa. Here Ecker-
mann, who had been ill for some time, was forced to remain
behind. August went on alone to Florence, then to Leghorn ,
and, as a sign that a new era had dawned, journeyed thence
^. Ifrom 1824 to 1830 187
by steambbat to Naples. According to his father's state-
ment, his letters from Naples began to indicate an un-
healthy exaltation. He finally turned his steps to Rome,
and had been there but a few days when, under the strain of
an attack of scarlet fever, his shattered constitution gave
way. He died in the night of the 26th to the 27th of Octo-
ber, " patri antevertens," as the touching, laconic epitaph on
his tomb tells us.
On the loth of November the news of his death arrived
in Weimar. Outwardly Goethe preserved his composure
perfectly ; but inwardly his grief raged all the more violently.
We know this from his own words, from the testimony
which he bore in confidential letters. Even though he had
not confessed it we should have been able to recognise it from
many signs. One of the most remarkable of these was the
timidity with which he avoided the words "death" and
" die" whenever the conversation turned upon August. To
his daughter-in-law he broke the news of the death in these
words : " August is not coming back." To Zelter he spoke
twice of his son's "staying away,"* and on a third occasion
veiled the terrible fact in the mild words, "He set out on
the way in order to rest by the Pyramid of Cestius." Even
in his own house no one dared mention the death of August.
The important thing was not merely to keep the wound
from being touched, but to heal it. " Here it is the great
conception of duty alone that can keep one up ; the spirit is
willing and the body must," was one of his utterances dur-
ing the first days of mourning. vSo he gathered together
all his strength and sought to forget his sorrow by keeping
his mind more intent on his work. The pain was alleviated
in this way, it is true, hut for the violent suppression of
natural feelings he had to pay the penalty, as usual. This
♦The passages are so remarkable that we quote them here: "The
staying away of my son oppressed me very violently and disagreeably, in
more than one way, and so I took up a piece of work that, I hoped, would
entirely absorb my attention."
"I now have to become gradually reconciled to the staying away of
my son. In the attempt, which I am forced to make, to become once
more a householder I am meeting with no little success."
1 88 ^bc Xifc Of (Boetbc
time the penalty was so much the heavier because it had
cost the man of advanced age so much more exertion to con-
trol his emotions. On the 26th day of November he
suffered an uncommonly severe hemorrhage, which for any
other man at his age would have been fatal. But his good
constitution, supported by the mighty spiritual fire, which
was fed by his unfinished Faust, overcame even this attack
most completely and in a wonderfully short space of time.
Faust and his life were not to remain fragments.
Two years before he put the last hand to Faust he had
finished Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre. This was not an
accident, but an inward necessity. Die Wanderjahre is both
a preparatory work to Faust, and runs parallel with it. It
is Faust in the pupal stage. Hence we shall prepare the way
for Faust by studjdng first Die Wanderjahre.
VI
WILHELM MEISTERS WANDERJAHRE
Die Lehrjahre implies a sequel — Composition of the new novel — General
plan — Die Wahlverwandtschaften — Publication of "First Part" —
The novel gains by holding back of " Second Part " — New sociolog-
ical theories — The work finally published — Additions to second and
third volumes eliminated in later editions — The novel an aggrega-
tion — Carelessness in redaction — Work and resignation the funda-
mental ideas — Wilhelm commanded to travel — His instructions —
Aimless wanderings — Visit with a handicraftsman — Sankt Joseph
der Zweite — The handicraftsman a symbol of the working world —
Reasons for this choice — Wilhelm visits Jarno — His inclination to
become a surgeon — The age of specialties — The giant's cave —
Visit to the uncle — ^The uncle's work — Contrast with the uncle of
Die Lehrjahre — Die pilgerfide Torin — Wer ist der Verraterf — Visit
to Makarie — Contrast with the Beautiful Soul^— Wilhelm's intro-
duction to astronomy — The starry heavens and the moral law —
Das nussbraune Mddchen — Felix in the pedagogical province — Der
Mann von junfzig Jahren — Wilhelm finds Nachodine — Visit to
Mignon's old home — Journey to Lago Maggiore — Lenardo — Wil-
helm studies surgery — Tour of the "pedagogical province" — The
social community and the democratic community — The "Bond " —
Economic revolution foreshadowed Nachodine and Lenardo —
Work of the " B ond " — Die neue Melusine — Goethe and emigra-
tion — Odoard's colonisation scheme — The " Bond" divided — Puri-
fication of Philine and Lydie — Felix's suit for Hersilie — Rejected,
he rides into a river, but is rescued by his father — Natalie and Frau
von Stein — The emigrants in the New World — ^Their government —
Valuation of time — World piety— Need of new men — New educa-
tional theories — Goethe's system, as seen in the "pedagogical pro-
vince " — Subjects and methods — Prominence of music — Reverence
for the divine in one's self — Three picture galleries — Three styles of
greeting — Impression of the novel as a whole — The gospel of labour
— The educated class of the day — Goethe's plea for less theory and
more practice — General lack of interest in public afEairs — The
brotherhood of man — World piety.
ON the 12th day of July, 1796, Goethe announced
to Schiller his determination to write a sequel to
Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre. Inasmuch as, at the
completion of his apprenticeship, the German journeyman
i8g
igo Zbe %ltc of (Boctbe
enters upon his travels, it was obvious what title should be
chosen for the new work. In order to prepare the way for
a continuation of the novel, and to suggest to his readers
the possibility of one, Goethe had left the structure of Die
Lehrjahre in such a state that additions could easily be
made. They are almost exclusively of an internal charac-
ter — that is to say, they point to the continuation of certain
chains of thought. The only one of an external nature is the
journey which Wilhelm plans to the home of Mignon, a
motive which is later treated only in an episodical way.
The internal motives are partly pedagogical : the contradic-
tions between the abb6's liberal principles of education and
the stricter principles of Natalie have not been reconciled,
and a more detailed account of Natalie's method of educa-
tion has been promised for a future chapter. They are
partly ethical and sociological, as, for example, the trans-
formation of the tower society into a world federation, an
organisation for philanthropic work in the world. From
these signs pointing to the distant future we recognise that
it was originally Goethe's intention to give the contents of
Die Wander jahre that general character which he actually
did give it more than thirty years later.
He also seems rather early to have had clear ideas as to
the manner of treatment. It was to be entirely different
from that of Die Lehrjahre. What he planned to paint was
not one comprehensive, self -consistent picture, but a frieze-
like series, joined together by luxuriant didactic foliage.
This style of composition is evident in what he wrote in
1807, when he began serious work on the novel. On the 1 7th
of May he made the solemn note in his diary : "At half past
six in the morning began to dictate the first chapter of Wil-
helm Meisters Wander jahre." Then in the second half of
May, in June, and later in August, he put into final form,
in quick succession, the story of Sankt Joseph der Zweite,
which runs through the first four chapters; then Die neue
Melusine, Die gefdhrliche Wette, Der Mann von funfzigjahren.
Das nussbraune Mddchen (who was called Nachodine even
at that early date), and Die pilgernde Torin, — ^all more or
Milbelm nDeisters Manberiabre 1 9 1
less independent stories. He finished these on the sth of
August, and during the following days "thought over"
further the "novelistic motives for Die Wanderjahre."
The fact that he speaks of novelistic motives is an indica-
tion that, even at that time, he had also some purely didac-
tic motives in mind. Meditation on the novelistic portions,
as we prefer to call them, produced at the moment no new
results. But at the end of the year his tree of life dropped
a glorious full fruitage into his lap. His heart was then
aglow with unhappy love for Minna Herzlieb, and resigna-
tion was forced upon him. His experience transformed
into poetry, together with the motive of resignation, was
eminently suited for Die Wanderjahre, and he decided to in-
troduce the passionate composition into the novel. But it
sprang up with such vigour that its magnitude soon burst the
framework of Die Wanderjahre; and its blood was so hot
that its glow would have killed the colder-blooded daughters
of fancy and worldly wisdom, with which it was to be asso-
ciated. So he set it apart as an independent work and gave
it the title Die Wahlverwandtschaften.
In April, 18 10, he made another serious attempt to con-
tinue Die Wanderjahre. In May he wrote to Frau von
Schiller that at Michaelmas his friends would be forced to
accompany the same old Wilhelm on a journey, on which
they should meet many different earthly and heavenly
saints. He worked at it with considerable diligence during
the summer, but then laid it aside. Apparently he came
upon difficulties which, for the moment, he was unable to
surmount. Perhaps the interruption was not imwelcome to
him. The work was such a convenient repository for the
many problems of life and other topics of the time which
agitated him that it seemed to him advisable to continue
to use it for that purpose as much longer as possible. In
this way ten long years were allowed to go by. He had
meanwhile reached the age of seventy and it was now time
to gather the harvest into the bam.
So he took up the refractory material once more and
got together a volume which he sent into the world in 1821
192 tTbe %ifc of (5oetbc
as the "First Part" of Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre. In
addition to the Makarie episode, the important ending of
the story entitled Das nussbraune Mddchen, and many other
features later to become prominent, the " First Part" lacked
almost entirely the sociological element contained in the
subsequent complete edition. Hence we may infer that this
element was reserved for the "Second Part." Goethe was
guided by wonderful instinct in deciding what to publish
and what to lay aside for the time being.
The next decade abounded with new sociological theories
and movements which enabled him to test his own ideas and
extend them. The bookkeeper Fourier published in 1822
his TraiU de V Association Domestique et Agricole; Count de
Saint-Simon published the same year his Systkme Industrie!;
in 1824 his CaUchisme des Industriels and in 1825 his Nouveau
Christianisme ; in 1824 the Scotch manufacturer and philan-
thropist Robert Owen established in Indiana his communistic
colony New Harmony; the Genevan Sismondi's Nouveaux
Principes d'Economie Politique, which had appeared in 1819,
was now received with favour and experienced a second
edition in 1827; and, lastly, in 1824 The Westminster Review
was established in London for the stronger advocacy and
better dissemination of Bentham's utilitarianism. It was
doubtless in view of these rapidly multipljdng sociological
discussions and experiments that Goethe said to Sulpiz
Boisser^e, on the 17th of February, 1827, that he now under-
stood why this work could not be finished sooner.
In 1825 he had again taken it in hand. It advanced
slowly and at intervals, but not until the autumn of 1828
did a more rapid progress begin. The poet gave up the plan
of publishing a " Second Part" to follow the already existing
"First Part." He preferred to pull to pieces what was
already done and weave it into an entirely new texture.
Finally in February, 1829, in his eightieth year, after many
pains and sighs, the great work was finished, — and yet not
finished. It was still to experience a strange fate while
being printed. In the new form it appeared so voluminous
that Goethe reserved for it three volumes in the complete
TKHilbelm flDeisters ManDeriabrc 193
edition of his works then being pubKshed. But when the
second volume was printed it was found that both this and
the third would be too small in comparison with the others
of the series. What was to be done?
As a minister and a poet he had always been a man of
determination, and so this situation could not embarrass
him. To his faithful Eckermann he gave two bundles of
manuscripts, containing aphorisms on art, nature, and life,
and commissioned him to select from them as many as
would be necessary to fill up the required number of pages.
As a matter of fact these aphorisms were just as much in
place in the novel, perhaps even more, than the story Wer ist
der Verrdter ? or Der Mann von funfzig Jahren. Eckermann
accepted the task and compiled two large groups, which were
inserted at the close of the second and third volumes under
the respective titles Betrachtungen im Sinne der Wanderer
and Aus Makariens Archiv. To make the strange additions
still more strange, each group closed with a poem — ^the first
with Vermdchtnis, the second with Bei Betrachtung von SchiU
lers Schddel — and the whole work ended with an enigmatical
" To be continued." When the public shook their decidedly
puzzled heads at these foreign scions ingrafted upon the
original stock, Goethe laughed and said that in a future
edition Eckermann might remove them. This was done,
and so we now have before us the work as it was to appear
according to the poet's last will, but not in the final form in
which he himself published it.
This closing phase of the composition of the work shows
plainly enough what liberty the poet allowed himself in his
last novel. He had gradually extended this liberty farther
and farther. We are justified in supposing that originally
it was his intention to incorporate in the work a series of
stories which in content were foreign to the real body of the
novel, but in their teaching were in close affinity with it.
They were to illustrate the chief ideas of the novel in the hope
that the pictures would enhance the effect of the ideas. It
was certainly also a part of Goethe's plan to make each
individual story a complete whole in itself. As he proceeded
194 Zbe %lte of (Boetbe
with the work he forsook this high artistic ground and intro-
duced some chapters which serve no other purpose than to
afford agreeable interruptions of the long didactic portions.
Other stories he broke off abruptly and left the ruins stand-
ing exposed, or concealed them beneath a scant temporary
covering.
He himself did not fail to recognise the piecemeal char-
acter of this strange creation, and so he designated it an
aggregate, a complex, a collectivum. But he was not dis-
satisfied with it. Like everything else, he had come to look
upon even this form as a symbol, and that too an apt one.
On the 23d of November, 1829, he wrote to Rochlitz: "It
is with such a booklet as with life itself : in the complex of
the whole are to be found necessary and incidental elements,
projected and unfinished portions, plans now successfully
wrought out and now frustrated, and all this, taken together,
gives it a kind of infinitude, which cannot be expressed or
comprehended in reasonable and sensible words."
As we are unable to reconcile ourselves to any such sym-
bolism we naturally feel vexed at the poet's capricious
insertion and patching together of heterogeneous and frag-
mentary bodies, and our vexation is increased by the incred-
ible carelessness of the redaction. When Olympians are
careless they are careless with Olympic greatness. Once the
author had given up the plan of making the novel a work
of art, he ceased to exercise care in its structure. He
repeated himself, he contradicted himself, confused names,
passed, in the midst of a personal narrative, directly from
the first person to the third and back again from the third
to the first, showed no regard for the relations of time and
place, erased now too rnuch, now too little, made promises
without fulfilling them, and so on. But the less attention he
paid to the exterior, the more he bestowed on the interior;
and no caprice of composition, no sin of redaction must keep
us from penetrating this interior and bringing out the treas-
ures which lie concealed therein. The way will be consider-
ably easier for us if we are prepared in advance for its
deviations and unevennesses, and if we seek the goal not in
IKHilbelm flDeisters Manberjabre 195
the development of events, but in that of ideas. Then the iso-
lated poetic portions will shine out as stars, and we shall
not ask what part they play in the system of worlds.
The two great fundamental ideas running through Die
Wanderjahre are work and resignation. Resignation means
much. It means limitation, concentration. It is man's
duty to limit his striving and to concentrate all his powers
on the limited field. Resignation means the conquering of
passions, means the giving up of many inherited and earned
advantages, rights, and possessions. It transforms the man
of impulses into a man of reason, the selfish man into a
public-spirited man, the egoist into an altruist. It exerts
such a profound influence on man's nature and development
that Goethe considered it, next to work, the most important
principle of life. Hence he gave the novel, which was to
show forth the foundations of a prosperous in,dividual and
public life, the subtitle The Resigned. (! j _ i',i i, '■■ -^ '
In order that he may treat these great fundamental
ideas in their full depth and breadth Goethe ignores what
has been accomplished in Die Lehrjahre, namely, that Wil-
helm has already attained to limitation and definite, pro-
ductive work. He still presents him to us as the same old
Wilhelm, striving after an indefinite, very general idea of
education, without any fixed occupation, without any
definite aim, except perchance that of being happy in belle-
tristic comfort by the side of Natalie. And because he still
is the same old Wilhelm the secret society of the tower which,
under the guidance of Lothario and the abbe, is about to
convert itself into a world federation, has sent him out to
travel. It tears him from Natalie at the moment of his
highest happiness in order that he may learn resignation.
He must not stay anywhere more than three days, in order
that through eternal change he may learn perseverance. He
must not complain — wise Natalie herself had forbidden him
that — as he might destroy his powers by fruitlessly dwelling
on his pain. And wherever he may meet the members of
the federation he must speak to them neither of the past
196 Zhe Xife of <5oetbe
nor of the future, but always of the present, so that he
may be kept free from penitence and from dreams, and
may concentrate the full clearness of his thought and
the unbroken strength of his will upon the demand of the
day.
WiUielm roams about with Felix through the Alps and
descends now on this, now on that, side of the mountains.
As his life, so his wanderings have no fixed goal. In a pass
he meets the family of a handicraftsman ; the mother, with a
nursing child, riding on an ass, the father, with two strik-
ingly beautiful boys, on foot. Wilhelm fancies he sees the
holy family. He visits the family, who live in what was
formerly a convent in the valley below, and is charmed with
the idyl which reveals itself to him there, and which Goethe
has painted with the delicate, soft, warm colours of a Fra
Angelico. It is a picture of peaceful, busy, contented,
healthy, moral life, — an overture to Die Wander jahre, signifi-
cant in that it suggests all the motives to appear in the whole
work, yet even more significant in its contrast with Die
Lehrjahre.
Whither had Goethe taken Wilhelm in Die Lehrjahre f
To inns and castles, among actors and nobles. Some lived on
appearance and in appearance. Others lived on inheritance,
and those most distinguished among them, the Count and
the Countess, lived also in appearance. Nowhere was there
any happy family life; indeed, marriage was looked upon
almost with indifference. In Die Wanderjahre Wilhelm is
taken to the home of a handicraftsman, where everything
is thoroughly real and of the family's own making, and
where pure, deep satisfaction and strict morality spring
from marriage and work.
Here, as farther on, Goethe has chosen the handicrafts-
man as a representative of the working world. Not as
though he placed a lower value on intellectual work —
such a thing would have been out of the question with him —
but because work with the hands is a plainer and more
suggestive symbol. Both the work itself and the fruit of it
stand out before us in more tangible form. The handi-
Mllbelm fIDeisters iKnanberiabre 197
craftsman is a little god.* He brings forth daily new crea-
tions, almost independent of nature, dependent only upon
his own hands. In this respect he has an advantage over
the peasant, whose activity is useful, but not creative. By
his industry, care, and cleverness the peasant merely makes
it possible for nature to bestow her gifts richly and with
regularity. Often, however, she fails to respond to his la-
bours and then all his work seems fruitless. Goethe may
have left the peasant out of consideration for the further
reason that in his day the peasant was too bowed down by
the consequences of the feudal yoke, was too dull and dead,
to be of any use for higher poetical tendencies.
Furthermore the man who works with his hands, espe-
cially the handicraftsman, has another great and real advan-
tage over the man who works with his head. The activity
of the brain-worker always has extensible, and hence vari-
able, limits; that of the handicraftsman, on the other hand,
has absolutely fixed limits. Goethe early gazed with envy
and longing upon this happiness of the handicraftsman.
We hear the sentiment reflected in the words of the divine,
original handicraftsman, Proraetheus, who preferred a
small kingdom which he could fill with his activity to a
boundless one exceeding and dissipating his powers. We
hear it more definitely in Werther's letters from Switzerland,
where Goethe, through Werther, exclaims: "I have never
so clearly realised as during these last days that I could be
happy in a state of limitation, ... if I only knew some
* Der du an dem Weberstuhle sitzest,
Unterrichtet, mit behenden Gliedern
Faden durch die Faden schlingest, alle
Durch den Taktschlag aneinander drangest,
Du bist Schopfer, dass die Gottheit lacheln
Deiner Arbeit muss und deinem Fleisse.
[Thou who sittest at the weaver's loom,
Know'st thy trade, with nimble hands and feet
Hast'nest threads a hundred threads between.
Binding all in one with rhythmic beat,
Thou art a creator ; on thy work,
On thine industry, must God e'er smile.]
V orspiel zu Eroffnung d. Weim. Theaters (1807).
1 98 Zhe %\te of (Boetbe
stirring occupation . . . that demanded of the moment
both industry and decision. . . . Every handicraftsman
seems to me the happiest of men. What he has to do
is known to him, what he can accomphsh has already been
decided. ... He works . . . with appHcation and love,
as the bee constructs her cells. . . . How I envy the pot-
ter at his wheel, the cabinetmaker at his workbench! "
Finally Goethe had a third motive for bringing the handi-
craftsman into the foreground. He foresaw more distinctly
than others the extraordinary importance of this class in
coming years. To make society feel this importance seemed
to him a service of the highest value.
On the third day Wilhelm leaves the happy carpenter's
family and climbs back up into the mountains, where he
meets Jarno. In the spirit of the federation and out of per-
sonal conviction Jarno has resigned the great world and a
half -idle life, and has limited himself by becoming a miner. ^°
In order to have some outward sign of the new life which he
has begun he has assumed a new name, Montan. He has
become somewhat quicker, ruder, and more realistic than he
was in Die Lehrjahre. He is a true son of the nineteenth cen-
tury, and that too, as we are surprised to see, more of the end
than of the beginning of the century. "Fools' nonsense,"
he exclaims to Wilhelm, " your general education. . . We
are now living in an age of one-sidednesses. The essential
thing is for a man to understand something thoroughly and
completely, or do something excellently. . . . Make an
organ out of yourself and then wait to see what position
mankind will generously assign to you! . . . The best
thing is to limit one's self to one handicraft." Under the
weight of Jarno's words Wilhelm confesses timidly that he
is inclined to devote himself to a "special occupation," a
particularly useful art, namely, surgery.
His chosen calling, then, was not to be that of a physician
practising in all branches of the field. Apparently this
seemed to Goethe too general, too theoretical, and left too
much room for fancies and opinions, which make one uncer-
tain and dissatisfied. It had to be a specialty, and that, too,
TKHlIbelm flDeisters Manner jabrc 199
one which particularly requires manual skill ; in fact, the word
surgery means literally handicraft. Wilhelm attaches to
this change to surgery but one condition, viz., that he shall be
freed, through Jarno's intervention, from his obligation to
remain nowhere longer than three days.
Wilhelm took leave of Jarno and on his wanderings came
to a basaltic cave, which, in his ignorance of nature, he took
to be a black castle of giants. Felix explored the interior
and found there a splendid little golden casket, which was
locked. We may interpret the casket as a symbol of life.
It seemed golden to Felix, for whom it was still locked, so
that he could see it only from without. The wanderers
proceeded farther and came to a large estate.
With "St. Joseph" all had been good and excellent,
but the influence of the goodness and excellence had been
confined to a narrow sphere. It was beautiful home piety.
Modern life demands the higher stage of world piety, labour
for the common good on a broad scale, a transformation of
work for self into work for all. There is nothing in this in
contradiction with limitation. The tendency is to be widely
extended. Lothario had already made a small begin-
ning toward the carrying out of this high aim. We see it
realised on a grander scale on the extensive estate of the
uncle of Die Wanderjahre, into whose castle Wilhelm now
enters. Lothario was a European, but had been in America.
The uncle was an American, but had settled in Europe. Ac-
cording to Goethe's idea the new social organisation of the
world needed men from the new world, unhampered by old
customs and prejudices, but saturated with old culture,
practical men in the highest sense, but not egoists, utilita-
rians and at the same time devoted philanthropists.
The uncle's grandfather was such a man. Born in
Germany, he had lived for a long time in England and had
been influenced by the thorough, noble work of Penn to
emigrate to America. He had there acquired a large amount
of landed property, which his son considerably increased.
But this great estate did not hold the grandson fast. When
he visited Europe and became acquainted with its high
200 ^be Xlfe of (5oetbc
culture the unfolding of a worthy social activity seemed to
him more attractive in the midst of this culture than among
the mosquitoes and the Iroquois.
So he obtained possession of the old family estate, over
which he ruled, according to the author's conception, about
like a free baron. But in addition to being ruler and owner
he was also a most industrious and most faithful worker
and official. He gradually put his lands into excellent
condition, but allowed the profits of the undertaking to
inure so far as possible to his servants, his peasants, and to
the needy, even far beyond the boundaries of his possessions.
On his estate was to be seen the motto, " Possessions and
common property." He considered his possessions common
property which he merely managed for the others. Hence
it was his duty to make these possessions as useful as pos-
sible. He held together that he might give ; he was an egoist
for others. The reduction in his income owing to his public
spirit he characterised with humorous, one might almost
say American, graciousness, as an expense which gave him
pleasure, and in which he did not even have the trouble of
letting the money pass through his hands.
He considered it one of the most important tasks of his
administrative office, a labour of charity in the higher sense,
not only to give to others, but to help others to advance, to
inspire them, by means of gifts, to productive work. For
example, to the industrious and careful farmers he pre-
sented young trees from his nurseries free of charge, whereas
he made the careless ones pay for all they received. He
was inexorably strict with lazy workmen and ejected a
farmer who neither paid his rent nor kept his farm in good
condition. Toleration of such people would have had a
demoralising effect on the general community and would, at
the same time, have been robbing the public.
As every man must be useful, so must everything. On
the uncle's possessions there is no park, no flower garden;
even certain parts of the castle are turned to a practical
use not ordinarily found. Vestibule, staircase, and main
drawing-room are hung with maps and charts of all parts
Milbelm flDeisters Manbcrjabre 201
of the world, and pictures and plans of the most important
cities and their environs.
What a contrast with the uncle of Die Lehrjahre, who
made of his castle a temple of all the plastic and graphic arts,
including music, who spent a fortune in building a burial
hall and decorating it in most exquisite taste! He is a man
full of worldly wisdom and human kindness, and he places
the highest value on activity, but he limits himself to the
cultivation of the beautiful and is satisfied with inciting
others to activity, though only such as accidentally come in
contact with him. Who would deny that this uncle is a
very congenial personality, perhaps to many people the
more congenial of the two? But who would deny, on the
other hand, that the other uncle is the more necessary mem-
ber of society? Here again is fully shown the contrast
between the eighteenth century and the nineteenth. In the
rush and struggle, in the seriousness, of the times, the beau-
tiful personality perishes, but the useful, public-spirited
personality, demanded by the times and by struggling,
suffering humanity, arises io take his place. The uncle of
Die Wander jahre does not fail to recognise the great import-
ance of the beautiful; on the contrary it is to him the crown
of human existence and striving. But what is necessary —
that is, the useful — ^must be done first. Only then will it be
possible to rise to the beautiful. Hence his motto, posted
conspicuously on his estates: "From the useful through
the true to the beautiful."
In Die Wander jahre Wilhelm is less the hero than the
patient factotum who is made to do everjrthing, read every-
thing, and connect the whole. During his stay at the castle
of the uncle he is made to read, in addition to various cor-
respondences, two stories. Die pilgernde Torin and Wer ist der
Verrdter? The former is a translation from the French and
contains the history of a beautiful young lady of good
family, who has been deceived by a lover. She wanders
about in the world, engages herself as a servant where she
has the opportunity, and as she herself gives up home,
comfort, and security, and in this sacrifice and in her work
202 ^be Xife of (5oetbe
finds peace of soul, so she everywhere teaches resignation
and leads others to resignation, in fact, by her conduct
forces them to it. To fools she appears foolish, to the wise
wise.
What moved Goethe to insert this story in Die Wander-
jahre is easy to recognise. But it is useless to attempt to
discover any connection between the other story (apparently
not written till 1810) and the novel. In the first edition,
where it appears very near the close of the work, it is read
aloud to Wilhelm by Friedrich under the pretext that Wil-
helm will thereby be made acquainted with other excellent
members of the confederation. But as these excellent mem-
bers are nowhere else mentioned, this connection with the
novel seemed to the author, when he was recasting the work,
too loose and arbitrary. So he preferred to give up the con-
nection entirely and to make an official of the uncle hand
the story to Wilhelm simply as a literary counterpart to
Die pilgernde Torin. Wilhelm was to see in a charming
picture, in contrast with the "pleasantness of rich, aristo-
cratic, French confusion" — ^for the official was but a narrow-
minded judge of Die pilgernde Torin — " the simple, honest
righteousness of German conditions."
We are transported to the rural dwelling of a chief farm-
bailiff. Here he lives with his two daughters, the quiet, soulful
Lucinde, and the vivacious, teasing Julie. Since early life
Julie has been looked upon as the future wife of Lucidor,
the son of an old friend of the farm-bailiff, and it has been
expected that Lucidor would become his father-in-law's suc-
cessor in office. But when, after completing his studies at the
university, Lucidor becomes better acquainted with the two
sisters, he likes Lucinde much the better. To his despair,
however, she shows no signs of returning his affection, but,
as it seems, is about to become engaged to another guest by
the name of Antoni. Shall he now marry the one he does
not love, thus fulfilling his father's most cherished plans
and securing for himself a comfortable and respectable
position, or shall he sever the bonds already woven and
throw himself on his own resources, with a deep wound
Milbelm fIDeisters Manberjabre 203
in his heart? He decides in favour of the second alterna-
tive and is about to flee from the house, which has seemed
to him so cheery and yet so dismal, without telling any one
of his sorrows. Meanwhile he has betrayed himself by his
passionate soliloquies and has thus revealed all his secret
feelings and relations. Julie loves Antoni far more than
Lucidor, and Lucinde gladly releases Antoni in order to
be united with Lucidor. Two happy pairs greet us at the
close of this charming, dramatic story. That this counter-
part to Die pilgernde Torin has nothing to do with the ideas
of the novel is perfectly obvious. It is thrown in merely
for the entertainment of the great mass of readers.^* In a
work of pure fiction Goethe scorned such devices ; in a didac-
tic work it was possible to resort to them.
Wilhelm betook himself from his uncle's castle to Mak-
arie's country-seat. The uncle's nieces, Juliette and Hersilie,
the very images of the two daughters of the farm-bailiff,
had told him so many remarkable things about their aunt
Makarie that he was glad to direct his steps thither.
Makarie, the blissful, as her name implies, is a height-
ened Natalie and hence the heightened reverse of the Beau-
tiful Soul. The contrast comes out more distinctly, and the
author's purpose is easier to discover, because of the fact
that, like the Beautiful Soul, Makarie has from her youth
up been very ill. She is a heavenly being in both the lit-
eral and the figurative sense of the term. She is a heavenly
body in a human frame; she lives the life of the solar system,
feels the motions of her heavenly sisters, but she also gazes
into the innermost nature of man and resembles an ancient
sibyl, uttering purely divine words on things human. But
all her wonderful gifts do not serve the purpose of enabling
her to retire into herself in blissful repose; she employs them
to bring happiness to all men whom she can reach. Every-
body receives her counsel and her help. She acts as a
peacemaker and an alleviator; she unites men, guides them,
discovers their possibilities, purifies them, and restores each
to his better self, to a new and purer existence. In her
feeble body there dwells a restless spirit. Its eyes sweep
204 ^e %lte of (Boetbc
the whole horizon and its influence extends in all directions.
Whoever is about her must be active as she herself is. Her
housekeeper, Angela, is "untiringly industrious," day and
night alike, so that the friend of the house, the astronomer,
suggests that she might be called Vigilie, the night watch.
Like Natalie, Makarie always has in her home a number
of young girls whom she is educating. Not city girls, nor
girls from the upper classes, but peasant girls, who work
hard in field and garden. The education which Makarie
gives is considered so excellent that peasant youths prefer
to choose their wives from among her pupils. The less
Makarie is able to check the decHne of her body, the more
she preserves everything around her from decay — not alone
in the moral and spiritual realm, but also in the purely ma-
terial. She lives in an old house, but to Wilhelm's astonish-
ment it seems as new, complete, and neat in its joints and
elaborate ornamentations as though mason and stonecutter
had just gone away.
And thus, mystical and supersensuous though the real
centre of her nature may be, nevertheless she ever5rwhere
keeps within the clear, practical Kmits of the novel. She
knows how to unite the highest things and the most general'
with the lowest and the most particular.
How different the Beautiful Soul was ! She kept within
herself and enjoyed her peace by herself. She devoted all
her free time to "investigating her soul" and communing
with her invisible Friend in prayer and in fancy. She did
did not even feel in her soul that charity was a necessary part
of her life. She gave money to the poor, gave it gladly and
abundantly, but, as she confesses, only for the purpose of
redeeming herself. "Any one who wished to win my care
had to be a relative of mine by birth." She did not trouble
herself at all about others. One had to experience acciden-
tally the pleasing influence emanating from her blissful,
peaceful being, for one would never experience it as the
result of any effort or purpose on her part. Her life in God
was centred wholly in existence beyond the grave; Maka-
rie's had interests both this side the grave and beyond.
Milbclm flDeistere Manberiabre 205
Makarie was like the sun, which describes its circle in the
heavens, but is constantly sending its animating rays to
the earth. The belief that one can please God, can approach
him, by being inactively devoted to him, merely by purity
of heart, would have seemed to Makarie a misunderstanding
of religion, a failure to comprehend God.
It was an emanation of her starry nature that she was
deeply interested in astronomy. Accordingly there was to
be seen on her estate an observatory, presided over by an
astronomer. After a serious conversation in the evening
with Makarie Wilhelm is considered by the astronomer
worthy to share completely in the wonders of the starry
heavens. " A most serene night, with all the stars gleaming
and sparkling, unfolded before his gaze, and he seemed for
the first time to see the high dome of heaven in its full splen-
dour." For in ordinary life it was not only roofs and gables,
forests and rocks, but also his inward commotions, that kept
him from seeing the sublime glory of the sky. Here he is
freed from these inward fogs by Makarie, and the sight over-
whelms him. Blinded and subdued, he holds his eyes closed.
" What am I compared with the All? How can I stand be-
fore him, in his midst? How else can man see his position
with respect to the Infinite, than when he gathers together
in the innermost depths of his soul all his spiritual powers,
which are drawn toward many sides; when he asks himself:
Dost thou even dare fancy thyself in the centre of this ever-
living order, unless there likewise arises within thee a con-
stantly moving something, circling about a pure central
point?"
Involuntarily we think of the closing section of Kant's
Kritik der praktischen Vernunft, where we read: "Two
things fill the soul with ever new and increasing wonder and
awe, the oftener and longer the mind reflects upon them:
the starry heaven above and the moral law within. . . .
The first sight of an innumerable host of worlds destroys,
so to speak, my importance as an animal creature. . . .
The second, on the contrary, enhances my value as an in-
telligence, infinite through my personality, in which the
2o6 tCbe Xlfc of ©oetbe
moral law reveals to me a life independent of animality
and even of the whole world of sense."
Both Goethe and Kant make the spiritual in man pre-
serve his equilibrium with respect to the sublimity of the
physical world. But Kant starts with reflection, Goethe
with objective vision. Kant speaks only of the moral law,
Goethe of the whole of human activity, which has unselfish
love more than the categorical imperative at its centre.
Ka.nt places the moral law and the dome of heaven side by
side, without any effect upon each other. Goethe, on the
contrary, makes the starry heaven arouse the consciousness
of the inner universe ("There is a universe within thee,
too"), and sets this world in rapid motion around the pure
sun of human love. In other words, he makes the move-
ments of the macrocosm call forth analogous ones in the
microscosm. This gives us a characteristic picture of
the difference between the pantheist and monist Goethe and
the theist and dualist Kant.
Wilhelm departs from Makarie's circle, which is related
to that of the uncle as heaven is to earth. The two circles
overlap, inasmuch as Makarie strives to descend from
heaven to earth and the uncle to rise from earth to heaven.
Both uncle and niece are represented as childless, so that the
simple love of children may not draw them away from the
great love of humanity. At the moment of Wilhelm's de-
parture Makarie expresses to him the desire that he may go in
quest of her nephew Lenardo, who has been away on a jour-
ney for three years, and calm his mind concerning the fate
of a certain girl in whom he is interested, so that he may
return home with liberated heart. This girl is the daughter
of a farmer, whom the uncle ejected from his farm on account
of unpaid rent and careless management. When the order of
ejection was issued the daughter went to Lenardo and
suppliantly begged him to intercede for them. He promised
to do so and redeemed his promise, but not as earnestly as,
in his opinion, the occasion demanded. Hence he ascribed to
himself the blame of the ejection of the farmer and his
daughter, and felt all the more downcast as he feared that
MUbelm riDeisters Manberjabrc 207
they had since been living in want, and the charming form
of the daughter, as she knelt pleading before him, had left
an indelible impression upon him. On account of her
brownish complexion she was jestingly called the nut-brown
maiden, while her real name was Nachodine. Goethe doubt-
less attached some mysterious meaning to this name, but in
the course of the narrative he abandoned the name and there-
after always referred to her as " the beautiful, good girl." Be-
hind her we may see his old friend Barbara Schulthess.
Wilhelm meets Lenardo, but, as the result of a confusion
of names in one of Lenardo's letters to Makarie, the pacifica-
tion which Wilhelm brings proves futile. The fate of Nacho-
dine remains as much a mystery as ever, and in this exigency
Wilhelm, following his usual custom, steps in as a helper
and undertakes to find her. Lenardo tells him to go to an
old friend of his in a neighbouring city, a collector of antiqui-
ties who enjoys an extensive acquaintance, and perhaps he
may there find a trace of the vanished maiden. Wilhelm
takes leave of Lenardo without having won him for Lotha-
rio's world federation.
Wilhelm learns nothing at all about Nachodine from the
collector of antiquities. Rather, the only purpose this man
serves is to impress upon him anew certain truths that he has
already heard and observed ; with this difference, that he ex-,
tends the conception of handicraft to include all practical
and proper laying hold upon things. "All life, all activity,
all art," the old man tells him, " must be preceded by handi-
craft, which is acquired only in limitation." " Knowing one
thing well and practising it gives higher education than half-
ness in a hundred things." For this reason he recommends
to Wilhelm as an educational institution for his son Felix,
who certainly cannot travel about for ever with his father,
"the pedagogical province," where these principles are ob-
served. He arouses in Wilhelm further the hope that the
directors of that extensive educational institution may put
him on the track of Nachodine. After depositing with the
collector the golden casket found by Felix, Wilhelm sets out
thither.
2o8 zbe %lfc of (5octbc
We shall leave aside for the present the description of
the pedagogical province, which opens the second book of
Die Wanderjahre, and remark in passing that Wilhelm leaves
the province without even asking after Nachodine. In the
great seriousness of the pedagogical chapters Goethe evi-
dently forgot that this was one of the purposes for which he
had made his hero enter the pedagogical province. In order
to cheer the reader somewhat after the long didactic presen-
tation of the regulations and fundamental principles of the
pedagogical U.topia, he leaves Wilhelm to his fate for a time
and inserts a long story, Der Mann von funfzig Jahren, a
unique cabinet-piece. Humour, depth of thought, objec-
tivity, tenderness of feeling, drawing-room tone, and atmos-
phere of nature all unite in a charming harmony, which
even the peculiar little interruptions interspersed by the
poet cannot disturb.
The story is a treatment of the theme of elective affinity,
without tragic outcome. The beautiful Hilarie has fallen
in love with her uncle, the major, who is fifty years old and
already retired. She has been promised to the major's
son Flavio, who is away from home, serving as a lieutenant
in a garrison. The major is not displeased at the discovery
of his niece's warm affection for him, and by beautifying
arts takes all pains to give his well-preserved appearance a
still further semblance of youth. The painful feeling that
he is robbing his son of his betrothed is soon completely
obliterated by a visit at the garrison, where Flavio confesses
to him that he is in love with a young widow, a glorious
creature, whom the father must see. The father consents
and no sooner do the two see each other than a mutual
attraction begins to develop between them. With the widow
the feeling is stronger than with the major. The major
departs and the picture of Hilarie comes again victoriously
into the foreground. Business reasons compel him to be
away for several months from the country-seat of his sister,
and from the presence of Hilarie.
Meanwhile a sudden rupture has taken place between
Flavio and the beautiful widow, by which Flavio is most
MUbelm riDeisters Manberjabre 209
deeply affected. Troubled in mind and broken in body, he
flees one dark November night to the castle of his aunt.
A long illness confines him to his bed, and when he has fully
recovered he finds himself unexpectedly in love with Hilarie.
The cousin whom she had not seen for a long time, and who
had meanwhile developed to full manly beauty, had also,
at the first moment of his arrival, exerted a magic power
over Hilarie. The two do not confess their feelings to each
other; indeed, they hardly confess them to themselves,
though many excursions in each other's company bind them
closer and closer together. A skating party leads them to
a wonderfully vivid realisation of the irresistible force which
draws them to one another, and at the same time brings
about the catastrophe. The glorious passage may here be
quoted in full, if only to show what shining poetic pearls
are to be found in the rough shell of Die Wanderjahre.
" Now to-day our young couple could not tear themselves
away from the smooth ice. Every time they skated toward
the illuminated castle, where many guests had already
assembled, they must turn., suddenly around and glide far
away in the opposite direction. They did not wish to sepa-
rate, out of fear of losing each other; so they clasped hands in
order to be entirely certain of each other's presence. They
seemed to enjoy the motion most when their arms were
crossed and resting on each other's shoulders and their dainty
fingers were unconsciously plapng with each other's hair.
"In the heaven aglow with stars rose the full moon, which
completed the magic of the surroundings. They could see
each other again clearly and, as was their custom, each
sought to read an answer in the shaded eyes of the other.
But the answer seemed to be a new one. From the depths
of those orbs a light seemed to shine forth and indicate some-
thing which the mouth wisely refused to utter.
"All the tall willows and alders along the ditches, all the
low bushes on the hills and hummocks had become distinct;
the stars fiamed, the cold had increased, but they did not
feel it; and they skated up the long glistening reflection of
the moon directly toward that heavenly body itself. Then
2IO zf)e %\fe of (Boetbc
they looked up and saw in the gHtter of the reflection the
ioi-m of a man swaying to and fro, who seemed to be pursuing
his shadow, and who, though himself dark, was surrounded
by a splendour of light. He came toward them and invol-
untarily they turned aside. It would have been disagree-
able to meet any one. They avoided the form which moved
■continually toward them. It did not seem to have noticed
them and was following its straight path toward the castle.
But suddenly it changed its direction and circled around
the almost frightened pair several times. They sought with
some discretion to gain the shady side for themselves, and
in the full light of the moon the man came toward them,
stopped near them and stood still. It was impossible not to
recognise Flavio's father."
The major saw clearly what changes had taken place
during his absence. He was ready immediately to give up
Hilarie, for the hope of a sweet compensation in the person
of the beautiful widow beckoned to him in the distance.
But the happiness of the men was thwarted by the resistance
of Hilarie. In a flush of moral austerity she declared it
would be improper, even criminal, to pass from the father to
the son, and so we see at the close of this part of the story
four people who resign themselves.
But the resignation is only temporary. After a certain
length of time Hilarie's austerity is relaxed and the two pairs
are found together as nature had intended they should be.
Hence the story, in its meaning, is hardly connected by a
thin thread with the great whole. In a remark preceding
the narrative Goethe says that the characters of "this ap-
parently isolated incident will be most intimately inter-
woven with those whom we already know"; but we cannot
agree with him. On the contrary, the connection, which we
shall later learn, is so arbitrary, so superficial, so superfluous,
that we are of the opinion that Goethe's only purpose in
making the prefatory remark was to lure the reader on and
give him to expect that the charming love affair would wind
along through the whole novel.
After the breaking off of the story we hear of Wilhelm
IKmibelm noeisters Man^eriabre an
again. He has found Nachodine and she is in a most satis-
factory position. But he conceals her whereabouts from
Lenardo in order to hinder the latter from going in quest
of her and endangering her peace of mind. Then he decides
to enter upon a pilgrimage to the home of Mignon. On
the way he meets a painter who has read Wilhelm Meisters
Lehrjahre and now intends to paint for German readers the
places where Mignon lived as a child. In spite of the fact
that a considerable space of time must have elapsed since
the close of Die Lehrjahre, Marchese Cipriani, it seems, has not
yet returned from his travels. Consequently Wilhelm does
not need to take possession of Mignon's inheritance, which
was promised him, but is at bottom a very unpleasant thing
for him to think about.
There is, however, a gain awaiting him at the lake. The
painter opens his eyes to the surrounding world as the as-
tronomer had opened them to the starry world. Then the
author brings to him the two beautiful women who have
resigned themselves, Hilarie and the widow, who have become
friends and have undertaken for their consolation a journey
to Lago Maggiore. The four travellers experience together
several weeks of romantic bliss, the main elements of which
are painting, boating, singing, and sentimentalising, ending
with a moonlight evening which is the exact counterpart
of the evening when Werther was with Lotte for the last
time before his flight. Here, however, the ones to flee are
the women, who leave behind a letter in which they forbid the
men to follow them. The painter, who has meanwhile
conceived a serious affection for Hilarie, is made worthy
by this experience to be received into the order of the
resigned.
Lenardo has received Wilhelm's news and manfully gives
up the nut-brown maiden. '' Doing without speaking must
now be our watchword. . . . Longing disappears in do-
ing and working. ' ' He has been joyfully welcomed as a com-
rade by the members of the federation. His enjo5rment of
technical affairs, his inclination to begin at the beginning,
his longing to go to America, and his possessions there.
212 ^fte Xlfe of (5oetbe
have especially recommended him. His property joins that
of the federation. The plan is to construct through both
a canal, which will increase their value beyond calculation.
As the abbe explains to Wilhelm, it will be possible for
Lenardo to carry out his own ideas and colonise the two
banks of the canal with spinners and weavers, masons, car-
penters, and smiths.* At the same time the abb6 informs
Wilhelm that he is now liberated from the obligation to stay
no longer than three days in one place. Wilhelm is thus
in a position to study surgery as a profession. In order to
give him the necessary time for study the poet makes a pause
of a few years.
The time passes by. Wilhelm has become a surgeon
and now feels it his duty to look after Felix. Because of
his fondness for horses Felix has been sent to the horse-
rearing region and is being educated in horsemanship. It
is apparent that the romantic ideals of calling and education
set forth in Die Lehrjahre have been thoroughly lost sight
of. Wilhelm leaves Felix still longer with the pedagogues,
as he himself has not yet entirely finished his travels. Dur-
ing his visit to the pedagogical province he also takes part in
a miners' festival, at which he meets Jamo again, and where
a spirited debate on the Vulcanist and the Neptunist theories
takes place. The controversy over the two geological
theories filled the poet with such a passionate interest that
neither here nor in Faust could he refrain from unburdening
his heart on the subject. An accident gives Wilhelm an
opportunity to exhibit the skill that he has acquired as a
surgeon.
The second book closes with a long letter from Wilhelm
to Natalie, in which he explains to her how he came to study
surgery, and, recalling in that connection an experience of
his youth, he tells the story of the drowned fisher-boy, a
tragic idyll of simple, touching beauty. Wilhelm is proud
that he is now a useful, indeed necessary member of society ;
happy to be practising a calling which Jamo has called the
* Plainly enough we here see in Die Wander jahre the shadow of the end
of Faust.
Mllbelm flDeisters Manberjabre 213
most divine of all, because it permits him to heal without
the aid of miracles and to perform miracles without using
words.
With the third and last book we enter the third and last
stage of the social community. In the first stage we found
a patriarchical relation: St. Joseph provides for his house
as the father of a family. Natural, inborn love binds the
members together. In the second stage we found the re-
lation one of enlightened absolutism: well-to-do persons
devote their possessions, their thought, and their labour to the
welfare of a wide circle of people to whom they are not
bound by the natural ties of birth. Still, with all their
love of man, they stand in the relation to their neighbours
of a ruler to his subjects. What they give them bears
the character of support and those supported bear the char-
acter of dependents. We now come to the third stage, the
democratic community.
Lenardo has enlisted for the future colony in America
more than a hundred handicraftsmen of all kinds, who are
meanwhile working under his direction at home. But he is
not their lord ; he is the chosen leader, the first among equals.
Not even his title bears any indication of leadership. In
fact, it does not indicate a person at all, it means only a
thing. He is called "the bond." Lenardo's only honour
and duty is that of being the bond of union. Although he is
a baron and belongs to a very old family, he puts himself so-
cially on a perfect equality with the workmen, in order to
carry out the spirit in which the union is conceived, after
the model of the future world federation. He eats at the
same table with them and after the day's work is done spends
the evening with them. He considers even the carrier Chris-
toph his equal, whereas in Die Lehrjahre the Count and the
Countess consider people who in themselves are benevolent
and kind, or even like the actors are educated and socially
clever, as persons far below their rank, whom, according to
the feudal habit, they address in the third person, as though
they were chattels. And the actors recognise the relation
as justified and vie with each other in unworthy servility.
214 ^be life of (5oetbc
Here, on the other hand, the labourer has awakened to a
consciousness of his worth. There is not the slightest thing
to indicate that he does not feel the equal in all things of
the titled leader. True, he is not indebted to him for any-
thing. What he has he earns by his own labour. Materi-
ally and socially he is a thoroughly independent man. Far
from expecting any sense of inferiority on the part of the
labouring men, Lenardo seeks, rather, in every way to in-
crease their self-consciousness. In a significant address he
gives them to understand that they are more fortunate
than many an exiled prince who is unable to support himself
by the labour of his hands, and that personal property which
is the product of labour is far more valuable than real pro-
perty, which has for thousands of years been considered the
true source of national prosperity.
In the "Bond," as the whole society is called, after the
leader, exemplary discipline prevails, in spite of all the
liberty enjoyed. The members are ruled by the rhythmic
order of the songs which they strike up at every exalted
moment, at every important period of the day's course.
There is a voluntary adjustment of themselves to a beau-
tiful harmonious whole. From their songs we catch the
practical moral foundation of the " Bond," in these words;
Unb bein @tre6en fei'g in Siebe,
Unb bein Seben fei bie Xat*
Thus the " Bond " appears to us as a most beautiful so-
cial picture of the future. In his delineation of the picture
Goethe has not only taken account of the full consequences of
the French revolution: he has also, with wonderful pre-
vision, drawn on the approaching economic revolution. It is
especially worthy of note that the transition of the old civi-
lised countries from agricultural to industrial states, which
Lenardo prophesied, has already become a reality.
Even the crises which that machine-and-steam-incited
revolution brought in its train were not to be left unre-
* And let love control thy striving,
And thy life be one of deeds.
MUbelm fIDeisters Manberiabre 215
fleeted, and could not be, in the sociological novel. We are
introduced to them by the experiences of Lenardo while
enlisting handicraftsmen for the new colony in America.
For the industrial undertaking across the sea he seeks to
obtain, among others, spinners and weavers, and goes for
this purpose to the mountains. We recognise Switzerland ■
as the country which he visits. The spinning machine
invented by Hargreaves and Arkwright in 1768, and the
power loom, invented by Cartwright in 1784, have already-
been in use for some time in England, and at the opening of
the new century begin to be introduced on the continent.
Their use is gradually extended till they approach the Alps
and threaten to throw hand-labour out of employment.
Care stalks about in the industrious mountain villages. And
not care alone. Severe conflicts, which strike deep into the
emotional life of the individual and the tenderest relations
of the community, are brought on by the approach of terror-
inspiring machinery.
We see an example in a family wjth which Lenardo stands
in a specially close relation. It is the family of the ejected
farmer, whom he unexpectedly meets in his wanderings,
evidently in the neighbourhood of the Lake of Zurich. The
farmer had retired to that industrial region, and his daughter
Nachodine, by her cleverness, cordiality, and beauty, had
won the heart of the son of a manufacturer, who employed
a large number of spinners and weavers. After the early
death of her husband and his parents she assumes the man-
agement of the business, which she conducts successfully,
with the aid of a foreman. The foreman soon falls in love
with her and makes her a proposal of marriage. She is not
indisposed to accept him, but she cannot agree with him con-
cerning proposed changes in the factory. He considers it.
an unavoidable necessity to introduce new machinery, as
otherwise their competitors will get ahead of them and take
away their market ; but Nachodine, while she recognises the
force of his arguments, cannot find it in her heart to share in
an enterprise which, by the employment of machines, would,
rob the poor spinners and weavers of their daily bread and
2i6 Zbc %ltc of (Boetbe
cause the populated valleys to be deserted. Rather than
do that she will sell her home and go to America, where,
free from such considerations, she can apply herself to the
new mode of manufacture. The foreman considers the idea
of emigration a fooUsh fancy, and so both are depressed
in spirit and their relations to one another are disturbed.
Lenardo finds them in this unharmonious state. The
sight of "the beautiful, good girl" not only arouses in him
the old feelings, it increases them to such an extent that he
can hardly refrain from offering her his hand at once. Nach-
odine also feels a genuine affection for the junker, now ma-
tured to noble manhood, to whom she had once looked up
from her oppressed position; whereas her feelings toward
the foreman had not gone beyond intellectual admiration
inspired by her appreciation of his worth. The foreman
notices the change that has taken place and sorrowfully
relinquishes his suit. Lenardo also leaves Nachodine with-
out making her a definite proposal, as he does not know
how it would be received.
So we again have thrftf. who resign themselves. Le-
nardo overcomes his pain by determined activity. Wil-
helm finds him at the head of the " Bond, " and by his side
Baron Friedrich, the wild, frivolous brother of Natalie, who,
never afflicted with haughtiness, is now filled with the seri-
ousness of the time and of the aims of the federation, and
gladly joins the rank and file of the handicraftsmen, busying
himself in many ways as a zealous workman, even as a scribe.
The "Bond" is occupied with the rebuilding of a
burned town. The farm-bailiff has placed at their disposal
as a residence the old, dilapidated castle of a count in an
adjacent village, and as he has also granted them other
privileges the labourers feel called upon in turn to repair
the castle, which soon affords the " happy sight of a dwelling
inhabited by living beings," and, as the author adds, gives
evidence that "life creates life, and he who makes himself
useful to others puts them imder the necessity of making
themselves useful to him." According to this ethics kind-
ness is viewed from the standpoint of egoism.
TKHilbelm fIDeistcrs Manner jabre 217
The evenings, which assemble the companions for social
entertainment, afford the author an opportunity to institute
a kind of Decamerone. The different ones take part by-
telling various experiences of their past lives. One evening
the barber's turn comes and his experience is a fairy tale.
Die neue Melusine.
This brings us back again from work to the other great
motive of Die Wanderjahre, resignation. In no other part
of the novel has Goethe laid so much emphasis upon this
principle of life, or thrown light upon it from so many differ-
ent sides. It must be admitted that the tale, with its serious
tendency and its significant ending, is painfully out of place
in the mouth of the barber. Originally it was to have been
told by a stranger of strong character. But Goethe had his
secret reasons for the change and we shall later discover
them.
The barber once met at an inn an unusually charming,
rich lady of high station, who immediately aroused in him
a passionate desire to possess her. His desire was so great
that he unceremoniously transgressed all bounds of pro-
priety and clasped the beautiful lady in his arms. She
pushed him back and warned him that through his passion-
ateness he was in danger of forfeiting a good fortune, which
was very near him, but could be seized only after he had
undergone certain trials. " Demand what thou wilt, angelic
spirit," he exclaimed fervently, he, the untried. The lady
gave him the commission to journey on alone with a casket
which she was carefully guarding, and to wait at a certain
place until she appeared. She gave him a purse filled with
gold to defray the expenses of his journey. Hardly had he
arrived in another town when the frivolous fellow yielded
to the allurements of the gambling table and lost aU his
money. In his despair he threw himself on the floor of his
room and tore his hair. Then the beautiful lady appeared,
granted him forgiveness, and gave him more money, but
declared that he must once more go out into the world all
alone and that he should there be on his guard especially
against wine and women. He continued his journey with
2i8 ^be %\fe of ©oetbe
the firm determination to obey his beloved. But in the
next large city he fell in with pretty women and soon became
engaged in a bloody combat with a rival, from which he was
carried home severely wounded. In the night the beautiful
strange lady suddenly entered his room and sympathetically
applied a healing balsam to his wounds. Instead of thanking
her and showing contrition, he heaped reproaches upon
her, saying that she was to blame for it all, because she had
left him alone. She bore his reproaches with composure and
promised to remain with him from that time on. They had
not long been together when he caught a glimpse of a beam of
light issuing from the casket. Being unable to control his
curiosity, he peeped in through a crack and there saw his
beloved as a neat little dwarf. She regretted his invasion
of her secret, but expressed her willingness nevertheless to
Uve with him and care for him if he would promise her to
guard himself against wine and anger and never to reproach
her with her dwarf's condition. He promised, and sealed his
promise with an oath. But in one single evening he broke all
three promises. Then she told him she must leave him for
ever and return to her people. In the despair of parting
he asked whether there were no means whereby they could
further remain together. She answered that there was in-
deed a means, if he could make up his mind to become as
small as she was. He consented and through the power of
a ring, which she placed on his finger, he became a dwarf.
The rest we know from the Friederike chapter. Well
as it went with him in the kingdom of the dwarfs, he re-
tained the standard of his former size, an ideal for himself,
which tortured him and made him unhappy. He filed the
ring off and regained his former stature. He now stood in
the world of men as poor and lonely as ever before. What a
fool! He had thought he needed but to reach out his hand
for the treasures of this world and they would be his. To
obtain beauty, love, wealth, enjoyment, in a word, happy
fortune and greatness, he had thought he needed to make no
sacrifices ; either of liberty or of independence, either of good
or bad habits, of passionate impulses, or of pains, labour or
TKIllIbelm fIDelsters "IKIlanbcrjabre 219
patience. He wished to be master of one and all these things,
and was not even master of himself. He desired love, fidel-
ity, and devotion, and yet for the sake of his own enjoyment
and his anger he broke the most solemn oaths and violated
the nearest and most natural considerations. He fancied
there was a way to attain happiness without resignation.
No painful experience teaches him anything. He always
seeks to lay the blame on others, or on circumstances, in-
stead of on himself. It is only when the final stage has been
reached, when a whole period of his life has vanished into
nothingness, that he is made wiser and is forced to recognise
the necessity of resignation. And so at his reception into the
" Bond," through a dash of humour on the part of the author,
which gives way immediately to a most charming and most
profound seriousness, the barber allows to be imposed upon
him the hardest of all resignations, silence. Only with the
permission of Lenardo does he dare speak. But by the very
fact that he forgoes speaking he develops a far greater skill
in speaking than before. Since he is forced to carry about
in silence all that he expe?iences, has heard, and has seen,
there takes place within him a process of sifting, arranging,
and shaping, so that when his tongue is loosened his expe-
riences burst forth as works of art. His loss is converted
into gain, his punishment into a reward. Resignation brings
about concentration. Concentration increases power. Thus
the fundamental ideas of Die Wanderjahre are most cleverly
interwoven with the moral of the tale. It was doubtless
for the sake of this moral that the author made the barber
the narrator and hero of the tale.
The day soon approaches on which the " Bond" is to set
out for America. Formerly Goethe would not have had any
patience with such an emigration. He had energetically con-
troverted the belief that, in order to be of use in the world
and find suitable employment for one's powers one must
seek out a peculiar and entirely new and unworked field of
activity, and had made Lothario return from America cured
of this delusion and exclaim on his old home estate, " Here
or nowhere is America!" In 182 1, a quarter of a century
2 20 ^be Xlfe of (5oetbc
after the publication of Die Lehrjahre, the author still
maintained the same point of view in the first edition of
Die Wanderjahre. Here he called the idea of emigration
a whim and said that people left their own country in the
hope of a better condition, but that their hope was very
often deceptive. No matter where men go they will always
find themselves in a world of limitations. Hence the
members of the "Bond" have entered into an agreement
to forgo all thought of emigration. But a few years later
the poet's views had materially changed. In 1827 he sang:
Slmerifa, bu l^aft c§ bcffer
Site uttfer Continent, baS altt,
$aft feine BerfaHene ©(^loffer
Unb feine SJofalte.
S)td^ ftort nid^t tnTSnnern
3u lebenbiger 3eit
Unnu^eS ®rinnern
Unb Dergeblid^er @treit.*
And in the new edition of Die Wanderjahre he assumed
a thoroughly revolutionary attitude toward the old conti-
nent. " In the Old World," he makes Wilhelm say, " every-
thing moves at a jog trot; people always want to treat
new things in the old way and growing institutions after
a dead fashion."
For this reason the " Bond " and the federation will estab-
lish their new state nowhere but on new soil, and the Amer-
ican possessions of Lothario and Lenardo fulfil this
condition perfectly. But the author does not entirely
forsake his old point of view. It was not possible for him
simply to throw overboard the idea which he had earlier de-
fended so vigorously, and which in itself is correct, that an
* America, with thee life 's better,
Thou 'rt free from our old Europe's faults;
Thee no ruined castles fetter.
Cumber no basalts.
No useless tradition.
No purposeless strife.
Hinder the fruition
Of thy pulsing life.
MUbelm fIDeisters Manberjabre 221
honest man, if he strives, can achieve much that is good and
beautiful even in the Old World. It will be remembered
that he had had the correctness of this idea confirmed by
the American uncle. Hence he makes only a part of the
"Bond" emigrate to America, while the others come to the
determination to remain in Europe. They owe this deter-
mination to an energetic man who is engaged in great
colonisation projects in Europe, Odoard, the stadtholder
of a detached province of a great empire.
Odoard has had some painful experiences. In order to
suppress his hopeless love for a daughter of the reigning
prince of his country he married the daughter of the prime
minister. They lived together for several years at a distance
from the capital and were apparently happy. One day the
husband discovered the faithlessness of his wife, and about
the same time the appearance of the princess fanned the
almost extinct embers of his love for her to a bright flame.
The narrative is interrupted at this point and we can only
surmise that, in order to still the double pain brought upon
him, Odoard has taken up with all his energy his plans for
the colonisation of the province put under his charge. He
is apparently guided by the conviction which permeates
the federation, and which Jamo once expressed in these
words: "Toward the heahng of the sufferings of the soul
the understanding can do nothing, the reason little, time
much, determined activity ever3rthing." In a clear and
convincing address before the members of the "Bond" —
such addresses before large crowds are a very modem
feature of Die Wander jahre — ^he sets forth his plans and the
prospects which they open, and in this way enlists a group
of labourers for his province. Staying at home is shown in
a still narrower sense to be both possible and advantageous.
Some of the labourers had entered into relations with the
fair daughters of the village in which they were staying.
The discovery of this fact led the shrewd farm-baiHff im-
mediately to found a business enterprise. He formed among
the peasants and their future sons-in-law, who were skilled
workmen, an association for the erection of a furniture
2 22 ^e life of (Boetbe
factory, for which he provided the wood from the crown
forests. What was to his advantage was to the advantage
of all the others. In the very place where they were, and,
in a certain sense, in the midst of the divided-up land,
his happy idea created for those who were ready to emigrate
some arable land on which they could settle and which they
could cultivate. From none of the settlers was anj^hing
taken. They kept what was their own and new earnings
came to them besides. All these blessings flowed from the
wonderful power of labour rightly organised and guided.
For the great majority of the "Bond" permanent work
is not to begin till they have crossed the sea. As the uncle
demands of his people that they put aside on Sunday
everything that weighs them down, in order that they may
begin the work of the new week fresh and free, so the feder-
ation, if we understand Goethe aright, demands of its mem-
bers that they enter unfettered into the new community
life in America. Of the most of the members, especially
of the men, this is taken for granted, but we have been
witnesses of the liberating process in the case of the more
prominent among them, Lothario, Lenardo, Friedrich,
Wilhelm, and Jamo. Through resignation and labour they
have become new men. This process of transformation
is not yet complete in the case of two of the women, two
former sinners, Philine and Lydie, the one the beloved of
Lothario and the other later the wife of Jamo. Both have,
it is true, honestly endeavoured to atone for their wrongs.
Philine has become a conscientious wife and mother and an
industrious dressmaker, Lydie a zealous and careful seam-
stress. But they are unable with their own strength to
take the final step of the process ; they require the help of a
pure human being. So they go to Makarie, the "divine,"
who through the blessing of her hands completes in them
the process of purification. Now for the first time they
look forward with joyous hope to the New World. And
what do these former worshippers of the idol Frivolity look
forward to with pleasure? In harmony with the serious
spirit of Die Wanderjahre, with which they have become
Mllbelm flDelstcrs Man^eriabre 223
imbued, they anticipate with pleasure the unlimited work
awaiting them across the sea. Philine's scissors begin au-
tomatically to cut the air when she thinks of providing
the new colony with garments. Lydie sees in fancy the
number of her sewing pupils already growing into the
hundreds and a whole nation of housewives taught by her
to sew accurately and neatly.
At Makarie's castle appear further the major and the
beautiful widow, and Flavio and Hilarie, but only for the
purpose of introducing themselves to us as happy pairs. We
are also told that Nachodine will soon arrive at the castle.
She is to take the place of Angela, who is soon to be married.
Nachodine has transferred her business to the foreman, and
he has installed the new machinery, but without causing the
harm that had been feared. On the contrary, "the inhab-
itants of the industrious valley are occupied in a different
and more lively way." In this point Goethe was better able
to see beyond the immediate future than were many of his
contemporaries, better even than such a distinguished po-
litical economist as Sismondi. He saw not merely the
wounds which the new machine strikes ; he saw also the new
productive powers which it elicits.
When the "Bond" set out for the harbour Wilhelm
separated from them to go to visit Felix before starting
across the sea. He sailed up a river toward the pedagog-
ical province.
Felix's education had meanwhile been finished, and
hardly had he been dismissed from the institution when he
hastened to Hersilie, whose picture had accompanied him
constantly since the first time he had seen her. He dis-
covered in her keeping the casket which he had found in
the black cave of giants and which after the death of the col-
lector had been brought to her. She had also received the
key to it. Felix wrested it from her by storm and was
eager to open the casket, but in his attempt he broke the
key in the lock. As the casket is a symbol of life, which
cannot be taken by storm, so is it also a symbol of Felix's
relation to Hersilie. He embraces her and kisses her. Al-
224 Zbe %lte of (Soctbc
Although she cannot help feeling for him a strong love in
return, she pushes him angrily away and tells him never
again to appear before her. "Then I shall ride into the
world till I die." He dashes away on horseback, gallops
across the plain, fails to see the banks of the river, they
crumble away and he falls into the water.
This happens just at the moment when his father's boat
is passing the spot. Felix is drawn out of the water, appar-
ently dead ; but a letting of his blood brings him back to Ufe.
As Jarno had prophesied, the father's art of healing has
performed a miracle without words, has brought back the
dead to life. And the one dead is his own son. Father
and son, overjoyed, glide down the stream to join the other
emigrants for the voyage together across the ocean.
But they do not meet Natalie, Lothario, Therese, and
the abb6. These have gone to America in advance of the
rest. Why Goethe should have made these persons go
ahead of the others seems at first past finding out. It is
most striking in the case of Natalie. After years of separa-
tion from Wilhelm the thing most natural, most obvious,
and most imperative, would have been for her to await his
return and then go with him to the New World. The novel
offers no explanation of her conduct. Perhaps one may be
found in life, as it is reflected in the novel.
In the case of Natalie, as is evidenced by her poetical
sisters, Iphigenia and Leonora of Este, the poet had no other
model than Frau von Stein. So long as she lived she and
Goethe, with all their natural affinity for each other, were
kept apart by an impassable chasm. And it is in this way
that the first edition of Die Wanderjahre treats their relation.
Wilhelm has an endless longing for Natalie. On his wander-
ings he sees her on a mountain peak and on the edge of a
deep gorge. Through his field glass he sees her fair, pure
figure and her slender arms which had once embraced him
so sympathetically after his unfortunate trials of sorrow
and confusion. " And in thine angelic, fond caresses found ■
my troubled bosom blessed peace." She beckons to him
with her handkerchief. He reaches out toward her, but he
Milbelm noeisters Manberjabre 225,
cannot, he dare not cross over. We wonder what grey-
haired Frau von Stein may have felt when she read this pas-
sage. Goethe sent her the edition on the 25th of July, 1821,
when he was getting ready for the journey to Marienbad.
He accompanied the gift with a few lines in which we can
feel the emotion of his heart: "Dear, esteemed friend:
While the wanderer again goes far away, I beg you to keep
his picture and likeness with kind sympathy." In the^
second edition he erased the peculiar passage and excluded
a meeting before they had crossed the sea; for meanwhile
Frau von Stein had died. Goethe could now be united with
her only after they had both passed into the beyond. And
so Wilhelm is not allowed to see his Natalie again till he has.
crossed the ocean. Lothario and the abb6 are her necessary
companions. One other thing shows us the mutual relation
between Frau von Stein and the novel. Makarie, as we
have been convinced, is a heightened Natalie. ' She was
lacking in the novel of 182 1 ; she appeared in the edition of
1829. Makarie is " the sainted one."
Let us accompany the emigrants across the water and
examine the constitution in accordance with which they
intend to live in the new state. It is conceived in the spirit
of Germanic individualism ^2 and Germanic religion, but
contains apergus of a constitution, rather than a clearly for-
mulated regime. The foundation is Christianity, because it
teaches faith, love, and hope, out of which comes forth
patience. Morals arise from reverence for one's self and are
practically embraced in the two commandments, " Be mod-
erate in what is arbitrary" and "Be diligent in what is
necessary." All citizens have equal rights. They have a
share in the administration of authority and in legislation,
either by their votes or through representatives. They
choose a supreme authority, which seems to be thought of as-
vested in a group of colleagues.^^ These move about every-
where, because the people do not desire a capital city and
because in this way needs are better recognised and equality
is preserved in administration and in public life. Equality
is striven after only in things of chief importance, in secon-
226 Zbe %lte of (Boetbc
dary matters each man is to retain his liberty. A poHce
department is estabHshed, but no judiciary, for the present.
The members of the federation may have foreseen that for a
long time to come there would be no lawsuits. The punish-
ment of crimes rests with the police, but only with the co-op-
eration of a jury. 3* Brandy shops and circulating libraries
are not endured. Goethe looked upon both as poisonous
institutions. Every man who desired to be received into
the federation must have some specialty in which he is
thorough. Mere sentiment, as in the case of other organisa-
tions, is not sufficient, especially as it cannot be tested. All
are to be impressed with the greatest respect for time "as
the highest gift of God and nature." To remind the people
constantly of the importance of this gift clocks are set up
everywhere, which by the aid of the optical telegraph indi-
cate the hours and quarter-hours throughout the day and
night. Again in this point Goethe showed a wonderful
knowledge of the modern world, the world of labour. It
was he who told the disinherited that time was their great
inheritance :
3Retn grbteil mie \)exxl\i), weit unb breit!
®ie 3eit ift mein 35efi^, mcin 3lifer ift bte 3eit.*
This couplet appeared as a motto to the first edition of the
novel. "It is better to do the idlest thing in the world
than to sit idle for half an hour," is one of the morals that
Goethe copied from Sterne in the Betrachtungen im Sinne
der Wanderer. ■\ But greater than making the most of time
is the blessing of time. Odoard sings loud the praise of
time as the mightiest lever of progress. What all his per-
suasion was unable to do, time accomplished. "Time
makes spirits free and gives them a wider outlook. In a
* How lordly my heritage, how great!
For time is my possession, time my vast estate.
" Mein Acker ist die Zeit " was one of Goethe's old maxims. In a let-
ter of the 26th of April, 1797, to Fritz von Stein he says: "I confess
that my old symbol is becoming more and more important to me: ' tem-
pus divitiae meae, tempus agar meus.' "
t Cf. Spruche in Prosa, No. 500. — C.
Mllbelm fIDeisters IKHanDeriabre 227
broadened heart the higher advantage crowds out the lower.
Time takes the place of reason." Cronos steps again into
the place of Zeus. Or, better still, they are united. Reason
lies in development. By organising itself into a state
according to these fundamental ideas and laws, at the same
time attracting to itself and assisting on both sides of the
water all who are like-minded with them, and further by
making its state a model, an inspiring example for other
states and communities embracing millions of inhabitants,
the federation comes nearer and nearer to its aim of broaden-
ing itself to a world federation and practising world piety.
" We do not wish to withdraw from home piety the praise
that is due it ... , but it is no longer sufficient. We
must grasp the idea of a world piety, must bring our honest
human sentiments into a practical relation with a wider
sphere, and not only help our neighbours to make progress,
but include at the same time the whole of humanity."
The poet took one more thing into consideration. For
the new society and the new state new men were needed. In
his own ministerial office he had observed with great sorrow
how hard it is to carry out reforms, to say nothing of reor-
ganisations, without new men. On the 21st of September,
1780, he wrote complainingly to Frau von Stein: " In civil
matters, where everything goes on in a settled order, it is
impossible either to hasten especially the good or to remove
any particular evil; they all have to go together, just as the
black and white sheep of one flock go into the fold and out
again together. And even for the little that could be done
there is a lack of men, new men, who would do what is
proper without making mistakes." Nothing but a new
education can provide these new men.
Ever since Rousseau's Emile (1762) a great many of the
leading minds everywhere, and especially in Germany, had
studied the problem of creating new men by means of a new
education. Rousseau's command, back to nature and let
nature have her way, a good thing in itself, had kindled a
mighty flame. But it indicated a way rather than an aim.
And there was room for difference of opinion concerning
228 ^be Xife of <5oetbe
the way, even though one approved his point of departure.
Nevertheless men believed they had a method that would
answer the purpose in his direction back to nature. So
they devoted their chief attention to the working out of the
aim. The enthusiasm for things Greek newly awakened
by Winckelmann set up as the aim of all education the
Greek ideal of the creation of a man morally good and beau-
tifully developed physically and spiritually. This ideal
was defended in manifold ways by Wieland, Herder, young
Goethe, Schiller, Friedrich August Wolf, Jean Paul, and
many other prominent men of the classical period. But of
the triangular pyramid of the ideal education it was in
reality almost always the spiritual side alone, the general,
comprehensive education, that attracted attention. This
resulted in partial atrophy of virtue, will power, and body,
and in inadequate preparation for the special calling which
one had to fulfil. What was gained amounted to little
more than beautiful dilettanteism in all possible arts and
sciences. Even men of such rich spiritual and material
endowments as Goethe could strive toward the Winckel-
mannian ideal of education only temporarily and that not
without danger. And who was to help the overwhelm-
ing majority?
For them there arose another teacher, the greatest of
modem times, Johann Heinrich Pestalozzi. His educational
plan for the regeneration of mankind was based neither on
theories, nor on enthusiasm for a dreamed-of natural condi-
tion or a dreamed-of ideal Greek condition, nor on observa-
tion of the corrupt, artificial upper class of society, but on
just the opposite of these things. It was based on life, on
reality, on observation of the distress, the misery, and the
generally neglected condition of the great mass of the people.
Education for work by means of work was the watchword
of his pedagogy, which has justly been called social peda-
gogy. Man must be made capable of bettering his own
condition. To this end he must be properly prepared for
his future calling. Hence serious, strict training for a
calling must precede word instruction or at least accompany
IKnilbcIm flDeisters 'IWIlan^eriabre 229
it. The calling in life of most men consists in practical work.
While one is preparing man for such work by means of dili-
gent activity in agriculture, housekeeping, or some com-
mercial industry, one is training not only his hands, but
also his head and character. One is leading him to " a clear,
firm knowledge of his nearest and most essential relations
and to a firm realisation of his power." One is teaching
him to be public-spirited and submissive, for he leams to
work with others. Beside making him true, simple, and
strong, one is leaving him innocent, because one shields him
from such evils as "the humbugs and presumptions, the
idle pretentions and thousandfold confusions, of verbal
teachings and opinions." In this way one can achieve,
along with an education for a calling, a general human edu-
cation, and one can promote virtue by paving the way for
prosperity.
During the mature years of his life Goethe stood on the
ground of this program, the details of which Pestalozzi him-
self had neither fully nor clearly worked out, and the main
principles of which Fichte in 1807 sought with fiery zeal
to apply to German conditions, in order by means of national
education to save Germany from destruction under foreign
rule. Guided by experience and observation, both of him-
self and others, men of age and minors, among the latter
Fritz von Stein, whose education had been left to him, Goethe
had gradually receded from the Winckelmannian ideal in
the form which it assumed in educational practice; he had
given up, as Pestalozzi harshly expressed it, "the delusion
of creating a golden age by means of boasted muchness of
knowledge." Pestalozzi, with whom he had become per-
sonally acquainted in 1775, had made a powerful appeal to
him, the more powerful since to the reformer it seemed as
though the poet's tremendous power were turning in a
selfish Promethean direction, away from filial-mindedness
toward God and hence from fatherly-mindedness toward
suffering humanity. In his first writing, Abendstunde eines
Einsiedlers (May, 1780), he had called out to Goethe: "Out-
ward and inward majesty of man, achieved along the pure
230 Zhc %lte of (Boetbc
path of nature, is understanding and fatherly-mindedness
toward lower powers and talents. Man, in thy majesty,
weigh the use of thy powers according to this standard:
fatherly-mindedness of high powers toward the weak, un-
developed herd of humanity. O prince in thy majesty!
O Goethe in thy power! Is that not thy duty, O Goethe,
since thy path is not wholly nature? Forbearance toward
weakness, fatherly-mindedness, fatherly purpose, fatherly
sacrifice, in the use of one's powers, — that is pure majesty of
mankind. O Goethe, in thy majesty, I look up to thee from
my lowliness, I tremble, keep silent, and sigh. Thy power
is like the impulse of great rulers, who sacrifice the national
blessing of millions to the glory of the empire."
How Pestalozzi was deceived in Goethe! What he at
that time desired was already active in Goethe's soul, or
was prepared for active employment and waited only for
an opportunity to manifest itself, though the manifestation
was different from that which Pestalozzi had in mind.
Even in the special field of education Goethe had come very
near the Swiss reformer, and came stiU nearer him during
the succeeding years. In Die Lehrjahre we have seen the
completion of the process of his turning away from the
educational ideal of Winckelmann to that of Pestalozzi.
Having once taken up these pedagogical ideas in Die
Lehrjahre, Goethe continued to elaborate them in his mind
and, after they had made their way through Die Wahlver-
wandtschaften, they found their full symbolic and direct
expression in Die Wander jahre. Goethe has not made it
easy for us to obtain a clear picture of all the details of his
educational plan as it is represented in "the pedagogical
province." He perhaps did not think it over himself in all
its parts, in all directions, and in all its consequences.
And so, speaking through the mouth of Lenardo, he says
that it is a series of ideas, reflections, proposals, and pur-
poses, which would go well together, it is true, but might
hardly ever be found together in the ordinary course of
events. He was satisfied with throwing out suggestions,
but these suggestions are characterised by such depth that
Milbelm fIDelsters TKHanbetJabre 2 3 1
men will be able to draw on them for a long time to come.
His educational system, like those of Pestalozzi and Fichte,
is intended for all, poor and rich, indeed more for the former
than the latter. As the majority of the population belong
in the country the callings of the inhabitants of the country
must be cultivated above all, and, moreover, as the power
of the educational system can be unfolded only outside the
parental home, the boys are taken — Goethe says nothing
about the girls — ^to the great public educational institution
which, as in Fichte's plan, embraces a wide territory : low-
land, highland, hilly country, cultivated land, meadow
land, and forest. To this territory Goethe gives the name
" pedagogical province." To the pedagogues of Die Wander-
jahre natural education means first of all individual educa-
tion. For this reason the development of the individuality
is allowed as much liberty as possible, in fact it is lent as-
sistance. Not even in matters of dress does the individual
need to conceal his peculiarities — quite a contrast to the
principles of Die Wahlverwandtschaften. The pupils are
carefully observed in order that their individualities may
be studied. When a decided inclination toward a certain
calling has been discovered the pupil is educated in ac-
cordance with this inclination. But whereas in the choice
of a calling heed is paid to his inclination, in his education
for the chosen calling the pupil is obliged to obey fixed laws.
This is particularly true where one would least expect it,
viz., in the education for an artistic calling. In this con-
nection the remarkable observation is made that genius
is most willing to show obedience, because it quickly grasps
the use of it. "It is only the mediocre who would like to
put their limited peculiarities in the place of the unlimited
whole, and to excuse their blunders under the plea of
insuperable originality and independence. But we do not
accept any such excuses. On the contrary, we guard our
pupils against all missteps whereby a large part of life,
in fact often the whole life, is thrown into confusion and
disruption." As in Fichte's system, all pupils seem to have
to take one course, that of farming. At least Felix is sent
232 Zf)e Xife of (Boctbc
to this department without question. It was doubtless
because of the healthfulness of the occupation, the oppor-
tunities of instruction which it affords — here a large part
•of the descriptive sciences is learned incidentally — and
because of the pleasure which young people as a rule take
in such work, that Goethe introduced this arrangement.
It corresponds also to the view of Pestalozzi, that "the
•cultivation of the fields is the most general, the most com-
prehensive, and the purest foundation for the education of
the people." After the agricultural course the pupils are
given special training according to their various calHngs.
In the instruction offered them this specialisation is carried
out as far as possible, out of consideration for the individu-
ality as well as for the principle that the best results are
obtained by limitation, whereas a multiplicity of subjects
may lead to distraction and dabbling.
This principle is not carried out as rigidly as with the
uncle, whose watchword is " Always but one thing." Other-
wise an education would require too long a time. Further-
more the point of view that variety stimulates must not be
lost sight of. They seek accordingly to combine with a
practical subject one or two that are theoretical. For
example, with instruction in herding and breaking horses
is grouped instruction in the living languages. Whether
any instruction in the dead languages is offered we are not
told. The living languages are taught in a living way, in
accordance with the principle that one learns nothing out-
side the element which is to be mastered. This living
method of teaching is made possible by the fact that pupils
of the chief nations are brought together in the horse-rearing
region, where each of their languages in turn is spoken ex-
clusively for a whole month. The pupil receives at the
same time grammatical instruction in the particular language
which he desires to learn more thoroughly. There are
special teachers for this purpose and they live with their
pupils all the time, so that, though pedants are not wholly
wanting among their number, these "riding grammarians"
are not to be distinguished from their centaur pupils.
Mllbelm riDelstevs Man^eriabre 233
The scientific instruction is given in immediate connection
with practice in the particular calling, for "activity of
life and efficiency are far more compatible with satisfactory
instruction than is conmionly supposed." Here it is given
during the quiet hours of herding.
Instruction in the elementary subjects is necessarily
co-ordinated with the course in agriculture, which all the
pupils are obliged to take. These subjects are singing,
writing, reading, and arithmetic, and one must think of
them as taught not simultaneously, but in echelons. The
greatest importance is attached to singing by note, which
is considered the best means of refreshment, discipline, and
instruction. Instruction is imparted, by making the pu-
pils write their own notes. As the children are taught to
write on the blackboard the signs representing the tones
which they produce, and to reproduce the tones according
to these signs, then to add the words below, they practise
hand, ear, and eye at the same time and learn more quickly
to write accurately and neatly. Then, as everything has
to be executed and copied according to definitely fixed
numbers, they learn much more rapidly the value of the
art of measurement and computation. Singing is also made
the means of impressing upon the pupils the moral and
religious teaching which they receive. In addition to this
every activity and every amusement is accompanied by song.
While vocal music is taught with the elementary sub-
jects, and hence is included in the agricultural group, in-
strumental music is accorded special attention and placed
in a separate department. It is a professional study and
with it is grouped instruction in lyric poetry and dancing.
A further department is devoted to the plastic and graphic
arts, with which is combined instruction in epic poetry.
I^tDramatic art, on the other hand, to oiur surprise is placed
on an equality with theatrical art, and is wanting in the
([-ciirrrculum of the pedagogical province. There is a lack
' both of actors, because the inhabitants of the province have
become through education too true to represent anything
which they themselves are not, and of an audience, because
234 ^be Xife of (Boetbe
in the province there is no idle crowd. Besides, the ped-
agogues think that the theatre ruins the sister arts. Hence
it is excluded, as it is from Plato's state. Along with the
students of the plastic arts are educated the apprentices
of the building trades. This association is supposed to
honour them and edify them. In his province Odoard
intends to declare at the outset that the handicrafts are
strictly arts. Whereas everywhere else singing is heard
while the pupils are at work, in this region deep silence pre-
vails. The work occupies the whole man. Songs are
heard only during the intervals of rest. Even the feasts
which are celebrated in the other departments are wanting
here. The disciples of art have no need of them. " To the
plastic artist the whole year is a feast," is the beautiful and
profound reason assigned.
Of the other callings for which the pedagogical province
prepares the only one mentioned is mining, so that not a
few practical and theoretical branches of instruction are
wanting. But it is easy to make the practical application
of what is given to what is wanting. We know the system :
it combines training for a particular calling with scientific
instruction, takes individual inclination into consideration,
lays special stress on the laws underlying everything done
and everything learned, beside paying attention to many
smaller details. And that is enough. Although one can
see how this system might be differently carried out, still
we may say in its favour that it develops hand, eye, and
head of the pupils in a way that is natural and answers
the purpose, and that it gives a good preparation for the
place they are to fill in life.
But is this all? Will it make the new men whom the
new age demands? Is there not also need of the elevation
of the moral powers? The casually mentioned instruction
in certain religious and moral doctrines is something, but
not enough. History has fully demonstrated that. A
peculiar supplementary training must be given, which will
consecrate man to a new higher existence, which will rid
him entirely of his animality and make him truly a man of
Milbelm fIDeistere Manberjabrc 235
reason, a homo sapiens, and which will make him conscious
of his exalted godlikeness.
This need of supplementary training is met by the crea-
tion of an invisible church, in which the pupil constantly
moves about. This invisible church arises from the awaken-
ing of reverence. All higher religions have endeavoured to
solve this problem, but none has solved it completely.
Therefore the pupil must pass through them all. On the
lowest stage stand the heathen or ethnic religions, the
highest type of which is the Jewish, which is based on
reverence for what is above us. The second is based on
reverence for what is on an equality with us. It is called
philosophical religion, because the philosopher draws every-
thing higher down to his plane and elevates ever5rthing lower
to his plane, that is, he puts everything on an equal plane
with himself. The third is the Christian religion, which is
based on reverence for what is below us, that is, reverence
for misery, dishonour, suffering, and death. It is the last
stage to which mankind has been able to attain. It takes all
three of these stages of reverence together to produce the
highest stage, reverence for one's self, just as they in turn
have developed out of this. ^ ^ That is to say, reverence for
ourselves is reverence for the divine in us. At first we per-
ceive the divine in us only as an indistinct feeling, which
impels us to seek a divine something outside ourselves,
recognise it, and adore it. If, however, by rising one step at
a time through the various religions of reverence, we have
recognised that everything outside ourselves, the high as
well as the low, is permeated by God, we have in so doing
recognised the divine in ourselves and are thus led to adore
it. The indistinct feeling of the divine in us has developed
into clear consciousness. According to this method of
reasoning, as the author says, man may consider himself
the best creature that God and nature have brought forth
and may continue to occupy this high standpoint without
being drawn down again to the common level by vanity
and selfishness.
It is in this way that Goethe makes his pantheism lend
236 Zbe %ltc of (Boctbc
itself to the production of the highest moral effects. It
makes no particular difference if his graduated system is
artificial, and is neither historically nor logically above
criticism. If, for example, philosophical religion produces
reverence for everything on an equality with us, and puts
the lower things on an equality with us by raising them to
our plane, it thereby awakens reverence for what is below
us and its scope is made to include the scope of the Christian
religion. Goethe himself falls into this and other in-
consistencies in the pedagogical application of his rehgious
philosophy, as we shall soon see.
How are the pupils introduced to this religion of rever-
ence? Are the history, so far as any exists, and the sig-
nificance, of this religion impressed upon them by direct
instruction? The history probably is, but the significance
is not. Such a thing would be inadvisable both because
of the pupils' undeveloped power of comprehension and
because of the fact that when the significance of anything,
profound is revealed to people clearly and frankly they
believe that there is nothing behind it. Hence the " peda-
gogues" employ the method of teaching by suggestion and
use sjrmbolic object lessons as the means best adapted to their
purpose. These lessons are enveloped with a solemn at-
mosphere. They are given only in the " sanctuaries," which
are erected in a valley forest surrounded by high walls.
About an octagonal hall are arranged three galleries adorned
with pictures. In the chief pictures of the first gallery are
represented events from the history of the Israelites, and
in the less important ones events of like significance from
the history of other nations, particularly the Greeks. To
this gallery the pupils are adnaitted from their first year
on. For the paintings of the second gallery the subject
chosen is the life of Christ, exclusive of his passion. The
representation is limited to miracles and parables, as it is
only through these that the deep significance of his life
can be shown. This series of pictures is made to serve as an
illustration of philosophical religion by asserting of Christ
that he appeared in his life as a philosopher, putting the
TKHlIbelm flDeistere TPdlanberiabre 237
lowest and highest things on an equaHty with himself, apo-
theosising the lowest things and humanising the highest.
To this gallery only the more mature pupils are admitted.
The last gallery, which is devoted to the passion and death
of Christ, and hence to the Christian religion in the nar-
rower sense, is opened but once a year, and then only for
the pupils who are graduated. It is the sanctuary of pain,
the too early or too frequent sight of which might fail
to produce, or might deaden, the awe-inspiring impression
it is intended to leave. An introduction to the fourth
religion, that of reverence for one's self, is superfluous, as it
grows out of the others of itself.
The "pedagogues" do not yet consider their full duty
performed. They have a second and third way of elevating
their pupils to the different stages of reverence. The second
is mentioned but briefly. During the instruction in the for-
mative arts, we are told, the three stages of reverence are
introduced and emphasised, as ever3nvhere else, though
with some variation in the method to suit the nature of the
work in hand. The third way is, like the first, symbolic
and suggestive, but with this difference, that it is intended to
imbue the minds of youth daily and hourly, instead of now
and then, with the principles and practical workings of the
religion of reverence. It is applied in their salutes. The
youngest pupils salute their superiors by crossing theit arms
over their breasts and looking up at the sky, as a sign that
above them is a God, who is reflected and revealed to them
in parents, teachers, and those in authority. The inter-
mediate pupils salute by folding their hands, as though
bound, behind their backs and looking down at the ground
with a smile, as a sign that the earth is for us a source of
inexpressible joys and sorrows. Here, in contradiction
with the fundamental philosophy of religion, but with
logical correctness, the Christian religion is put second,
which leads to a further contradiction, in that veneration
of joy is made its substance. This style of salute is not
imposed upon the pupil for very long. Then he is called
upon to man himself. He is to come into the fold of philo-
238 tTbe Xife of (5oetftc
sophical religion. He now salutes by taking his place in the
rank and file of his comrades and keeping his eyes on them.
Selfish segregation has ceased. His companions are con-
stantly before his eyes and he is determined from now on
to act only with his eyes fixed on the others or in union with
them. He has become a social nature. He is worthy to
enter life. Since as a sacred mystery the meaning of the
gestures is only partially revealed to the pupils the youths
themselves attach to them a most profound significance,
which bears good fruit.
Two great advantages that accrue to the pupils from
their education in the pedagogical province are not specially
mentioned. Through much work in the open air and with
their hands they become and remain healthy, aftd through
their extensive occupation with real things they become
objective. Both these aims seemed to Goethe of the utmost
importance. He complained bitterly that the young people
were being ruined both spiritually and physically by too
much theoretical instruction. And if they did not feel
well themselves how could they be expected to feel and act
kindly toward others? In the education of young Fritz
von Stein his chief aim was, as he confessed to Schiller, to
make the boy "very objective."
Since the pupil is being specially trained for his calling
he acquires early in life a feeling of assurance and the
ability to do things. The consciousness of this ability to
do things, together with a feeling of healthiness, an appro-
priate freedom of life, the beautification of each day's course
by songs and games, all this must afford the pupil a high
degree of happiness, one of the fairest gifts of life. Thus
education in the pedagogical province is designed to make
full, whole, harmonious men in a way entirely different from
any ever dreamed of by the neo-humanists. If we assume
that the results correspond to the aims, we see issuing from
this province young men who are clear-headed, well-prepared
and know what they want to do, and who in addition are
healthy, truthful, respectful, and happy, — men who are able
in useful activity, in truth and beauty, to usher in a new life.
Milbelm fIDeisters Manberjabre 239
Die Wander jdhre leaves with us about such an impression
as would a great factory in a most romantic mountain glen.
We hear the whir of spinning wheel and the rattle of loom,
we see the motion of trowel and hatchet, plane and spade,
and at the same time we look up to the stars and the divine,
down to the broad fruitful valleys of the earth, and into
the depths of the human heart — a wonderful mixture of
the matter-of-fact, the practical, and the earthly, with the
ideal, the prophetic, and the superhuman. The novel reflects
life as it should be, but rarely is, paying heed to the demands
of the day and those of eternity, usefulness and morality,
individuality and mankind in general. Taken as a whole
it is a call to sensible, active life, a glorification of labour.
" A fiery spirit breathed upon me, awakening me to activity,"
said one of the few who perceived some of the rustling
among the leaves of the novel. Upon the foundation laid
in Die Lehrjahre is built the superstructure in Die Wander-
jahre. Activity was restricted in meaning by the poet,
as it is by us in ordinary usage, to productive, useful work.
In order to perform such work man needs thorough know-
ledge of a special subject. This special knowledge is gained
by limitation to a small field. Limitation is demanded also
by our powers. We are not gods. "Unlimited activity
leads in the end to bankruptcy." He who would limit
himself must practise resignation. Useful work demands,
further, thoughtfulness, and perseverance. Again these
qualities are acquired only by resignation, by conquering
our passions, which obscure our vision and lead us astray.
Finally we need to unite with others in order to perform
most kinds of work. If this union is to be realised and
maintained we must adapt ourselves to others by limiting
ourselves and practising resignation.
The working man is the man who fits his action to his
purpose. Only by such action do we win a place for our-
selves in life. For this reason Goethe considered entrance
into real life inconceivable without resignation in the exalted
sense in which he employed the term. For fruitful labour
each of the above-mentioned kinds of resignation is of the
240 ^be Xife of (Boctbc
highest importance. But the coming age demanded one
kind of resignation above all others, — ^that which lies in
limitation. The farther progress was made by economic
development toward the division of labour, the more it
became impossible to perform profitable labour except by-
specialisation. And more than that: the more time hast-
ened forward on the wings of steam, the greater became the
need of quick, vigorous action.
Superior performances and energetic action were there-
fore the first prerequisites of the new age. But where were
the people who satisfied these demands? In the great
masses? There necessity had brought about Umitation and
had called forth skill and perseverance. But with their
thoroughness and energy they lacked the education to lead
their skill and vigour to higher aims and keep them abreast
of the mighty progress of modem times. Hence the working
people had to look to the educated classes for leaders. Here
the prospect was not hopeful. These classes were still as
Goethe had known them in his youth and in later years.
The spirits of a lower order were easy-going, egoistic, and
diffident, while those of a higher order, not without serious
fault on the part of the state, stiU delighted to swim about
in the shoreless waters of philosophy and esthetics. The
man of this class applied neither diligence nor energy to the
special calling which he pursued. He looked upon his work
as a necessary evil which hindered the flight of his thoughts,
disturbed the tenderness of his feelings, and detracted from
the beauty of his personality. From this living in thoughts
and feelings, from this cult of beautiful personality, there
restilted a serious weakening of the power of the will, which
was not cured by the wars of liberation, because the state
quickly drove the individual back to his narrow, quiet,
private sphere. The educated men of Germany at the
time when this novel assumed its final form were very well
able, as they had been in former days, to obtain a clever
grasp of things, to ponder over, rave over, sigh over, or
deride, the affairs of this world, but it was not in their power
to act aggressively or force their way forward with stubborn
IKatlbcIm fIDeisters Manberiabre 241
tenacity in a definite calling along a definite path. Gustav
Frejrtag, a faithful and thorough observer of the various
phases of development among the German people, has well
said of the educated of the period from i8i5toi83o: " Even
the better class among them found it easy to talk with clev-
erness concerning the greatest variety of things, but very
hard to limit themselves to consistent action." And Hegel,
who could see deep into the soul of this better class, speaking
as a contemporary, said, in his Grundlinien der PhilosopMe
des Rechts (1820) : "The reason of this hesitation [in decision
and action] Ues also in a tenderness of the soul, which knows
that in the definite it is dealing with the finite, is putting a
limit upon itself, and is giving up the infinite; but it is un-
willing to forgo the totality at which it aims." Between
his own frame of mind and such a state of indolence Goethe
felt that there was a very sharp contrast. Nothing could
show this contrast more drastically than two entries side
by side in his grandson Walther's album. Somebody had
copied into the album that tame, blas6, supposedly witty
utterance in which Jean Pstul had made a casual attempt
to sum up his view of life : " Man has two minutes and a half :
one minute to smile in, one to sigh in, and a half minute
to love in; for in the middle of the third minute he dies."
On the following page Goethe wrote the stanch reply :
S^rer fed^jig §at bie ©tunbe,
Uber toufenb ^at bet Sag;
@5^ttd^en, tnerbe Sir tie Sunbe,
SiiSo§ man aUeS leiftcn mag ! *
In addition to their shrinking from concentration and
determined action the educated classes were wanting in a
third essential. While on general principles they were
disinclined to work in a fixed calling, they felt a special
aversion for practical work, particularly the trades. They
looked down upon these with the same superciliousness
* Sixty minutes hath the hour,
O'er a thousand hath the day;
Think, my son, with time's vast power
All that one accomplish may!
VOL. m. — 16
242 ^be %\U of (5oetbe
-that the ruling classes had in ancient Greece. The edu-
cated middle class shared this feeling of contempt with the
nobles, who otherwise performed their share of work in the
practical callings of agriculture, administrative government,
.and service in the army. Nobody saw more clearly than
Goethe that the reigning star of the coming age would
be industrial labour. Hence if the men of the nobility
and the middle class did not turn to the industrial arts they
were certain to lose the leadership of the common people, and
Germany was certain to be left behind in the competition
of nations, especially by England and America, where con-
ditions were different. And more than this. Industrial
labour was congregating more and more in factories, which
naturally resulted in the organisation of the labouring
classes. If, as was inevitable, these organised masses went
one step further and became conscious of their importance
in the modem world, it was certain that the hitherto un-
seen chasm between the upper classes and the lower would
burst upon the sight with all its threatening dangers.
Goethe sought in Die Wanderjahre to anticipate the
many dangers arising from a want of limitation, energy,
and appreciation of labour with the hands. Through the
picture in which he made aristocratic noblemen and finely
educated men of the middle class join the society of handi-
craftsmen, he sounded a serious warning; and he sounded a
still more serious one in his words, written with propagandist
emphasis and exaggeration, in praise of one-sidedness,
specialisation, handicraft, and action. Everjrthing said by
the individual characters in Die Wanderjahre, that shows a
leaning in this direction, is Goethe's own private view.
We have already pointed this out in not a few passages.
Let us here supplement the list with a few more utterances :
" Nowadays the world forces a general education on us, so
that we do not need to trouble ourselves about that; it is
the special education that we must acquire." "Whoever
from now on does not apply himself to one art or one handi-
craft will be in a sad plight. Learning no longer succeeds
in the swift progress of the world ; by the time one has taken
TKHilbelm fIDeisters TKHanberiabre 243
notice of everything one is completely lost " (Aus Makariens
Archiv) . " If one could teach the Germans to acquire less
philosophy and more energy, less theory and more practice,
after the model of the English, it would go a long way toward
our salvation" (to Eckermann, March 12, 1828). It is in
accordance with these views that education is shaped in
the pedagogical province. Goethe has been accused of
being a quietist, but nobody has ever made a stronger plea
for activity than he did. He has been suspected of being
an aristocrat, but nobody was more democratic than he at
the very time when the complaints were loudest. He has
been criticised as wanting in patriotism, but nobody was
more solicitous than he of the welfare and prosperity of the
fatherland.
With the division of labour, with the bringing about of
closer relations between nations through the agency of
steam,- and with the gigantic growth of the demand for
raw materials and manufactures from every nation on
the globe, men were made to feel their dependence on one
another more than ever before. No labourer could help
realising that the individual was no longer sufficient unto
himself, and that he needed others for the success of his
labour. Goethe rejoiced in this knowledge, but he desired
that with purely intellectual knowledge of the economic
organism, with insight into the benefit to be derived from
it, should be combined a moral need, so that where the
understanding no longer sufficed to compel the individual
to look beyond himself, moral need should enter in as an
auxiliary force. For it was with him a life task to lead
the German out of his individual life, his egoistic existence,
out of his self-satisfaction and self-enjoyment, into a public,
social life, into work for others. In this regard the German
had retrograded considerably in the seventeenth and eight-
eenth centuries, because he had been excluded from public
life by absolutism. We to-day have hardly any conception
how conscious men were of themselves as individuals and
private persons, and we are astonished when we read what
Wilhelm says of his father, " He was at that time one of
244 ^be Xife of ©oetbc
the first men who was led by broad public-spiritedness to
exercise any thought or care beyond his family and the
city in which he resided." And yet that is a faithful and
accurate reflection of the time. Even at the end of the third
decade of the nineteenth century conditions were but little
better. The causes had not yet been removed, and so the
results still continued. In January, 1831, Hitzig wrote from
the greatest city of Germany to Carlyle, "The German has
always lived more for his family than for the public, and
still continues unalterably so to live, in spite of the events
of 1830." The esthetic tea was the pubHc into which the
educated classes ventured forth to spend their energy. In
this absorption in private life we find the explanation of
the fact that men looked upon the state as something hostile,
and that Wilhelm von Humboldt, in 1792 and 1819, desired
to confine the range of governmental activity to the nar-
rowest limits, the affording of security.
This view was combated in the new century by Fichte
and Hegel with special clearness, directness, and power.
Both supported the thesis that the reasonable will of man-
kind is fully objectified only in the state ; that the state, in
so far as it is " reasonable," instead of hindering the develop-
ment of the individual, is the very means that makes it
possible for the individual to develop his true nature ; that
it is not the intention that freedom shall be coerced by the
state, but that "the violence of an unruly nature shall be
subjugated by freedom." This corresponded entirely to
Goethe's views, and hence in his pedagogy he made respect
for the law and adaptation to the whole important elements
of education. He would have the individual early broken of
the habit of consulting only himself, his own will, and his
own comfort. But while the aim of Fichte and Hegel, in
their fight against individualism, was chiefly political,
Goethe's aim was chiefly social. That an individual was
interested in the welfare of the state did not necessarily
mean that he was interested in the social well-being of
others, A recognition of the importance of public authority
did not help to alleviate the condition of those who were
Mllbelm flDeisters iKHanberiabre 245
without property. Nor was it enough that the importance
of labour was appreciated and that men of means joined
with labourers in common activity. There was further
need of moral impulses forcing the man of large property to
resignation, prompting him to make sacrifices from his
possessions for the benefit of those who were without pos-
sessions, and to consider his property common property,
the conscientious management of which had been intrusted
to him. But for the man without property there arises
also the duty of making himself a social man. No man is
so small and weak that he cannot help another. Each man
should consider the larger and smaller community in which
he lives not only as a political and an economic community,
but also as a moral community. Out of such a community
grow demands which include far more than the material
condition of the individual. The whole moral and spiritual
existence of our fellow-men, which is not satisfied by daily
bread, is laid upon our consciences.
In order to enter into this relation it is necessary for
man, according to the wise poet's advice, to seek the divine
in himself. Whoever finds it in himself finds it in every
other man, and as he thereby makes himself a sacred being,
becomes for himself an object of reverence, so every other
tnan becomes for him a sacred being, an object of reverence,
even the sinner. He avoids wounding the sinner, strives
to extend to him a gentle, loving hand of help, and is willing
to make personal sacrifices to assist him, even to overcome
the 'sin which weighs him down. The man with such senti-
ments is the truly pious and pure man, the social and broth-
erly man in the highest sense. The fundamental motive
of Iphigenie is thus seen to be repeated in the novel, as
the character of Iphigenia herself is in the figure of Makarie.
This social man in the highest sense is the only man worthy
of the title "beautiful personality," which the eighteenth
century sought to produce by means of a general education
in science and art, and at times even in the ways of the
world. This ideal of personality based on moral action
shows pleasing lines, in the limitations of reality, much more
246 ^be Xife of (5oetbc
rarely than does the old ideal, but it is a higher ideal, it is
truer, and it is infinitely m'~-re fruitful. In view of the
stupendous increase of the material powers of man there was
need of an elevation of the moral nature, if this increase
was to prove a blessing. The elevation is achieved by
means of public spirit arising out of reverence.
For this heightened humanity there is no longer any
world dulness, which makes men live, labour, and enjoy
for themselves alone ; no longer any world woe, which makes
them consume their strength in lamentations and sadness;
nor is there any more fleeing from the world, that striving
to gain peace by devotional contemplation and the giving
of alms ; there is only world piety, which calls men to endless,
joyous work for the world. "And let love control thy
striving, and thy life be one of deeds."
We hear the ringing of the bells in Faust.
VII
FAUST
Fawst Goethe's life-work — The theme — Unconscious work on the drama —
Seeking after God — The puppet play oi Doktor Faust — Correspond-
ences between its motives and Goethe's experiences — Beginning
of conscious work on the drama — Scenes probably written first
and probable order in which they were written — Goethe's willing-
ness to read portions of the work to friends — ^The Urfaust — Further
work on the drama — ^The Fragment of 1790 — Comparison between
it and the Urfaust — Composition again resumed at Schiller's
urging — Completed First Part published in 1808 — Influence of
Byron's death on composition of Second Part — The Helena pub-
lished in 1827 — Further work lightened by enthusiasm over idea
of completing Second Part — Fragment of the first act published
in 1828 — The drama finished July 22, 1831, but not published
till after the poet's death — The historical Faust — The first
Faust book — Marlowe's Faustus — Faust motives in the sixteenth
century — Similar motives in the period of Goethe's youth —
Analysis and criticism of the Fragment of 1790: Faust's first mono-
logue, the macrocosm, the Earth-Spirit, conversation with Wagner,
Mephistopheles, his relation to the Earth-Spirit, the humorous
devil and his function in the drama, Mephistopheles and the
Student, "Auerbach's Cellar," "Witches' Kitchen," first scenes
of the Gretchen tragedy, Faust's confession of faith, the closing
scene in the cathedral — The Gretchen tragedy not finished in the
Fragment — Analysis and criticism of what the complete edition of
1808 contained m.ore than the Fragment: the close of the Gretchen.
tragedy, Valentine, "Walpurgis Night," "Walpurgis Night's
Dream," "Dismal Day," "Night, Open Field," "Prison," end
of the First Part, Goethe's change of style, Faust now a symbolical
character, distinction between the symbolical and the allegorical,
the philosophical element in Faust and the difficulty it gave-
Goethe, "Prelude on the Stage," "Prologue in Heaven," the
mystery of evil in the world, the wager between the Lord and
the devil, the problem of Faust's salvation, Faust's second mono-
logue, Easter chimes, youthful remembrances, "Before the City
Gate," Faust's third monologue, the exorcism of Mephistopheles,
247
248 tTbe Xife of (5octbc
the devil goes away and then comes again, Faust's curses, chorus
of spirits, compact and wager between Faust and Mephistopheles —
From the httle world to the great — Difficulty of the transition for
Goethe — Analysis and criticism of the Second Part: Opening scene,
the Emperor's Court, the paper money scheme, the masquerade,
the "mothers," Helena conjured up, the second act, Homuncu-
lus, the Baccalaureus, " Classical Walpurgis Night," the Helena act,
its significance, the fourth act, the fifth act. Care, Faust learns
self-limitation, the supreme moment, Faust's death, the contest
over his soul at the grave, he is saved, his ascension, unsatisfactori-
ness of the ending — Closing criticism of the Second Part and the
whole drama — Faust a universal human type — What the drama
may mean to us.
FAUST was the life-work of the poet, extending from
the first mutterings of the storm that raged through
the breast of the youth to the serene days of old
age, when hardly a gentle zephyr was wafted through the
peaceful world of his spirit. Conscious work on the poem
began in the days of the seething fermentation of the Stras-
burg Storm and Stress, but the unconscious had begun with
the sprouting and growth of the germinal idea in the dream-
like gropings and longings of childhood. If we were to
state the original, fundamental theme of Faust, we should
say that it is the attempt of the great man to comprehend
God and by means of this comprehension to know the world
and lead in it a life worth living, a life filled with God and
pleasing to God in the highest sense.
Out of the most beautiful specimens of his father's col-
lection of minerals the child builds an altar, and makes
the first rays of the morning sun ignite the incense tapers
upon it, in order, through the symbol of the rising smoke,
to show how his "soul longs to mount up to the Creator."
The boy flees into the darkness of the forest, and desires
to inclose with a hedge a solemn glade surrounded by old
beeches and oaks, and set it apart as a sacred grove, where
he may devote himself to God, undisturbed by the noise
of the day and the restless bustle of men. Indeed, through-
out his whole life "an incomprehensible longing" often
drives him out into pure, free nature, where, "while a
thousand tears are burning, " a new, divine world is awak-
fmst 249
ened •within him. And if the setting sun again and again
draws him with magic power, and he cannot behold the
spectacle often enough to satisfy him, this is but the feebly-
conscious yearning of the musing child's soul for the high
ancestral spheres.
The ipnocent years of childhood pass. Reflection asserts
itself, and the urTdeifStanding -subjects the world to its
overwise criticism. The dissolution of naive belief, sup-
ported by the rationalistic light of J^siEsic, drives away
the beautifxil darkness in which the boy had felt himself
one with God. Thus for the youth God vanishes from the
world. Outside, beyond the borders of the world, there
may be enthroned an inaccessible God, but he is not in the
world. He may at some time in the past have built it as
an ingenious machine, but he left it then to its own works
and wheels. The world is as one sees it, and the young
student takes it as it is. Like others of the time, he is
tossed back and forth by pleasures, deprivations, and dis-
appointments, and has many bad hours and many moods.
Not tmtil his last semester," when he is confined to his bed^
with illness, is there again aroused within him, under the
guidance of his theological friend Langer, a yearning and
seeking after God ; and this is continued in his Frankfort
sick-room under the influence of his physician and the
pious friend of the family Fraulein von Klettenberg. He
begins to divine that God is not outside the world, but,
rather, wholly within it.
This gives him a new foundation. If God is wholly in
this world it must be possible to grasp him somewhere.
It must be possible for one to get on the track of his nature
and reign and to find the way from faith to knowledge and
from knowledge to the bliss of sharing in his secrets. Now
God is certainly, above everything else, the original source
of life. Hence one will most quickly learn to know him
by knowing the "sources of life. " The youth's Faustian
desire is therefore centred on these springs, these " mothers "
of life. He works zealously at his wind furnace with alem-
bics and retorts, in order to produce a virgin earth and
250 (Tbe Xife of (5oetbe
watch its progress to motherhood. In harmony with thii
ardent striving he writes (September 17, 1769) these linei
from Wieland in his friend Langer's album:
3a, ©otterluft fann einen Surft ittc^t fd^toad^en,
Sen niir bte GucEe ftittt. *
To which he adds, " So feels in all seriousness, your frienc
Goethe." "'^..
In this frame of mind he goes in April, 1770, to Stras-
burg, where by accumulation of learning and by experi-
ments — alchemy is still his beloved — he seeks to get £
comprehensive grasp of God. Here through the medi-
ation of Herder the clouds vanish before his eyes. Hii
clarified vision discovers that nature does not allow hei
secrets to be forced from her by levers and screws, but thai
for the open mind they are everywhere visible, and mos1
plainly where he has hitherto least sought them, in art
Shakespeare, Ervinus k Steinbach, Raphael, Moses, Homer,
and Ossian are illuminated by the light of God and mirroi
his light in their works — Shakespeare .even more than the
others; "He is the confidant of God"; he sees the secrets
of the human world with the eyes of God and utters them
with divine mouth. Hence the God-seeking youth stands
before his works as "before the open book of fate." In
their presence he feels " his existence infinitely broadened,"
his own "self broadened into the self of the world." Be-
yond all doubt it was a god who wrote these signs.
How did it happen that Shakespeare and those like
him could see through the secrets of the world? The divine
is revealed to nobody directly. Thus much the youth had
also learned. True, a specially gifted, receptive eye is
necessary, but the eye must seek the light that it is to re-
ceive. In no hiding-place, in no book, in no magic formula,
in no alchemist's retort is the light to be found; it is onlj
in the life of the world, which, rightly grasped and under-
stood, is the life of God himself. By experiencing the
*E'en joy of gods cannot a thirst diminish
The source alone will still.
Jfaust 251
world the poet and the artist experience the eternal, the
genuine, the typical, the divine fund^ental lines and
fundamental forms of the seeming confusion of the world.
And thus from knowledge and art, from reflection, obser-
vation, and bewUderment he comes back to life. He forms
the determination to "mingle in the floods of fate," or, as
we read in the Urfaust, to " venture into the world to bear
all the woes of earth and all its joys." Even during his
Leipsic days he had shared in the activities of the world,
but with blurred vision and immature mind, so that the
divine in the world was hidden from his sight and divine
creation was accordingly denied him., Now he glowed with
the desire to experience the world with a new spirit. JWith
hi m this desire wa s so passionate tha t, i^it Jjad not bega.
p6ssible in any other way, he would, even -Jiave consigned
huilselpto" tKedeviir in order through him to. find the way
to" God. He forsook stjidy, laboratory, and clinic, and .
fled mto the wide country. The first experience through »;
which-he had to pass on his new journey through, life, was af
bright-flaming love fire, ,.,^
~ In the midst of his musings, strivings, and experiences
an old puppet play that he had often seen in his childhood,
Doktor Faust, came back to his memory. It was an old
popular play, the subject and hero of which went back
to the Renaissance and the Reformation. Its simplicity
and depth being no longer appreciated by the enlightened
and educated men of a matter-of-fact age, it had been
obliged to seek a refuge on the puppet stage.
An investigator, unsatisfied by all his learning and
deep meditation, consigns himself to the" devil, in order
through him to acquire all sciences and arts, all treasures
and enjoyments of the world, and for a space of time to
feel like God. This he does, so far as lies within the devil's
power. Faust travels with the devil through the world,
becomes a magician, who has power over the living and
the dead, and tastes every kind of pleasure, even that of
living at a ducal court, where he calls up the dead and wins
the heart of the princess, until finally, sated with every-
2 52 ^be %lte of (Boetbc
thing, though not satisfied, he repents and turns in earnest
prayer to God. At this critical moment the devil brings
him Helena. Captivated by her beauty, Faust gives up
all pious thoughts of repentance, rushes toward her, and
embraces her. In his arms she is transformed into a Fury,
and, robbed of earthly enjoyment and heavenly bliss, he
is dragged away to hell.
It was a remarkable subject. And how wonderfully
the motives of this drama of unsatisfied study and investi-
gation, of longing for divine existence, of the attempted
tour of the world, the embrace of Helena, and the so-
journ at the ducal court -coincided with the motives
of the life drama of Goethe's own experiences and
dreams !
The Helena motive echoed and re-echoed many times
in his life. At the moment Helena was that lovely Al-
satian maiden who had dawned on his soul in Sesenheim
and flooded it with light. And for him, through the qualms
of his own conscience, this beautiful, innocent maiden was
quickly enough transformed into a Fury, who lashed him
cruelly and seemed to be driving him to hell. To be sure,
it only seemed so; for it was pure love that he had given
and had received in return. Such a love was a reflection
of omnipresent, divine love. If his philosophy of the world
had not taught him this, he would have learned it from its
effects, for it had " poured eternal flames into his soul and
twofold life into his early withering heart" (April, 1772).
The tortures proved but purging flames, a part of those
eternal flames which, by a special favour of fate, were
destined to cast all the dross out of his heart and make it
pure as gold.
Secondly, Helena became to him necessarily a s5mibol
of everything beautiful in art, which he had embraced with
just as much fervour, a symbol of his own artistic ideal
to which he desired to rise and to which he even at that
time often felt that he had risen : " Ye Muses, and ye Graces,
ye hover round me and I hover o'er the water, o'er the
earth, godlike" {Wanderers Sturmlied, April, 1772). He
jfaust 253
fought his way up to this high, true art along the path
through life which love pointed out to him.
Love for an individual could mean to him but the point
of transition to love striving toward the universal. With
him it was a question more of making mankind happy than
one individual. Here the aims of the poet and the states-
man coincided. Hence he was held fast by no flowers,
even though they entwined themselves about his knees and
fondled, him with the eyes of love. Hence he prayed in
those early days that "when he was tired of earthly beauty
heavenly beauty might receive him, so that he might bring
the bliss of the gods down to the earth more than Prome-
theus" {Von deutscher Baukunst, 1772). From Gretchen
he longed to rise to Helena.
And now the motive, of the sojourn at the ducal court.
This coincided in a remarkable way with a motive of the
future career in life which he hoped and dreamed he should
realise. With his talents a large public activity as a jurist
seemed to beckon to him from the very beginning. His
father wished to pave the way for him by sending him to
Wetzlar, Ratisbon, and Vienna. Then in Strasburg Koch,
OberHn, and Salzmann sought very earnestly to win him
for a statesman's career. But greater than aU this was
his own desire and longing to be an active factor of great
moment in the fates of nations. Such a longing to bring
about the happiness of the people was at that time char-
acteristic of the upward-striving youth, to whom Herder
gave the awakening and guiding signal. Herder dreamed
of stepping to the side of Catharine II. and, with her help,
making Livonia, Ukraine, Russia, the world, happy. And
as Herder led Goethe to become absorbeci in Moser's Pa-
triotische Phantasien, which began at that time to appear
in the Osnabrucker Intelligenzblatt, it was doubtless due also
to Herder indirectly that, at the end of 1771 and the be-
ginning of 1772, our poet became deeply interested in the
governmental ideals set forth by Haller in his Usong, and
that he chose from this work the motto for his Geschichte
'Sottfriedens von Berlichingen mit der eisernen Hand dra-
2 54 Zhe %lte of (Boetbe
matisiert, "The misfortune has happened, the heart of
the people is trampled in the mud and is no longer capable
of any noble desire." Hence his first two great works,
which were occupying him at this time, Cdsar and Gotz, were
political. The thought of working for political reforms
pursued him further. Besides Moser, he studied Wieland's
Der goldne Spiegel and Machiavelli's II Principe. In the
summer of 1774 Lavater found his political ideas so fully
developed and resting on a foundation of such energy that
he exclaimed, "Goethe would be a splendid man for a
prince to place in a position of authority!" This desire
had long been hovering before Goethe's mind and must
have made him admire the motive of Faust at the ducal
court and see in it a symbol of his own future, long before
he entered into any relation with the reigning house of
Weimar. Thus the—most important moti ves fix ed his
attention onthe naive fable~alrdr3ea3SBndJeie(i~jJ3~Jii»i the
irresistible impulse to recast the old puppet play and make
~,it &_ poetic vessel into which he could_ pour all his^ pain and
*^ sotEow^all his thoughts and desires^and by so doing gain
relative peace of sou! in the midst of the whiii -uf "Storms
and' dreams eddying round him. ,
Not only at that moment, but even during the following
years, he clung all the more tenaciously to the plan, be-
,. cause all the motives which it involved, seeking after God,
nearness to God and f^rness from God, belief and unbelief,
desire for activity^and experience in the world, joys and
sorrows of love, sensuousness and ideality, were still strong
factors in his life ; indeed some of them had become stronger
than before, and other new motives which had entered
in could conveniently be made to accommodate themselves
to the pliable subject-matter. ^-BFenjinent^^naong-the new
rnotives was_J;he„. thought of forcing an entrance intocoiS^-
mugion with God by terminating Hs earthly existence.,.^
And so "the-'great work of his life was conceived. He
elaborated it in his mind for a long time without writing
any of it down. This was his usual habit with other works,
but here he felt a special hesitation to put anything on
Ifaust 255
paper. As though it would have desecrated the precious
subject, or the written words would have been unalterable,
he took care not to write down anything, at least any part
of the chief scenes, except what was good enough to stand
permanently. This made it possible for him later to boast
that, so far as he finished the play up to 1775, the chief
scenes of it, or, better, the parts which were dearest to him
and seemed to him most important, had been written down
at once, without any rough draught. Though he hesi-
tated to put it on paper, he made no secret of his project.
For example, as early as the summer of 1772 he told about
it in Wetzlar, so that the following year Gotter asked the
poet to send him a copy of Faust so soon as his head should
have "stormed it out."* During this year, as he himself
tells us, he finally ventured to intrust to cold paper the
poem which he had cherished so fondly in his breast. It is
easier to say in what order the scenes had previously been
worked out in his mind than to conjecture the order of
their writing down. There can be no-doubt that the quiet
work of head and heart had** begun with the shaping of the
first monologue,^* which he may have muttered to himself
in Strasburg. It is probable that the dialogue with the
Earth-Spirit was soon added, and then the first part of the
interview between Mephistopheles and the student, as it
appears in the Urfaust (discovered in 1887), with its cheap
witticisms on students' lodgings, intercourse with pro-
fessors, payment of labourers, etc. It is not very probable
that, if he had been somewhat longer away from the uni-
versity, the youth, who was maturing withUropical swift--
ness,|would have found any pleasure in these common
'"'"Stadents' jokes. All that lay between, especially the meet-
ing and compact with Mephistopheles, was harder to put
into finished form and was not so urgent. So he willingly
left it for the time being and, as we believe, preferred to
* Schick mir dafiir den Doktor Faust,
Sobald Dein Kopf ihn ausgebraust.
Goiter's poetical epistle, which ends with these two lines, may be
found in H., iii., 141 /. C.
256 Zhc %lfc of (5oeti5e
hasten on at once to the Gretchen tragedy — this still in
the early months of the year 1772, immediately after the
completion of Gotz. The conception of this tragedy dates
back, however, still earlier. It doubtless occurred at the
moment, say, in September, 1771, when, in reply to his
declaration to Friederike that he could not enter into any
binding relation with her, he received an answer which
"lacerated his heart" and began a "period of gloomy
remorse." In order to alleviate the " unbearableness "
of his sense of blame, he had recourse immediately to severe
penance, through the castigation which he administered
to himself in Gotz, in the figure of Weislingen. But this
did not suffice and could not be expected to. The thing
that carries Weislingen off is not torturing memories of
his forsaken Marie, who, moreover, receives a worthy com-
pensation for her loss, but the poison of his mistress, a
Helena in the sense of the puppet play, to whom he has
giverT himself in his infatuation. The poetic conscience
would have an entirely different burden, and the relief
from that burden would be entirely different, if the loved
one were brought down to the worst misfortune conceiv-
able, to inconsolable ruin, and the soul of the desperate,
sensuous-supersensuous suitor were overwhelmed by the
consciousness of being to blame for this awful fate.
So in his fancy he spun out the Sesenheim experience
to a most dismal end. The story thus invented was just
as dear to him in its dark, terrifying, and excruciating
moments as in its beautiful, bright, and winsome portions,
and, as he did not dare sacrifice the one to the other, that
which, according to the original plan of the poem, was to be
but an episode in Faust's experience, grew to be a great
independent composition, which, however, could not be
severed from the union of the whole, as Die Wahlverwandt-
schaften later was from Wilhelm Meister. The poet was
early forced to entertain the idea of extending his drama
to a work of two parts. How far he may have progressed
in 1773 with the writing down of what had hitherto been
" dialogued in his brain, " we do not know. The only thing
faust 257
certain is that in the years 1773 and 1774, especially after
the completion of Werther in February of the latter year,
he put the beginning and by far the larger part of the
Gretchen tragedy on paper.
Otherwise Boie, to whom he read the manuscript on
the 15th of October, 1774, could not have reported, "His
Doktor Faust is almost finished. " Boie was most profoundly
impressed by the work, as Merck had been before and
Knebel was two months later. His criticism was: "His
Doktor Faust seems to me the greatest and most peculiar
of all" (that Goethe had read to him). Knebel's: "In Dok-
tor Faust there are scenes of most exceptional splendour."
Mer(;k , in whom the poet had ^jneaiiYdiik..-£niuid.:fch&-.b66t,
though notJha.Dnly,..mQdd..fQr.ii§,MephistopheleSy.-f0llo^ed
the ""growth of ,t]lS_woEk- with true- admiration: "It is
stolen from nature with the greatest fidelity. ... So
often as I see a new part I am astonished how percepti-
bly the fellow grows."
Goethe gradually became very generous with the poem.
Almost every one of his visitors and friends was permitted
to hear it. As early as 1775 its existence was known far
and wide. In April Nicola j even heard that "he was to
be portrayed in it exactly as he lived and moved," which
refers undoubtedly to the figure of "Wag per. And when
Goethe was in Zurich, in June, Bodmer asserted that he
had been informed that he was going to work on the play
there.
Goethe did not do mifch at it, however, in Switzerland,
either before that time or afterward. There was at the
time no urgent experience to be incorporated in it. For
his life's content at that period other avenues of expression
were opened in Stella and Egmont. Work on these plays,
his experience as a betrothed, and the long journey oc-
cupied the largest share of his time. From the documents
that have been preserved all that we are able to discover
is that he worked some at Faust in September and October,
including probably not more than three or four scenes,
among them the one in Auerbach's Cellar in Leipsic ("I
2 58 Cbc tlLlfc of (5oetbc
wrote a scene of my Faust. ... In all this I felt like
a rat that has eaten poison" — September 17, 1775).
Then followed the great change of fortune. Goethe
came to Weimar. He was now at the court of a duke.
The vision that he had beheld in his dreams and again in
the mirror of the puppet play was fulfilled. Important
pazts-ef^fee^-great work could be filled with the bloodof life
from rea l expen enceT' Court TSeT financiaT distress, the
llquerade, and^ most significant of all, Faust's efforts
to create a worthy existence for an active people on free
soil. But what he experienced here stood squarely in the
way of his writing. His final aim, especially that of making
the people of Weimar happy, the "daily work" which he
had laid upon himself, "demanded his presence whether
he was awake or dreaming." No admiration could move
him to continue the poetical work. For in his so wholly
different circle here the admiration which Faust excited
was of the very highest. He soon read the remarkable
work to his friends, in the form, we must assume, in which
Fraulein Luise von Gochhausen copied it, the so-called
Urfaust.^'' "The Duchesses were profoundly affected by
some of the scenes," reported Fritz Stolberg on the 6th of
December, 1775. Einsiedel wrote in January, 1776:
^arobtert fid^ brauf al§ ®oftor gauft,
®a^'m Scufel fclber Cor i^m grauft.*
In jesting recognition of his mighty poetic gift he was
honoured by his fellow-poets of Weimar with the title
" magician, " as is the hero of the puppet play at the ducal
court. " Magician would I have him styled ! " sang Wieland.
"The magician wishes but a small circle," wrote Herder in
an invitation to a reading of Faust. In a festal play in
commemoration of the 28th of August, i78i,he is already
heralded as the author of Faust. But neither these tokens
of homage nor the quip of Karl August, that "Faust was
a piece of a piece, which the public feared, alas! would
* Then burlesqued himself as Faust in the play
So that e'en the devil must feel dismay.
Ifaust 259
never be anything more than a piece," were able to turn
the poet from his determination to sacrifice his strength
to his sacred " daily work. " Only gradually did the know-
ledge begin to dawn upon him that he was on the wrong
path, that he was destined to portray moral and political
ideals rather than to realise them, or, let us say, that he
could do far more toward the realisation of these ideals —
toward the bringing down to earth of the heavenly jewels,
as he once called them — if, by his poetical and symbolical
glorification, he should kindle a desire for them in the hearts
of men, than if he should attempt in a small state to deliver
a few cut stones for the gigantic edifice. And then his
longing for Helena returned. , In anjcstasy of early^oauth
he had fancied he had embrace'd~Eer, but he had only kissed
the"llSSr"S'f lifer cloak. Meanwhile his longing for life had
been quieted""and subdued, and his longing for beauty had
been increased. The truth that he had discovered in life
had to be permeated with beauty, if it was to appear divine
before the outer world. Where was Helena more visible,
where was there a greater possibility of seeing her blissfully
near, and, if he should win her favour, of being wedded to
her, than in the Hesperides beyond the Alps? And so he
set out for Italy as a pious pilgrim. His hopes, his desires
were fulfilled. Helena was joined with him in sacred
union. Through the possession of her he experienced a
transformation, a higher existence.
Goethe now had all the eleme nts gath ered together to
contiiiue^and complete ius~FausL He had- -become ac-
quainted wiSr hum a,n society m ^aH-SsT^strata, had passed
'jEroug^ all ' tKemoods, struggles,, passions, and amWtijjns
*of.,^shfiro,Tiati'~ga3ne3' dee^^ insight^into .all- the periods
of historyTTiaci acquired a ^settled philosophy ojf the world,
which "S§Med-ilSn3o"fix. the jaal."wii^ assurance, .and,-
finally," hardrreaefied the h ighest stage of his art, J Here and
there" MsffllTaSkeTpersonaToBsefvation, it is true, as for
example for the war in the fourth act of the Second Part.
But that could be supplied from fancy, while for the recla-
mation of the swamp along the foot of the mountains Italy
Q
^71
26o z\)c Xlfe of (Boetbc
with its Maremme afforded him more than one real basis.
Then since his poetic power, thanks to his rejuvenation
in Italy, returned in its original freshness, he could now
take up the work with good spirit.
And he did. His eye scanned the broad expanses still
to be travelled with such clearness and certainty, and he
felt so much strength for the undertaking, that in August,
1787, he expressed the hope that he should be able to finish
Faust between New Year's and Easter of the following
year. In the meantime Tasso was to be completed. But
Rome continued to offer him too much for him to sit quietly
at his writing table, and so, in spite of the best resolutions,
Faust was put to one side. The only progress made was
the addition of the "Witches' Kitchen" scene, which he
wrote in the Borghese gardens, and a part of the scene
"Forest and Cavern," beside sketching the outline of the
Second Part. In June, 1788, he returned to Weimar.
Relieved almost entirely of official duties, and uninterrupted
by other distractions, he was now able to work industriously,
and by June of the following year Tasso was finished.
Faust was now the next work in turn, if for no other rea-
son, because the poet had promised it for the seventh
volume of the first collected edition of his works, and the
publication of this volume was eagerly awaited. Judging
by the poet's letters from Italy we should say that he
must have been extremely eager to bring now to a close
the work which had been so long delayed. But instead
of that he gave up further work on Faust before he had
even taken it up. He tells of his determination in a letter
to Karl August of the 5th of July, 1789. Whence this
surprisingly sudden change? In the month of June a
deeply painful experience, his rupture mth- Erau von Steiy ,
had cast a blight upon his "dgsirefor poetic creation. So,
as it was unavoidably necessary for the seventh volume
to be published, he contented himself with sending Faust
out into the world as a Fragment. It appeared in 1790. It
was more and less than he had brought with him to Weimar
in 1775. The additions to the Urfaust were the two scenes
IfiaUSt : 26 r
finished in Italy, "Witches' Kitchen" and "Forest and
Cavern," a few verses leading up to the "Student" scene,
and the insertion in this scene of a few vigorous words on
theology and jurisprudence, after it had been rid of the
vulgar student jokes. These additions contributed little
toward the artistic effect of the work and were by no means
able to compensate for the loss which the Fragment suffered
through the omission of other important portions. Goethe
left out the monologue of Valentine, whose existence is
nowhere mentioned in the Fragment of 1790, beside the
scenes "Dreary Day— A Field," "Night— Open Field,"
and "Prison," so that even the Gretchen tragedy stood
like the shaft of a pUlar without a capital. He made these
omissions because the monologue of Valentine was too
isolated to suit him and because the "Prison" scene and
"Dreary Day" were written in overpassionate, naturalistic
prose. His newly formed idealistic views of art were of
greater moment to him than the applause of the public.
As is well known, he took a more moderate view of the
subject in later years, and left at least the scene " Dreary
Day" standing as in the old prose version.
Tha, breaking_^ut of__,the--Fsench revolution, observa-
Jtions^dunng the campaign in France and the .siege of Mainz,
and the, political Jeimentactioninljermany were unable to
restore his lamed poeticaL.,TOwer to its pristine vigour.
Thg&.a„lucky star brought Scnilte^;to^lis■■'si3e!"~TJi^der his
friend's electnc^SttcJr'tKe'lameness vanished and the power
of poetic creation was as great as ever. But another work
which had also been begun a long time ago, Wilhelm Meister,
and a second, Hermann und Dorothea, which was crowding
him because of the events of the time, were the first to
benefit by his desire to write. Not until June, 1796, was
the way clear for Faust. Then the mood was wanting. It
was no easy task to find the way from the bright, realistic
light of Wilhelm Meister and Hermann und Dorothea to the
metaphysical twilight of Faust. The transition became
possible only when the chasm had been bridged over by
the timely awakening of his inclination for ballad subjects.
262 tTbc life of (Boetbe
The old familiar forms then came crowding in upon him
out of the misty vapour and this time he had the courage
to hold them fast. In the "Dedication," copaposed on the
24th of June, 1797, he says:
SRein SJufen fiU)lt fiii^ iugenblid^ erfi^iittert
S5om Bciuber^aucf), bcr euren Sug utnmittert.*
We now see him, even more than in Italy, in the full
consciousness of his sovereignty over the gigantic masses of
material still to be subdued. "The plan is enormous,"
said Wilhelm von Humboldt, when Schiller told him about
it. On the ist of July, 1797, Goethe himself made the
astonishing statement, "If I only had now a quiet month
at my disposal the work should shoot up like a great family
of mushrooms out of the earth, to the wonder and terror
of many. " But the quiet month was less than ever a possi-
bility. At that very time he was on the point of departing
again for Italy. Even his memories of Italy, specially
revived by the presence of his old artist friend in Rome,
Hirt, destroyed his interest in Faust. And so we hear him
confessing on the sth of July," only four days later: "Faust
has been put aside; the northern phantoms have been
crowded back for a time by southern reminiscences." The
Italian journey was given up, but his visit with Meyer on
the Lake of Zurich, and his study of the treasures which
his friend had brought home with him, had the same effect
upon him as though he had been again in Italy and had
lost himself there in contemplation of antique and Renais-
sance art. After his return home he took up Faust again
immediately, but with what in view? "In order thereby
to bid farewell to all northern barbarism." That was not
a mood in which the work could grow rapidly. And during
the next two years there was but one month (April, 1798)
in which we find him busily at work, so that, in spite of
Schiller's much urging, the poem made hardly any ap-
preciable advance. Schiller began to despair. On the
* Within my breast I feel a youthful bounding
Beneath the magic spell your train surrounding.
jfaust 263
24th of March, 1800, he wrote to Cotta, "I fear that Goethe
will let his Faust lie unfinished for ever."
Then, contrary to all expectations, the poet's turning
to antique art paved the way for his return to Faust. Out
of his renewed ardent love for antiquity he planned a great
sequel to the Iliad, to which he gave the title Achilleis,
and wrote a part of it in the years 1 797-1 799. Achilleis
very naturally called his attention to Helena and there
awoke in him the desire and courage to undertake that part
of Faust in which the beautiful heroine was to be the central
figure. That was in September, 1800. Once the way to
Faust had been reopened, all the other parts of the drama
profited at the same time. In November he took up the
"Romantic Walpurgis Night," and even the serious illness
from which he suffered in January, 1801, could not destroy
his interest in Faust. On the contrary, after a narrow
escape from death he diligently spun out the threads already
begun, in some cases writing out in full what "had long
lain before him in sketch and outline," among other things,
we may assume, the "Walpurgis Night" and the greater
part of the "gap," and then, as we may further assume,
made use of his own approach "to the very border of the
kingdom of the dead" (letter to Reichardt, February 5,
1801) for the representation of Faust's death. Between
that time and the middle of April he succeeded in finishing
the First Part as we know it, beside adding several frag-
ments to the Second Part. Then heavy stones were rolled
upon the poem: frequent illnesses and journeys to watering
places, devotion to the editorial management of the Je-
naiscke Allgemeine Liter aturzeitung, and, above all, Schiller's
death. The latter event, together with his own continued
state of ill-health, discouraged him so completely that he
gave up for the time being all thought of continuing the
work, and in June, 1805, decided definitely to send it out
again into the world as a fragment, though this time one
consistent with itself. ^^ The breaking out of the war
strengthened his decision and at the same time postponed
the appearance of the First Part till Easter, 1808.
'^264) Zbc %\fe of (5octbe
-- ''The hindrances had meanwhile been removed. He had
regained his health, the editorial management had been
given up, and peace reigned in the land. The desire to
write returned also, but Faust was not the work to be bene-
fited. Pandora and Die Wahlverwandtschaften sprang up
quickly, side by side, Dichtung und Wahrheit and West-
ostlicher Divan were brought into being, but Faust lay as
though in a burial vault. Whence this strange phenomenon ?
Certainly Faust was the work of his Hfe, the greatest and
most characteristic of all, and its roots were intertwined
with all the fibres of his being.
The reason is not hard to discover. In what was still
to be done it was far more a question of giving corporeal
form to ideas, to Goethian metaphysics and ethics, than
of converting real experiences into symbols. If, as in Die
Wander jahre, it had been a question of a loose prose com-
position, it would have been possible to persuade him to
finish it ; and the task would have been easier for him, as the
main outline of the whole work had long ago been sketched
and written down. But with a poem of such high worth
as Faust, the finished parts of which were so full of the warm
blood of life, it seemed impossible for him to> assume the
r61e of a merely philosophising poet and bring to-a close a
definite theme according to a fixed programme. As he
expressed himself in February, 1825, it was necessary,
and was his desire to leave the elaboration to an involuntary
impulse of which he could not say when he might feel it.
The impulse failed to make itself felt, because the experi-
ences which might have excited it were wanting. Not until
the year 1824 did such an experience come to him.
W jiereas the death of -Sc.hi11fii_hg|d hn-riprl the poem for
a longHjme^J^fiTiiea^-^^JBTQiOTi^^ life. By-
ron's life and writings had attracted Goethe's interest in an
ever-increasing measure.^' In the gifted Briton had ap-
peared a younger Faust, who showed the same dissatis-
faction, the same longing for the absolute and the unlimited,
the same stormy assaults upon himself and the world, the
same excess of enjoyment and striving, with all their con-
Ifaust 265
sequences. In spite of these excesses Goethe did not fail
to recognise the great, noble spirit which lived in the Eng-
lish poet. He sympathised with Byron's hard struggle
with himself and began to love him, as one loves a highly
gifted son, who at bottom is good, but errs and strays under
the compulsion of an imperious nature, and of whom one
hopes and knows that he will gradually work his way out
of the enveloping darkness into purity, enlightenment, and
repose, especially if love takes an interest in him. Since,
on the other hand, Byron loved Goethe and admired him
with his whole soul, and had expressed his feeling in the
dedication of his Werner, which he had just published,
the Weimar poet thought that it was time (it was the year
1823) for him to address to his youthful poet comrade, the
only one of the young generation whom he considered his
peer, a few cordial words, assuring him of the " inexhaustible
admiration and love" which he himself and his people
cherished for him. That was saying a great deal, and
hardly without some pedagogical purpose. But the young
poet's life had taken a turn which showed him worthy of
the master's love and veneration. From the arms of his
beloved and, one may say, from his poetry, from all the
enjoyments of life, from spiritual and sensuous reveries,
he had torn himself away in order to devote his whole
strength, his property, and his life to the cause of Greek
liberty. "Yet the highest thought has given thy pure
courage proper weight." He had risen from enjoyment
to unselfish action, just as the German poet had intended
his Faust should do. But this beautiful rise was soon
followed by the catastrophe. "Thou for glorious things
hast striven, but to win was not thy fate." We should
like to add that it was not his fate in the world of deeds.
In the midst of the struggle to defend the fortified town
of Missolonghi against the superior numbers of the Turks
he was carried off by death, on the 19th of April. 1824.
Goethe was filled with deep mourning. A letter from
Byron had aroused in him the hope that after the war was
won he himself should be able to greet at his home in
266 zbc Xife of (Boctbc
Weimar "the most distinguished spirit, the happily won
friend, and at the same time the most humane victor."*
Now both for him and the world this brilliant star had set
for ever. In June he wrote for Medwin's Conversations with
Lord Byron a little essay, in which he set forth his relations
to Byron and his position with reference to him. Otherwise
he was rather silent during this year, as though he could not
speak of the loss with the necessary composure. But the
following year he spoke of it on all occasions; "out of the
abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh. " On the 24th
of February he had a long conversation with Eckermann
about Byron. Several times a change of topics seemed to
have been made, but each time Goethe came back to his
hero. " He seemed inexhaustible on the subject of Byron,"
remarks Eckermann. The following day we see him sitting
over Faust again, after a long, long intervening pause. The
same thing had happened earlier now and then, but nothing
had come of it. At most he merely made a " plan. " This
time it was different. The poem made progress, after a
stagnation of more than twenty years. And at what point
did he pick up the thread to spin it further? In the last
act. From Faust's death he passed on to the burial and
ascension. Pla inly enough, while he wa s-beaaujy Faust to
the grave, he was also.beanng_his English favourite to the
ti^nb.X This must have flowed from a warm heart.
AFEer he had secured peace and heavenly bliss for the
Briton in the picture of Faust he was able to turn his at-
tention to the last days of his hero's life. These left a more
profound trace on the growth of the other part, the Helena,
which had been laid aside in 180 1. Goethe had thought out
more than one sketch for the close of this act. We know
one version. Faust is married to Helena as in the finished
drama. "From this union springs a son who, as soon as
he comes into the world, begins to dance, sing, and rend
the air with fencing strokes. . . . The ever-growing boy
gives the mother much delight. He is allowed to do
*Byron had made immediate use of his influential position to induce
the Turks to adopt a more humane method of conducting war.
Ifaust 267
anything but cross a certain brook. One holiday he hears
music on the other side and sees the country people and
the soldiers dancing. He crosses the line, mingles among
them, gets into a fight, wounds many people, but is finally
slain by a consecrated sword. "*° This was a very good
ending, to borrow Goethe's words. But what did it sig-
nify to him, especially Euphorion? It was a fancy picture
that aroused no lively emotions in his soul. Then "time
brought me this about Lord Byron and Missolonghi and I
very gladly let everything else go" (to Eckermann, _July
5, _I^.3^.' N^
In Byron he could see two things : a Faust, the husband N
of Helena, defending the Peloponnesus, the country of his
wife, against barbarism, and their common progeny, who
was neither purely antique nor purely modern, but a most ^
attractive mixture of the two, a peculiar new creation.
He was a genuine son of Faust, but superior to him in
desire for activity, was restless, high-aspiring, and never
satisfied with his attainments. " Higher must I climb,
and higher, broader still must be my view." With that
the second part of the Helena received the warm life-
blood that it had hitherto lacked. During his further
work the events of the war kept Goethe's eyes constantly
fixed on the Peloponnesus, and by the aid of many works
of travel he became so familiar with those southern valleys
and chasms that he was as much at home in them as in his
own native country, and could weU fancy himself living
in "Europe's southmost mountain range," as the husband
of Helena and the lord of the land. On the 5th of April,
in order to gain this familiarity with the landscape, he
interrupted for several months the work which he had begun
on the 14th of March. Then further postponements were
caused by Karl August's jubilee and his own. In February
of the following year (1826) he took up the work again, and
continued at it uninterruptedly till the 6th of June, when
he finished the Helena act. The touching elegiac tone
was given to the last songs by the fall of Missolonghi, on
'w^"
^e tilife of eoetbe
the 2 2d of April, at which "all the peoples of western
Europe were hushed, bleeding with the Greeks."
After announcing to Wilhelm von Humboldt and Sulpiz
Boisser^e the completion of the act he added : "It is one
of my oldest conceptions. ... I have continued to
work at it frorn time to time, but the piece could be brought
to a close only in the fulness of time, since its action now
spans full three thousand years, from the fall of Troy to the
capture of Missolonghi. "
He gave the Helena to the public immediately, in
the fourth volume of the last edition of his works, as He-
lena, klassisch-romantische Phantasmagorie — Zwischenspiel
zu Faust. The volume was published at Easter, 1827.
The happy completion of the strange central piece of
Faust, with its depth of thought and wealth of most ar-
tistic rh5rtlims, transported him to a state of high exaltation.
When he told Boisser6e of his ecstasy he felt the necessity
of explaining it: "Pardon me, dearest friend, if I seem
exalted. But since God and his nature have let me enjoy
myself for so many years, I know nothing better to do than
to express my grateful recognition through youthful ac-
tivity. I shall show myself worthy of the happiness be-
stowed on me so long as it shall be granted me, and I shall
apply day and night to thought and work to make it
possible." ^
This exaltation was extraordinarily advantageous for
the further progress of the work. Whereas formerly
Goethe had always needed an experience to lift his poetic
conceptions from the depths of his soul where they rested,
they were now carried up to the realm of creation by his
enthusiasm, by his elation at the idea of the whole work, .
and the joyful anticipation of completing it. For the first y
time in his life he was able to command his poetry and did^
not need to wait like a somnambulist for the " involuntary
impulse." Whether this be looked upon as a rising or a
sinking, it was at all events an endless gain for Faust. To
Goethe himself this new way of writing seemed very
remarkable, and after he had completed the work he
3fau0t 269
expressed himself in these words : " By a mysterious psy-
chological turn, which deserves perhaps to be studied, I
believe that I have risen to a method of writing that has
produced during full consciousness things of which I myself
still approve, though I may perhaps never again be able
to swim in this river. Aristotle and other prosaists would
ascribe it to a kind of insanity" (letter to Wilhelm von
Humboldt, December i, 1831).
In the sunlight of this transport, with which clear re-
flection was peacefully combined, Faust matured as rapidly
as possible in view of the poet's advanced age and other
hindering circumstances. From now on it was character-
ised in his diary as "chief business," "chief work," or
"chief purpose." Starting from the act Helena, he first
worked back toward the beginning. Between March,
1827, and February, 1828, he wrote the introductory scenes
of the second act and the larger part of the first. At Easter,
1828, he published what he had finished of the first act:
Faust's regeneration, the appearance at court, the mas-
querade, and the beginmng of the "Pleasure-Garden"
scene. For the fourth time a piece of a piece. The
prophecy of Karl August seemed fulfilled. But Goethe
roguishly put himself under obligations to the public by
the closing words, "To be continued." The autumn and
early winter of the years 1828 and 1829 produced the scenes
which lead up to the "Classical Walpurgis Night." This
scene itself, with its fifteen hundred lines, was dashed off
quickly between January and the end of June, 1830. All
that now remained to be done to complete the mighty arch
was the setting of the keystone, the fourth act. It threat-
ened to fall out of the master workman's hands. In order
to rest in his usual way the aged poet had turned his at-
tention to other work for a few months. Then came the
prostrating news of August's death, which was soon fol-
lowed by the severe hemorrhage (November 26th) . Hardly
had he revived from it when he made the comforting npte
in his diary, under the date of December 2d, "At night
thought of Faust and made some advance."
2 70 ttbe Xife of (5oetbe
In the new year he made more lively progress, and under
the 22nd of July, 1831, appears the significant remark
"The chief business finished." Beside the fourth act he
had at last mastered the hitherto refractory first scene of the
fifth act, " Philemon and Baucis," and thus the whole great
work was finished down to the last line.
One would think that, in order to satisfy the impatience
of the public and the requests of his friends, and to enjoy
during the remaining days of his life the applause of the
best men of the time and those nearest him, of which he
might have been certain, the poet would have published
the new creation at once. Far from it. He had allowed
the fragments to appear in print; the whole was sacred to
him. The fault-finding, the misunderstanding, and a rude
invasion of his sanctuary would have vexed him more than
the applause would have pleased him. He declared that
the day was too absurd and confused, and that he would not
allow his work on the strange structure to be buried under
the drifting sand of the hours (letter to Wilhelm von Hum-
boldt, March 17, 1832).
So he held back the work, preferring, as he had in early
youth, to enjoy himself, in secret what he had created.
But in order to guard against any possible temptation to
take it to pieces, recast the parts, and weld it together
anew, he sealed it up. This precautionary measure availed
nothing. Ten weeks before his death he liberated the
manuscript from its imprisonment in order to read it at
least to his daughter-in-law. The result may be seen from
an entry in his diary under the date of January 24, 1832:
" New excitement over Faust, in consideration of a more
extensive elaboration of the chief motives, which I had
treated altogether too laconically in order to finish. " " And
if he had not died, . . . " we might say, with the fairy tale,
in closing the history of the marvellous work.
/Tlore than six decades had worked at it. The Strasburg
/cathedral and the Sesenheim parsonage, the Frankfort
/ attic room and the Wetzlar meadows, the Offenbach
( gardens and the Swiss Alps, the Villa Borghese and the
faust ?7i
Sistine Chapel, the Weimar and Jena valleys and moun-
tains, the Thuringian Forest, and a thousand other places
and retreats, beside many of his dearest friends and many
world-moving events, Imd witnessed its growth, either as
on-lookers or assistants/^ Out of the old Roman Empire,
which it had an opporjjrfnity to deride, it had grown into
the new German Federation; it was old at the time of the
first French revolution, and was not yet finished at the
time of the second.
And thus in the end it was like those great mediaeval
cathedrals on which whole ages have toiled and moiled.
Beginning as Romanesque structures, they were continued
as Gothic, and their final ornamentations and additions
were Renaissance and baroque. Their noble interior is here
enveloped in the shades of dusk and there shines with magic
brilliancy ; and their dark winding stairs lead us up to high
towers, where we see the bright light of day and our sight
is lost in the endl^sg, distance.
; Faust was an historidl,l person, perhaps a Swabian
from Kundling (Knittlingen) near Bretten, the home of
Melanchthon, whose contemporary he was and who has
left us the relatively most reliable account of him. He was
a strange original, a combination of an arrant swindler
and braggart on the one hand and a clever natural phi-
losopher, such as Theophrastus Paracelsus or Agrippe yon
Nettesheim, on the other. His age believed in such con-
jurers and magicians and took great interest in them, so
that forty or fifty years after his death the first Faust book,
Historia von D. Johann Fausten dem weitbeschreyten Zau-
berer und Schwartzkunstler,*^ was printed by Johann Spies
in Frankfort-on-the-Main, in the year 1587. Hardly had
the folk-book been published when the material it contained
was eagerly seized by a dramatist. The Englishman Mar-
lowe, a forerunner of Shakespeare, wrote the first Faust
tragedy in 1589. The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus,
as his drama is called, was the source and model of all later
Faust dramas, was itself put on the popular stage in Ger-
272 tCbe Xlfe of 6oetbe
many in a great variety of forms, and there soon degene-
rated to a puppet play. It was in this latter form that
Goethe first became acquainted with it.
What was it that made the figure of Doctor Faust appear
to the Germans and to their cousins the English so in-
teresting that they wove a cycle of legends about him and
made him a popular hero of folk-books and dramas? As
it was in the sixteenth century that Faust lived and was
" widely decried, " it is there that the motives of the tragedy
must be sought.
The century was stirred and dominated by two mighty
tendencies, the Renaissance and the Reformation. In the
folk-book it is the relation to the religious movement of
the century that stands in the foreground. Faust sug-
gests Luther, and moreover he is said to have lived in
Wittenberg. While there he had to do with the devil, but
in the opposite sense from Luther. Luther warded off the
devil in the Wartburg by throwing an inkstand at him, and
would not have been afraid if the whole world had been
full of devils, whereas Faust summoned the devil into his
cell in order to enter into a compact with him. He fell
into the devil's clutches, but Luther came off victorious.
There is another contrast between the two characters.
Faust was a magician. Such an antichristian magician
had been encountered by the apostles Peter and John in
the person of Simon Magus, of whom an account is given
in the eighth chapter of The Acts of the Apostles The
Christianity of the Middle Ages set up in opposition to this
heathen, Neoplatonic magic the divine magic of the sac-
rament. Luther was more radical, and condemned all
magic as diabolical. Whoever gave himself over to magic
was lost; he fell into the power of the devil. Hence in the
sixteenth century there was no salvation for Faust.
The other side began also to appear. It was a period
of fermentations and upheavals, of mighty struggle and
violent rebellion, and a gigantic wave of Storm and Stress
swept through the world. Luther shows something of the
movement, has something of the demonic in him. But
IfaUSt ^73^
he recognised certain bounds and confined his reason to the
limits of the Bible, whereas others knew no bounds. They
demanded full satisfaction for their reason through their
reason; they desired to know everything, and in their
impatient haste sought after a magic key that should tmlock
for them the interior of nature. Such a man is Faust.
Even in the oldest folk-book he appears as a representative
of this thirst for knowledge, where it is said of him: "He
took unto himself the wings of an eagle and resolved to
search into all the deep things of heaven and earth." He
desired of the devil an explanation of theological matters
and of the things of natural science. The doctor theologies
became a doctor medicines et rerum naturalium, an astrologer
and an astronomer, a mathematician and a natural phi-
losopher. It is an example of that revolt and separation
from theology and the Church, that knowledge of the world,
which soon became as fatal to Lutheranism as to the me-
diseval Church. One need but think of Hutten and Reuch-
lin, of Copernicus and Kepler, of Giordano Bruno and
Campanella, remembering at the same time that America
was discovered in the period of the Renaissance. With the
struggle for knowledge was combined a mysticism which
desired not only to enter into a direct religious union with
God, but also, with its regained enjoyment of nature, to
penetrate philosophically the interior of nature and com-
prehend her from within. This mysticism was closely re-
lated to magic, from which in its impatience it expected
and sought help. Along with this we find early, particularly
in Marlowe, a longing for power, the desire to know how
to do everything. As we know. Bacon, the English phi-
losopher of the Renaissance, considered knowledge power.
To this desire to know all things and to be able to do all
things was added the third, to enjoy all things, or, as the
Faust book puts it, "to lead an Epicurean life."
T he desire for knowledge , the desire for power, ^ndLi he
desire to live absolutely free from reslTrajSTwere, then, the
th'ree""'greartSHaSSS£"s'or'tIie sixteenth century. A further
element of importance in the folk-book is the fact that
VOL. III. 18
274 ^be %\tc of (Boetbc
Paust conjures up the shades of Alexander the Great and
Helena, the representatives of the Greek world. They are
•called back to life from the oblivion of death, just as at that
time the beautiful statues of the Greek gods, which had
been drawn forth from their hiding-places under the ground,
Tvere celebrating a true resurrection. Tl ius the calling
backja ijfe of classical antiquity, and th e longing for be auty
-which it enkindled in the breasts of men who had outgrown
the Middle Ages, became ihtimately'"emiae<4ed with the
desire-oTthe periS ^for" Knowlegge^nd true life? All these
ten^lci©s~-«a3i4''nwtives'~w^fe''tliCGf^^ the legend
•of Doctor Faust.
^■"^etween that period and the period of Goethe's youth
there is a striking similarity. Goethe's early manhood
was also a time of fermentation, full of Titanic defiance
and Promethean impatience, full of impulse toward self-
power and self-glory, filled with the desire to live and a
yearning for nature, except that in the place of knowledge
of nature we find feeling for nature, combining the sense
of Rousseau with the ideas of Spinoza. This period also
drew nearer and nearer, step by step, to classical education
until, in neo-humanism, it attained a higher and fuller
'g.50,sp of the classical ideal.
'' Hence in the eighteenth century it was possible for the
old Faust legend to arouse new interest and exert a new
attraction, and at the same time to become a vessel in
which the movements of the age could be gathered and
given plastic form. After Lessing, Goethe laid hold upon
the material, almost by inward necessity, for he was the
greatest son of his century and the boldest champion of the
new Storm and Stress. |v But the age was different from
that in which Faust had lived and become the hero of the
legend and the drama ; hence the tragedy of Faust had to be
different. And above all we must not forget that Goethe
did not finish it in the eighteenth century, but that when
he put the last hand to it the nineteenth century was already
far advanced. In these two facts, one might almost say, lies
the whole problemof Goethe' s'T'dusi, wEicHls now to engage
jfaust 275
our attenti(^ . This brings us back again to the history
ot the composition and reminds us that Faust appeared
in public in three different stages — the first time in 1790,
as a Fragment among the poet's collected writings; the
second time in 1808, the First Part as we have it to-day;
finally, in 1832, after Goethe's death, the whole drama
in its finished form, including both the First Part and the
larger Second Part. We shall base our presentation on
this historical order, taking up first the Fragment of 1790.
It consisted of the following sixteen scenes: (i) Faust's
monologue, his conjuring up of the Earth-Spirit, and his
conversation with his famulus Wagner. Then, after a
great "gap," (2) Faust and Mephistopheles, beginning,
as it were, in the middle of a sentence, with the words,
" And all that to humanity is portioned will I within mine
own heart learn to know," and followed by the "Student"
scene. (3) Auerbach's Cellar in Leipsic. (4) The Witches'
Kitchen. (5) Street — Faust — Margaret passing by — Me-
phistopheles. (6) In Margaret's Chamber. (7) Prome-
nade — Faust and Mephistopheles. (8) The Neighbour's
House. (9) Street — Faust and Mephistopheles. (10) Gar-
den and Garden- Arbour. (11) Gretchen at. the Spin-
ning Wheel. (12) Martha's Garden — Faust's Confession of
Faith. (13) At the Fountain. (14) Forest and Cavern.
(15) Zwinger — "Incline, O Maiden, thou sorrow-laden,"
etc. (16) Cathedral — Margaret and the Evil Spirit. With
this the Fragment closes, whereas the Urfaust had carried
the Gretchen tragedy through the Prison scene — but in
prose — ^to the end.
As in the case of Marlowe's Doctor Faustus, Goethe's
drama begins with a long monologue by Faust. It contains
the exposition and represents Faust in the situation and
mood which lead him to advance to the unusual and the
superhuman, and which give us a clue to the understanding
of the whole tragic element of his life. Even in the oldest
versions of the legend we have found various motives for
Faust's giving himself to the devil: longing for knowledge,
the desire to know all things, and the longing for life, the
276 Zfje Xlfe of (Boetbc
desire to be able to do all things, to have all things, and to
enjoy all things. The^first thing^mentiOTied in Goethe's
drama is the_desire- "fef -telowTedge. Faust is fiaH-ef all
Knowledge and all wisdom. He has acquired all the learn-
ing of all the schools, is cleverer than all the fops, and is
tormented neither by scruples nor by doubts. But his
knowledge has not satisfied him, has not made him happy.
Therefore he has applied himself to magic in the hope that
through the power and voice of spirits many a secret may
be revealed to him, that he may recognise what binds the
world together in its inmost parts, may explore all pro-
ductive powers and embryos and no longer deal in empty
words. So speaks the learned man. It is the impatience
of the scholar who would like to brush aside all mediateness
of knowledge and force his way directly into the deepest
secrets of the world. He desires to behold objectively, just
as Goethe himself was a man of objective thought. Magic
serves as an expression and a S3mibol for this. But there
is also a third element, longing to exert an influence — "I
do not pretend I could be a teacher To help or convert a
fellow-creature" — and dissatisfaction with his whole out-
ward existence — " Then, too, I 've neither lands nor gold.
Nor the world's least pomp or honour hold." This is fol-
lowed immediately by the angry ejaculation, " No dog
would endure such a cursed existence!" IBittgnie^and
^Uen anger, joylessness, solitariness, a nd emptinessarg^
^&=emafcttii;ElESZffll31^"'breast of tEis^teamed and es-
gd^ universit y prg f^SQ3C.—-|
Then suddenly a different and a fuller tone, beginning
Irith the words, " O full-orbed moon, would that thy glow
^'or the last time beheld my woe!" No more solitariness
/and emptiness ; there is a note of longing, approaching hope ;
there is a strain of tenderness, bordering on sentimentality
and reminding one of Ossian and Werther. The source
of his dissatisfaction is now different. He -«<^^ Inn g-er c^e.-
^-sires to know^evexyt hing— it is th&Ji nnart!m;alngRf;_nf his life
asa'SGlKoFarf of.;^wholeexist^ in fact, that is the burden
,^of his lamentatioir~~W^iJX.kiiow-4Qes not satisfy me.
Ifaust 277
said Faust thejearne^ man ; \Knowledgeand investigation
alone do, not satisfy me, says this Faust..'' Hence even out-
waiiffly the tone and style are different. Whereas before
he was angry and sullen, and his words were brief, dry,
and spiritless, he now glows with passion, and his language
becomes tender, poetical, and elegiac; or, to express it
philosophically, before everything was negative, now all is
positive.
And so we now have a new: motive, for his determination
to devote himself to magic. ) With him it is no longer a
questit5fi',"or at least'only in"a slight degree, of adding to and
broadening his knowledge ; he feels more like saying, Away
with all knowledge and investigation! For knowledge is
mere words, is smoke and mould, skeletons of brutes and
dead men's bones. What he now seeks, on the contrary,
is bliss, is young and sacred happiness of life, is courage
and strength, daring and bearing, is satisfaction of soul
and feeling, of nerve and vein, of heart and breast : is, in
a word, life — not knowledge alone, but feeling as well,
feeling with heart and souf; not knowledge alone, but also
will and action, enjoyment and deeds. Then away with
the unnaturalness of the one-sided life of a scholar! Na-
ture, nature! cries this Faust, who would fain be a man, a
full and complete man.
The presence of these two moods, two motives, and two
styles, has been unfavourably criticised, but the criticism
is entirely wrong. *2 ^iemomgijt„jJaat.. Faust the scholar
suffers shipwreck, Faust the man begins to speak. The
angry, -bitter- mood of the first lines is followed- by the„Je_nder,
glowing, longing mood,' which is fundamental ; and, whereas
..^tKetBflneFis expressed in a few brief words, the latter gives
rise to a broad stream of words bearing a wealth of inspired
poetic imagery. The scholar is conscious of but one im-
pulse, but in Faust two souls have dwelt from the beginning.
Was it different with Goethe? The professor becomes a
man. Is that inconceivable? Besides, there is another
more general element. The Faust who, out of desire for
knowledge, devotes himself to magic is first of all a son of
278 ^be Xlfe of (5oetbc
the sixteenth century. The one soul in Goethe is thor^
aughly in sympathy with him. The Faust who desires
and seeks fulness of life is at the same time the Faust of
bhe eighteenth century, with his WejatliejLmood and hi^
Rousseauian longing for natur^ Goethe's nature is eit
tirely aFone with his. ffiheJoma^auEaugt, then, is but the
springboard by the help of which Goethe mounts to the
height of the latter, in order to get from the sixteenth
bo the eighteenth century, from Faust and the world of the
Renaissance to his own self and his world of Storm and
3tresgg!> Hence /the monologue is thoroughly harmonious,
3ven though the first mood be followed by a seemingly
conflicting one. Instead of being mutually exclusive,
they are essential to each other ; the one furnishes the mo-
tive for the other and supplements and explains it, and in
what might be termed mysticism they find the bond which
Dinds them into a unity in the breast of a man.
Nofflllet us consider Faust's exftciitiori nf his-jj^feermwa-
ion tojdev^^^temselt Jo nia^cA First the sign of the
rfacrocosm, the All, the Whole, with its three parts, the
iivine, the stellar world, and the sublunar region of our
planet, the sign of creative nature, the natura naturans of
Spinoza, " Where each the Whole its substance gives, Each
n the other works and lives. And powers celestial, rising
md descending, From heaven to earth their genial influence
3ringing, Through the All their chimes melodious ringing."
' But alas ! 't is but a spectacle ! ' ' Why ? " Am I a God ? ' '
le asked himself at first, when he saw this sight. Ashe
ater discovers, this Whole is, in reality, made only for a
jod. By man it is to be grasped only in the picture and
sign, as a spectacle ; for him it is only a matter of contem-
plation, at best satisf5dng for one who could be content
vith knowledge and find peace in it. The scholar Faust
night perhaps have been satisfied with it, for the man
iroused in him it is no longer possible.
So he turns away angrily and opens the book at the
;ign of the Earth-Spirit. "Thou, Spirit of the Earth, to
ne art nearer!" In order to understand this transition
Ifaust 2 7(
from the macrocosm to the Earth-Spirit let us bear ii
mind the lines of Grenzen der Menschheit, written somewha
later :
®enn mit ©ottcrn
©oil fid) ni(^t meffcn
Srgenb ein SKenfd^.
§ebt cr fic^ aufrodrtS
Unb bcru[)rt
9Kit bent ©^eitcl bie ©ternc,
SUirgcnbg ^nftcn bann
Sie unfic^crn So^Ien,
Unb mit il)m fpielcn
SBoIten unb SSinbe.
@te^t cr mit fcften,
SRortigcn Snodjcn
Sluf ber rao^Igcgriinbeten
Sauernben 6rbe,
W\i)i er nid)t auf,
9lur mit ber Sic^c
Obcr ber 9lclie
©id) jit oergIetd)cn. *
The poem ends with a tone of resignation, but Faus
* For with immortals
Mortal should never
Measure his strength.
If he, aspiring,
Rise to such height
That his crown touch the stars,
His soles unsteady
Have nowhere to stand.
And he is the sport
Of clouds and winds.
If he with sturdy,
Sinewy frame
Tread the enduring.
Firm-standing earth,
He will not venture
E'en with the oak
Or with the vine
Himself to compare.
So Zbe %ltc of (Boetbc
loes not resign himself. "Thou must! thou must! and
hough my life it cost me ! " he cries out with Titanic courage
,nd Promethean boldness. And the Earth-Spirit appears
o him. Not the All, not the Whole, not heaven and not
lell, not a beyond above or below, but the earth, the en-
iuring, firm-standing earth is the place where Faust seeks
,nd hopes to find satisfaction. This is the through and
hrough earth-centred spirit of modern man ; it is the S^^o-
istic standpoint of the immanence of God, which Goethe
bout that time assumed for the rest of his life. For the
arth is also God's. This spirit is first of all the personified
pitome of the life of nature, the force of nature and life
.pon this earth, including human nature and its sensuous
ide. But since it says of itself that even " in the storm of
ieeds" it works and labours at the humming loom of time, ~
nd since Goethe calls it the "genius of the world and
,ction, " there is something still higher involved in it. Hu-
aan life, history, the world of deeds and actions, with their
torms and passions, belong to its realm. In Faust's heart
, longing for action is combined with his longing for nature,
,nd both are embodied in the Earth-Spirit, but for a time
he longing for nature occupies the foreground.
The whole of nature, the whole of human life, appears
a bodily form before Faust, and the latter exclaims : " Woe's
ae! I cannot bear thee." Yet it is only for a moment
hat this IJbermensch is a prey to pitiful fear. He quickly
oUects himself and exclaims, "'Tis I, 'tis Faust, who
m thine equal!" But he is hurled from this proud height
ly the answer of the Spirit, " Thou 'rt like the spirit thou
bst comprehend, not nie!" "Not thee? Whom then?"
re ask with Faust. Can it be that the man who has his
set solidly planted on the enduring, firm-standing earth
3 not like the Earth-Spirit? Why should he not be? If
le is not like this Spirit, what does he resemble? Cer-
ainly he, the son of earth, is like the Spirit of the Earth,
^nd yet he is not the Spirit's equal; for he is only a part,
/hereas the Spirit is a whole ; he is small, whereas the Spirit
3 great; he is limited, whereas the Spirit is comparatively
3fau6t 281
unlimited. Here we find in Faust both the guilt and the
tragedy of the finite — guilt, in that man desires to be an
Ubermensch and presumes to be the equal of the infinite;
tragedy, in that he must recognise that he is not the whole
and not infinite. Faust has drawn the Earth-Spirit with
mighty force, because his striving toward the whole is
natural and justified, but he fails to comprehend the Spirit
because he himself is finite. With the recognition of this
fact, with this answer, this annihilation of his highest hopes
and desires, the apparition of the Earth-Spirit comes to
an end and the famulus Wagner enters. ■''"'^
Just the opposite of Faust, a dry bookworm and pedant,
really conscious of but one impulse, eager to know every-
thing — but for what purpose! — a Philistine of education,
a prosaic, spiritless apostle of enlightenment after the style
of Nicolai, insipid, vain, and empty, and yet, in his rev-
erence for Faust, his complete self-satisfaction, and in-
tellectual assurance, he is harmless and naive, a comic
figure by the side of the tragic hero. Hence at the present
moment it is entirely in plaSe for Faust, in the conversation
with him, to oppose heart and feeling to empty knowledge,
the Hving to the dead, the natural to the artificial. But,
much as he may be in the right, Faust here becomes bitter
and pessimistic again, as in his first monologue, and appears
more hopeless than before. He speaks harshly, especially
concerning history. To him it is an offal-barrel and a
lumber-garret, and men are always the same; the few who
have revealed their true thoughts and feelings have always
been crucified or burned at the stake. Schopenhauer later
expressed approximately the same opinion of history,
and if we think further of Nietzsche's antagonism to the
historical tendency of our day, we see how creative minds
must indeed feel something like a hindrance or fetters ill
the "critical endeavour" of the historian to go back to the
sources. It is in this sense that Goethe's aversion for
history is to be explained. —
With this the first scene comes to a close. In the Frag-
ment of 1790 we next find Faust in conversation with
282 Zbc %lte of (Boetbc
Mephistopheles. Who is this Mephistopheles and whence
does he come? He is the devil, for he tells us so himself,
in this very first scene in which he appears. And it is so
simple, too. Nothing was gained hYcomm^QiQa,.JsMihJil&.
Ea rth-Sp irit: th at, attemp t cameJto..aJbia£a£_,.gMt. ,.JJ3,~m&,
despair M.d the pessimistic embitterment^,]Eggu]Jang^ceaiii'Jt
Faust conjured up'thedevil and gave himself up to Mm.
Here we come upon difficulties. Before Wagner s
entrance we heard Faust utter things that cannot be har-
monised with such an act of despair. " My fairest fortune
brought to naught! Oh, that this moment vision-fraught
The grovelling pedant should disturb!" "My fairest for-
tune." What does this mean in the mouth of a man who
is broken-spirited, humble, and full of despair? We must
consider it in connection with the fourteenth scene of the
Fragment, the one entitled "Forest and Cavern." "Ex-
alted spirit, thou hast heard my prayer and granted all.
'T was not in vain that in the fire thou turn'dst thy face
to me," Faust there says of the appearance of the Earth-
Spirit; and he continues in the same tone. But then he
adds, " With this ecstasy, which brings me near and nearer
to the gods, thou gav'st this comrade." Here, too, he
speaks of his great happiness, adding the new fact that the
Spirit has given him Mephistopheles, who, therefore, is
not the devil, but a messenger, an emissary of the Earth-
Spirit.*^ And so the attempt has been made to establish^,
the view that in all the old part of the drama, excepting at
most the "Witches' Kitchen," Mephistopheles is an earthly
demon, one of those elflike elementary spirits, such as the
Earth-Spirit has at its disposal, but not a spirit of hell and
evil, not the devil in whom the popular myth beliejjgis».«»^
whom a higher conception takes as a symbolf^But this
interpretation, in spite of its acceptance by many, is un-
tenable, if for no other reason, because of the legend, in
which the compact with the devil is from the very beginning
absolutely indispensable, is in fact the essential feature.
Even in Goethe's drama there are a number of passages
which speak against it, and they are found, too, in the
jfaust 28
oldest version, the Urfaust, in the "Student" scene, v
"Auerbach's Cellar," and in the Gretchen tragedy, wher
we read explicitly of the devil and of hell. The only seen
which apparently represents a difiEerent view is the one ii
prose entitled "Dismal Day — ^A field." There it reall;
sounds as though Mephistopheles were an emissary of th
Earth-Spirit. But even if Goethe may have had this vie\
at one time in the early stage of the composition — and eve]
here a different interpretation is possible — he certainl;
discarded it shortly afterward. However, that fourteent]
scene, "Forest and Cavern," at least the first part of it
cannot be made to harmonise with our conception of th
diabolical nature of Mephistopheles.
Goethe composed the scene in Italy, and on the ist o
March, 1788, he wrote: "It was a full week, which stand
out in my memory like a month. First the plan of Fans
was made, and I hope I have been successful in this opera
tion. Of course writing the piece out now is a differen
thing from what it would have been fifteen years ago.
think it will lose nothing thereby, especially as I believ
I have now found the thread again." He believes he ha
found the thread again, and in the "Witches' Kitphen,'
which was also written in Italy, he really did find it. Bu
, not in this soliloquy. Here a foreign element enters in
One can see it even in the majestic style of the unrhymec
iambics and in the conception of nature with which Goeth
first became familiar on his Italian journey. So Mephis
topheles does not appear the same in this scene as elsewhere
he is here really the emissary of the Earth-Spirit. Further
more we are told that in Italy the Earth-Spirit gave Goethi
everything for which he prayed, whereas to Faust it di(
not give everjrthing — did not give him, in fact, the very thinj
for which he had prayed. Finally, that this scene, with it
classical colouring, is a foreign element in the Northen
composition of Faust is shown clearly by the fact that
having no true resting-place, it had to wander about. Ii
the Fragment of 1790 it came after the scene "At the Foun
tain." According to this arrangement Gretchen ha
284 Zbc Xife of (Boetbe
already fallen. With what purpose then is Mephistophele;
made to urge Faust to return to her in the second part o
the scene? In the edition of 1808, on the other hand, th
scene is thought of as occurring at the same time as Gretch
en's song "At the Spinning Wheel," that is, before he:
seduction and fall. It fits better there, but only in part
and so the scene, above all the soliloquy with which it be
gins, is both in language and in content a foreign elemen
that can nowhere find its true resting-place.
After all do not the words of Faust at the entrance o
Wagner, after his disappointment with the Earth-Spirit
justify the other interpretation? They would, if the wordi
had been the same originally. But in the Urfaust we read
"I'm low and lower brought to naught! Oh, that thii
moment vision-fraught The humdrum dreamer must dis
turb!" The "moment vision-fraught" is retained. Tha
fits the facts. But the "fairest fortune," and with it th(
stumbling-block, has vanished. Faust is annihilated b]
the plenitude of visions, and instead of his having an oppor
tunity to recover himself Wagner comes and complete;
his annihilation by reminding him of his intolerable ex
istence and forcing him back to the complete emptinesi
of the commonplace life of the scholar. Thus the old plai
of the poem remains, and with it the old interpretatioi
of Mephistopheles. Faust's union with the Earth-Spiri-
has failed. In his despair on account of it he gives himsel
to the devil, who steps up to his side as Mephistopheles
The scene, on the other hand, in which Faust boasts of th(
gifts of the Earth-Spirit, and characterises Mephistophelei
as a messenger and emissary of this Spirit, is out of har
mony with that plan. The monologue, beginning "Ex
alted Spirit," is an expression of Goethe's satisfied feelinj
in Italy, but is out of place in Faust. *"•
-v^o Mephistoph eles is^ the devil. True, he is not tb
deAm^Ttliefcilk-bo^r and nolE" at all the devil of the six
teenth century. In the Fragment he does not yet defim
himself and the Lord does not yet characterise him as th
wag whom he finds least troublesome of all the spirits tha
Ifaust 285
deny. As a matter of fact, however, he is such a wag in the
Fragment, a wag indeed in a twofold sense. He plays with
himself, speaks ironically of himself, and he has humour.
What Goethe gained thereby is clear. i^a-tiiae..wlien,men
iioJongsi;believed in the devil of the sixte;gfl,th„ century
the shrewJ, 'BnMfK?ene3r3evIt'''lnu in
himself. But wKat""Gro"ethe lost in reality he gained in
deptir"of symbolism, in significance and importance. He
enhanced also his art as a poet. The devil jokes himself
out of existence and yet he stands before us. Such a devil
we can endure. In the second place the uncanny atmo-
sphere of hell is removed, or is at least perceptible only to
divining spirits, and we have instead a comfortable at-
mosphere of htimour, which makes it possible for us to
understand how Faust can endure the society of his* un-
canny comrade. The fact that the devil is humorous is
also a gain for Faust. Finally Goethe's whole optimism
lies therein, closely related to which are his natural gentle-
ness, that later became Olympic repose, and his pantheistic,
Spinozistic view of the world sub specie mternitatis, which
sees things from a standpoint above good and evil. This
conception of the evil one certainly has its justification,
especially if the other darker and deeper point of view is
not wanting; and that this is not wanting is soon made
certain by the Gretchen tragedy. /
Goethe later makes Mephistopheles say of himself that
he is "A part o' that power, but little understood. Which
e'er designs the bad and e'er creates the good." He does
not say that in the Fragment, but it is true of him, as is
shown by his influence on Faust. He tries to lead Faust
to ruin, and yet the result of his endeavours is something
entirely different. In a word, we may characterise his
influence as pedagogical. . Mephistopheles, with his clear,
brilliant understanding, becomes Faust's tutor. What does
he say to him in their very first conversation? Truths, and
nothing else, introducing his statements with "Oh, believe
me." To be sure, he would like to draw down this lofty
spirit from his ideal height, from his striving toward, the
286 ^be %ifc of (Boetbe
absolute, would like to turn him away from his original
source; and so to Faust, the visionary and idealist, full of
illusions, he opposes with inexorable logic the real world in
all its nakedness and reality, without illusions ; to his lofty
aspiration to the absolute, the bounds and limitations of
such striving; to his mind fixed on the highest things, the
whole lowness and commonness of life, and to his super-
sensuous spirit the degrading power of sensuousness. " Un-
derstanding against reason," says Schiller aptly, in his
Kantian language. The effect may be, though it is not
necessarily, different from what he desires and expects.
Faust is cured of his unsound idealism ; he recognises that
the real side has also its just rights, and hence gives up his
too lofty aims ; and he gradually becomes reconciled to the
bounds and limitations which have been set for finite man.
In this connection Goethe was doubtless thinking of Herdei
and Merck and their influence on him. They must often
have seemed to him devilish, when they jeered at his am-
bitions and ruthlessly broke his idols over his head. And
yet they were right. Thus false, devilish realism may be-
come for Faust a school of sound, true realism. -*— ""^
A student enters and gives Mephistopheles, masked as
Faust, an opportunity for tliat delicious bit of persiflage
at the four faculties and the whole system of universit)
instruction of the time. This scene furnishes a supple-
mentary, detailed justification of Faust's disgust at phi-
losophy, jurisprudence, medicine, and alas! also theology
His scoffing at collegium logicum and his mockery at meta
physics, unfortunately very superficial; his revolutionary
Rousseauesque distinction between statute laws and natura
rights, the latter of which, alas ! are never considered ; hi
thoughtful words concerning the hidden poison of theology
and his frivolous prattle about the spirit of medicine, an
so enjoyable that we are glad to miss in the Fragment th
student- jokes about board and lodging at Frau Sprizbier
lein's, which had found their way into the Urfaust fron
vivid memories of Leipsic. This scene took the place of ;
great disputation which Goethe had originally planned ani
Ifaust 287
during -which Faust was doubtless to say things which
could not fail to bring him, the freethinker, into conflict
with the orthodox pedants of the university, so that he
would have felt forced to leave his office and the city.**
At any rate it affords an explanation of the first appearance
of Mephistopheles in the form of a travelling scholar.
And now up! and out into the wide world! or, with less
pathos, "Then quick, from all reflection free. Come, plunge
into the world with me!" "The little world and then the
great we '11 see. " First the little world, or as Mephistopheles
formulates it to himself, "Him will I drag through revels
gay, His lust with vapid trifles feed." Vapid and trifling,
indeed, are the merry fellows in Auerbach's Cellar, and we
feel certain that Faust can take no pleasure in their society.
And yet for the university professor, leaving his position
behind for the pleasures of life, the most natural thing to
do first is to see what he may find in students' merriment.
The scene is depicted in the spirit of the old Faust legend.
The causing of different wines to flow is a magic trick which
in the Urfaust is not perfonmed by Mephistopheles, but by
Faust, so that there at least Faust is not condemned to
complete passivity.
Then follows the "Witches' Kitchen." This scene, as
we have already heard, was composed by Goethe in Rome,
in 1788. It is remarkable how surely he was able to strike
the Northern, barbaric tone in the midst of the classic
world of Italy, and at the moment when he was recasting
Iphigenie into iambic pentameters beautifully modelled
after the classic style. And yet on the other hand it is
natural. His wild revelries in Weimar and his whole
Storm-and-Stress period lie behind him and must seem to
him, here in Italy, especially wild and senseless. At the
same time we notice here the beginning of a tendency which
was to become more and more detrimental to the drama
as time went on, namely, the inclination to weave into the
poem all sorts of literary, political, and dogmatic allusions,
the number of which in this scene was still further increased
in the later version.
288 tTbe Xife of (Boetbe
But what is the purpose, in the midst of the drama,
of all this hocus-pocus? Faust is to be rejuvenated by
means of the witch's magic potion; the filthy mess is to
take thirty years from his body. Is that necessary? The
Faust who in the monologue looks up so longingly at the
moon, and strives after nature with such ardent desire,
has a young heart and youthful senses. . Study makes one
prematurely old, but we are now no longer dealing with this
over-educated man; we have to do with the human being,
the youth, the man, who is to open his heart to sensuous
love for woman, with all its power and passion, and this
is symbolised by his visit to the Witches' Kitchen. " Is 't
possible ? Hath woman such charms ? " he asks, accordingly,
as he stands before the picture in the magic mirror. So it is
woman, not Gretchen or Helena, but the Eternal-Womanly,
that appears to him here, though at present only in a form
that charms the senses, allures, and seduces. The devil
thinks that he will catch him with this lure, but perhaps
woman — first Gretchen, then Helena — will serve to free
Faust from the devil and thus to prepare the way for the
Eternal-Womanly in that higher sense according to which
it is to draw him upward and redeem him. In that case
Mephistopheles is already the power which e'er designs
the bad and yet perhaps creates the good — ^is already the
deceived devil.
And now the Gretchen tragedy, a new variation of the
favourite Storm-and-Stress theme of "the infanticide."
But what has Goethe made of it? These Gretchen scenes,
taken together, form probably the greatest masterpiece of
poetry ever written. Infinite in their beauty and tender-
ness, they are at the same time so profoundly tragical that
all the woes of mankind appear in the most narrow limits
of the life of a girl of the common people.
First Faust's senses are inflamed at the sight of Gretchen.
In the Urfaust we read, "A wondrous pretty maid is she,
And something she 's inflamed in me. " Hardly has he seen
her when he says to Mephistopheles, "Hear! Thou must
the girl for me procure." The potion has had its effect;
faust 289
he speaks like Jack Profligate, speaks almost like a French-
man. Mephistopheles leads him to her chamber, into the
atmosphere in which she moves, in order to arouse his
appetite still more. But how differently Faust is affected
by the scene! How ashamed he is of his sensuous desire,
how vile he seems to himself in this earthly sanctuary of
innocence and purity! Yet it is just as natural that his
determination, expressed in the words "Away! I '11 ne'er
return again," should be sacrificed to his stronger sensuous
impulse, especially as it is soon supported by the deeper
feeling of love, which begins to spring up in his heart.
To Gretchen, the divining angel, after her return home,
the air of her room feels sultry and close. As though
prophesying her own future, she sings Der Konig in Thule,
that ballad of fidelity and parting. Then she finds the
casket. " What the dickens is in this thing?" exclaims the
child of the common people, and she cannot take her eyes
off its contents, for " Gold all doth lure. And gold procure
All gladly! Alas, we poor!" A good deal of the social
problem, with all its terrible, world-stirring consequences,
is crowded into these few words, and they affect us imme-
diately and deeply, though it is not obvious that such is
their purpose. Even the Church is powerless here. "Just
think, the gems for Gretchen got, they say, A priest hath
slyly snatched away!" But she "the jewels day and night
thinks o'er. On him who brought them dwells still more."
And now the two go-betweens, the devil and Frau
Martha, the latter almost more diabolical than the former.
We are astonished that Gretchen should make a confidante
of this woman. She very soon sees through Mephistopheles ;
why not Frau Martha? "Alas, we poor!" again explains
everything. The poor have not the liberty to choose whom
they wiU for their friends. In this sharply defined circle
the relation between Gretchen and Martha is that of neigh-
bours. In contrast to the exacting, bigoted mother, Martha
is indulgent and friendly, and as Gretchen is accustomed
to the go-between neighbour's face she accepts her friend-
liness as genuin®rwithout a sign of mistrust.
VOL. 111.-19. "^
290 tTbe %\tc of (Boetbe
The first meeting in the garden is arranged; but ap-
parently there is an obstacle in the way. Faust is expected
to testify that Frau Martha's husband's remains repose in
holy ground in Padua, and yet he knows nothing about it.
So he is expected to swear falsely. Although his objections
to such an act are soon overcome, it is apparent even at
this early stage that Mephistopheles has made a mistake
in his reckoning with regard to Faust. "Liar, sophist,"
Faust calls him, as though, apart from this, he were not
ready at any moment to swear falsely of his " eternal truth
and love, That power tmique, all other powers above."
Faust assures Mephistopheles, however, that the vow will
really come from his heart. "If passion sways me. And
I the glow wherewith I bum Call quenchless, endless, yea,
eterne. Is that a devilish, lying game?" Mephistopheles
is right, to be sure; Faust's purpose is deception and se-
duction. And yet Faust is also right. Love is eternal;
not in the common sense of temporal endlessness, but in
the much higher sense that here the common, the sensuous,
the finite is raised above its limitations, is ennobled, spir-
itualised, idealised to the qualitatively infinite, that in the
idealism of true love the realism of sensuousness does not
in the end prevail; and against these illusions Mephisto-
pheles is powerless.
The next scene is the promenade of the two pairs in the
garden. The picture of Gretchen is charming in every line
and feature: in her naive simplicity, her sweet innocence,
her confiding humility, in the description of her little joys
and sorrows and of her simple performance of the duties
of her narrow existence, and, finally, in her pla37ful pluck-
ing off of the leaves of the star flower in her new budding
love. And then on the following day her longing for her
beloved, as she sits at the spinning wheel. The flower of
love is full-blown. One may justly say that her words are
too high-sounding in the mouth of a "poor, ignorant
child," but who would desire to have a single one of them
changed ?
In the next scene we find her again with Faust. Trou-.
Ifaust 291
bled about the salvation of her beloved's soul, she asks,
"How is 't with thy religion, pray?" and Faust declares
his confession of faith, which even externally is a master-
piece, conceived in the highly poetic style of Ganymed,
Grenzen der Menschheit, and Das Gottliche. It is an in-
imitably beautiful clothing of philosophic thought in ques-
tions full of spiritual intuition and feeling. Like Schiller's
philosophic poems, it is crowded with ideas, yet is purest
poetry. The thought-content is the confession of faith
of a pantheist, which Goethe, as we know, always was.
And this pantheism is nature-pantheism and nature-mys-
ticism, not as philosophy, but as real religion. "Call it
Bliss! Heart! Love! God! Feeling is all in all. " Heart
and Love, it well may be; but how does it come, then, that
a man so full of heart and full of love can endure the society
of a Mephistopheles, when it is so clear that naught on earth
his sympathy can draw, that to his heart no soul is dear?
Herein lies the difference between Gretchen and Faust.
She is really all heart and love, whereas in his breast two
souls dwell. He has the egoistic, scoffing companion at his
side because he himself is not all heart, not all pure, eter-
nal love, because as a man he is at once feeling and
understanding.
Is there any indication of this lack in the confession of
faith itself? Yes and no. This pantheistic confession is
Goethe's own creed. Then he certainly did not intend to
represent it as in any way imperfect or condemnable. And
yet it is not a mere accident that immediately after it the
seduction is attempted and accomplished. Psychologically
the observation is perfectly correct that such moments of
spiritual exaltation, especially if they are so largely a pro-
duct of feeling, are followed by a relapse into sensuousness,
and the supersensuous wooer very quickly becomes a
sensuous lover. Religious mysticism is particularly often
endangered by this lapse into sensuousness.
There is one thing more. "Thou hast no Christian-
ity," says Gretchen. In these words she points out a gap
in Faust's creed. She misses in it the dogmatic side of
292 ^be Xife of 6oetbc
Christianity. We may translate her words into our own
language and say that Faust's emotional pantheism lacks
moral force and energy, moral self-discipline, the recog-
nition of the moral law and its sacredness. The fault does
not lie in pantheism as such, but in the element of nature
in this particular pantheism — in the fact that it is merely
a matter of the feelings, a mere nature-pantheism, and not
an ethical pantheism ; that belief in love-bestowing nature
does not imply belief in a moral constitution of the world.
This explains Faust's weak moral surrender, the victory
of his natural impulses, the sensuous element in his love.
The danger of such revelling in natural impulses Goethe
doubtless knew from experience, and in his own life he
opposed to it more and more as the years went by the hard
command^ of moral resignation. At the present moment
Faust has no conception of resignation ; hence the Gretchen
drama develops into a horrible tragedy.
Just here Ues another difference between Faust and
Gretchen, a difference of education. To this is due the fact
that from the beginning there was no thought of a perma-
nent relation between the two. That the end would be
despair Faust well knew, and he knew, too, that there must
be an end. Gretchen, on the other hand, simply believed
and gave herself to him. She, too, has that natural side;
she is a child of nature and is at the same time all love and
all belief; wherefore downfall is for her entirely natural,
a natural necessity. She must give herself, for her be-
loved is her world. To be sure, this involves guilt, which
is avenged cruelly enough; but the more guilty of the two
is Faust. Gretchen is both guilty and innocent; she is a
blind victim.
The devil has his "delight" in the whole affair. His
sneering announcement of the fact is extremely painful
to us, who are appalled at the course things are taking.
We foresee what is coming, especially after Gretchen, in her
ignorance and blissful confidence, has accepted from Faust
a sleeping potion for her mother.
Gretchen has fallen, and in what Lieschen says of
3faust 293
Barbelchen at the fountain she now sees the judgment of
the world pronounced upon herself. It is the judgment
of morals on the rights which passion and heart believe
they may take in defiance of the world. Even now
Gretchen recognises this judgment as just when applied
to herself: "And now I, too, am stained with sin."
We have already spoken of the fourteenth scene, "Forest
and Cavern." In the monologue we find again the nature-
pantheism of the confession of faith, expressed in language
full of force and beauty, and with its thought-content deep-
ened by the view of nature acquired by Goethe in Italy.
The second part of the^ scene, in which Mephistopheles, as
a go-between, calls Faust back to his forsaken Gretchen,
who stands at the window and sees the clouds float over
the old city wall — and we see them with her — ^is out of
place here, although the outburst of wild remorse at the
close is in place here and here alone. Hence Goethe only
half improved matters when he later made the scene par-
allel with Gretchen's song at the spinning wheel.
Gretchen goes with her trouble to the mater dolorosa
in the Zwinger and begs her help in this time of need. The
scene in the cathedral, which the Urfaust characterises
more specifically as the exequies of her mother, closes the
Fragment. We learn here that the mother has been killed
by Gretchen, but do not learn in what way the deed was
done. In any case it was not done intentionally; it was
merely a fatal accident, due to the awkwardness of the
girl. And yet she was to blame for the sinful deed. The
hellish pangs of remorse are embodied in the voice of the
evil spirit, and so she sinks in a swoon. " Neighbour,
your smelling bottle!" With these words the powerful
tragedy comes to an end.
It is first of all the tragedy of Gretchen. She is the
heroine, her fate is tragical, her innocence is wrecked, and
with it she herself goes to ruin in accordance with the in-
exorable law of tragic necessity.
What significance has this tragedy for Faust? We do
not know as yet; the Fragment of 1790 has not even followed
294 ?tbe Xlfe of (5oetbc
Gretchen's fate to the end, and it leaves us entirely in the
dark concerning Faust. And yet not entirely either. In
the fourteenth scene, repeatedly referred to, we read :
©ill i(f) ber glu(^tling nict)!, ber Unbe|gu)'te,
®er Unmenfc^ o^ne SwecE unb Ultt\),
®er roie ein SBofferftiirg Don ge[§ ju gelfen,braufte, ,
SBegierig roittenb, nai^ bem Slbg'runb 3«?
Unb [eitroartf fie, mit'finblic^ t'wntfif^P ©innen, ,
Sm"0iittc|en auf bem !Ieinen Sllpenjelb,
Unb aH it)r l)dit§li(^e§ S5eginnen
Umfangan in ber tleincn 2Bdt.
Unb id^, ber ©ottoer^ofte,
^attc nid^t genug,
®a| i^ bie gelfen fa^te
Unb fie ju Srummern f(^Iug !
@ic, il^ren giteben mn^t' ic^ untergrabeni
SWag t^r ©efi^idf anf mi^ pfammcnftiirjen
Unb fie mitmir ju ©rutibe gefin! *
The description here given of the love of the man of high
intellectual standing could not be improved upon. For
him such a love is but an episode, an idyll; he drags the
simple maiden into the whirlpool of his life and she goes
under. And he? Goethe knew how he had wronged
Friederike of Sesenheim. To be sure, it was not a wrong
such as that perpetrated on Gretchen; but her peace was
* And am I not an outcast, homeless roaming,
A monster without aim and rest,
Who, like a torrent, sweep down cliffs and gorges, foaming,
Tow'rd the abyss by raging passion pressed?
Alongside, she,' with qhildhood's dormant senses.
Doth in her little sheltered cot appear.
For her each thought and talk commences
And ends within this little sphere.
And I, God's hate hung o'er me.
Cannot assuage my lust
By grasping rocks before me
And dashing them to dust! '
Her and her peace I yet must undermine!
Then may her doom fall crushing on my head.
And she to ruin plunge with me !
Ifaust 2c
destroyed, her happiness undermined, and her heart broke
or at least it seemed so to him. His pangs of remorse c
account of it, the hellish torments of his accusing conscienc
are here objectified. In this mood it seemed to him ;
though his sun-chariot might also plunge into the abys
as though he might rush to ruin and fall into the clutch
of the devil. For the Faust of the sixteenth century th
question was decided unfavourably as a matter of cours
the magician belonged in hell. With Lessing's Faust, ;
the age of optimistic enlightenment, the opposite was tru
There Heaven cried to the devils, Ye shall not gain tl
victory! With Goethe's hero, however, the question Wi
for the moment not so simple. It was possible for him i
goioruin with Gretchen, to be lost in the end as she was.
i<And yet the power which e'er designs the bad and e'l
creates the good, the conscienceless devil, helps Fau
overcome this mood and finds the fitting words for hin
" Where such a head as thines-no .gutcomesees. it fancii
1 straight the end has come. Hail him who never los
* heart!" That is the inf^jortant point. Remorse is £
illusion, thinks Mephistopheles ; right is on the side of tl
JiyingrjJHence, as he has already involved Faust in blacke
gmTET^e plans further to drag him into new episodes, in1
new distractions. But Faust has illusions and will kee
them; he is now, and will remain, an idealist; and so 1
knows the value of remorse and must put a different inte
pretation upon the words " Hail him who never los(
heart!" He sees in them a teaching which also helps oi
to overcome remorse, namely, that while life strikes wounc
it also heals wounds, and that not to lose heart in life is tl
only way to atone for guilt. Thus even here a way
opened leading from a life of passive enjoyment to one (
action, from the little world to the great. Faust may dra
this teaching from the words, but he is not obliged to. E
may be saved, but hg is not forced to be. Hence at tl
end of the Fragment we are left in uncertainty and su
pense as to the outcome. At the same time there are he:
moral elements in abundance, whereas in the confessic
296 Zbc %ite of (5oetbe
of faith and, one might perhaps say, in the whole of the
Urfaust they were lacking. Here they may at least be found.
We do not come to the hardest problems till we proceed
from the Fragment of 1790 to the additions of the version
of 1808. The three most important of these are: (i) the
beginning, including the "Dedication," the "Prelude on
the Stage, " and the " Prologue in Heaven" ; (2) the portions
fining up the great "gap," namely, Faust's second mono-
logue, the Easter chimes, the promenade before the city-
gate, the exorcism of Mephistopheles, the latter's return
and his compact with Faust; and, finally, (3) the close of
the Gretchen tragedy, the Valentine scene, ''Walpurgis
Night," Faust's return after he has learned Gretchen's
fate, and the " Prison" scene. We shall best begin with the
third, in order that we may continue the subject we have
just been discussing, and thus follow the Gretchen tragedy
to its close.
In the Valentine scene Goethe has merely completed
what was planned from the beginning and for the most part
worked out in the Urfaust. Its outward purpose is to give
rise to an occasion making it necessary for Faust to leave
the city, which he must do as the murderer of Valentine.
In substance it is intended to deepen the tragicalness of
the drama. The whole family is brought to ruin; even
Gretchen's good, innocent brother becomes a victim of her
unholy love. Besides, Faust himself becomes more deeply '
involved in guUt. He is the seducer of Gretchen, who in
turn kills her mother and her child ; while he himself slays
her brother with his sword, though half in self-defence.
Finally, the scene is a companion piece to that between
Gretchen and Lieschen at the fountain. First the judg-
ment of evil tongues, the conventionally judging world;
now the judgment of good people concerning the poor
innocent, and yet guilty, maiden, the curse of the upright,
which makes Gretchen's dishonour complete. A tre-
mendous effect is achieved by the lightning flashes and
sledge-hammer blows of this intensely dramatic scene.
The figure of the honest, true-hearted lansquenet shows
jfaust 297
degree of realistic and true-to-nature portrayal of na-
onal traits not often found in Goethe's characters. The
aalogy to Clavigo is worthy of note. In each case there
a brother who fights for the honour of his sister ; but in
'lavigo Beaumarchais comes ofE victor, whereas in Faust
alentine is slain by the seducer.
While Gretchen's fate is being realised Faust hastens
ith Mephistopheles to the Brocken for Walpurgis Night,
he scene fills out the pause entertainingly, and we must
ot hold the poet to too strict an account of the number
[ months and days. Gretchen vanishes from the sight
E the audience throughout a long scene. Meanwhile that
'hich must happen may take place. It is the purpose of ^
[ephistopheles that as she passes out of Faust's sight she
lall also pass out of his mind. The devil's desire to ruin
'aust is the reason for involving him in the affair with
rretchen, which has led to murder and homicide. But it
i not his intention that Faust shall witness the disastrous
nd of Gretchen. That would only produce remorse in
is breast and arouse his bStter nature. So he must spirit
im away. It will suit his purpose best to lead him into
ew complications, above all into coarse pleasures, drag-
ing him deeper and deeper into guilt and sin, into sen-
uality and vulgarity. Such being the reasoning of
lephistopheles he takes Faust with him to the witches'
sndezvous with Satan. -~,___---'^~^ — ----__-'
Again he makes a mistake in his reckoning, and this
ime a double one. Faust is expected to forget Gretchen
nd yet in this very place he is reminded of her by an ap-
arition, that eidolon of which, it is true, Mephistopheles
ays lightly, "To every man she seems his own beloved."
L.nd not only does she remind him theoretically, so to speak,
f his beloved; he even sees her fate embodied in this un-
anny creature, or at least suggested by it: "How strangely
3und this loveliest of throats A single crimson band is
learning. No broader than a knife's back seeming. " The
loody mark of the headsman's axe — ^how terrible, how
wful! What a presentiment for the soul of Faust! That
298 J^ye %ltc of (Boetbc
it was really Goethe's intention to make Faust here learn
Gretchen's fate is shown more plainly by a passage in the
paralipomena, where we read, " Prattle of changelings
whereby Faust is informed." Immediately afterward, in
the scene "Dismal Day — ^A Field," he knows her whole
terrible fate.
The second mistake in Mephistopheles's reckoning is
his plan to drag Faust, while on the Brocken, into vulgarity
and sin and to let him sink in this swamp. True, it does
seem for a moment as though Faust, in his dance with the
young witch, were allowing himself to be dragged down to
the lowest sensuality; but when a little red mouse jumps
out of her mouth he is naturally disgusted, and lets the
fair damsel go. At this moment his thoughts go back to
Gretchen, and how could he find pleasure in the young
witch any more? Thus he is saved by Gretchen, his good
angel, the Eternal-Womanly, and he is saved by his own
better nature, from sinking into common sensuality, as
Mephistopheles has planned.
So far everything is in order; but this cannot be said of
the final elaboration of the whole scene. On the way up
the Brocken Mephistopheles invites Faust to avoid the
worst throng, to let the great world rave and riot, and to
retire to the quiet of a valley to one side and there join an
isolated club. Faust replies : " I 'd rather scale yon towering
peak. Where fire and whirling smoke I see. The Evil One
by throngs is pressed ; There many a riddle must be guessed."
What does he expect to find there? Revelations concern-
ing evil, the solution of the mystery of evil. The old thirst
for knowledge awakes in him; he desires not only to ex-
perience and enjoy the evil, but also to understand it and
find a philosophical reason for its existence. The answer
by means of which Mephistopheles turns him aside from
his purpose, " But riddles new will offered be, " is no answer
at all. For a reflective mind such a thing goes without
saying. Instead of frightening him away it should lure
him on. It was not Goethe's original intention to dismiss
us with this subterfuge, but really to take Faust to the
Ifaust ' 299
summit, where a revelation of the evil was to be delivered
by Satan himself, a diabolical parallel to the r61e of Christ
at the last judgment. We have parts of the address by
Satan in the paralipomena ; but the whole scene is worked out
with such "impious daring," is so vulgar — Goethe here
vies with Aristophanes in obscenities — ^that he rightly
hesitated to insert it in the text of the drama; and so it was
dropped.
There is another point to be considered in this con-
nection. Goethe here paints the evil almost exclusively
as base sensuality, which is proper, so long as, at the mo-
ment, it Js a question only of Faust, whom Mephistopheles
is seeking to drag down into these very depths of sensual
evil. But this conception would have been one-sided and
inadequate in the mouth of Satan, if he had attempted to
make us understand evil as such, and to give us a revela-
tion of hell in /contrast to the "Prologue in Heaven."
That would have been no solution of the great enigma and
would have given rise to no new problems. More than
that: Base sensuality is not a devilish evil at all, it is only
a human evil; for which reason it is not ineradicable and
not unpardonable, and therein lies the possibility of sal-
vation for Faust. StiU less, of course, is it the evil which
is represented in that valley to one side as the reactionary
and, in comparison with aspiring youth, the antiquated,
and which is intended to symbolise the evil in state and
society. Thus the riddlfe was really left unsolved, and the
"Walpurgis Night" remained a fragment. This, of course,
is to a certain extent unsatisfactory.*
There is another objectionable feature of the scene.
Apart from a few allusions in the "Witches' Kitchen" we
have here the first plain example of that symbolising,
allegorising tendency which we are to meet much more
frequently in the Second Part, that tendency to make of
the drama a convenient depository for extraneous thoughts
and allusions and mar it by the uncalled-for insertion of
* Georg Witkowski's Die Walpurgisnacht iwi esten Teile von Goethes
Faust is an excellent monograph on the sources of this scene. — C.
300 zi)c Xife of (Boctbe
all sorts of mysteries. As it was not a question of a revela-
tion of evil in general, the various parts of the scene must
either have reference to Faust or be left out. Hence we
have no cause to regret the dropping of that scene on the
summit ; we regret far more that many other parts were not
expunged or were not left out in the first place.
The worst of all is the intermezzo, "Walpurgis Night's
Dream — Oberon and Titania's Golden Wedding," which
is nothing but a lot of Xenien that were left over from the
great Xenien war of 1796. They are literary and political
satires on contemporaries and the phenomena of the day,
and have nothing to do with Faust. On account of their
temporary tendency they are throughout of an ephemeral
nature, and we need a commentary to-day in order to
understand them. This is a serious fault which we must
not seek to cover up or factitiously explain away. Rather
we should admit frankly that it is a fault and as such
condemn it.
For these reasons the impression left by the " Walpurgis
Night" as a whole is not pleasant throughout and not
esthetically pure, in spite of the grandeur and beauty of
certain portions. Faust's ascent of the Brocken, the
feverish, frantic commotion of all nature, the disorderly
flight of the witches, the fantastic twilight of the scenery
— ^these are genuine poetry. But the flight of fancy grows
gradually more languid and ends at last in the swamp of
satirical allusions. Even in the matter of style Goethe is
not uniformly successful in retaining the old force and
richness. When Faust says of the eidolon, "It seems to
me, I must confess, She Gretchen's features doth possess,"
this does not seem to be discovered by Faust himself, but
by the poet, who has grown cool and reserved and stands
high and far above the scene, in perfect composure of soul.
We soon return, however, to the sacred ground of
purest poetry and deepest tragedy. First in that unique
prose scene, one of the oldest portions of Faust. It dates
back to Goethe's Storm-and-Stress period and breathes
the colossal genius of a Shakespeare. The poet very
Jfaust 301
properly retained for it the prose form of the Urfaust. The
harsh tones in which Faust gives expression to his horror
at Gretchen's fate and his loathing of Mephistopheles must
not be softened by the modulating power of verse. The
next scene is a brief one, full of feeling and dire forebod-
ing, in which Faust and Mephistopheles, on black steeds,
rush by the uncanny conclave of witches on the place of
execution.
Finally we come to the "Prison" scene, and here all
the woe^f mankind overwhelms us. It is tragical and
poeticstl through and through. Goethe recast it from the
original prose form into verse in the year 1798. He wrote
concerning it to Schiller: " Some tragical scenes were written
in prose, and7 in comparison with the rest, they are made
quite intolerable by their naturalness and strength. So
I am now seeking to put them into rhyme, in order that
the idea may appear as through a veil and the immediate
effect of the monstrous subject-matter be softened." It
was indeed a subduing, veiling, idealising process, but of
the objectionable padding, which critics have pretended
to find even in this scene, there is not a trace. How cor-
rectly Goethe was able to calculate the effect will be shown
more clearly by an example than in any other way :
S)o fi^t mcine Wviittt auf einem ©tein,
68 fa^t tnti!^ fait beim ©djopfel
®a ft|(t meine SOtutter auf cinem ©tein
Unb ttiacE clt mit bem Sopfe.*
The picture is comical, and yet who dares to laugh at it?
Who does not feel how the grewsome element is increased
by the seemingly comical, xmtil it is physically almost
intolerable? But the singing, ballad nature of the lines
makes it endurable, because it is entirely fitting in the
mouth of this child of the common people.
The scene is an excellent illustration of the correctness
* My mother is sitting on yonder stone, —
My brain is cold with dread!
My mother is sitting on yonder stone,
And see! she wags her head!
302 Zbc %lte of ©oetbe
of Lessing's law of the most fruitful moment, which he
says the artist must choose. Preceding it is the grewsome-
ness of the double murder, following it the grewsome-
ness of the execution. We witness neither act, and yet
the scene makes us divine both with most awful vividness,
as though we actually saw everything with our - own eyes.
The effect is heightened by Gretchen's visionary, hal-
lucinatory state. She is not insane, as actresses usually
make her out to be, for the sake of their convenience, as
though she were an Ophelia. What she once sang at the
spinning wheel is now more true than ever: "My poor,
poor head is lost and crazed ; My poor, poor mind is wrecked
and dazed. " Drawn out of her whole outward and inward
existence, in love, betrayed, forsaken, led into deepest
guilt, in remorse and despair, in mortal terror and hellish
torment, it is quite natural that her poor head should be
lost and crazed and her poor mind be wrecked and dazed.
She hardly knows where she is, what has happened to her,
and what she herself has done. In her beloved, who desires
to liberate her, she sees now her friend, now a stranger
whom she fears. She sees her mother, and the child that
she has drowned, and she sees hell yawning at her feet.
One moment happy, she believes it is all an ugly dream;
the next moment, terrified, she recognises the awful reality.
She did not commit the crime of infanticide as one irre-
sponsible, but, if we may be allowed the phrase, in a moment
of impaired responsibility. And so even now she is not
insane; she dare not be, for what she does now is counted
toward her penance, atonement, purification, salvation,
and redemption. Man can perform a moral act only when
he is responsible. To be sure, it is almost a physical ne-
cessity that she should not follow Faust owt of the prison.
But why? Merely because her pure, innocent nature as-
serts itself, because her purity and innocence are stronger
even than her love; or because her love, in spite of all her
guilt, has remained pure and innocent. As at the fountain
she took the judgment of the world upon herself as just,
so now she, who is so fond of life and has such a wholesome
faust 303
fear of death, willingly takes upon herself as a necessity
the condemnation of earthly justice, and submits herself
to the judgment of God in order to save her soul. Thus
she is a figure at once pathetic and exalted. Pathetic in her
childlike subjection to physical necessity; exalted in her
moral submission to the headsman's axe. In her own way
she is almost as great as Socrates, who, in order to avoid
doing wrong, refused to escape from prison.
Finally, when Mephistopheles, who has always been to
her an uncanny creature, emerges from the ground, she
cries to heaven, calls upon her Father in heaven to save
his child, and then turns away from Faust, with the words
' ' Heinrich ! I shudder to think of thee. " " She is judged ! ' '
says Mephistopheles; "Is saved," comes a voice from
above. "Is saved," say we also, saved because she does
not seek to escape judgment, so that from being guilty she
has again become innocent. "Hither to me!" says Me-
phistopheles to Faust and vanishes with him.
Thus ends the Gretchen tragedy and the First Part of
Faust. But is it really the end? Is Faust lost and fallen
into the power of the devil, as Gretchen is saved? So it
seems, and yet we cannot, we will not believe it. The
voice of the Eternal- Womanly calls after him. "Heinrich,
Heinrich!" sounds a voice from within, dying away. Love
has seized his soul and will not let him go. Will it be strong
enough to hold him, or will there be other means of saving
him? Or, to put the question differently: Here in the
prison, where all the woe of mankind overwhelms Faust,
where out of his pangs of grief and pain he cries, "Oh, that
I had^ev^r been ^ born!" is he more firmly bound to the
infamous companion, who has no words for Gretchen's
misery except the utterly diabolical, though painfully true,
"She is not the first one" ; or has he not, rather, become
inwardly estranged from him and drawn far away from him?
Will he rernain in the power of the devil, or has he here
gained the strength to tear himself away? Must Faust go
to perdition, or can he be saved? This question of his
destiny now becomes the fundamental question of the First
304 Zbc %ite of (5octbc
Part. It does not lead us on to the Second Part, but back
to the beginning of the drama, especially the "Prologue
in Heaven."
We must go somewhat farther back.** When Goethe
began to write Faust and to attempt to objectify in the hero
the struggles of his own spirit, he did not know whether
the sun-chariot of his life, rushing on at stormy speed,
should reach the height or plunge into the abyss and be
dashed to pieces; that is, in terms of the poem, he did not
know whether Faust should fall into the power of the devil
or should be torn away from him and be saved, though
final salvation was the more natural thing for him to think
of and the thing he hoped for, both for himself and Faust.
When he again took up his work on Faust in the nineties
the darkness had been illuminated, the question had been
decided, so far as he himself was concerned. His sun-
chariot had borne him up to the shining heights of life, the
Storm and Stress had spent its rage, the new wine had
passed through its fermentation and become generous and
mellow. Goethe was saved. Shall we say that the ques-
tion was then settled for Faust also? For the poet the
problem was not so simple as that. He had meantime out-
grown the Faust of the seventies, but Faust had also out-
grown him. This means two great difficulties in the way
of the continuation and completion of the work.
During this period had taken place the well-known
great change in Goethe's style, that is, the transition from
Shakespearian realism and naturalism to classical idealism.
This, of course, was not an arbitrary act on the part of
Goethe, but as is the man so is his style. He himself had
changed, had grown more reposeful, more moderate, and
more and more wise. Hence in the Oljanpic repose of
classical antiquity, with its well-proportioned beauty and
its typical figures, he now found his model and his ideal,
because in it he found himself again. And however much
we may regret the fact, we must admit that this classicist
Goethe had outgrown Faust.
The form of the Faust fragment is the Hans Sachsian
Ifaust 305
Knittelvers ; the manner of expression is natural, often even
coarse; the rhymes are effective, though not always pure,
are at times even dialectically very impure. But who has
time to pay heed to such things? And do not these bold
Knittelverse impress us Germans as flesh of oior own flesh
and blood of our own blood, as though this were the genuine
Germanic verse, cut out to measure to fit this very body?
The coarse in them is coarse, as the best pictures of Rubens
are coarse, vigorous, robust, natural, and genuine through
and through, with no artificiality apparent, and for that
very reason works of the highest art, "common" in that
best sense of the word in which Conrad Ferdinand Meyer
once used it in speaking of Luther:
©cmciti tote Sieb wnb 3orn unb '^'^\i)i,
SBie iinfrer Sinber Slngefid^t,
SBie §of unb §cini, mie ©da unb SSrot,
SBie bie ©eburt unb mic ber ZoU. *
The verses, in spite of their imperfections, which we
do not notice, are especially effective because they are so
full of sparkling wit, and always bear the stamp of genius,
and because the moment the heart speaks instead of the
intellect the language assumes such an inward and cordial
sound, such a full, deep tone, and suits itself so aptly and
completely to the finest and most delicate shades of feeling,
■that we cannot imagine content and form more perfectly
blended together.
Such is our feeling to-day concerning the First Part of
Faust, but it was not the feeling of the poet himself in the
last decade of the century. Even the " Dedication" shows
that. "Wavering figures," "clouded vision," "fantastic
idea," "foggy mist" — such are the terms in which he
referred to it. And in his correspondence with Schiller
he spoke also of this "foggy, misty path," on which he had
for a time felt forced to "stray about." He called the
* Common as love and hate and duty,
Q Common as childhood's tender beauty,
As house and home, as salt and bread.
As birth's proud joy and death's cold dread.
VOL. III. -20.
3o6 Zbc %lte of (Boetbe
whole a "barbaric composition," and designated as "buf-
foonery" and "caricatures" the scenes and figures which
appear to us to-day so serious and true to nature, not to
say, sacred. Schiller, who was just as classical as his friend,
Agreed with him as to the " barbaric nature of his treatment
of the subject" and himself called the fable "harsh and
formless." This disdainful attitude toward Faust at that
time is perhaps the simplest explanation of the fact that
Goethe could treat the work so inconsiderately, could insert
so thoughtlessly all sorts of irrelevant things in the " bar-
baric composition," and make of it a depository for a
number of Xenien, for which he could find no other place.
What was it that helped to overcome this hindrance,
this difficulty of style ? What was it that simply compelled
Goethe to overcome it, and brought him back to Faust time
after time? Goethe had outgrown Faust, it is true; but
Faust had also outgrown Goethe. Goethe himself was
Faust as he conceived him. In his hero he objectified
himself, and laid down, so to speak, a general confession.
First of all, Faust was animated by the spirit of the eigh-
teenth century; he bore the features of Goethe's time and
embodied in himself the best there was in that period.
Every important man is a representative of universal hu-
man characteristics; but of Goethe, the most universal
of men, this was pre-eminently true. Hence the more
subjectively and more profoundly he painted himself in
Faust, the more typical and objective his picture must be.
Faust thus became a picture of humanity striving, strug-
gling, erring, and yet ever finding the way back to the right
path. TTp hpr-a,T ne sy mb olica l. And herein lies thejeey
to the Secon d Part;;^ ^,,,,^^ "~~'~ ■ "
^— fceTus not misunderstand this point. Symbolical does
not mean allegorical. The allegorical lacks life, lacks
flesh and blood, and independent existence; It exists only
as a sign. The picture itself is of minor importance; what
it signifies is everything. Hence allegory is a matter of
reflection, is not real poetry. True poetry, on the other
hand, is symbolical. First the objective picture, some-
Jfaust 307
thing in itself, a full, round, complete, independent whole.
Then there is, besides, something that lies in this and towers
above it, something higher and more general, not added to
it artificially, by reflection, but growing out of it naturally
and necessarily. In this sense Faust is symbolical. He
is himself, and beyond this is a representative of mankind
in general. He is the two in one and inseparable.
The more profound the fancy of the poet, the richer
is his work in ideas. Richer in ideas, but not as the result
of reflection alone. And so, we may say frankly, there is
necessarily a philosophical element in Faust. The reason
that Goethe, in his classic period, was able and eager to
return to the drama, was because the classic is typical, not
merely individual and characteristic. It was for the same
reason that his philosophical friend Schiller urged him so
energetically to return to Faust and would not let him
give it up. Both considered the typical an especially im-
portant feature of the antique tragedy; and Faust was also
typical and symbolical, however individual and charac-
teristic it may have beeft. Hence we find in Schiller's in-
fluence the bond between the first conception of the drama
and the renewed work on it in the period when Goethe
affected the antique.
In the thing which brought Goethe back to Faust there
lay a new difficulty, which made it again impossible for
him to finish the work. Schiller saw the difficulty at once
when Goethe announced to him his determination to resume
work on the drama. On the 23d of June, 1797, he wrote:
"All that I shall say at present is that Faust, with all its
poetic individuality, cannot entirely ignore the requirement
of a sjonbolic significance, as you will probably agree with
me. One never loses sight of the duplicity of human nature
and the abortive attempt to unite the divine and the physical
in man; and as the fable has harsh and formless features -
one does not desire to stop with the subject-matter itself,
but to be led by it to ideas. In short the requirements
of Faust are both philosophical and poetical, and, seek as
you may to avoid the philosophical treatment, the natiore
3o8 Zbe %lfc of ©oetBe
of the subject will force it upon you, and the imagination
will have to accommodate itself to the service of an idea
of the reason."
These thoughts were nothing new to Goethe. As a
matter of fact he had already begun to do what, according
to Schiller, he should do in the future continuation of the
work. And yet there was something new. What Goethe
had hitherto done unconsciously and involuntarily he was
now to do with full consciousness, and it was not in him as
a poet to do it. He was to become a philosopher, but he
was no philosopher. The real situation was once very
aptly put in these words: "And Schiller's answer wakened
this somnambulist. He was frightened, stood amazed, and
for the moment knew less than ever how to proceed. ' ' Thus
through Schiller's influence Goethe resumed work on Faust,
and through his influence the drama was once more put
aside as a fragment. Glorious and natural as are on the
whole the scenes that Goethe composed under this influ-
ence, the "Prologue in Heaven" especially, Faust's second
monologue, and the compact with the devil, nevertheless
it must be said that in certain details they bear traces of
the combination of the philosophical and the poetical.
The "Prologue" is an overture and a prelude, but at
the same time it points to the outcome and the end. It
begins in heaven. Can that which is begun in heaven end
in hell, especially if the Lord pledges his word that the
outcome shall be exactly the opposite? No, such a thing
would not be possible. But does not the immediately
preceding "Prelude on the Stage," the humorous apology
with which Goethe in 1808 sent Faust out into the world
a second time as a fr0,gment, say expressly that it does?
@o fdireitet in bera engen SBretter^auS
®cn ganjEti Sreig bcr ©c^opfiing ou8,
Unb ttianbelt mit bebfid^t'ger @(^nelle
SSom §immel burd^ bie SBelt ^iir $oIIe.*
*Then let upon our narrow boards appear
Creation's whole unbounded sphere,
And journey, under fancy's spell,
From heaven through the world to hell.
Ifaust 309
Does not the last line say plainly that the play is to
begin in heaven and end in hell? It seems so, and yet it
cannot be. Goethe's optimism could not permit mankind
to end in hell, and according to the "Prologue" Faust was
not to fall completely into the power of the devil. Hence
we are justified in saying that it is the manager who speaks
these words. He knows only the legend, not the plot of
the play, knows only the scenes, which he arranges to suit
himself, according to the usual custom of beginning at the
top and ending at the bottom. It is not his place to tell
us where the journey shall end; that is reserved for the
poet in the "Prologue."
The "Prologue" begins with the glorious song of the
archangels, a hymn to the cosmic order and wonderful har-
mony of the world. Some critics have wrongly found fault
with it as having no connection with human morality.
The moral world is expressly described as chaotic and
wavering, in contrast with the reign of eternal law in nature.
Its representative is Mephistopheles, as opposed to the
Lord and his uncompil-ehended, lofty works. But the
Lord knows that the moral world bears some relation to
the natural and has laws of its own, for he says of it:
SBeil bo^ bcr ©artner, toenn ia^ SBaumd^cn grunt,
®a| SBliif unb gruc^t bie fiinft'gcn Sa^re jicren.*
He thus applies the natural law of organic development to
the moral world, and, in his divine wisdom, fits it into that
harmony of the world of which the angels sing.
Along with the archangels Mephistopheles appears
"among the servants." The devil in heaven! That, it
would seem, tells the whole story. The evil one is not free
and independent, not separate and apart from the All-
embracer; on the contrary, he is in the service of God and
forms a factor in his world plan. But why is he given to
man for a companion? To this question the Lord answers:
®cg S!Renf(^en Satigfeit fann allau leic^t crf(f|Iaffen,
@r licbt ftd& bolb bie unbebingte 9lub;
* Well knows the gardener, when the green appears.
That flower and fruit will crown the coming years.
3IO Zhc %ite of <5oetI)e
Srum geb' id) gem i^m ben ©efeHen gu,
®cr reijt unb roirft unb mu| aU Seufcl fd^affen.*
Thus Goethe considers the evil the goad of negation, which
stimulates and influences, actually producing in its own
way positive results. Viewed sub specie csternitatis, it is
not an evil, but a remedy, a good fortune, at least a
necessity for the development of mankind, a means of
education for the human race.f Of course the finite un-
derstanding of Mephistopheles cannot comprehend this.
Compared with the infinitely optimistic Lord, he is the
pessimist, who not only considers ever3rthing extremely
bad, but fails utterly to recognise growth, development,
and progress. " The little god of the world still lives the
same old way. And is as singular as on creation's day,"
is his opinion.
The Lord himself singles out Faust, whom he calls his
servant. To the devil's scoffing remark, that this servant
serves his master in an odd way, the Lord answers : " Though
now he serve me in confusion's dark, I shall ere long con-
duct him to the light." Mephistopheles doubts this and,
being noted for his impertinence, offers the Lord the wager,
" Him thou yet shalt lose. If leave to me thou wilt but give
Gently to lead him as I choose." The Lord accepts the
wager, granting the devil leave to seek to carry out his
designs. A wager between God and the devil, and the
subject of it the soul and eternal happiness of a human
being! Is that not blasphemy? Goethe is not open to
this reproof, for the bold idea did not originate with him.
It is the introduction to the book of Job, which served him
as a model and a justification. The only question that
might be raised, if question there be, which we doubt, is:
Which prologue is more profound and more sublime, the
one to the Germanic Faust, or the one to the Hebraic Job f
* Too quick doth man's activity degenerate,
He soon would fain in perfect quiet live;
Hence I to him this com^rade gladly give.
Who, spurring on, as devil must create.
t An illuminating discussion of the mystery of evil in the world may
be found in Fiske's Through Nature to God. — C.
Ifaust 311
What do the two wager? Mephistopheles says: God
will lose Faust, I shall bring him to the point where he
shall eat dust and that with delight, I shall draw him away
from his original source, I shall lead him down along my
w^ay and ruin him. The Lord says, on the other hand:
Thou, Mephistopheles, must in the end confess, ashamed,
that "A good man, though his strivings be ill-guided. Doth
still retain a consciousness of right." This is the sub-
stance of the wager; and who doubts that God will win?
— ^in spite of the answer of Mephistopheles, " Agreed ! But
soon 't will be decided." We do not yet know how the
wager will be won; but that it must be decided in favour
of the Lord, that Faust will be saved, is from now on certain.
Only one thing stands in the way of this interpretation, and
it has been pointed out with special acuteness, with too
much, perhaps, in a philosophical explanation of Faust,
which goes deeply into the ideas underlying the drama.
The Lord leaves Faust in the devil's charge with these
words : " As long as he on earth shall live, So long be 't not
forbidden thee; Man errs "as long as he doth strive." If
such be the case — and it is — ^the wager cannot possibly be
decided in favour of Faust as an individual; an immanent
salvation is impossible here on earth, and the only thing
left is a powerful deus ex machina, an arbitrary admission
of Faust to the heaven beyond. To be sure, in that case
the devil would have all his trouble for naught; but we are
not convinced of the rightness and justice of such a salvation.
Faust is also a representative of mankind, which is in
truth the object of the contest between heaven and hell,
between good and evil; and the admission into heaven is
only a mythical, a poetical picture, a visible s)mibol of the
conviction of the optimist that a good man, though his
strivings be Ul-guided, doth still retain a consciousness of
right: a picture of the rationalistic belief that humanity
is God's and not the devil's: that is to say, that in spite
of all apparent triumphs of the evil the good in the world
will finally prevail, because the original source of man is
good and not evil, the dsemon in his breast is the daemon
312 Z\ic %ifc of (3octDc
of good and not the devil. There would then be perfect
harmony between the philosophical idea and the poetical
picture, if only those words of the Lord did not disturb the
illusion. So long as he lives on earth man not only strives,
he also errs. This is a philosophical truth, which cannot
be controverted by any picture of any symbolical admission
into heaven. The only answer to it is the philosophical
conviction that in the end the good will ever triumph on
earth. The arbitrary act of an ascension cannot decide
the matter; the only possible way of deciding it would be
for Faust to be led into the very greatest temptation con-
ceivable and to come out of it triumphant. But even then
the words of Mephistopheles would still remain in force,
"Agreed! But soon 't will be decided." There would still
be left the question, is there a virtue secure against every
defeat and every fall? To put it differently, the Lord
relies upon striving, the devil upon erring. We believe,
with the Lord, that in striving itself lies the possibility of
redemption for erring, sinful mankind, because there is a
growth, a development, and a progress, in which only the
reactionary devil does not believe. But we are disturbed
in this belief when the Lord himself speaks of never-ending
erring and leaves us to hope for salvation in the next world,
when we demand and expect it in this world. This pro-
duces discord between the philosophical contents and the
poetical picture. Most people are conscious of it only
through the feeling that the wager smacks somewhat
of the old logical devices of the sophists — ^is an insolv-
able dilemma. And that is a pity. Otherwise the whole
scene is so glorious — ^the highly poetic pathos of the song
of the archangels, the scintillating conversation between
the Lord and the devil, the humorous blending of the finite
' and the infinite, which produces and harmonises the sharpest
contrasts, and finds characteristic expression in the closing
words, " ' T is very handsome in so great a Lord so humanly
to parley with the devil. "
The "Prologue" is followed by the exposition, which
we already know — Faust's first monologue, the conjuring
3faust 313
up of the Earth-Spirit, and the conversation with the
famulus Wagner. Then came a great gap in the Fragment
of 1790, and even greater in the Urfaust. How did Me-
phistopheles come to Faust? This question had to be
answered. The beginning of the answer is a new monologue
of Faust, which reaches its climax in his determination to
commit suicide. From a purely dramatical point of view
it is proper to ask whether a second monologue was per-
missible so soon after the first long one. And yet this
question would hardly have been raised if this second mono-
logue had not had a certain similarity in contents with the
first one, and if its style — Goethe's change of style had
meanwhile taken place — ^had not turned out too elegant and
reposeful, too lyrically tender, a shade too weak, perhaps,
for the determination which it is to motivate. For the
former we may refer to the renewed complaints about the
household furnishings of his ancestors; for the latter, to
the closing lines of these complaints : "The legacy thy fathers
left, essay, By use, to win and make thine own. What we
do not employ impedes our way ; The moment can but use
what it creates alone. " One who can speak in such general
and such abstract terms is not ready for suicide; he is still
able to fight the battle of life. Especially lyrical are the
words with which Faust takes down the phial; young
Goethe would have spoken more realistically, with greater
passion and despair. But they are beautiful and afford
another pleasing example of form and content blended into
a unity.
What does Faust hope to accomplish by suicide? Not
to escape from life, like one in despair, but to resort to this
last bold mean and thus to gain by one stroke what was
denied him when he conjured up the Earth-Spirit, to "dare
to open wide those portals past which each mortal fain
would steal."' He desires everything or nothing, and
death will lead to one or the other. He is once more the old
heaven-storming. Titanic Faust; there is here no lack of
force, as he desires to prove his manly dignity by this deed.
Just as he places the cup to his lips the sound of bells
314 G;be Xlfe of (5oetbe
is heard and the singing of a chorus, proclaiming the first
solemn hour of the Easter festival. Faust is saved, re-
stored to life and earth. A criticism which might be made
at this point demands an answer. It might be said that
chance plays here the chief r61e, and that is undramatical;
that a moment later the poison would have been drunk,
in spite of Easter morning and Easter celebration. To
strengthen this criticism one might refer again to that
scene which seems to clash with all the others, "Forest and
Cavern," where Mephistopheles says to Faust, "And but
for me not long ago thou hadst walked off this earthly
sphere. " It may be that in 1788, the time when this scene
originated, Goethe was thinking of an attempt on the part
of Faust to commit suicide, and that it was his intention
to have him hindered in the act by the intervention of
Mephistopheles. That would have eliminated the element
of chance in the ringing of the Easter bells, but it would
also have robbed the scene of a great deal of its beauty.
So Goethe preferred the element of chance, which, moreover,
is objectionable in a drama only when it takes the place
of a motive, not when it serves to develop a motive, as here.
The important thing is not the fact that the Easter bells
ring, but the way in which they affect Faust at the moment.
Furthermore Goethe has made Wagner announce this
"chance" ("to-morrow being Easter day") and the way
has been prepared for the dawn of the morning in Faust's
preceding monologue. His heart goes out with symbolic
longing toward the dawn of a new day, as the real new day
begins to break about him. Finally, one might say that
it must be the Easter season, must be spring, as it is only
in such a season that the first monologue can be understood,
with its newly awakened love of nature and its spring long-
ing to go out into the broad country and enter real life.
Thus even the chance occurrence is after all well motivated.
The other question is more important: How does this
chance occurrence affect Faust? By what is he held back
from suicide? Apparently ^le first answer to suggest itself
is that it marks the beginning of a return to the faith of his
Jfaust 315
childhood, that the man who no longer receives any support
from knowledge is for the moment in the grasp of religion.
But Goethe has protested in a most unmistakable fashion
against such an interpretation, in the passage in which he
makes Faust say:
S)ic Sotfdiaft [|ot' id) rool^l, attcin mir fe^It bet ©loube ;
5^oS SBunber ift bc8 ©laubenS liebfteg Sinb.
3ii icneti ©pboren mag' ii) nic^t ju ftrcben,
SBol^cr bie ^olbc Stod^ric^t t5nt.*
So it is not faith that binds him fast to life, for he lacks
faith. It is the sweet, blissful remembrances of his youth:
"And yet, with this sweet strain familiar as a boy, I now
am summoned back to life once more." "Remembrance
now, with childlike feeling, forbiddeth me to take the final,
solemn step." We have been prepared for this also by a
passage in the preceding monologue, where Faust was re-
minded, by the pictures on the crystal goblet, of many a
night in his youth. True, Goethe has chosen the contents
of the Easter songs so that they have some reference to
Faust, and has put in them a deep, symbolic meaning, which
is more readily comprehended by the reader than by the
hearer in the theatre. Faust himself, however, sees in
them nothing but the echoes of youthful remembrances.
The power of memory to make life dear, the moral support,
the permanent value, in thoughts of home and childhoodi,
we have all felt and been grateful for, though we may
meanwhile have advanced far beyond everything recalled,
even the faith of our childhood's years.
Life has Faust again, and so he goes out into life as it
is unfolded on Easter day outside the gates of the city.
Masterful is the way in which, with but few strokes, this
world of Philistines and students, soldiers and journeymen,
servant girls and citizens' daughters, is pictured with such
vividness in their innocent or insidious pleasures and joys,
and in their little wiles and intrigues :
* The message well I hear, but I in faith am wanting;
And miracle is faith's own dearest child.
I dare not soar to yonder heavenly spheres
Whence float these tidings of great joy.
3i6 Sbe Xife of (5oetbc
@te feiern bie Slufcrfte^ung beg ^erni,
®enn fie finb felber auferftanben,
Slug niebriger §dufer bumpfen ©emaiJiern,
Slug ^anbwerfg- unb ®cmerbeg-S5atiben,
Slug btm Sru(f Don ©icbein unb Sod^ern,
Slug ber ©tra^en quetf(^enber (Snge,
Slug ber Sird^en e^rwurbiger 3laiit
@inb fie olle ong Sit^t gebrad^t.*
To Faust all these things are so strange; he is so far
above all their joys, and yet he sympathises with them so
humanly, so tolerantly, and so understandingly. Echoes
of the tender emotions of the past night and of the rich
experiences of the morning are still reverberating in his
soul. And he is further moved by the crowds of people
gathering about him in the village to express their gratitude
for what he did for them as a physician during the dark
days of the plague. While Wagner thinks that his own
bosom would be swelled by the "veneration of this crowd,"
Faust feels ashamed and humiliated. During those sad
days he had proved his love by his deeds, and yet he says,
"We with our infernal medicines raged far more fiercely
than the plague." "Alas! the deeds we do, as weU as
sufferings, impede the progress of our lives." In this mood
he gazes at the sinking sun, and in his deeply stirred heart
are awakened again all the recently quelled spirits of dis-
couragement and dissatisfaction, of longing and unmeasured '
striving. "Oh, that pinions lifted me from earth!" The
life to which he has returned to-day is not life to him. While
all about him are conscious of but one single impulse, there
dwell in his breast two souls, which are at variance with
each other. In this mood he is seized anew with longing
for the aid of spirits, that they might lead him out of the
* The Lord's resurrection they celebrate,
For they themselves again have risen
From low-crouching house, from ill-smelling room.
From bonds of toil, from tradesman's prison.
From o'erhanging gables' deep gloom,
From the streets oppressively narrow,
From the churches' awe-breathing night
They have all emerged to the light.
Jfaust 317
narrowness of his knowledge and his whole existence into
a richer and gayer life ; longing for a magic cloak, which at
this moment he would not exchange for a king's mantle.
The proper moment has now arrived for hell to approach
him, to tempt him and lead him astray. It has long been
softly spreading magic coils about his feet to weave a future
snare, and now it approaches him. A poodle joins him,
and Mephistopheles crosses with Faust the threshold of his
study.
A new monologue of Faust, the third of the series, is
decidedly too much of a good thing, and its climax, the
longing for "revelation, the highest, most noble ever sent.
As found in the New Testament," is impossible. How
Goethe came upon this idea is easy to see. The effect of
the contjrast between the New Testament and the exorcism
of the devil, between heaven and hell, suited his purpose
perfectly. But for Faust an attempt to translate the Bible
is impossible, for he lacks faith. The words are not spoken,
then, by Faust, the man of feeling; they are the clear ut-
terance of the investigator, the philosopher, the scholar, of
the preceding monologues. It is possible for him to seek to
find out whether study and knowledge may not be able once
more to quiet his excited passion, his thirst for enjoyment;
but it cannot be his desire to return to faith and revelation.
True, one might say that the prologue of the Gospel of
John, the biblical passage in question, is itself knowledge,
a bit of Alexandrian philosophy of religion, and not faith;
but that could hardly be taken seriously. Besides, the
interpretation which Faust attempts, the contrast between
word and thought, power and act, is, in spite of the reminis-
cence of Fichte, neither philosophically clear nor purely
poetical; it is one of those passages in which the philosophi-
cal and poetical elements cannot be blended into a perfect
unity.
Now follows the exorcism of Mephistopheles. He ap-
pears in the form of a dog, but the "Key of Solomon," is
ineffective when applied to him. None of the four elements
is disguised in the beast, and so he is not an emissary of the
3i8 ZTbe Xife of (Boetbe
Earth-Spirit. He is really a fugitive from hell and must
make himself known to Faust as such, so that Faust may
do what he does with full consciousness. The second form
which he assumes is that of a travelling scholar. This is in
harmony with that above-mentioned plan of a great dis-
putation scene, according to which it was doubtless intended
that Mephistopheles should approach Faust, tempting him
and leading him into indiscreet utterances. But apart from
this, the devil comes to Professor Faust in a form fitting
Faust's sphere. The third time he appears, when he is
about to take Faust out and introduce him to a new life,
he comes dressed as a gay cavalier.
And now Mephistopheles defines himself as "A part o'
that power, but little understood, "Which e'er designs the
bad, and e'er creates the good." A part? He stands
before us in his entirety, and as a whole. By this turn
Goethe achieves at once a realistic contrast to the un-
measured, hyperidealistic striving of Faust toward the All
and the Whole. How cleverly the ambiguous "creates the
good" is put! The devil himself thinks of the denial and
annihilation of everything that exists, which as such deserves
to go to ruin and thus receive its due punishment; while
we think of that stimtilating, influencing, positively creative
side of evil, of which the Lord spoke in the "Prologue."
Thus the devil tells everjrthing, and yet not everything;
he says neither too much nor too little. He will assert
himself still further and will explain himself more clearly.
Faust is to become acquainted with entirely different phases
of his nature: "We'll talk about it more anon."
Why does Mephistopheles not enter into a compact
with Faust immediately? Why does he go away, when
Faust desires to hold him back? As though a man like
Faust were to be won without further ceremony, and as
though the devil did not have to bring many arts into play
to catch him! This retarding and delaying of the action
is philosophically fully justified. Hell first lures a man on
and stimulates his desires before it leads him astray and
causes him to fall, and it gains more by refusing requests
jfaust 319
than by granting them at once. The drama also gains
by the delay. What a fine stroke that Mephistopheles is
unable to escape from the room because of the "druid's
foot" on the threshold! It teaches Faust that even hell has
its laws and that a compact may be entered into with its
representatives. The devil himself may be caught and
hence the venture may be made. A dangerous step, to be
sure, but why not risk it? If he gets into the trap once,
why not a second time? Finally this feature furnishes the
occasion for that dream vision, which conjures up before
Faust a picture of a glorious region in which a godlike race
leads a blissful life. These fields of the blest and the de-
lights there enjoyed are painted as by the brush of a Bocklin.
The song of the spirits has both an exciting and a lulling
effect, like certain parts of Wagner's operas; it captivates
all the senses by its sweet charm, and causes Faust to sink
into a sea of illusions. Sensuous desire is aroused and un-
chained within him, and when he awakes with thirst-parched
lips Mephistopheles has vanished. Is that not a truly
Satanic idea, carried out in a'truly poetic way?
Of course the devil returns to close the compact desired
by Faust. It was no easy task for Goethe so to shape the
scene that the end of it, which had already been published
in the Fragment of 1790, could be joined to the newly com-
posed beginning without leaving the joint exposed. For
this reason it was one of the last portions of the First Part
to be written. How is the task performed ? So far as tone,
harmony, and style are concerned, it is unquestionably one
of the most powerful and most magnificent scenes of the
whole drama. All the registers of pathos and passion,
thought and wit, 'irony and acumen, are drawn, and in style
it reaches the very acme of dramatic power and passion.
In short it is a masterpiece in every respect.
There is but one thing in it that can be criticised un-
favourably, the chorus of invisible spirits after Faust has
pronounced his curse. Nobody will question its beauty,
nor the propriety of having Faust's passionate outburst
followed by such a musical intermezzo, which in its quieting,
320 Zl)c %\te of 6oetbc
soothing effect is almost like a Greek chorus. But it is
with these choruses as with the three monologues — ^they
are too numerous. There are the chorus of the archangels
in the "Prologue," the Easter chorus, the chorus of the
spirits at the exorcism, then another that lulls Faust to
sleep, and now this new chorus of spirits. Critics have
spoken, and not unjustly, of the operatic elements of these
portions of the drama. To be sure, there is singing also in
the Urfaust and the Fragment, but there it belongs to the
realistic, popular tone of Faust, and is in no way different
from the singing in real life. Here, however, songs take
the place of dialogue, and thus, as in the opera, music takes
the place of poetry. In any case this operatic element was
not found in the original style of Faust. It is a clear sign
of Goethe's change of style, of which we have already spoken.
If it were to go on increasing here, as will really be the case
in the Second Part, the tendency would be very hazardous.
What shall we say of the contents of the scene? Here
at least there is nothing to find fault with, is there? The
old and the new are joined together without discord or clash?
This has been questioned, and one critic has even ventured
the daring assertion that here "almost every word is a
contradiction." *^ So it is incumbent upon us to examine
the scene narrowly.
Mephistopheles finds Faust completely discouraged.
He has experienced nothing but disappointments, has failed
in ever5rthing, has not even been able to hold fast the devTl.
Now the devil is standing before him again and desires to
take him out into life, "in order that, untrammelled, free.
Life be at last revealed to thee." That, of course, would be
the fulfilment of Faust's desire. He has wished to fly, he
has longed for a magic cloak, and now he is to have it.
But he cannot rejoice; it is even beyond the power of his
fancy to conceive how such a thing could be possible as
that his wishes should be granted and he should ever be
satisfied. He is so sober and disenchanted that he sees
through all illusions and declares life to be absolutely worth-
less because it is full of illusions. But does Faust know life?
The Goethe Monument at Rome
Designed by Gustav Eberlein
f Reproduced by permission of the Sculptor, and of D. Anderson, Photographer)
faust 321
No, he knows only one part of it, let us say a third, know-
ledge and understanding. What he has experienced on this
side of life — " But I am bereft of all joy on earth" — he now
ignorantly applies to life as a whole, and speaks of it like
a pessimist. Yet he knows life neither on the side of en-
joyment (the second third) nor on that of action and in-
fluence (the third third ) , for which reason these sides remain
at the periphery of his fifeld of observation. He approaches,
life as a man of learning and believes he comprehends and
knows it through and through, and he discovers ever5rwhere
deception, illusion, disappointment. Hence there is no
joy in knowledge, because we can know nothing. From
this he concludes that there is no joy in life either, because
every anticipated pleasure is diminished by peevish cavilling,
and even the creations of his ever-active breast are hindered
by the thousand goblins of life, and because he everywhere
meets with disillusionments and limitations, hindrances
and imperfections. Knowledge has not satisfied him,
therefore enjoyment will not satisfy him either. Death in
the midst of enjoyment is the Snly thing worth while, because
life proves only that every new enjoyment but leads to a
new dissatisfaction. Then comes the devil's thrust, "And
yet one certain night some one refrained from quaffing off a
brownish potion." Faust still has some illusions and these
illusions have held him fast in life ; but now he breaks away
from them :
SSenn aug bcm fdiredf lichen ©emul^Ic
©in [ii^ befannter 2;on mid) 309,
®en 9lcft Don tinblic^cm ©efii^le
Wit Stnftong fro|er 3eit betrog,
@o fluc^' ici^ oEem, roai hit @eele
Wit So(f ■ unb ®ou!eItt)erf umf^jonnt
Unb fie in bicfe Sraucrt)B^Ie
Wt ©lenb- unb ©d^nteicftcltroftcn bannt.*
* E'en though sweet memories, o'er me stealing,
Once saved me from that maddening maze,
Charmed what was left of childlike feeling
With echoes soft of happy days,
I now curse all that e'er entices
VOL. in. — 21.
322 Zhe Xife of (Boetbe
He curses, one after another, everjrthing that is ordinarily-
considered a source of joy and pleasure, everjrthing that
appears valuable as happiness or a blessing of life, and finally
ends with the terrible words :
glu(^ fei bcr ^offnimg! glud^ bcm ©laubcn,
Unb glitif) dor allem ber ©ebulb ! *
Accurst be hope! which lures us on with its illusions from
one station of life to another; and curst be faith! which gives
us courage and strength to take up the battle of life and
live; and most of all be patience curst! Faust has no
patience in the world of knowledge, for he would like to
know everything immediately and penetrate with one effort
the innermost secrets of nature ; nor has he in life the patience
to thrust aside the goblins of life, with their hindrances, and
strive after one thing and then another. In a word, he has
not the patience to be a realist.
It is everything or nothing again, and since he cannot
have everything, and all at once, he will have nothing at
all. Such is not the thought and feeling of a pessimist, but
of an idealist who knows no metes and botmds. We recog-
nise this idealist in the elemental violence of his curses,
and in his attempt to tear down the prison bars of real life,
by which he is fretted and chafed, and the metes and bounds
of wiiich he considers an attentat upon his ideal striving.
He is not yet able to forgo his desires, and he is still unwilling
to resign himself. Hence "the small dependents, my at-
tendants," as Mephistopheles calls the intervening spirits,
direct their song not to the pessimist, but to the idealist.
They have rightly recognised his want of moderation and
his restlessness, have clearly felt his Titanesque, heaven-
storming nature, and so seek to lure him to begin a new
And cheats the soul with fancies vain,
All honeyed wiles, all sly devices,
That bind it to this world of pain.
* Accurst be hope! and curst be faith!
And most of all be patience curst!
faust 323
course of life. Through their words, which are nothing but
Faust's inner voice objectified, there runs for this very reason
an ideal strain, and also the suggestion that it may not be
so easy for Mephistopheles to master this mighty son of
earth.
As though nothing had happened, as though Faust had
not just cursed all illusion, Mephistopheles now comes for-
ward with the proposal that they enter into a compact, and
Faust expresses his willingness to do so. How is this
possible, especially at the present moment? "Accurst be
faith!" is one thing. The beyond can cause him little
worry; he does not care to hear anything further about
whether or not there is such a thing as an above and a below
in those spheres. He has no illusions on this subject, and
hence he may make the venture. To be sure, we ourselves
are confronted by the impending danger of being torn out
of our illusion. If there is no beyond, then Faust may well
make the venture, for Mephistopheles will be deceived in
any event. In any event? Must hell be in the beyond ? Is
there not a hell here on earth, and will Faust not experience
it in his own life, for example, in the prison with Gretchen,
where all the woe of mankind will overwhelm him? Yes, but
is that what Goethe means? Perhaps not. But who has
time to think about it at such a moment, when the action
is advancing so breathlessly, and we, in our eagerness to
hear the compact, are for the present happily carried beyond
the possibility of losing the illusion?
If Faust no longer has any illusions, he has none con-
cerning the devil's offer, and hence he asks: "What wilt
thou, sorry devil, give?" Still/he enters into the compact.
What does he expect to gain by his league with Mephisto-
pheles? In reality nothing, and it is for this reason that he
feels at liberty to enter into it. "Was human soul, in its
exalted striving, by thee and thine e'er understood?"
Mephistopheles will never gain the mastery over him, for,
like the Lord, in the "Prologue," Faust relies on his striving,
and his striving is so exalted that the sorry devil will never
be able to satisfy it. He can close the contract with proud
324 Zl)c %itc Of (Boctbe
defiance, because he is certain of the endlessness of his
strength and the duration of his striving. But if the latter
is endless it can never be satisfied. Wherefore then the
compact ? Must he not now consider it worthless and
superfluous, and decline to become a party to it? He
desires to dull his senses ; he longs for intoxication, that he
may forget himself and his pain, may forget his heart's dis-
satisfaction, by silencing it in a wild chase after enjoyment.
He needs this wild chase. It is his nature to strive, and
striving means employment of one's powers in action. So
he needs something to occupy him, needs this restlessness;
therefore " Into the tumult of time let us hence. And stem
the rolling tide of events! Restless striving is man's true
sphere." In this restless striving Mephistopheles is to be
Faust's servant, and Faust thinks that he wUl fill the place
satisfactorily. And what is to be the object of the striving?
Pleasure? Yes; but also its opposite, pain. "But list! no
word of joy hath crossed my lips. I fain would drunken
reel with pleasure's maddest pain." Here again it is every-
thing or nothing. "And all the weal and woe on man
bestowed I '11 gladly in my inmost soul enjoy." We have
made the transition from the newer portion of the scene
to the older, naturally and imperceptibly, and the keenest
eye cannot discern any joint or gap.
However, we have not reached the end of the scene.
We now pass from Faust to Mephistopheles. Even in the
enjoyment of the world and the activities of life Faust de-
mands the acme, the whole ; his desires embrace everything,
even the infinite. Hence even here he must remain imsatis-
fied. Since this does not fit into Mephistopheles's plan,
he must now exert a sobering, moderating, subduing in-
fluence, whereas in the beginning his influence had to be
stimulating and luring. This involves no contradiction.
Faust's pessimism was from the beginning idealism, which
accounts for the boundless passion of the curses he pro-
nounced. Then it was Mephistopheles's task to counteract
his inordinate lack of illusions, by presenting the attractive
side of life and luring him out into this life. Now this im-
3fau0t 325
moderateness reveals itself in its true light, as immoderate-
ness of striving and willing; and Mephistopheles must seek
to subdue it, must pour out upon the idealist vials of vitriolic
mockery and cold, realistic reason, and recommend to him
self-limitation. To the devil self-limitation means the for-
going of everything high and ideal, means limitation to the
sphere of the low and common. What is the devil's aim?
To draw this lofty spirit away from his original source, to
make him eat dust, and with pleasure; in a word, to stifle
the idealism in him. Mephistopheles tells us himself what
he considers the best means to this end :
Sen \i)le\)p' idE) bati) iai ttiilbe Sckn,
®ur4 fiacre Unbebcutcn^eit,
@r foU mir ga<)))eln, ftarrcn, fleben,
Unb feiner Unerfattlid^feit
(goH ©peif unb Sranf Bor gier'gcn fiippcn fc^rocben;
6r roirb ®rquidCung fiii^ umfonfterfie^n.*
Mephistopheles is wise enough to know that such a spirit
is not easily ruined, that its'mainspring is not to be weakened
all at once. So he must first seek to overcome Faust's
restless striving. The feasts which he sets before him must
be prepared with this in view; they must be wild, insipid,
insignificant, common. He hopes in this way to wean
Faust from his accustomed fare, to degrade him and ruin
him spiritually, so that in the end, languid, weak, and blas6,
he will really find pleasure in eating dust. So it is not a
question of how long Faust tarries here or there in his pursuit
of happiness, but whether he will ever become weary of this
pursuit, this restless activity of spirit, and whether he wUl
ever come to a halt, surfeited and exhausted, and cease
entirely to strive forward. For being blas6 is a mortal sin
against the holy ghost of life and striving.
* Him will I drag through revels gay,
His lust with vapid trifles feed,
Till he shall struggle, stiffen, stay;
And to excite his boundless greed
Viands shall near his lips and float away.
In vain shall he refreshment then implore.
326 Zl)c Xlfe of (Boetbe
So they close the wager, the compact, each interpreting,
it in his own mind in his own way, Faust, "in a sudden
flight of impassioned oratory," clothing the terms in these
words :
SBerb' i^ berul^igt je mtc^ auf ein gaulbett legen,
@o fci eg gleii^ urn tnt(^ getan!
Sannft bii tni(^ fii)mei(i)elnb je belugen,
®o$ ic£) mir felbft gefaHen mag,
Sannft bu mi(^ mit®enu^ betriigen,
®a6 fci fiir mid^ ber te|te Sag!
®ie 2Bette btef iii)! . . .
Hub @d)Ia9 auf (Sd^Iagl
2Berb' id) jum Slugcnblidfe fagen:
SScrtoeile bod^ ! bu biftfofi^onl
©oun magft bu mii) in geffcln f(i^Iagcn,
®ann mill ic^ gem ju ©runbe ge^nl
®ann mag bie Sotenglodfe fd^aUen,
®ann bift bu beineS ©ienfteS frei,
®ie U^r mag fte^n, ber Sctger fallen,
68 fei bie Beit fiir mid^ Corbet! *
Let us now ask ourselves the question, Has Mephis-
topheles won this wager at any moment of the Gretchen
tragedy, not to speak of the vapid revelries in Auerbach's
Cellar, during which Faust could not possibly have viewed
himself complacently ? Through sensuous love the devil hoped
* When calmed I stretch myself upon a bed of ease,
That moment be the victory thine!
Canst thou me lure with flattery's wile
To view myself complacently,
Canst thou with pleasure me beguile.
Let that day be the last for me!
Be this our wager! . . .
Then we agree!
When to the moment I shall say:
"Oh, prithee, stay! Thou art so fair!"
Then mayst thou fetters on me lay,
The ruin of my soul declare!
Then let the death bell sound its call,
Then from thy service thou ait free,
The clock may stop, the index fall,
And time no more exist for me!
3fau0t 327
to drag Faust down into the mire of guilt. Instead there
awakens in Faust that eternal love which will not permit the
soul to remain in sin and perish in guilt. He is filled with the
idealism of love. There is awakened in him also the con-
sciousness of metes and bounds, and of the necessity of
moderation and self-limitation. He once desired to be
able to fly, to be free and untrammelled, untrammelled im-
plying freedom from all restraints of morality. He is soon
to learn by bitter experience whither such unrestrained
freedom leads, and also to experience the full significance of
his desire to heap the woes of all mankind upon his own
bosom. He has really felt the weight of all the misery of
mankind, but at what a price! In the Gretchen tragedy he
has again become conscious of the two souls within his
breast, the inward discord between the vulgar realism of
sensuousness and the ideal height of an endless love. In
view of this discord can it be possible that Mephistopheles
has won the wager, the condition of which Faust formulated
in these words, " Canst thou me lure with flattery's wile to
view myself complacently " ? Was Faust satisfied with
himself there in the prison? If, instead of clinging to a
pedantic and purely superficial interpretation of the words,
' ' When to the moment I shall say : ' Oh, prithee, stay ! Thou
art so fair!'" one takes into consideration the spirit and
significance of the whole passage, there is no trace here of
a contradiction such as has been confidently pointed out.
So correctly is the wager formulated that we are forced to
admit that in it Faust's nature is for the first time fully
unfolded, without any incoherencies or evidences of patch-
work, and without any other contradiction than that which
lies in the nature of Faust, and of mankind in general.
And another thing has hereby been made clear within
the tragedy itself, as it was outside of it, in the " Prologue
in Heaven," namely, that the devil's words, "Hither to
me! " at the close of the First Part, cannot be the end. The
First Part leads us to expect a sequel, such as really lies
before us in the Second Part.
Mephistopheles had taken Faust to Auerbach's Cellar,
328 Zbe Xlfe of (5octbc
to Gretchen's chamber, and to the witches' conclave on the
Brocken. It was insipid enough at the latter place, but
for that very reason Faust could not be satisfied with him-
self there. He learned there whither being '' untrammelled,
free" leads when it means freedom from the moral law,
when man casts off the restraints of duty and morality.
Though he falls a victim to sensuousness, he finds in his
love for Gretchen something else that is higher and purer
and corresponds entirely to his idealistic original source.
Thus he begins inwardly to free himself from the base com-
panion, with whose society he has hitherto been pleased.
Through the fate of Gretchen he learns that unHmited,
unrestrained willing and striving lead man to the abyss.
He has learned to know mankind's highest pleasure and
deepest pain, but has at the same time experienced the
truthfulness of the words, which he himself later utters,
" Passive enjoyment makes one common."
Much as he has learned, his education is not yet finished.
He has completed another third of the course, but the last
third is still before him. Since he desires the whole, he
"considers the possession of the highest knowledge, the
enjoyment of the fairest blessings insufficient," so long as
he has not yet completed this last third. He believes in
the motto, "Restless striving is man's true sphere," so he
says : " Into the tumult of time let us hence. And stem the
rolling tide of events!" After knowledge and enjoyment
must come action and deeds; after the little world, the great
world. Or, as Goethe himself says, the hero must now be
led out of his present "sorrowful sphere through worthier
relations in higher regions." The poet also puts it in this
way: "The treatment must now pass more from the specific
to the generic."* Schiller makes the very positive sugges-
tion; " It would be eminently proper, in my judgment, for
Faust to be led into active life." What success will Faust
have in the great world, and how will it go with him there?
And, above all, what success will Goethe have, and how
will it go with the material which swells to such propor-
* Cf. Riemer, Miiteilungen Hber Goethe, ii., 569. — C.
jfaust 329
tions? Will he find the "poetical hoop" that can hold it
together ?
Goethe was Faust, Faust was Goethe ; and even though,
as we have seen, each had outgrown the other, at bottom
their natures always remained the same. For the continua-
tion of the work this fact was both favourable and unfavour-
able. Favourable, in that Goethe, having attained to a high
position among men, was able to labour in the great world
and exert an influence upon it, at the side of a prince, as
statesman and minister, as theatre director and whatever
other function it fell to his lot to perform. Unfavourable, in
so far as his whole nature, which inclined more and more,
as time went on, to calm, contemplative, exclusive activity
and to work with himself and on his own harmonious de-
velopment, made him desire to hold himself aloof from
the excitement and unrest of political life, and from
mingling with the great mass. Besides, he took little
interest in the storms and passions, to some extent
even in the most important phenomena and questions, of
politics. *
At the time of Gotz and Egmont he to whom nothing
human was strange did not know this lack. Tf he had
finished Faust then it would probably have been easier for
him to guide his hero through even this sphere of life.
Hence it has been thought that Faust might have been
made to take part in the Peasants' War of the, sixteenth
century, and to-day one might be specially tempted to
represent him as a champion of such social aims and strug-
gles. For the Goethe of later years it was above all this
very "difficulty of the political task" that made him hesi-
tate and postpone the work time after time. He had
gotten out of sympathy with things political, especially since
the French revolution, and this side of life was for him almost
a closed book, when he took up the task of completing the
Second Part of the drama. On the other hand, the thing
that interested him during the first years of the new century,
when he went to work under Schiller's stimulating influence,
was the working out of the idea of pure man, the realisation
33° ^bc %itc of (Boetbe
of a definite educational ideal, which we characterise only
approximately with the nowadays so threadbare word hu-
manity, and much too one-sidedly as neo-humanism. With
the progress of years surrounding conditions also contri-
buted their share toward turning his interest away. The
War of Liberation failed to bring the Germans unity of
spirit and redemption from the division of the fatherland
into petty states. The reaction soon made its laming in-
fluence felt ever3rwhere. Goethe had already asstimed a
cool, antagonistic attitude toward the youthful attempts
at opposition on the part of the Burschenschaft and South
German liberalism. The esthetic-literary war, on the con-
trary, between classicism and romanticism, between the
antique and the mediseval, was not yet fought out, and,
strongly as Goethe was attached to the classical, he sought
to form out of the two opposing aims a third aim, higher
than either of them, the modern educational ideal, and to
realise this ideal in his own person. He also took a most
lively interest in natural science, which was coming more
and more to the front. Even social developments, par-
ticularly the building up of the civilisation of the new era
on the foundation of machinery and technical skill, on
canals and ocean commerce, did not escape his far-seeing
eye. How deeply he was interested in these matters
we know from Wilhelm Meister.
Faust had outgrown Goethe also by virtue of the fact
that he had become a "generic" character, a representative
type of striving, struggling humanity. This humanity was
not different from that of Goethe's own time, except that
he saw more distinctly than others what was lying in the
seed and was yet gradually to grow beyond that period.
Hence he felt it his duty to embody in Faust, as a repre-
sentative type, the interests of the day, as they came to his
attention and affected him. But even the most universal
spirit can take but one step and reach but one span beyond
the limitations of his age. So the Faust of the second decade
of the nineteenth century will hardly be able to advance
to political activity, because there was no political activity
Jfauet 331
at that time. Herein lies the temporary limitation of the
Second Part.
What we have just said reveals still another danger.
To the symbolic, "generic" significance of Faust Goethe
sacrificed the necessity of limiting him to a definite time,
say, the sixteenth century. He makes him come into touch
with the past and the future, with the Middle Ages and the
nineteenth century; in a certain sense he makes him inde-
pendent of time, through which process the personal and
dramatic elements lose what is gained by the universal
human and symbolic.
Now let us pass to the contents of this Second Part. It
falls into two cliief divisions, the union of Faust with Helena
and the end of Faust, after he has become the prince of the
strand. The former of these divisions embraces the first
tliree_acts ; the latter, the fourth and fifth acts.
After Faust's soul has passed through the hellish tor-
ments of guilt and remorse, in the "Prison" scene, we see
him at the beginning of the Second Part seeking and finding
sleep under the influence of the songs of Ariel and his chorus
of elves, for "be he holy, be he evil, they th' unhappy
creature pity." That is to say, the homeless outcast, the
monster without aim and rest, finds again in the solitude,
on the bosom of nature, his lost repose, finds new life and
new power "to strive henceforth tow'rd being's sovereign
height." In the beautiful monologue at the sight of the
rising sun we see him more mature and, above all, limiting
himself, forgoing the whole. The way is paved for a resig-
nation of exaggerated idealism. He cannot bear the full
light of the sun, he must be satisfied with its picture in the
rainbow of a waterfall. "In these refracted colours we
have life."
The purpose of the scene is obvious. But one wUl have
to ask one's self whether it is enough to represent in this
short scene and in such an operatic way Faust's liberation
from remorse and a guilty conscience and his resolution to
begin a new life on the basis of a past bitter experience,
and whether it is enough to let him recover so simply in
332 Z\3C Xife of (5oetbe
communion with nature that, bathed in the dew of Lethe's
flood, he hardly thinks of Gretchen any more. The ethical
element is wanting, and yet the effect of the Gretchen
tragedy on Faust ought to be ethical. In the third third of
Faust's range of experience, in active life, it would seem ab-
solutely essential that the ethical relations be not wanting.
No motive at all is assigned for Faust's determination
to go to the Emperor's Court, where we find him with
Mephistopheles in the second scene. Here three things
happen. Mephistopheles, who introduces himself as a
court fool, opens the prospect of untold treasures for the
Emperor, who is financially ruined and whose whole empire
is on the point of dissolution, but who, undisturbed by
these things, cares for nothing save to amuse himself. The
promise is redeemed by the manufacture of paper money,
which, it is true, is soon discovered to be the devil's money,
and brings no blessing to its possessors. The second is the
masquerade, which Faust seems to direct from the back-
ground, like Goethe, who had arranged many such festivities
at the Court of Weimar, especially during the first years
of his residence there. It is full of allusions and allegories,
which are not to be understood without a commentary,
but it is constructed with much artistic beauty and the-
atrical observation, just such a court festival as Goethe's
fancy doubtless dreamed might some day be realised.
There is also a connection with the action of the first part
of the scene. The third event of the scene is the conjuring
up of Helena.
Goethe's sources for the paper-money scene were doubt-
less John Law's schemes and the assignat swindle in France.
But what is the purpose of the scene in the drama ? To
give Faust an occasion to become an active factor in po-
litical life, at a time when the state is in distress. But does
Faust really do anything? Mephistopheles invents the
plan and executes it; Faust is his passive assistant and at
most adds a few pathetic words, which show that not even
he sees through the swindle. There is another thing in
the scene that gives it interest beyond that due to its po-
JfaUSt 333
sition in Faust. It is a picture of the time of the transition
from the Middle Ages to modern times, perhaps not without
a slight polemical thrust at the romantic glorification of
the period and the romantic manipulation of historical facts
to make them seem to support the theory that throne and
altar belong together. The luxurious festivals of the Court
are a striking contrast to the distress of the country. The
spirit of the government is feudal, mediseval, unenlightened,
and reactionary, as is shown by the drastic expressions of
the Chancellor:
Statur unb ©eift — fo f()tic^t man nidit ju El^riften.
®c«^alb tierbrentit mon.SltFieiftcn;
SBcil fold^e 9leben f)oc^ft gcfolirlii^ finb.
mtnt ift Sitnbe, ®eift tft Seufel,
@ie l^cgcn ^roifd^en fic^ ben Snieifel,
3|r mi^gcftaltet Switterfinb.
UnS nid^t |o ! — Saiferg alten Canben
@inb sroet ©efdjlec^ter ncu entftanben,
@ie ftii^en roiirbig fetncn 2:]§ron:
®ic ^eiligen finb e§ unb bie Stittet;
@ie ftel^en jeben Ungewitter
11/ /\^ nel^men ^\x^' unb Stoat gum So^n.*
As opposed to him, Faust and Mephistopheles repre-
sent the modern spirit. Wherever Mephistopheles discovers
that anything is old and corrupt his immediate influence
leads to further dissolution and destruction, as, for ex-
ample, in the masquerade, where the gold works ruin and
adventtirers and swindlers gain the upper hand. Hence
*To words like "nature,"' "inind," no Christian lists.
The ground for burning atheists
Is that such words bring souls in jeopardy.
Nature is sin, and mind is devil;
They doubt beget, in shameless revel,
A monstrous, mongrel progeny.
Not so with us ! The empire old
Brought forth two races, new and bold.
To-day the throne's most worthy stay.
The knights and clergy, who together
The emperor help each storm to weather.
And take both church and state for pay.
334 Zbe Xife of ©oetbe
progress is not so quickly made after all. The ground must
first be prepared; the spirits must first be formed, men
must first be educated, and that esthetically. Schiller
also thought that education for the true state should be
esthetic. Therefore the time, and Faust, who represents
the time, must pass through this course of training. The
road of progress from the Middle Ages to modern times
passes through humanism and the Renaissance, that is,
through the return to life of classical antiquity and its
beauty. Helena must be conjured up.
It is here a question chiefly of the amusement of the
Emperor; the beautiful is to entertain him. This is the
first form in which it manifests itself at the masquerade,
and it is for this purpose only that Helena and Paris are
to be produced. But it is not easy to conjure up Helena.
Mephistopheles cannot do it; the spirit of annihilation
is not a spirit of reanimation, and, besides, the northern
devil is the principle of ugliness, to whom the figures of
antiquity, "an obnoxious folk," afford no attraction. So
Faust must this time take a hand himself. Mephistopheles
can only show him the way and give him the key. He
himself must go down to the " Mothers. "
®ic SDtutter! ^ntttxl — 'g flingt fo munberlici) I *
Here we have really one of the mysteries of the Second
Part. Who are these Mothers? The conception is to be
traced back to a passage in Plutarch.^^ Plutarch was a
Platonist, and the realm of the Mothers is essentially the
realm of the ideas of Plato, or, as Schiller has called it,
the realm of forms, the realm of shades. These ideas are the
eternal, original forms of all things, or, as was later held,
the original forms of all individual things. Though these
individual things may have disappeared from our world,
their ideal, original forms still endure. Over this realm of
forms stand guard certain divinities, who give them
motherly protection. These divinities are, then, so to
*The Mothers! Mothers! — it sounds so curious!
faust 335
speak, the womb from which issue all individual things,
and theirs is the function of mediating the process of life,
and, naturally, also that of reanimation, whether things
are called to the light naturally in the fair course of life, or
miraculously by the magician's power. So Faust must go
to the Mothers if he desires, as a magician, to bring Helena
to the light ; for her original form is in their keeping. It
must be admitted that this is all far-fetched and artificial;
and it is not very clear what the journey to the Mothers,
into those "solitudes," into the eternal, empty distance
of void, signifies to Faust, or whether his hope to find the
all in this nothing is realised in Helena.
At any rate Faust brings up with him the embodiment
of classical beauty, Helena, in her original form, most beauti-
ful and perfect, and produces her before the Court. While
the Court, not knowing what to make of the ideal, indulges
in insipid witticisms and scandalous gossip, Faust's soul
is deeply moved' by the sight of this beauty, which was
conjured up primarily only for the sake of amusement.
She it is to whom he will henceforth devote the employment
of his every power, the whole of his passion, inclination,
love, adoration, frenzy. So here in the presence of beauty
he is still the same old immoderate, unrestrained idealist,
with his all or nothing. He seeks to hold Helena fast,
but the spirit-like being dissolves in vapour as he is about
to seize her. It is with her as with the Earth-Spirit, and
here again Faust sinks in a swoon. He has shown that he
is still the same Faust in that he has not the patience to
await the results of slow work; he must take beauty by
storm, and that immediately. But beauty and the classical
ideal cannot be gained in that way. It is necessary to
travel by a longer way in order to arrive at the goal. To
show this is the purpose of the second act.
Of all the five acts this is the strangest, with Homun-
culus and the Classical Walpurgis Night. Mephistopheles
has taken swooning Faust back to his old quarters, the
realm of knowledge, or, let us say, the realm of learning,
since Wagner now dwells there as a shining light of science.
336 Zbe %ifc of 6oetbc
This man of learning is just now at work on a stupendous
project, the original conception of which goes back to the
Renaissance, to Paracelsus. It is his desire to produce an
artificial man in a retort, and the moment that Mephisto-
pheles enters his laboratory, and, as it seems, by his inter-
vention hastens the chemical process, the great work is
consummated, the chemical manikin is finished, a little
spirit man without flesh and blood, almost without a body,
who, as a product of learning, is spiritual through and
through, is clever, intelligent, and even learned from the
beginning, and, as a representative of the learning of the
Renaissance, shows from the outset a "tendency toward
the beautiful and toward serviceable action." As a poly-
histor he knows of course about Greece and is quite at home
there. Hence he is able to interpret Faust's classical dreams,
which have to do with Leda and the swan, that is, with the
procreation of Helena, and can show him the way to Greece
and serve as his guide there. He is the right man for Faust
at the present moment. From his hand, "the hand of
truth, " will Faust receive the veil of poetry and beauty.
Such approximately must be the conception which we
form of the nature and purpose of Homunculus, and the
whole conception would have been quite clever if it had
not had a tinge of the comical. It is not Faust who makes
him, but Wagner. The idea that this famulus-nature, this
learned impotence, should make a human being without
procreation, provokes a smile, whether we will or no; it
necessarily makes the creature ridiculous. Matters are
made worse, rather than improved, when we hear that the
conception was suggested to Goethe by the assertion of a
Schellingian natural philosopher, who happened also to
be called "Wagner, that chemistry would certainly yet
succeed in creating men by means of crystallisation.*'
Ordinarily there is but a short step from the sublime to
the ridiculous; here we are t9 reaUse the shortness of the
distance in the opposite direction. Homunculus fulfils his
task and leads Faust to the classic land of beauty, just
as philological learning has in reality led the peoples of
3faUSt 337
Western Europe, the men of modem times, to the classical
ideal. But he himself meets with his end there, and this
end is tragically beautiful. He is dashed to pieces on the
shell chariot of Galatea, the goddess of beauty, presumably
because he is now no longer necessary, just as the learning
of humanism seems necessary only until the beauty of
humane and humanised mankind shall be realised. In
certain particulars the fate and end of this strange little
dwarf are not clear, and it is easy to understand how others
should have hit upon other interpretations, as, for example,
to mention but one, which is wholly impossible, the inter-
pretation of Homunculus as the embodiment of life energy
and a heroic longing for formation. 'o We have already
spoken of the cleverness of the idea, that the way to beauty
passes through learning, the ridiculous aspects of which
one must in the end accept as unavoidable; but such ob-
scurities as those just referred to, and the law that what has
once been made ridiculous can never again produce a sublime
and tragical effect, detract materially from this cleverness.
The most objective figure of the whole scene is the Stu-
dent of the First Part, who has meanwhile advanced to the
bachelor's degree. Though even he is made to utter all
sorts of insinuations, for example, against the Burschen-
schafters and their bearing, with which Goethe had little
sympathy, but, above all, against Fichte and his subjective
idealism. In his youthful sauciness and impertinence this
young man is most charmingly characterised. The one
humour-saturated sentence of Mephistopheles, " Perhaps
thou knowest not, my friend, how rude thou art," richly
compensates for a great deal of tiresome allegory.
Homunculus and Mephistopheles take Faust, who is still
lying unconscious, to Greece for the Classical Walpurgis
Night on the field of Pharsalus. It is the anniversary of
the battle in which the freedom of the antique world came
to an end and the victory was won by that empire which
was destined finally to carry classical antiquity over into
the new Christian world. Therefore the Classical Walpurgis
Night is republican, as its counterpart in the north was
338 Zbe %itc oC (5oetbe
monarchic. Furthermore the ghostly life and actions oi
this very ground and in this very night are excellentl]
motivated. But, on the other hand, it seems to us a ques
tionable undertaking, which savours strongly of learned'
tiess, to attempt to represent in the sequence of the figures
introduced something like the historical development ol
the grotesque civilisations, brought from Egypt and the
Orient into the free Hellenic beauty of classical civili-
sation, which is revealed upon and about the shel
chariot of Galatea. The most questionable feature abou1
it is the fact that Goethe introduced in satirical fonr
certain scientific disputes which happened to interest him,
such as the mjrthological controversy concerning the Cabiri,
provoked by Schelling, but, above all, the scientific wai
between the Vulcanist and the Neptunist factions in geology,
which he finally brought to a close in favour of the Nep-
timist standpoint, after subjecting the Vulcanists to a
volley of derision. What has this to do with Faust? Apart
from this we lose sight of him altogether too much.
Mephistopheles goes in quest of the ugly and the lustful;
Homunculus seeks corporeality, which he either finds or
loses, we do not know for certain which, but probably the
latter, when he bursts his glass on the shell chariot of
Galatea.
Faust has but one thought, one aim. In the throng
of antique forms and ghosts he seeks Helena, but cannot
find her. Chiron, who, as an educator, ha,s put heroes on
the right path, and has carried Helena herself on his back,
takes him to Manto, his dearest friend among the sibylline
guild. As she loves "him who desires the impossible,"
she leads Faust down to Proserpine, as she had once " smug-
gled Orpheus in," in order that he may bring up Helena —
this time from the lower world. But here the thing of
chief importance is wanting. Goethe intended to develop
a scene at the court of Proserpine. He had in mind es-
pecially a grand rhetorical appeal by Manto, or by Faust
himself, by which Proserpine should be moved to let Helena
go back up to life. " What an oration it must be, " he said
jfaust 339
to Eckermann, "when even Proserpine is moved by it to
tears!" Unfortunately this scene was left unwritten. The
assertion that ever3rthing presupposed by the return to life
is given, and hence the occurrence itself may, without loss
to the play, remain behind the scene and be supplied men-
tally, as a logical certainty, by those who have witnessed
what has preceded, is not a satisfactory excuse. As is
proved by a sketch of the year 1826, it was Goethe's original
intention to write out the scene. As he did not do it, this
portion of the Second Part turned out truly " too laconical. "
There is here a very perceptible gap. At the opening of
the third act Helena stands suddenly before the surprised
spectator, who as yet has had nothing to prepare him for
her appearance.
Helena, this " Classico-Romantic Phantasmagoria," was
first thought of as an interlude, but now " the piece" forms
the important third act, the " culmination and axis" of the
Second Part. So far as form is concerned, it is a Greek
tragedy in the luxtirious garb of the antique trimeter, with
a chorus of Trojan maidens, a leader of the chorus, and
choral song. But is the substance also Greek? Let us see.
Helena and her attendants are on Spartan soil. Having
just returned from Troy, she is waiting before her palace for
Menelaus, who has sent her ahead of the army. Mephis-
topheles appears as the stewardess of the royal castle,
in the form of a Phorcyd, the ugliest figure of classical
mythology, which he borrowed during the Walpurgis Night.
By means of a warning that Menelaus has chosen her for
a sacrificial victim, as a punishment for her infidelity, he
terrifies the princess and drives her into the arms of Paust,
who has settled in the northern part of Sparta, as the leader
of Germanic hordes. Faust receives the fugitives in his
castle and protects them against an attack of Menelaus.
As a reward for the rescue he wins the love of Helena and
enjoys with her in Arcadia the highest bliss of love. From
their union, soon after it is formed, there springs a son,
Euphorion, who, soon after his birth, grows up and talks,
sings and jumps. But as he knows no danger, no limita-
340 Z^c %ltc Of (5oetbe
tions, no moderation, he falls down all too soon, a second
Icarus, from the quickly scaled rocky height, and from the
depths below we hear a voice: "Leave me in the realm of
shades, mother, not all alone!" The son draws the mother
after him. With the words, " Proserpine, receive the boy
and me," she embraces Faust, "her corporeal part disap-
pears, her garment and veil remain in his arms." The
garment bears Faust "swiftly through the ether above every-
thing common," he floats away on a bank of clouds. The
attendants, the maidens of the chorus, with their genuine
antique enjoyment of life and nature, prefer, instead of
following the queen back to Hades, to return to ever-living
nature and transform themselves into dryads, echo-nymphs,
brook-njrmphs, and spirits of the vine. Thus ends the
phantasmagoria. What does it signify?
First let us ask: What is Helena? A living creature, a
human being with flesh and blood, or a shade, a spirit, a
phantasm? Does she experience everything awake and
with consciousness, or as in a dream? Perhaps neither,
perhaps both. She says herself: " I to myself become an
eidolon," and "which I am I do not know." Faust, the
Faust of the sixteenth century, is a man of the Middle Ages
— ^the settlement of knights in Greece occurred, as is well
known, in the year 1204 — and at the same time an entirely
modern man. Thus three ages are intermingled. But
the question of chief interest is, how does he come to be with
the Spartan queen ? Is it a spectral apparition ; is it reality ?
We do not know. AlHhatjaxlearisthat their union signi-
fie§.Jjie unjon_jo£...xlggsicat,^jBd..^ medi£e\^^ Faust
TCaches the Greek queen the Germanic rhyme form, and
teaches her the principle that in poetry only what comes
from the heart can affect the heart. He himself receives
from her as his permanent possession her garment and veil,
the clothing of beauty, which bears him through the ether
above everjrthing common. From their union springs
Euphorion, the representa tive oljuodeFa-jaeetrv. in whom
the principle above rrferred'to is verified, to which even
the Phorcyd Mephistopheles ascribes:
Ifaust 341
®cnn eg mu^ »on §er3en gc^m,
2Bag auf ^erjen mirfen foil.*
It is the superiority of modern art, in its inwardness of
feeling, even over antique art, of which it borrows but the
forms:
fia$ hex Sonne ©lanj Ucrfd^ttjinben,
SBenn eS in ber ©eele tagt,
SBir im eigncn ^erjen finben,
SSaS bic ganje SScIt t)crfogt.t
Is Euphorion really the representative of modern poetry?
Is not Goethe himself that? We have already heard that
Eupho rion is Lord Byron, who, furthermore, is supposed to
be pof&ayed "l ' tr t ll B Bi T yCh arioteer of the first act. Goethe
said of him : " For a representative of the most recent poetical
age I could use nobody but him, who, without question, is
to be considered the greatest talent of the century. And
then BjTTon is not classical, and he is not romantic; he is
like the present day itself. Such a one I had to have." So
we shall have to be satisfied with this and make the best
of it. While Euphorion (Byron), the half -visionary, stands
upon his eminence and watches the battle of the Greeks
against the Turks, even hears the thunder of cannon during
a sea battle, and as a Philhellene strives to help the New
Hellenes, he forms a new connecting link between the
antique and the modern world.
Thus Faust really spans the three thousand years from
the capttire of_ Trov tq _the f all of Misso jonghi. B ut it is a
composite picture shoTOng~a~gre5rtrSonfusion of qualities:
poetry and objectivity, with symbolism and allegory; per-
sonality and individuality, with universal humanity; unhis-
torical and marvellous incidents, with history of the world
* From the heart must needs arise
What aspires the heart to reach.
t Let the sun forsake the sky,
If the soul is bright with mom;
What the whole world doth deny
Is within our bosoms born.
342 tTbe Xife of ©oetbc
nn the nrtp. 1ia.rid_anH historv of p hilosophy on the „
time and space, versification and style, poetry and truth, all
in gay confusion, really forming a daring phantasmagoria.
If it had remained, as was originally planned, a mere inter-
lude, like "Oberon's and Titania's Golden Wedding," say,
in the first " Walpurgis Night," one might well have endured
the marvellous element. But it was finally made an in-
tegrant part of the drama, toward which the whole Second
Part points and in which it culminates, and so we are forced
to ask what significance and what value it has for Faust.
How his marriage with the Greek heroine is to affect
him is clear. The Eternal-Womanly draws him upward,
antique beauty liberates him more and more from the me-
dieval ugliness of the spectral form of the Phorcyd Mephis-
topheles, ideal beauty frees him from sensuousness. Thus
he is to emerge from this union exalted, purified, liberated,
and, finally, by the death of immoderate, unrestrained Eu-
phorion, he is to have his attention directed to moderation
and self-restraint, as they are embodied in most beautiful
harmony in Hellenism. Hence he calls out to his un-
tamed boy: "Gently! son, gently! Curb thine over-im-
portunate, passionate strivings!" In a word, he is to
acquire moral culture through the medium of esthetic edu-
cation, and to be led through esthetic harmony to moral self-
restraint. But is this in any way revealed in the drama?
What does Faust do? He saves Helena. In that con-
nection we read :
9lur ber berbicnt bie ®unft bcr graucn,
®er froftigft fie ^u fd^ii^en tcci^.*
It that necessary? Is not the news of Menelaus's
approach pure deception? Even if it be not, he leaves the
battle to the leaders of his troops, after they have received
his orders ; he himself takes no part in it. The only thing
to his credit is the procreation of Euphorion, but even that
* No man deserveth woman's grace,
Unless with mighty arm he shield her.
3faU9t 343
is symbolic-allegorical ; it has at best esthetic, but no moral,
significance. The love-dallying in its antique naivete —
3tiiit berfagt fid) bit ajfajeftot
§ciinltc^er g'^eut'en
®or ben Slugen be§ SJoIfeg
UbennutigeS Dffenbarfeint —
is rather morally offensive to us. Or is the effect of this
harmonising education perhaps revealed as an after-effect?
A single utterance of Mephistopheles points that way :
SKan incrEfg, bu fommft Don $eroincn.t
That is all and it is decidedly too little. Hence the Helena
tragedy does not produce the effect that it should, especially
the effect that it ought to produce on Faust within the
drama. And this dramatic deficiency is not compensated
for by the wealth of beauty and splendour which the act
unquestionably contains.
We are approaching the end. The fourth act brings
Faust back to the Emperor's Court. But first comes a
prelude, which finally contains a reference to the events of
the First Part. Faust, alone in lonely nature, in the high
mountains, is reminded by the vanishing cloud-garments of
Helena, which have borne him hither, of " youth's first, now
long-withholden, highest good," by which Gretchen is
" doubtless meant. We are threatened with a conversation
between Faust and Mephistopheles about Vulcanism, but it
is warded off just in the nick of time by an offer of the devU
which reminds us of the temptation of Jesus. We are even
referred expressly to the fourth chapter of Matthew. Meph-
istopheles offers Faust for his enjoyment one of the lands,
over which he has been flying. But Faust, who feels within
himself the "power for bold industry," declares that "the
* Majesty doth not hesitate
Raptures most secret
To the eyes of the crowd i.
Boldly, shamelessly, thus to reveal. ,
1 1 see, thou com'st from heroines.
344 ^bc !JLife of 6oetbe
act is everything, fame nothing." He desires nothing that
is already finished, but prefers something that he has worked
and struggled for himself. He will gain from the sea a
stretch of land along the shore, will subject the aimless ele-
ments to his power, will broaden the room for the work
of human civilisation. Thinking of this work, which lures
him, he utters, in the proud consciousness of a ruler, the
proud motto, "Passive enjoyment makes man common!"
We have finally reached the last third of the Second Part.
After knowledge and enjoyment we have come to activity.
There is still another motive behind Faust's determina-
tion. He desires to create a country and a people for him-
self, because the political world, as it exists, the states as
they are, deserve to go to ruin. This is shown by conditions
in the Emperor's realm, which has fallen into a state of
anarchy. Goethe had in mind the conditions in the old
German Empire, but also in France at the time of Louis XV.,
and at the beginning of the revolution. The description is
therefore a composite picture of the times, made up of freely
chosen details. Against the Emperor, who has derived no
benefit from the devil's money, a rival Emperor has risen,
so that he finds it difficult to defend his throne. This is a
welcome opportunity for Faust to win the desired stretch of
land along the shore as a feud, in reward for assistance given.
It is for this reason and no other that he interferes, or
rather, Mephistopheles interferes in his stead ; for the latter
again does everything. Faust definitely declines to " be the
commander of an undertaking of which he understands
nothing." And yet a while ago he was a knight and through
his leaders gained the victory over Menelaus, who, to be
sure, may not have been real. With the help of the three
"allegorical scoundrels," Bully, Havequick, and Holdfast,
and, when they prove insufficient, with the aid of an optical
illusion of fountains and flooded rivers and brooks, Faust
again helps the Emperor out of a dilemma, for which he
receives little thanks, however, as the Church condemns the
devil's magic and, as with the jewel casket for Gretchen,
shows that it and it alone can digest unrighteous goods.
IfaUSt 345
Faust receives the desired strand, nevertheless. Unfortu-
nately the scene of the enfeoffment, which Goethe had
originally planned and partly written, was finally left out.
It would have proved a much more essential part of the
scene than the appointment of five electoral princes, after
the model of the Golden Bull of Charles IV.
In the fifth act we see Faust as a prince of the strand
and ruler of the land won from the sea, a great merchant,
and a daring engineer. The first part of the act is full of
very modern atmosphere. What Faust does here is good,
what he has accomplished is great. This work, which
stands as the victory crowning his struggle with the ele-
ments, is an illustration of the words of Sophocles, " There
is much that is mighty, but nothing is mightier than man."
The fact that magic and human sacrifices were required to
carry it out, as Baucis tells us, shows that as human ac-
complishments even these deeds and works are imperfect,
that the mark of the evil one is branded upon them. To
view the matter in a broader light, we may say that the
victories of civilisation are not won without violence, destruc-
tion, and guilt; their way passes ruthlessly over the happi-
ness of men. Piracy marks the trail of the expanding
power, and the territory on which stands the little hut of
Philemon and Baucis in the midst of Faust's possessions,
thus hindering his rounding out of his property to include
the whole area, and limiting his power, is finally annexed
to his territory, not in a kindly way, as he desires, but by
means of fire and murder. For the piracy Faust has only a
serious countenance and a gloomy look — " He makes a face
that shows disgust." Upon the crime against the innocent
old couple he pronounces his curse — " This ~ thoughtless,
savage blow I curse!" But it is too late. By his impa-
tience he has provoked the deed of violence. That it was
more violent and more cruel than he wished is his own fault.
That things may turn out so, and usually do, ought to be
well known to a man of years, above all to a man who is
accustomed to ruling and giving orders.
Out of the smoke and vapour of the burnt hut arise four
346 ^be %ltc of (Boetbc
spirits of torture, Want, Debt, Care, Distress. But only-
one of them may enter his palace, "Care through the keyhole
an entrance may win." Before she leaves him she breathes
upon him and he goes blind. Here everything ought to be
clear, and yet it is aU obscure. Hence it was possible to
propose the odd, but ingenious and suggestive, interpreta-
tion, that Faust, having grown old, has lost the magic gift
of genius, and now, as a common mortal and dull Philistine,
falls a prey to Care, who lames the productive activity of
genius and prepares man for hell. Thus Faust has lost his
wager and has fallen into the power of the devil. It will
still be possible, however, for him to be saved, because the
blinding of his soul is "due to senile weakness." ^^
Almost every point of this interpretation is contradicted
by the wording of this and the following scenes. One thing
above all is clear, namely, that Faust's withdrawal from
magic is not a lapse into the ways of the PluHstine, but a
step upward toward better and purer things. To be sure,
he has not yet fought his way to freedom, but he wishes he
had, and it is at least his intention to do it.^^
^onnt' ii) SfJJagie Don meinem ^fab entferncn,
5)ie 3auberf}3riid^e gang unb gar tierlernen;
@tunb' tc^, 9iatur! cor bir em SU^ann ollein,
5)a war's ber Wn^t Wert, ein 3Kcnfc& ju fein.*
May it be that Care has been sent with her ' ' miserable litany "
by Mephistopheles? In any case she is unable to subdue
Faust or check him in his onward progress.
S)o(^ beine Wa^t, o Sorgc, fd^Ieid^enb gro^,
3c^ merbe fie nid^t anertennen.f
True, she does brand him outwardly with the sign of her
power, when she breathes upon him and he goes blind.
* Could I my pathway rid of magic fell,
And totally unlearn its secret spell;
Stood I, O Nature, man alone with thee,
'T were then well worth the while a man to be.
t And yet, O Care, think not that I shall e'er
Thy stealthy, crushing power own.
IfaUSt 347
" But in my spirit shines a radiant light." Strangely enough
it is only after Faust has been blinded that he works his
way through to the light. He now hastens to accomplish
what he has designed. Rid of magic, he seems on the point
of freeing himself permanently from the devil also, who of
late has been only his servant in all sorts of witchery and
jugglery. In the end he no longer has to do with the devil,
but only with the "overseer" of his working men. The
chief thing, the highest gain, so far as his relation to Care
is concerned, is that he now knows himself and his limi-
tations; he has seen the immoderateness of his striving
and thus has been enabled to overcome it.
3ii) bin nitr burd^ bte SBelt gcrannt.
®in icb' ©eliift ergriff id^ bci ben §oaren,
2Ba§ nii^t genugte, lte& id^ fafircn,
SBag mir entroifd^te, lie^ id^ jietjn.
3d^ i)abe nur bcgetirt unb tiur boUbrai^t,
Unb abermatS gerounfdit unb fo tnit Wai}t
SUfcin Seben burd^gcfturpit; erft gro^ unb mdd^tig;
Stun ober gc^t eg roeife, ge^t bcbad^tig.*
Self-knowledge is self-liberation and self-limitation. But
wise self -limitation is the opposite of what Mephistopheles
has planned for him. The moment that Faust declares,
3m SBeiterfd^rciten finb' cr dual unb ©ludC,
@r! unbefriebigt jeben 3lugcnb[i(f,t
Mephistopheles has unconditionally lost the wager. He has
not brought Faust to the point where he would stretch him-
self, calmed, upon a bed of ease, and at no time has he been
* I have but hurried through the world.
I by the hair each appetite have seized.
Discarding what no longer pleased,
And what escaped me, letting go.
'I have but craved and pampered appetite.
Then craved a second time, and thus with might
I 've stormed through life. At first I raged unmeetly,
But now I move more wisely and discreetly,
t Let progress him with bliss and pain supply,
And every moment fail to satisfy.
348 JLbc %ifc of (Soctbc
able to deceive him with enjoyment. In his contest with
the devil Faust reHed on his striving, and his striving never
ceased.
Lemuresdig Faust's grave, while he still hopes to win
fertile soil from the swamp and again to provide room for
many millions of colonists. In this task as a- task he
beholds joyfully a supreme undertaking. As in Wilhelm
Meister, individual ethics now gives way to social ethics. ^^
He sees himself with a free people on a free soil, and thus
enjoys really the highest moment, as only a man of his
stamp can enjoy it. Poetry and philosophy are again
combined in fullest unity, when he says:
3a! btefem @innc bin x6) gonj ergeben,
S)o§ ift ber SBeig^eit letter S^Iii^:
I Stur ber tterbient fic^ grei^cit toic ^a% Seben,
®er taglidb fie erobern muf .
Unb fo oerbringt, umrungen Don ©efol^r,
§ier Sinb^eit, STOonn unb ®reig fein tiid^tig 3a^r.
@old^ ein ©eroimmel mod^t' ic^ fe^n,
Sluf freiem ©runb ntit freiem SSolte fte^n.
Sum Slugcnblidfe bitrft' i6) fagen:
SSermeile bocfi, bu bift fo f^on!
(gg fann bie @pur Bon meinen ©rbcntagen
Stid^t in Stoncn unterge^n. —
3m SSorgefii^I don fold^em l^oben ©lu*
®cnie^ xif \t^i ben ^oc^ften Sliigenblitf.*
* Yea, all my thought upon this pivot turns,
'T is wisdom's rule, profound and true:
He only life and fullest freedom earns,
Who daily them must win anew.
Thus childhood, manhood, age, all dwelling here,
By dangers girt, may well fill out the year.
Such busy throngs I fain would see,
On free soil stand amid a people free.
Then might I to the moment say:
Oh! prithee, stay! Thou art so fair!
The living traces of my earthly day
This region must through aeons bear.
A vision of such happiness as this
Gives me a foretaste of the highest bliss.
JfaUSt 349
From these words it is clear that_MepitistoifSfeiJ&has lost
the wager and Faust is saved. Itr-is -a; question only of a
wish, not of something SeSny attairiedf — " I fain would see,"
"then might I ^y; "-^it is not a real enjoyment, but only a
foretaste of one. The devirhas failed to gain possession of
this lofty spirit, because of his inability to comprehend Faust
and bring his ideal striving to a standstill; because every-
thing he did to make Faust a common, blas6 pleasure-seeker
served only to give new impetus to his striving and make
him inwardly free from the evil one. Mephistopheles, with
his evil wisdom, has become for Faust a real teacher of
genuine, good wisdom. To be sure, the Lord is seen to have
been right, when he said: "Man errs as long as he doth
strive." The saying has proved true in Faust's life up to
the last.
It was a "staying," nevertheless, even though but hypo-
thetical; it was an enjoyment of "bliss," too, even though
but in a "foretaste"; and so "The clock stands still."
"The index falls." "It falls, and all is past." " 'T is
finished." Faust is dead.
It is therefore necessary that there be some public docu-
ment, some outward, visible sign, to show that, in spite of
appearances, which now speak in his favour, Mephistopheles
has no, right to the soul of Faust, and that Faust is really
saved. This need is supplied in the last two scenes depicting
the burial and ascension. The question, whether the way
in which the heavenly hosts gain the victory over Mephisto-
pheles and his devils — Mephistopheles is inflamed with
pathological, sensuous love for the beautiful angels — is
entirely in good taste, is at least open to doubt. What
Goethe means by it is clear. Love conquers, it overcomes
everything, even hell, the latter, we must admit, in hell's
own way. Mephistopheles, true to his part, recognises the
fact, speaks ironically of himself, and complains in these
words :
®u bift getciufc^t in beincn alten Sagcn,
®u l^aft'g ftrebicnt, eg gc^t birgrimmig f^Ied^t.
3d) l^abe fdEiimpflicE) mifge^nnbelt,
3 so ^hc Xife of (Boetbe
©n grower STuftoanb, fd^mo£)Iid^! ift oertait;
©entein ©eliift, abfurbe Siebfdiaft iranbelt
®en augge^jiifitcn Seufel an.*
Are we fully convinced that Mephistopheles has deserved
to lose, and that Faust has deserved to be saved? The
last scene must decide. Faust is borne aloft by angels and
is received by heavenly hosts.
©erettet ift bag cbic ©licb
5)er ©cifterrocit Bom SBofcti.
„ SBcr immer ftrebcnb fii^ bemul^t,
®cn fonnen roir criofen."
Unb ^at on i^m bte fiiebe gar
SSon oben tcilgenomtnen,
SBegegnet i^m bie fclige @dE)ar
SD^it Iierjliddem SBtHEontmcn.t
Gretchen intercedes for him, and the Chorus Mysticus sums
up the whole in the closing lines,
StllcS SJcrgangltc^e
3ft nur ein ®Iei(^ni§,
®a§ Unjiilanglic^e,
0ier mtrb'g (greigntS;
®a§ Unbefd^reiblid^e,
§ier ift'g getan;
®a8 ®mig.9BeibIii|c
Sie^t un§ l^inan. J
* In my old days I thus am sore deceived;
This sorry plight I truly do deserve.
I 've acted in disgraceful fashion,
An outlay vast I 've scandalously lost.
To think that common lust and senseless passion
The calloused devil's plans have crossed!
fThis noble soul deservingly
Hath found from hell exemption.
"Whoever strives unswervingly
Can gain through us redemption."
And if celestial love
With grace and favour treat him,
The blessed angels from above
With hearty welcome greet him.
J All things ephemeral
As symbols remain;
IfaUSt 351
Is this ending satisfactory? That is the last question.
In order to answer it we must cast a backward glance over
the whole Second Part, including its form and style, and our
answer will serve as a closing criticism of the whole.
The fault that has been found with the close of Goethe's
Faust is that it is too Gothico-romantic, that the fable of
the drama, born of the spirit of Protestantism and taken
over and treated as Protestant by Goethe, is here at the
close turned round into Catholicism. And it is true; the
whole Christian world of the Middle Ages, legends, cult of
the Virgin Mary, purgatory, scholasticism, — all are here.'*
That is indeed a departure from the original spirit and style.
But the criticism goes still deeper.
In the first place the character of the closing scene leads
to an inconsistency in the last act itself. Faust has just
declared, with firmness and determination, his belief in the
life this side of the grave.
^ad) briiben ift bie Slu§fii^t unS tierrannt;
Slor ! roer bortE)in bie Slugen blinjelnb rid^tet,
<S>ii) liber SBoIfen feirfegg^leid^cn bidE)tet!
®r [tc^c fe[t unb fctie ^ier fid) urn;
•©em 2;iic^ti9en ift bicfe SBelt nid^t ftumtn;
SBaS brou^t er in bie ^toigfeit ju fc^lueifcn! *
After this fresh, happy declaration, by a modern man,
of his faith in the present life, we cannot possibly become
reconciled to that close, incense-laden atmosphere of the
mediaeval forecourt of heaven. Philosophy and poetry are
Things there impossible
Here we attain;
Things there a mystery
Here wisdom prove;
Th' Eternal-Womanly
Draws us above.
* The great beyond is barred from mortal ken;
A fool, who thither turns his blinking eyes
And fancies humankind above the skies!
Firm let him stand, the world about him scan,
This life 's not mute to the all-active man;
What need hath he through the beyond to roam?
352/^ Zl)e Xlfe of (5oetbc
again far from being harmoniously blended. But, some one
will say, such a scene leading to the future life was necessary
to corroborate and objectify Faust's salvation, just as the
scene of the "Prologue" at the beginning was laid in heaven.
Certainly; but who thinks of the beyond during that ma-
jestic overture? We may say of it with Mephistopheles,
though in another sense, " How handsome it is of the Lord
to speak so humanly here!" If it had been portrayed in
the style of the " Prologue," Faust's admission into heaven
would have been beautiful, grand, glorious, whereas this
legendary heaven, with its Mater Gloriosa, its penitent wo-
men, its angel choruses, its Pater Profundus, and Doctor
Marianus, not only does not lead us into the illusion, it
actually disturbs the illusion, and, instead of impressing us
as a symbol, appeals to us only as an allegory, and thus
leaves us cold. Goethe himself seems to have felt this and
to have thought originally of a great judgment scene, in the
style of Michael Angelo, in which Faust's salvation should be
proclaimed by Christ, as the vice-regent, or by the Lord him-
self. It is a pity that he did not write the scene, for now we
miss especially the words declaring that Faust has been
justly saved. The "Prologue" pointed forward to them
and we have a right to expect them.
This again takes us deeper. Faust's admission to heaven
is intended as a mere symbol, it is thought of as such from
the beginning, and the Chorus Mysticus says so expressly,
"All things ephemeral as symbols remain." It is a symbol
for the idea of self-redemption by means of moral striving,
that is, Faust must be redeemed before he can gain admis-
sion into heaven. What are the facts? "Whoever strives
unswervingly, can gain through us redemption." Has Faust
striven unswervingly, in the moral sense, the sense concerned
in the world of action ? Has he redeemed himself in this sense ?
Such was necessarily Goethe's intention and he so presents
Faust's course of education and development. It was on
this account that Faust had to enter the great world, had to
be active, and in his actions manifest his character and
prove his worth. Where did he do these things? At the
faust 355,
Imperial Court he made paper money, directed festivals,,
conjured up Helena ; but the most even of this he did not
do himself, Mephistopheles did it for him. In the Classical
Walpurgis Night, to which he, is guided by Homunculus,.
whom another has made, the opportunity to make him at
least deliver a great oration before Proserpine is allowed to-
pass by, so to speak, at the last hour. By Helena, whom he:
hardly has to protect seriously, he has a son Euphorion..
This is meant allegorically, but even behind the allegory there:
is no moral significance, at most the idea of an estheticaL
education of mankind, which must precede everything,
even morality. But, as it stands, this latter supplement
is wanting; the whole is an esthetical, not an ethical,
allegory. In the fourth act Faust overcomes a temptation
which comes to him, but it is not a very great one. Then,
as a matter of fact, the victory over the rival Emperor is won
by Mephistopheles with the aid of the three " allegorical
scoimdrels," and all kinds of hellish illusions; but Faust is
rewarded for the deed and receives the strand as a fief.
He now has at last an opportlmity for moral activity, and in
the fifth act he has really arrived at the conclusion that
passive enjoyment makes one common, and that moral
activity with others and for others, public spirit, has the
highest value and is the highest achievement. Thus we see
him as a ruler carrying on the work of civilisation on a
grand scale and in a liberal spirit. Yet in view of the cir-
cumstance that Goethe brings forward prominently the
"generically" correct principle, that civihsation does not
progress without some acts of violence, and that he here
again, as always, places the use of magic powers at Faust's
disposal, and does not make his renunciation of magic ad-
vance beyond the stage of mere desire, the moral side of his.
activity retires again to the background. We see indeed
that he has become moral, but the process of his becoming^
so we have not witnessed. Hence there is no motive for
Faust's redemption, at least no sufificient motive.
Faust, who has become moral, is redeemed; but moral
deeds have been almost wholly wanting, and so the final act
354 ^be Xlfe of ©oetbe
must leave us unsatisfied. It does not make it clear to our
minds that the Lord has won the wager, and why He has
won. The devil is taken unawares, i£ not deceived, and
Faust goes to heaven undeservedly, out of sheer grace. So
it must appear, at least, to one who looks, not at the will,
but at the accomplishment, and in a drama the latter point
of view is the only one admissible. Of course, like every
other man, Faust needs the grace, the pardoning love,
that is here bestowed upon him. But a pardon without
moral grounds, an act of mercy with only an outward, and
no inward, moral motive, is characteristic of mediaeval
ecclesiasticism, not of modern ethics. And Goethe's point
of view was, of course, the latter, not the former. Hence the
criticism is justified that the close of Faust is too Catholic,
or better, too ecclesiastical, where it should be purely
human and purely ethical. That Goethe intended that it
should be human and ethical is shown by the wonderful
words, " Whoever strives unswervingly can gain through us
redemption"; but in the midst of the scenic and operatic
effects of the closing scene these words are lost on the stage.
The impression of the undeservedness of Faust's redemp-
tion is further strengthened by another featiire. As though
the poet had felt that everjrthing was not in order, that
Faust's education and purification were not yet finished,
we find the supplementary remarks, the esthetically repul-
sive one about the earthly remains — " They are not cleanly"
— and the one of the Blessed Boys,
Sod^ biefer \ai gelctnt,
@r mttb un§ lel^rcn.*
The scoffing reference to Faust as a " heavenly schoolmaster
for boys" is not at all needed to make us see that in the
above words the end is again postponed. Now at last, to
make up for lost time and opportunity, as it were, Faust is
really to do something!
* But he is learned in life
And he will teach us.
3faU0t 355
In what has been said we have akeady referred to the
form and style of the closing scene and of the Second Part
in general, or at least large portions of it. The operatic
elements, which are found at the very beginning and are
heaped up and crowded in at the end, need be referred to
but once more. It is particularly these elements that make
this heaven Catholic, whereas in the Protestant heaven of
the "Prologue" spoken words and freer language are the
rule. We have already said, too, that in the Second Part
much has been left obscure and incomprehensible. This is
due in a measure to the heaping up of the allegorical. But
allegory is not poetry, and the necessity of a commentary
enhances our pleasure and enjoyment just as little as it does
in the case of Dante.
This tendency to allegorise has also influenced the
language of the Second Part. With all the beauty of in-
dividual passages, a certain grandiloquence has crowded out
the simplicity ; the language is often stilted and over-adorned ;
there are evident traces of Goethe's much decried "old-age
style." For example, a decidedly comical effect is produced
by the passage in the first act, where Faust receives from
Mephistopheles the key and the instructions for his journey
to the Mothers: {Faust strikes a decidedly commanding
attitude with the key) . Mephistopheles (observing him) :
"There, that is right! 'T will join and slave-like follow
thee to light." Or, let us listen to the chorus of rose-
strewing angels at the burial of Faust in the fifth act:
Stofen, i^r bicnbenben,
SBalfom berfenbcnben!
glattcrnbe, [cfiitiebenbc,
§eimlic^ belebenbe,
Sweiglcin bepgeltc,
Snofpcn cntfiegclte,
©let gu blii^n.
grueling entfprte^e,
^urpiir iinb ©riin!
35^ ^be Xife of (5oetbe
Sragt ^parabicfc
®cm [ftu^cnben ^in.*
Is that simple? Is it beautiful? Perhaps the objection
may be raised that it is not worth while to dispute about
matters of taste. Let us admit it. We naight perhaps say,
then : Whoever considers the style of the First Part beautiful
cannot be pleased with the pompous, often Jiitricate, style
of the Second Part. And one who likes the latter cannot
possibly have a right appreciation of the strength and simple
beauty, the matchless sturdiness and purely human tender-
ness, of the former. Hence whoever considers the First
Part a supreme achievement, an unsurpassed masterpiece
of poetry, must not allow his veneration for Goethe to
prevent him from confessing that neither in the substance
or form of the Second Part, as a whole, can he find the
same unmixed pleasure. That it is rich in beautiful in-
dividual passages is beyond question. Indeed one who
assumes a critical and skeptical attitude toward the whole
will rejoice all the more over the individual passages in
which he finds beauty and an occasion to recognise it as
such.
But we dare not close here. In order to do justice to
the Second Part we must cast one more glance at the whole
drama. Faust is not the embodiment of an abstract idea;
he is a man, an individual, and hence, as the hero of the
drama, has human feelings and human strivings, and be-
cause, in his impatient idealism, he runs into hindrances,
he is deeply wounded, imbittered, and driven to despair.
*Roses, ye glowing ones,
Balsam-bestowing ones!
Fluttering, hovering,
Life-founts still covering,
Branchlets with plumy wing,
Buds ripe for opening,
Haste your full sheen!
Spring show its splendour,
Purple and green.
Paradise tender
The sleeper serene.
faust 357
Grasping violently after the enjoyment of life and activity
denied him, after the All and the Absolute, he remains un-
satisfied, because he storms through his life so immoderately
and unrestrainedly, till, in harmonious esthetical education
and ethical social activity, he finds moderation and self-
limitation and learns to keep within bounds. Such is Faust
and such was Goethe. Hence Faust was the life-work of the
poet. Herein alone lies the unity of this " incommensurable ' '
work, ' ^ which, after the manner of Gotz, dramatises the
history of Faust, and, like an epic, makes him pass through
a whole human life before our eyes. But in the process the
poet allows the drama to grow beyond the fate of this one
individual and become a picture of the time, nay more, a
picture of the world and mankind. Faust, this great in-
dividual, this gifted man, now becomes man in general,
the representative of mankind. His tragedy becomes the
human tragedy, his drama the drama of the human race,
,his salvation and admission to heaven a symbol of the
victory of the good in history. Thus the individual is
widened out to the universal human. Therein lies the
greatness of the play. But therein lay also for the poet the
difficulty of completing and binding together the whole to a
well-rounded dramatic unity. Whereas in the Urfaust the
dramatic bore a deep lyric tinge, in the Second Part it
assumes a marked epic form.
The fact that Faust never fails to produce a deep im-
pression is due to this widening out to the universal human.
Since in this single play we all find portrayed one side or
another of ourselves, our strivings and experiences, it seems
flesh of our own flesh and bone of our own bone and always
arouses our interest. This interest never fades; it cannot
fade. The longer we live, the more we advance in know-
ledge and activity, in victory and defeat, in good and evil,
the higher we climb toward the summits of humanity, and the
deeper we see down into the depths of human life and the
human breast, with its dark shadows of evil and sorrow,
and its triumphant core of goodness and power, the more
we become inwardly attached to Goethe's Faust, the more it
35^ Zl)c Xife of (Boetbe
becomes to us a revelation of our own lives and strivings,
and the more it must win our love.
We may count ourselves happy if it is, above all, these
two principles which we derive from it and understand, the
proud declaration, ' ' Passive enjoyment makes one common, ' '
and the precious assurance, " Whoever strives unswervingly
can find through us redemption." Thus in the final analysis
Faust is after all a deeply ethical work. It protects us
against all sorts of evil spirits and holds up before us that
ethical idealism, which learns, and must learn, to seize a
firm foothold on the real ground of this present world and
to find in it our tasks and duties, our sorrows and joys, the
gospel of the reconciliation of the modern man with life on
the earth and with the divine revealed in it, the optimistic
confession of faith in the triumph of the Kingdom of God
on earth.
VIII
LAST DAYS
Goethe warned by illness to set his house in order — The last works he
finished — Interests and occupations of his last days — His last
distinguished guests — His last birthday — Visit to Ilmenau —
Wanderers NachtUed — Goethe sets his house in order — His
religion — Last illness and death — The funeral — Goethe's sigr
nificance to Germany and the whole world. /2 ^'Vi (4. / ; ■ t
IN November, 1830, a hemorrhage brought Goethe near
death; but it was wonderful how quickly, for a man of
eighty-one, he recovered from the severe attack. It
was but a warning that he should make the most of the
short space of time, which, according to human calculation,
he might stiU expect to live, and that he should in every
respect set his house in order. With this in mind he wrote
to Knebel: "My dearest friend, since we have had the good
fortune to recover from this attack, we intend to enjoy the
days which may still be granted us and see to it that there
be for us no lack of activity for ourselves and others."
And he really did see to it that there was no lack of such
activity, as is proved by his work on the fourth part of Dich-
tung wild Wahrheit, which he had not finished until now,
and which continued the narrative of his life up to his ar-
rival in Weimar. It is proved above all by the completion
of Faust, of which we have had a detailed account. Only
when this "chief business" was done could he say to Ecker-
mann: "My further life I can now look upon as a pure gift,
and it is now at bottom immaterial what I do, and whether
I do anjrthing at all or not." But in reality that was only
359
36o Zbc Xifc of (Boetbc
Hs "chief business." Along with it he continued his
" supervisory" duties, that is, his share of the administrative
;government, so far as he had kept any such duties. His old
interests still remained ; he still retained, as he himself says,
"the faculty of recognising with enthusiasm the good, the
iDeautiful, and the excellent." In the foreground stood, as
always, art and nature. By the many things that came to
him and were laid before him from all sides his interest was
kept alive, and he in turn endeavoured to stimulate others
and help them. He was interested far less in the July
revolution than in the controversy between Cuvier and
Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire. He was pleased to see that through
the efforts of the latter the "synthetic" method of dealing
with nature was gaining recognition in France, and he hoped
that in the investigations of nature in that country mind
would now rule victoriously over matter. He saw therein
the triumph of his own cause, the recognition of his labours
in the field of natural science. He sent a French translation
of his Metamorphose der Pflanzen to the Academy of Sciences
at Paris, and was grateful for the favourable reception with
which it met. Along with his continued work and study
in metamorphosis, the theory of colours, geology, and
meteorology, he read "for recreation and invigoration "
Galileo's Dialogues, and found them "most edifying"
reading; for here lies "the Christmas feast of our more
modern times."
Added to all this was his never-ending inclination to
make himself acquainted with the works of foreign litera-
tures, and, as might have been expected, he did not always
come upon things that were edifying. His criticism of
Victor Hugo's Notre Dame de Paris was unusually adverse:
" A literature of despair out of which step by step every-
thing true and esthetical is being self-banished." On the
other hand he enjoyed reading Plutarch's Lives and Euripi-
des. He was filled with admiration for Euripides because
of his great, unique talent, as well as the wide field that he
covered and the powerful emotions that he portrayed.
Thus his life remained a life full of activity and work.
Xast 2)a?0 361
And since, after the death of August, the " duties of a house-
father" had again devolved upon him, there was no lack
of all sorts of petty cares and annoyances, as though he were
destined not to remain a stranger to anything human. At
the dismissal of a cook he breathed the sigh of relief, " Freed
from this burden I was able to take up important work."
He had time for all these things, both great and small,
because outwardly his life went along without disturbance,
"calm and composed," as he himself says. And yet very
many strange eyes peered into the garden of his monastery.
The number of visitors who wished to see the famous man
and pay him their homage did not grow smaller during his
last days. Beside the acquaintances and friends in Weimar
and Jena, who were seen at his home, there came the curious
and the admiring from all Germany, indeed from the whole
civilised world. The guest of highest rank in his last year
was the King of Wurttemberg, a thoroughly clever man,
but wholly lacking in poetry. Goethe was all the more
pleased that the King "seemed to have enjoyed his visit."
The most illustrious of his guests was Alexander von Hum-
boldt, to whom he was "highly grateful for a few hours of
frank, friendly conversation," and whose enormous store of
knowledge he admired as much as his "incredible social
influence." Those whose society he loved most were those
nearest him, his daughter-in-law Ottilie, in whose praise he
said that she was always entertaining and always had some-
thing new to offer, and his grandsons, particularly Wolfchen,
who won an especially warm place in his grandfather's
heart. It is touching to see how much the great man was
wrcipped up in this little world of human beings and what
importance he attached to whatever they thought, said, or
did.
So he preferred to spend all his last days in his own house.
He did not even drive out regularly. Only once did he go
away from Weimar. It was at the time of his last birthday,
in August, 1 83 1 , when he spent a few days in Ilmenau. Here
he visited once more the old familiar places full of memories
of youthful days and was especially glad to be able to show
362 Zbc %lfc of (Soetbc
them to bis grandsons, whom he had taken with him. On
the Tvall of the lonely little wood hut on the Gickelhahn he
read the verses which he had written there on the 6th of
September, 1780:
U6cr alien ©ipfein
3ft Unl
3n aUtn SBipfeIn
©piireft bit
Soum cinen §ouc^;
®ie SSogelein fc^meigen im SBalbe.
SB arte nur, balbe
Ulutieft bit oitdE).*
'Yes, wait, and ere long thou, too, shalt rest," he repeated
in a soft, melancholy tone, and wiped away the tears which
flowed down over his cheeks. Even in this rtiral quiet he
did not entirely escape ovations; but here they were more
spontaneous and were therefore less burdensome to him.
Feeling that he was rapidly approaching the boundary
drawn for human life, he set his house in order, even in out-
ward things. His "testamentary troubles" extend through
many of his letters and show how tenderly and faithfully he
remembered those who had stood near him in life. For
example, he set apart the income from his Briefwechsel
mit Zelter, which he himself prepared for publication, for
Zelter's unmarried daughters. He did not like to speak of
dying. He was too healthy a nature for that, and life still
had too much to offer him for him to care to lose himself in
thoughts of death. We know that, as he never grew tired of
life, he clung firmly to the belief in immortality. His prac-
tical thought on the subject was this : " A man of character
* On every mountain brow
Is peace,
No tree but now
The winds fast cease
To wave its crest;
The little birds hush their song.
Then wait — ere long
Thou, too, shalt rest.
and energy, who expects to be something worth while in this
life, and hence has to labour, strive, and struggle daily,
leaves the future world to take care of itself, and is active
and useful in this world." Having long ago become a sage
there were no longer any essential changes to be made in
his philosophy of the world. He remained the pious pan-
theist that he had been since the days of his youth. But in
his relation to Christianity he still had some things to atone
for. Not as though he had felt a desire to change his per-
sonal attitude toward it. The revelation of the divine in the
human and the ethical remained to him, as ever, no higher
than the revelation of the Supreme Being in the sun, in
light, and the generative power of God, before which he
bowed, just as he gladly showed worshipful reverence for
Christ, the divine revelation of the highest principle of
morality. Even his aversion for the Cross, from which he
derived no comfort, either esthetic or religious, remained
unchanged. In the Church he now saw as before something
"feeble and changeable,"^ and in its decrees he found a
"great deal of stupidity." But historically, in certain peri-
ods of his life, particularly during the years after his return
from Italy, he had been far from just toward Christianity.
Now, eleven days before his death, Eckermann gave him an
opportunity to testify concerning the gospels that "they
are permeated with the reflection of a majesty, which pro-
ceeds from the person of Christ, and is of as divine a nature
as any manifestation of the divine that has ever appeared
on the earth." "The human mind will never advance be-
yond the majesty and moral culture of Christianity, as it
glistens and shines in the gospels." What is meant by this
is shown by what he said of that story of the New Testament
which tells that one day when Christ was walking on the sea
Peter came out on the waves to meet him and began to
sink: "This is one of the most beautiful legends, and I love
it best of all. In it is contained the great lesson that man
through faith and fresh courage will come off victorious in
the most difificult undertaking, but he is straightway lost
when the least doubt comes over him." Himself, in his
364 lEbe Xlfc of 6oetbe
own way, a man of "faith," he could thus, with liberality
and pure humanity, admit even a miracle, the dearest child
of faith. This recognition of the moral majesty and power of
Christianity is at the same time a proof that his pantheism
had long ago become more comprehensive, and richer in
content, and that along with the natural it had conceded
equal rights to the moral. " For the independent conscience
is the sun of thy moral day." Then for the first time Goethe
was wholly pious and could say: Everjrthing is Gtod's.
The last gap was now filled and death cotdd come. And
it came at the right time, before age, which had not quite
passed by him without leaving a trace, broke down his
strong body and destroyed his triumphant spirit. In the
rough March days of the year 1832 he took a cold; on the
1 6th he was obliged to take to his bed. The last entry in his
diary runs: "Spent the whole day in bed on account of ill-
ness." It was a catarrhal fever, which his physician. Privy
Councillor Vogel of Weimar, immediately considered dan-
gerous. But at first Goethe got better again and had already
resumed his usual occupations, when during the night of the
19th chills and violent pains in the chest set in. Oppression
of the lungs filled him with anxiety and torturing unrest,
the features of his face contracted, his colour faded to an
ashy grey, his eyes receded into their sockets and looked
blurred and weak. His senses began to fail him and he was
at times unconscious; the intervals of clear consciousness
came farther and farther apart and grew shorter and shorter.
It became hard for him to speak and his words grew indis-
tinct. Death might come at any moment. It cannot be
established with certainty what were his last words. He is
reported to have said to his daughter-in-law: "Now, little
woman, give me your good hand." To the servant he called
out: "Open also the second shutter in the room, so that
more light may come in." From this command the words
"More light!" have been chosen as symbolical and are
often quoted as Goethe's last utterance. When his tongue
completely failed him he drew signs in the air with the
index finger of his right hand. Those who were present
last H)ai2s 365
assert with positiveness that they recognised the letter W.
At half past eleven — it was the 22d of March, 1832 — "the
dying man settled back comfortably in the left corner of
the easy chair, and it was long before those standing about
him could realise that Goethe had been taken away. Thus
an uncommonly peaceful death made full the measure of
happiness of a richly endowed existence." With these
words his physician closes the account of Goethe's last
illness. '*
The news of his death aroused universal sjrmpathy in
Weimar and the whole surrounding region, and it was
natural that many should desire once more to behold the
face of the great departed. Their request was acceded to,
though it was not in keeping with Goethe's views. So he
lay in state on the ground floor of his house, dressed in a
garment of white satin in the old Florentine style, his head
crowned with laxtrel. " A black velvet cloth, set with
silver, covered the lower part of his body up to his breast.
In the hall hung Goethe's coat of arms, a six-pointed silver
star in the blue field. The opening of the door was draped
in black and above it were placed, in letters of gold, the
words from Hermann und Dorothea,
®e« SEobcS rii^rcnbeS ©itb Wt
9ticE|t ate Bi)xtitn bent SfBeifen, unb nic^t ate (Snbe bent grommen.
Seticn brangt eg ing Seben juriidf unb le^rct itin ^anbeln;
Siiefem ftdrtt eg, ^u fiinftigent §eil, int Srubfal bie ^offnung:
©eiben ftirb jiim Seben ber Sob.'*
The fimeral occurred at five o'clock in the afternoon of
the 26th of March, and the sarcophagus was placed beside
that containing the remains of Schiller, in the grand-ducal
burial vault. Many thousands of people filled the streets;
the windows, even the roofs and the trees, along the avenue
* The picture of death, though affecting,
Fills not the wise man with terror, is not the end to the pious.
Back it urges the former to Hfe, and teaches him action;
Thus for the latter in sorrow it strengthens the hope of salvation ;
So to both of them death becomes life.
366 ^be Hlfe of (Boetbe
through which the procession passed, were occupied. In the
chapel a chorus sang the words, written by Goethe and set
to music by Zelter,
So^t fasten ^in bag StUjupiltige !
3^r juc^t bei i^m Bcrgebcng Slat;
3n bem SSergangenen lebt bng 2;ii(^ttge,
aSerewigt fic^ in fdioncr Sat.
Unb fo gcroinnt fid) ha& Sebenbigc
®urc^ golg' auf golge neue Sraft;
®enn bic ©efinnung, bic beftanbige,
(Sic mai)t aUcin ben STOenfd^en bauer^oft.
@o loft fid^ jene gro|e forage
^a6) unferm jrociten SJaterlanb.
®enn bag SBeftdnbtge ber irb'fd^cn Sage
SBcrbiirgt ung emigen SBeftanb.*
The funeral oration was delivered by Rohr, the superin-
tendent general and chief chaplain in ordinary to the Grand
Duke. According to oior feeling it was not entirely equal
to the significance of the hour. Chancellor von Muller, in
words of gratitude, gave the sarcophagus into the keeping of
the Lord Marshal. A short time afterward the tomb was
closed over all that was mortal of Goethe.
What he himself had said, a few days before his death,
of the setting sun, " Great, even in its departure," may be
* Bid all too fleeting things adieu.
They know no counsel for your needs;
The past eterne lives, stanch and true.
Immortalised in noble deeds.
And thus the living gathers force
Through age on age in endless chain;
The heart ne'er swerving from its course
Alone makes man for aye remain.
And so that weighty question 's solved
Of what our future state shall be;
For lasting things, on earth evolved,
Assure our souls eternity.
^JLast ®ai5S 367
hung as a fitting motto over our picture of the whole last
period of his earthly life, including the final hour and the
end. Great and noble as he had been in life, he continued
to be in death.
At the moment of his death his country was far from
realising the full significance of the loss. It was not possible
for the people to measure what they had once possessed
in him, but now possessed no more. Even we of to-day
have had to learn this for ourselves, have had to conquer
and drive away all sorts of prejudices which existed at
that time. That Goethe was immoral and egoistic, that
he was un-German and ungodly, — such reproaches, showing
utter ignorance of his nature and character, were heard
even during his lifetime, but oftener immediately after his
death. We know to-day how unjust and unfounded these
accusations were. On this point we need waste no further
words.
Nor do we need to sum up in a few sentences what Goethe
was and what he achieved. This whole book is an endeavour
to make that clear. But we may at least, in closing, em-
phasise the fact that, as a poet, an artist, and a man, he was
to Germany a possession of inestimable value, because he
created and assured for his people their position of spiritual
power in the nineteenth century. The poet Goethe and the
philosopher Goethe may divide between them whatever of
soul-stirring tragedy and wealth of thought is contained in
Faust; his lyric poetry remains as young, fresh, and beautiful,
as on the day when it was written, and opens our eyes to
a world of beauty; through Prometheus, Iphigenie, and Her-
mann und Dorothea, he made accessible to us classical an-
tiquity; in West-ostlicher Divan he blended two worlds into
one, in the universalistic spirit of Herder; he leads us back to
Spinoza, like whom he was fuU of religion; and leads us
forward to Darwin, and, in the realms of nature and history,
opens for us a view of the whole as well as of the origin and
development of the parts. Above all this hovers the idea of
pure humanity, like a sun, which we must not seek pedantic-
ally in the form of a systematic philosophy of the world,
368 Zhe %itc of (5octbc
but in its reflected colour splendour, which shines out of all
his poetical works, and, what is more, out of his whole
personality.
Thus he, who was not devoted to politics, extends his
hand for common activity to the other great man of the
nation in the nineteenth century. Without Goethe, no
Bismarck; without Goethe no German Empire. In order
that the Germans might become politically one nation, they
must first become spiritually one nation and feel themselves
one nation, with a common language, a common education,
and, we should like to add, a common faith. Such a united
people has been created by its poets and thinkers, above all
by Goethe, the most perfect representative of German art
and the German nature as a whole. For the faith of his
people he has left the legacy of recognising everywhere a
divine power, and of showing just and pious reverence for
everything human, wherever it be found; for man belongs
also to God.
Therefore Goethe's "pure humanity" is the goal toward
which all Germans must strive. In this sense he was the
first stadtholder in the realm of the German spirit, the
first imperial chancellor in spiritually united Germany, as
through him Weimar became the first spiritual capital of the
Empire.
But Goethe belongs not alone to his people; he belongs
to the whole world. By the side of Homer and Shakespeare
he is the only world poet who speaks his own peculiar
national language and yet to all nations and, we may now
add, to all times is comprehensible.
What distinguishes him above all others, even the great-
est representatives, of his nation is the universal character of
his writings and activities, the complete harmony of his
own human nature, which does not represent merely one
side of our being, even though it be the deepest, as was the
case with Luther, or the most comprehensive, with Bis-
marck, but reveals the human possibilities in a degree of
richness, fulness, and completeness that was never known
before and has not existed since. He was really the " most
Xast 2)ai?s 369
human of men," and he considered that he should have
attained the highest title of fame if it should some day be
said of him: "For I too have been a human being." On
this he based his claim that the doors of Paradise should be
opened for him. It is for this reason that he stands so near
us all, and yet so high above us. He was what we all are,
and yet what we all have still to become; taking all in all,
he was a human being.
Goethe lives on among us ; immortal, as everjrthing great
is immortal; a living influence and creating life; ever his
own individual self and ever more and more our possession,
the more we desire and learn to make him ours.
(Sd^on Kngft oerbreitet fiti^'g in gattjc @c^aren,
®ag ©igcnftc, roaS i^m aHein ge^ort.
@r glangt unS Bor, toie cin Somct cntfi^roinbenb,
Unenblid^ Siii)t mit feincm Sic^t derbinbenb ! *
* Long since hath gone to yearning souls unnumbered
That treasure most peculiarly his own.
Departing, comet-like, our path he Hghteth
And countless shining osbs with his uniteth.
VOL. — m. 24
NOTES
371
NOTES
ABBREVIATIONS
W. — The Weimar edition of Goethe's Werke, erste Abteilung, poetical,
biographical, and esthetical writings.
NS. — do., zmeite Abteilung, N aturwissenschajtliche Schriften.
Tb. — do., dritte Abteilung, Tagebucher.
Br. — do., vierte Abteilung, Brief e.
H.—Ths Hempel edition of Goethe's Werke.
DW. — Dichtung und Wahrheit, Weimar edition.
GJ. — Goethejahrbuch.
SGG. — Schriften der Goethe-Gesellschaft.
1. That this was a mere excuse is proved by his letter to the Duke,
in which he gives as the reason for his haste the urgency of the memorial
which he had promised Herr von Stein.
2. Here is one of many instances: In July, 1819, Goethe wrote
to Willemer : ' ' What bliss it would be for me to see once more on the
charming, serene Main the dear friends whom I truly love, and to pledge
anew the rest of life." It may be noted in this connection that during
the first years after their separation Goethe directed his letters, with
very few exceptions, to both husband and wife, or to Willemer alone,
whereas, on the other side, Marianne was the one who carried on the
correspondence.
3. In the same sense Goethe defines lyric poetry as that poetry which
shows enthusiastic excitement. The connection in which he gives this
definition is worthy of note. He is seeking to distinguish between the
three kinds of poetry. While in the case of dramatic and epic poetry
he applies the objective test, asking whether an event is told as past or
takes place before our eyes in the present, in the case of lyric poetry he
uses the subjective test of the mental state of the poet. Hence he dis-
covers lyric poetry everywhere where the mental state of the poet is
apparent.
4. Goethe avoided abnormal subjects in his poetry, because they were
too far removed from the truth, toward which his soul was constantly
striving (W., xxviii., 144)-
S- The poems of the Leipziger Liederbuch which were given a place
among Goethe's collected writings, some of them with new titles and
with slight alterations, are eleven in number, namely: Die schone
Nacht, Gluck und Traum, Lebendiges Andenken, Gliick der Entfernung,
373
374 Zlic %itc of (Boetbc
An Luna, BrautnacM, Schadenfreude, Unschuld, Scheintod, Am Flusse,
and Die Fretiden. Although the poet inserted them among the pro-
ducts of later periods, when he prepared his collected poems for publica-
tion, it is nevertheless an easy matter to recognise them as mementos
of those Leipsic years.
6. Cf. Eckermann, Gesprdche mit Goethe, Nov. lo, 1823. The Paria,
however, must have been in existence, at least in part, as early as 18 ii
(cf. Br., xxii., 44).
7. Arias belonging to the operetta are mentioned in Goethe's diary
as early as the sth of August, 1781. Die Fischerin was performed on the
28th of July, 1782. Concerning the source of Erlkonig cf. GJ., xxi., 263.
8. The very probable supposition that Der untreue Knabe was com-
posed as early as 1771 finds support in the fact that, like Heidenroslein,
it is a remodelled version of a folk-song, such as Goethe collected for
Herder in Alsatia, and that in the summer of 1774 it is mentioned as
having been in existence for some time; "it had only rarely crossed his
lips."
9. Goethe's Poems set to music. Poems by Goethe were very
early set to music. When the lyric attempts of the young man of twenty,
now known as the Leipziger Liederbuch, were first published in 1769,
they appeared set to music by. Bernhard Theodor Breitkopf (cf. vol. i.,
p. 86. In this Breitkopf publication Goethe's name is not mentioned
either on the title page or in connection with the songs), and two months
later Georg Simon Lohlein's melody to the Neujahrslied was printed.
After that there were rather longer intervals during which there were
no settings, which finds its explanation in the fact that Goethe usually
published his songs separately in various periodicals. Thus from 1770
to 1774 there are no musical compositions to his words, from 1775 to the
end of the eighties comparatively few, among others those of the not
very important composers Andr6, Kayser, von Seckendorff, and J. F.
Reichardt, to whom the poet showed the honour of sending them his
songs to be set to music before they were printed. Matters took an
entirely different turn when the larger collections of his poems appeared
in 1789, 1800, and 1806. Prom that time on there were few musicians
who did not recognise the value of these treasures, and by masters as well
as by amateurs Goethe's admonition, "Never read them, always sing
them," has been well heeded. Apart from Shakespeare no poet of any
country has so generally and profoundly inspired composers as Goethe,
and through the compositions of Mozart and Beethoven, Reichardt and
Zelter, Schubert, Schumann and Mendelssohn, Loewe, Robert Franz,
and Brahms, they have gained a wide-spread popularity, which, without
the aid of this music, they would certainly never have achieved in equal
measure. There are some great masters, to be sure, whom we are sur-
prised not to find in the list of composers. Gluck could no longer be
moved by Goethe's poems to any new creation, although in the evening of
his life he composed the music* to seven of the most beautiful of Klopstock's
* Betonte, the word which the writer o£ the above note uses, quoting Goethe, who
employed it in speaking of Gluck's Iphigenie, conveys the double meaning of " provide
with tones " and- " emphasise." — C.
IRotes 375
odes. Philipp Emanuel Bach also allowed Goethe's lyrics to escape him,
and J. A. P. Schulz, the author of Lieder im Volkston, confined himself to
the music to Gotz, of which he published only one piece, and that one of
little importance. Nobody would suspect from Joseph Haydn's songs
that he had for six decades the good fortune to be Goethe's contemporary ;
and it is a very strange thing that Karl Maria von Weber, who was a man
of literary culture, in the choice of texts for his musical compositions,
should have neglected completely the classic German writers for Miichler,
Gubitz, Castelli, and others of their kind. It was a happy decree of fate
that at least one of Goethe's poems was brought to Mozart's notice.
Das Veilchen, which under his hand became one of the fairest flowers
of Ijrric-dramatic music. The first great musician to come under Goethe's
spell and to penetrate his works deeply was Beethoven. In addition to his
music to Egmont, he composed, or at least sketched, the music to three
selections from Faust, one each from Claudine and Das Jahrmarktsfest zu^
Plundersweilern, and nineteen songs. Among these compositions are
such masterpieces as Freudvoll und leidvoll, Kennst du das Land, Wie
herrlich leuchtet mir die Natur, and Wonne der Wehmut. Schubert entered
more fully than even Beethoven into the spirit of Goethe, "to whose
glorious poems he virtually owed the education which made of him the
German singer," as Schubert's most intimate friend Spaun said in 1817,
in a letter directed to Goethe. Schubert wrote not less than eighty
compositions to Goethe's texts. We need mention here only Gretchen
am Spinnrad and Schafers Klagelied (composed at the age of seventeen),
Erlkonig, Ndhe des Geliebten, Wandrers Nachtlied, Rastlose Liebe, Jdgers
Abendlied, An den Mond, Der Fischer, Der Konig in Thule (all of these,
together with thirty-seven other Goethian texts, composed at the age of
eighteen), and, further, Geheimes, and the songs of the Harpist, Mignon,
Suleika, etc. It will always remain a source of the highest astonishment
that the young master should have possessed the commanding genius to
force into the mould of musical composition such powerful blocks of
refractory material as the poems, Grenzen der Mensckkeit, PrometkeuSy
Gesang der Geister uber den Wassern, and An Schwager Kronos. Robert
Schumann was not quite so felicitous in his twenty-six compositions,
though it must be said that his scenes from Faust contain by far the most
beautiful music that has yet been written to the Second Part of the
drama. Of Mendelssohn's fourteen works Die erste Walpurgisnacht
deserves special praise, as it is one of the best oratorio compositions of the
nineteenth century ; further, the overture Meeresstille und gluckliche Fahrt,
the sonnet Die Liebende schreibt, and the quartettes Auf dem See, Frilh-
zeitiger Fruhling, and Die Nachtigal, sie war entfernt. Spohr's eleven
songs are almost all insignificant, and even Karl Loewe, who wrote com-
positions to forty-three of Goethe's poems, failed in the most of them
to rise to the height of his best creations; still there are some master-
pieces among them, such as Erlkonig, Der getreue Eckart, and Hochzeiilied.
Robert Franz's seven and Franz Liszt's nine songs are unfortunately
very uneven, whereas Johannes Brahms, in his fourteen works, is at his
very best. Deserving of special mention are the glorious fragment
Harzreise im Winter, Der Gesang der Parzen, Wechsellied zum Tanze, the
376 ^be Xifc of (5oetbe
verses from Jery und Bately, and Alexis und Dora. As Faust has already-
been referred to we may mention further the compositions of Prince
Radziwill, Karl Eberwein, C. G. Reissiger, Julius Rietz, Eduard Lassen,
P. J. von Lindpaintner, L. Schlosser, H. H. Pierson, H. LitolfiE, H. ZoUner,
and A. Bungert; further, Hector BerUoz's dramatic legend La Damnation
de Faust (un-Goethian, but full of great musical beauties, and the char-
acter of Mephisto cleverly conceived), Gounod's melodious, extraordinarily
popular opera Faust, Liszt's Faust-Symphonie, Rubinstein's Faust, ein
musikalisches Charakterbild fur Orchester, Arrigo Boito's opera Mefistofele,
and finally Richard Wagneris Siehen Kompositionen zu Goethes Faust
(manuscript in Wahnf ried) and his very superior work Eine Faustouverture.
How strong an influence Goethe has exerted upon other composers
may be seen from the following statistics, which, be it remembered, take
into account only compositions to the poems, and not the music to his
numerous operettas, dramas, etc. The numbers of printed compositions
to his songs are as follows: Die schone Nacht, 9; Tischlied, g; Es war ein
fauler Schdfer, 10; Der Musensohn, 12; Der Junggesell und der MuMbach,
12; Der Raitenf anger, 12; Ergo Bihamus, 13; An die Erwdhlte, 13; Heiss
mich nicht reden, heiss mich schweigen, 14; Es war eine Rait' im Kellernest,
is; Auf dem See, 16; Mit einem gemalien Band, 16; Geistesgruss, 16; So
lasst mich scheinen, 16; An die Turenwill ich schleichen, 16; Wer sichder
Einsamkeit ergibt, 17; Nachgefuhl, 17; Die Bekehrte, iT, Es war einmal
ein Konig, 18; Sehnsucht, 18; Ach neige, du Schmerzensreiche, 19; Vanitas,
ig; Mdrz, 20 (?); Der Sanger, 21; Trost in Trdnen, 22; Netie Liebe, neues
Leben, 23; An Mignon, 23; Die Sprode, 26; FreudvoU und leidvoll, 27;
Meeresstille und gluckliche Fahrt, 30; Wonne der Wehmut, 30; Fruhzeitiger
Fruhling, 30; Schafers Klagelied, 30; Ihr verbluhet, susseRosen, 30; Bundes-
lied, 31; Wer nie sein Brot mit Trdnen ass, 32; An die Entfernte, 32; Das
Veilchen, 35; Blumengruss, 37; Schweizerlied, 38; Jagers Abendlied, 40;
Meine Ruh ist hin, 43 ; Nachtgesang, 43 ; An den Mond, 45 ; Erster Verlust,
48; Erlkonig, 48; Mailied {Zwischen Weizen und Korn), 50; Mailied {Wie
herrlich leuchtet mir die Natur), 34; Heidenroslein, 56; Der Fischer, 58;
Der Konig in Thule, 58 ; Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt, 64 ; Rastlose Liebe, 66 ;
Mignon (Kennst du das Land), 75 ; Gefunden, 79 ; Ndhe des Geliebten, 85 ;
Wandrers Nachtlied (fiber alien Gipfeln), 107; Wandrers Nachtlied (Der du
vom dem Himmel bist), 117.
The very large number of Goethe's poems that have been set to music
less than nine times have not been considered in the above list.
What an influence the poet has been exerting on musicians in recent
years is apparent from the fact that Richard Strauss has set to music
Wandrers Sturmlied and Pilgers Morgenlied, while Hugo Wolf has written
compositions to no less than fiftyrthree of Goethe's longer and shorter
poems. — M. F.
10. "What is the general? The individual case." NS., xi., 127;
H., xix., 19s {Spriiche in Prosa, No. 899).
11. See the letter from Sommering to Merck of the 8th of October,
1782, in Briefe an Merck, herausg. von Wagner, p. 354 /.
12. Goethe's various scientific writings appeared in the years 1817 to
1824 in a periodical which he published under the title, Zur Naturwissen-
IRotes 377
schaft uberhaupt, besonders zur Morphdlogie, Erfahrung, Beirachtung,
Folgerung, durch Lebensereignisse verbunden, to which were further given
two separate titles, one of them, Zur Morphologie, embracing chiefly
■botanical and osteological articles, while the other, Zur Naturwissen-
schaft uberhaupt, included geological, meteorological, and optical con-
tributions. Each group fills two volumes.
13. Cf. Zur Morphologie (NS., vi., 207), Einwirkung der neueren
Philosophie (NS., xi., 49), Campagne in Frankreich {W., xxxiii., 31).
14. Goethe's doctrine of vegetable metamorphosis has been misin-
terpreted by some to mean that he assumed a. transformation of full-
grown organs into other organs; others questioned the admissibility
of the conception of metamorphosis unless that assumption were made.
In view of this it is interesting to know that transformations of perfectly
mature organs of a plant into organs of an entirely different structure
and function, namely from petals to foliage leaves, really occur. Cf.
Winkler, Berichte der deutschen botanischen Gesellschaft (1902), xx., 494-501.
15. Cf. NS., vi., 173 and 277. It is not without interest to compare
the latter of these two passages with the following passage from Spinoza :
"Nothing occurs in nature that could be counted against her as a mis-
take; for nature is always the same and everywhere one, and her force
and her power of activity are the same, i. e., the rules and laws of nature,
according to which everything takes place and is metamorphosed out of
one form into another, are always and everywhere the same, and hence
there must be one and the same way of understanding the nature
of things, whatever they may be, namely, by means of general rules
and laws of nature " (Ethica, third part, p. 89 of Berthold Auerbach's
translation) .
16. The term Urpfiame, which Goethe used a few times, has been the
subject of a similar controversy. On page 92 we referred to the fact that
"at that time," — i. e., shortly before the Italian journey, and also while
in Italy— the conception of metamorphosis "hovered before his mind
un^erthe sensual form of a supersensual Urpflanze." But this statement
is hard to bring into complete accord with utterances of that period
concerning the Urpflanze, which will admit of no other interpretation
"than that Goethe understood by the term a concrete formation. This
is confirmed by a letter — written, but never posted — to Nees von Esen-
beck, which was published in Br., xxvii.. No. 7486, and was written prob-
ably in the middle of August, 1816 : " In the diaries of my Italian journey
you will observe, not without a smile, in what strange ways I followed
the traces of vegetable metamorphosis. I was at that time seeking the
Urpflanze, unconscious that I was seeking the idea, the conception, in
accordance with which we could develop it for ourselves." I [Kalischer]
find herein a confirmation of my view of the Urpflanze set forth in my
contributions to the Hempel edition of Goethe's writings (vol. xxxiii., p.
LXVI ff.,),oi which I have here and there taken the liberty to make free
use. According to what I there said, and the above passage from a letter
verifies my statement, Goethe originally meant by the Urpflanze the
ancestral form of the plant world, but he soon saw that he would never
realise his idea of being able to discover the Urpflanze "among this
378 ^be %itc of <5octbc
host " of forms which he met for the first time in Italy, as he said in a
letter from Palermo on the 17th of April, 1787; and he had to content him-
self with constructing as his own creature the Vrpflanze, which he had
vainly sought in nature (Naples, May 17, 1787). The question of the
conception of the Urpflanze, which had evidently undergone a metamor-
phosis in Goethe's chain of reasoning, is altogether subordinate to the
related question of his position with respect to the general doctrine of
descent, which must be decided according to other points of view.
Goethe used just once the term Urtier: "As I had formerly sought
the Urpflanze I now longed also to find the Urtier, which means in the
end the conception, the idea of animal " {NS., vi., 20). The utter-
ance does not contradict in any sense the view here presented. It in no
wise precludes the assumption of common, real ancestral forms out of
which the different species have developed. Darwin himself, in his
Origin of Species, speaks of the "archetype of all mammals," and of the
"general plan " upon which they are constructed.
17. NS., X., ^2 f. Goethe often expressed himself concerning the
ice age. Cf. Geologische Probleme und Versuch ihrer Aufiosung (NS.,
ix., 253 ff.); Herrn von Hoffs geologisches Werk {NS., ix., 280 ff.); NS., x.,
pp. 93, 95, and 267; Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre, book ii., Chapter IX
(l^.,xxv.,i 28).
18. Goethe finds antagonistic colours everywhere in nature, even
in the plant world, and a characteristic feature which supports our con-
ception of his theory is the fact that, in speaking of plant colours, he
refers to the subjective demand of the complementary colours. For
example, in an essay on this subject, recently published for the first time
in NS., v., 2 p. 160, we read: "The antagonistic relation of red and green
is most remarkable in monstrous tulips. One part of the strangely
indented leaf, which is even provided with spores, remains longest green,
and these parts then turn immediately to the most beautiful, most brilliant
red, a phenomenon like that to be observed in all chemical conversions,
and also like that which takes place in the subjective demand of the eye.
So intimately are the workings of nature connected."
In this connection we may refer also to the discovery which Goethe
recorded in §678, that phosphorescence is produced only by blue and
violet light, or, as we say, only by the refrangible part of the spectrum.
He made this discovery as early as 1792, as is shown by his letter of July
2d to SOmmering. Several written references to it have been preserved,
particularly the outline of a lecture on the subject, recently published for
the first time in NS., 2 p. 165 ff.
19. Cf. Diderots Versuch uber die Malerei {W., xlv., 293 f.). Spruche
in Prosa, No. 719, should also be considered in this connection: "The
first man to develop the harmony of colours out of the systole and diastole,
for which the retina is formed, or, to speak with Plato, out of this syn-
crisis and diacrisis, will be the discoverer of the principles of colouring."
Goethe himself is this discoverer.
20. The chief work on romanticism, which contains also an exhaustive
treatment of Goethe's relations to the older generation of the school, is
Die romantische Schule, ein Beitrag zur Geschichie des deutschen Geistes, by
IROteS 379
R. Haym, published in 1870. [A new edition has very recently been
issued. — C] Beside this there is the more recent work, Goethe und die
Romantik; Briefe mit Erlduterungen (SGG., xiii., and xiv.), edited by
Karl SchMdekopf and Oskar Walzel, and published in 1898 and iSgg.
In the two introductions to this valuable collection the personal element
is naturally brought into the foreground, but the objective agreements
and differences are also given consideration. It is hardly necessary to
state that this Life of Goethe does not accept the summing up statement
of the editors, "Instead of rejoicing in the harmony and its fruitful
results, evidences of discord and estrangement are shoved into the fore-
ground, and the far richer and more pleasing proofs of unanimity are
rejected or forgotten." Goethe's position with reference to romanticism
is defined, rather, in the words with which Luther parted from Zwingli :
"We have a different spirit." It is the spirit of wholesomeness, as
Goethe so classically formulated it. In comparison with it the romantic
is really "the unwholesome" (Eckermann, Gesprdche, April 2, 1829.) — Z.
21. That Goethe did not hand in a formal resignation is proved by
the Grand Duke's expression, "utterances," and by Goethe's "antici-
pated." [Cf. Briefwechsel des Grossherzogs Karl August mit Goethe, ii.,
105 /. — C] The real clash came on the 20th of March {Cf. Dembowsky,
Mitteilungen uber Goethe und seinen Freundeskreis, in Wiss. Beil. z. Pro-,
gramm des Kgl. Gymnasiums zu Lyck, 1888-1889, p. 8). The perform-
ance took place on the 12th of April. Goethe's letter of March 31st to
Frau von Stein shows that he still hoped for an agreement.
22. According to a statement made by Ulrike in her old age to
Herr von Loeper, her answer had been : if her mother desired it. Cf . GJ.,
viii., 183.
23. Nobody dared speak with Goethe except about the thing which
concerned him personally, till Goethe of his own accord passed to other
themes. When any one desired to turn him aside by means of inoppor-
tune or awkward questions he would surround himself with a mysterious
air ("ou mystifiait impitoyablement le malheureux questionneur " —
Soret, p. 46).
24. Walther, Baron von Goethe, devoted himself to music and pub-
lished several vocal compositions. He lived unmarried as a chamberlain
in Weimar and died in Leipsic, in 1 885 , after having made a will bequeath-
ing his grandfather's posthumous papers to the care of the Grand Duchess
Sophie of Saxony, who, as a result, founded the Goethe and Schiller
Archives in Weimar; which were opened in 1896. With his death the
Goethe family became extinct.
25. Wolfgang was a doctor juris and was known as a philosopher
and a writer. He died in 1883 as a Prussian councillor of legation and a
Weimar chamberlain.
26. "Madame de Goethe avait fini par renoncer presqu' enti^rement
3, la soci6t6, pour consacrer toutes ses soirees k son beau-pdre et pour
I'accompagner dans ses promenades" (Soret, p. 47). He praises very
highly her devotion in times of illness, as well as her clever and original
conversation.
27. On the 4th of July, 1824, Mailer asserted that Goethe's ability
38o ZDe %iU of (5oetbe
and desire to communicate his thoughts and feelings had been increased
tenfold. Cf. Dembowsky, I. n., p. 25.
28. Duke Bernhard found a copy of Faust in the possession of an
American Indian in North Carolina (Goethe to Zelter, March 28, 1829).
29. Prau von Stein's last utterance concerning Goethe is interesting
in this connection. Toward the end of the year 1829 she had made
for Cornelia's grandson, Alfred Nicolovius, a copy of the picture of young
Goethe which hung in her house, referring to Goethe as "your dear grand-
uncle, whom we so highly esteem " ; and she said she was glad to have
made the acquaintance of the grandnephew of her old friend Goethe
"before the salto mortale confronted her."
30. There is a rem.arkable similarity between this fact and an inci-
dfent in the life of Karl von Raumer. In his Geschichte der Padagogik, ii.,
340, ftaumer says, speaking of himself: "The sad time of 1806 had
affected me vibleiitly, had made me unsociable and entirely determined
to devote myself to the most solitary study of mountains."
31. In the first edition the two stories stood at the end of the first
volume, that is, in the middle of the work. They were intended to create
a desire for the second volume [which was never published in that edition
— C.]. When the sociological element and the Makarie episode were
inserted the stories were placed near the beginning of the work.
32. For the beginning it was indeed somewhat socialistic, as the
ground was divided up, etc. But the Germanic individualism is proved
by the dislike of the capital city and by the fact that equality is demanded
only in matters of chief importance (W. xxv.,i 213, 22). Harnack's
remark that, on the basis of the stanzas at the close_of the twelfth chapter
of the third book, he considers it a strictly socialistic state, is due to mis-
interpretation. The state referred to there is an old one. The correct
interpretation is : It is through you that we shall obtain wives.
33. Even the leadership of the "Bond" is intrusted to a group of
colleagues:
Du verteilest Kraft und Bttrde
Und erwagst es ganz genau,
Gibst dem Alter Ruh und W<irde,
Jtinglingen Geschaft und Frau.
34. There seems to be a little contradiction between W., xxv.,' 213,
10 and 214, 15. The first passage says of the right of the police to ad-
monish, scold, and punish, that when they find it necessary they call
together a jury of a size befitting the case. The second says that punish-
ment can be dealt out only by a number of men called together.
35. The verb " sich entwickeln" (W.. xxiv., 244, 15) must be taken
as a perfect, as though it were ' ' sich entwickelt haben " ; otherwise it makes
no sense. If we read, on the other hand, that nobody brings reverence
with him into the world {W., xxiv., 240, 2), this can be interpreted only
to mean reverence as a power which is easily developed, or may even
develop of itself. The germ of it must be present, otherwise it could not
be developed by the religions of reverence. Goethe often said: " What is
not in man will never come out of him." This harmonises with his state-
IRotes 381
ment in another place (H., xxix., 721), that he is forced to recognise in
man an inborn incUnation to reverence; likewise with his indorsement of
the motto, "Ilya une fibre adorative dans le coeur humain" {H., xxix.,
312); and with the fact that he makes a distinction between ' ' the specially-
favoured ones" (W., xxiv., 242, 14) and the rest only in so far as with
the former reverence develops of itself. Cf. also Trilogie der Leiden-
schafi, lines 79 /.
36. He may even have muttered to himself lines 86 ff. of the Urfaust,
which, it has been asserted, were based on Herder's Alteste Urkunde des
Menschengeschlechts. Herder undoubtedly called out to him more than
once lines 90-94.
37. Urfaust is the title commonly given to the oldest version of the
Faust fragment, that in which Goethe brought the play with him to
Weimar in November, 1775, and in which it has been preserved in a copy
made by a lady at the Court of Weimar, FrSulein Luise von GOchhausen.
This manuscript, important alike for the history and the understanding of
Faust, was found in 1887, in Dresden, at the residence of the FrSulein's
grand-nephew, Major von Gochhausen. The discovery was made by
Erich Schmidt, who published it that same year under the title Goethes
Faust in urspriinglicher Gestalt nach der Gochhausenschen Absckrift.
The same scholar gives a detailed account of the manuscripts and
first editions of Faust in the great Weimar edition (W., xiv. and xv. 2)
of Goethe's works. The most important facts about the editions are
given in the text of the above chapter on Faust. It may here be stated,
by way of supplement, that the first complete edition of the tragedy
appeared in the year of Goethe's death in the forty-first volume of the
Cotta pocket edition (Goethes nachgelassene Werke. Erster Band, 1832).
— Z.
38. The letter to Cotta in which he offers Faust as a fragment is dated
the ist of May, 1805, with a postscript dated the 14th of June. Hence
his definite decision was not made till the latter date. In a. letter to
Zelter of the 3d of June, 1826, he connects the giving up of his work on
Faust with the death of Schiller.
39. Goethe's relation to Byron is treated in an essay by A. Brand!
in GJ., XX. (1899). Cf. also E. KOppel's biography of Lord Byron in the
series Geisteshelden, vol. xliv. (1903). — Z.
40. I accept the interpretation of Pniower {Goethes Faust. Zeugnisse
und Excurse zu seiner Entstehungsgeschichte, p. 191), that Goethe meant
the ending of the "Helena," which has been preserved (W., xv.,2 176 ff.).
41. Kuno Fischer, in his Goethes Faust, 4th ed. (1902), vol. i., gives
a detailed account of the folk-books, Marlowe's Doctor Faustus, the Ger-
man popular plays, and Lessing's Faust fragment. Cf. also W. Creizenach,
Versuch einer Geschichte des Volksschauspiels vom Dr. Faust (1878). — Z.
42. On the basis of diiferences in style, contradictions, and diflEerent
presuppositions, Wilhelm Scherer, in his Aufsatze uber Goethe (1886),
desired to separate Faust's first soliloquy into two parts, the first of
which he considered older than the second. The text of the above
chapter on Faust seeks to controvert this hypercriticism. — Z.
43. Kuno Fischer has set forth this view of Mephistopheles as an
382 ^be %lfc of (Boetbc
emissary of the Earth-Spirit in the second volume of his above cited work
on Goethe's Faust (see Note 41), a work which in many respects is
thoroughgoing and sound. I consider the view incorrect, since Fischer
has to do violence to a great many passages, particularly in the ' ' original
version," in order to maintain it for a single moment. Minor, in his
Goethes Faust (1901), i., 225, asserts, with more clearness, to be sure, than
politeness, that "all the airy hypotheses, according to which Mephisto-
pheles was originally introduced, not as the devil, but as a servant of the
Earth-Spirit, are thus seen to fall to the ground. A Faust without a
compact with the devil is a monstrosity, a bit of nonsense, that never
occurred to Goethe and never could occur to a poet. It is an insipid
subtlety of philological learning." I myself do not go quite so far. In
the scene "Forest and Cavern" it really did occur to the poet, perhaps
with reference to an older plan, but it was only in this one scene. In the
whole of the original version, as it lies before us in the Urfaust, Mephisto-
pheles is really the devil. The long articles on Mephistopheles in GJ.,
xxii., and xxiii. (1901 and 1902), by Max Morris are very excellent, but
unfortunately he too, as has long been known, considers Mephistopheles
the emissary and servant of the Earth-Spirit. — Z.
44. The outline of the disputation may be found in the paralipomena
II to 20 (W., xiv.). The above conjecture as to the purpose of the scene
rests, to be sure, only on the uncertain ground of the closing words
(paralipomenon 11), "Majority. Minority of the audience as a chorus."
— Z.
45. In an address on Goethes Faust, published in Strassburger Goethe-
vortrage (1899) Th. Ziegler discusses in detail the question whether it was
Goethe's original intention that Faust should be saved, or should fall into
the power of hell. The fact that this question was still undecided in the
Urfaust and in the Fragment added to the dramatic suspense. — Z.
46. Of. Fr. Vischer, Goethes Faust. Neue Beitrage zur Kritik des
Cedichts (1875), p. 151- This book, together with Vischer's defence of
it in Altes und Neues (1881), is doubtless the most profound work ever
written on Faust. Vischer's influence will be observed in many parts of
the above chapter, for which reason I refer to it here especially as a
"source." — Z.
47. So says Johannes Niejahr in his article entitled Die Oster-
szenen und die Vertragsszene in Goethes Faust (GJ., xx., p. 190). His
article begins with the striking statement, "Hitherto critics have paid
but little attention to those portions of the First Part of Faust which
belong to the closing period of the composition." As though it had not
been known since the work of Fr. Vischer what difficult problems lie here!
But it is not necessary on that account to find a contradiction in every
difficulty.— Z.
48. In Plutarch's biography of Marcellus (cap. 20) we read of the
"mothers," whom the Greeks worshipped as goddesses. It was doubt-
less this passage that Goethe had in mind when he "betrayed" to Ecker-
mann {Gesprdche mit Goethe, ii., Jan. 10, 1830), "that he had found in
Plutarch that in the days of ancient Greece the mothers were spoken
of as divinities." — Z.
IRotes " 383
49. Johann Jakob Wagner (1775-1841) of Ulm, professor in the
University of Wtirzburg, is said to have presented this view in his lectures.
C/. Diintzer, Goethes Faust. Zweiter Theil (1851), p. iig. — Z.
50. Veit Valentin, in his Goethes Faustdichtung in ikrer kunstler-
ischen Einheit dargestellt (1894), p. 154 jf., asserts that Goethe thought
of the "Homunculus as an embodiment of life energy that was only
temporary and hence bound to the glass, and that he made it strive after
a real union with material elements and after a state in which it could
develop a real form." The same view is set forth in his posthumous
work Die klassische Walpurgisnacht (1901), p. 82 ff. The end of the
Homunculus he interprets as a " marriage of the Homunculus with the
sea," and he gives as the fundamental motive of the "Classical Wal-
purgis Night " " a reanimation which is to lead to a real existence." — Z.
51. The strange interpretation of Care was presented by Hermann'
Tiirck in his Fine neue Fausterkldrung. See also his article entitled Die
Bedeutung der Magie und Sorge in Goethes Faust (GJ., xxi.). The merit
of this cleverly presented, but untenable, interpretation lies in the fact
that from now on interpreters of Faust will be forced to pay more serious
attention to the figure of Care than has hitherto been the case ; and they
will also need to solve the problem which Tiirck has pointed out. — Z.
52. That it was Goethe's original intention to make Faust not only
wish to dismiss magic from his life, but actually do it, is shown by a
variety of sketches [See W., xv.,2 153 ff. — C], one of which tuns : " I long
ago to magic said farewell, and gladly rid my mind of every spell."
Another in prose runs: "I endeavour to put aside everything that is
magical." But in the final redaction Goethe left merely the desire on
the part of Faust to give up magic. — Z.
53. This altruistic, social side of the work of civilisation is only
suggested in Faust. It is expressed far more energetically and positively
in Die Wanderjahre. Faust was altogether too firmly rooted in the
eighteenth century. Hence it is all the more pleasing that social ethics,
as a most modem tendency, is at least not wholly lacking in the drama.
In the emphasis which he places on freedom ("upon free soil 'mid a people
free ") Goethe, in a certain sense, returns to the spirit of his early works
Gotz and Egmont. — Z.
54. The conception of heaven in the last scene goes back to the
Campo Santo pictures in Pisa, which Goethe knew from Carlo Lasinio's
Pitture al Fresco del Campo Santo (see Annalen, 1818, last paragraph).
Cf. G. Dehio, Alt-Italienische GemaXde als Quelle zw Goethes Faust (.GJ.,
vii.).— Z.
55. The unity of this incommensurable work lies only in the person
of the poet, and in the course of the development which he makes his
hero pass through, as he himself has done. Veit Valentin, the defender
of the "artistic" unity of Faust, virtually admits this when he says, in
his above quoted work (see Note 50): "The extravagant employment
of the epic in the so-called Second Part, together with the frequent em-
ployment of the lyric — retained from the Urfaust — in the so-called First
Part, and the genuinely dramatic and epic motivation, as it appears
in many individual scenes in both Parts and in the general plot of the
384 Cbc Xlfe of ©oetbe
whole drama, doubtless justify one in speaking of a lack of unity in the
poetic style." Then immediately afterward he well says : "Just as in
the Urfaust climax succeeds climax, without any necessity being felt of
explaining the motivation of the connecting parts which bring all the
individual parts into a causal relation, so in the Second Part motive
follows motive without bringing out the climaxes strongly by means
of more extensive treatment, and without marking them plainly, to show
that they are climaxes, for the sake of the immediate impression."
Herein lies the difficulty of a performance of the Second Part, which
is considerably increased by the necessity of making omissions. One
receives more the impression of a strange spectacle, difficult to com-
prehend, than of a great and powerful drama. And so the theatre never
does full justice to Faust. In the First Part the players are seldom able to
represent the whole depth and fulness of Goethe's figures; the portrayer
of Faust, especially, finds himself confronted by a problem which simply
defies solution. Even Goethe himself felt concerning the First Part that it
was not suited to the stage, and hence his own attempts to have it per-
formed in Weimar were brought to naught by the difficulty of the under-
taking. The first attempt by others was made by Prince Radziwill in
Berlin, in 1819, when he gave a private performance before the Court.
The first public performance occurred in Breslau in 1820. Both these
performances included only fragments of the First Part. It was pro-
duced for the first time in its entirety by Theatre Director August Klinge-
mann, in 1829, in Brunswick.- That same year, in honour of Goethe's
eightieth birthday, a number of other theatres followed his example,
notably the theatre of Weimar, where, of course, the poet had something
to say while the play was being rehearsed. Thus the First Part was
gained permanently for the German stage.
The Second Part had from the beginning been arranged by the poet
with reference to "the spectators' enjoyment of appearances," that is,
with a view to its effectiveness on the stage. In 1849 the Helena tragedy
was performed for the first time, under Gutzkow's direction in Dresden,
in celebration of the hundredth anniversary of Goethe's birth. The
whole Second Part was produced five years later by WoUheim da Fonseca
in Hamburg. The entire work, with its two Parts, had to wait twenty
years more before it was performed. Otto Devrient produced it in 1875
in Weimar on a mystery stage, divided into three parts. It was his pur-
pose and hope to make clear to the public the plot of the whole work as a
unity. Nowadays Faust is presented on all the larger stages of Ger-
many, the First Part frequently, the Second rarely, but Devrient's hope
has not been realised. As a usual thing those who really know the First
Part go home from a performance not fully satisfied, because theatrical
art is so hopelessly inadequate to cope with the mighty poem. The
audience listens to the Second Part as something not comprehended
and in many respects incomprehensible, and is at most eager to see
how successfully theatrical technique can cope with the task here set.
Cf. W. Creizenach, Die Buhnengeschickte des Goetheschen Faust (1881).
— Z.
56. Die letzte Krankheit Goethes, beschriehen und nebst einigen andern
IRotcs 385
Pemerkungen uber denselhen, mitgeteilt von Dr. Carl Vogel, Grossherzogl.
Sdchsischem Hofrate und Leibarzte zu Weimar. Nebst einer Nachschrift
von C. W. Hujeland. Berlin. 1833. — Z.
57. We have a detailed account of this by Chief Architect Coudray,
who made the arrangements for the lying in state and the burial, in
Goethes drei letzte Lebensiage. Die Handschrift eines Augenzeugen heraus-
gegeben von Karl Holsten. Heidelberg. 1889. Cf. also Dr. Karl Wil-
helm MtiUer, Goethes letzte Uterarische Tdtigkeit, Verhaltnis zum Ausland
und Scheiden, nach den Mitteilungen seiner Freunde dargestellt. Jena.
1832.— Z.
INDEX
Abendstunde eines Einsiedkrs (Pes-
talozzi), iii., 229
Abhandlungen zu Goethes Leben
(Dtlntzer), ii., 445
"Abklingen, " iii., 119, izo
Absolutism, Goethe's belief in, i.,
314
"Ach, da ich irrte, hatt' ich viel
Gespielen" (from Zueignung),
iii-. 34
"Ach neige, du Schmerzensreiche "
(from Fausf), iii., 376
"Ach, um deine feuchten Schwing-
en" (from Buck Suleika), iii., 23
Achard, ii., 450/.
AchilUis, ii., 273, 332; iii., 263
Achilles, ii., 332
Adelbert vonWeisUngen, i., 429
Adelheid, character in Gotz, i., 168,
171, 172, 179^., 428; ii., 136
Adersbacher Felsen, ii., 92
Adler und Taube, iii., 47
Adoration fif the Cross (Calderon),
Adriatic, the, 1., 373; u., 190
Advocate, see law
yEneid, the, i., 131
.lEschylos, i., 114; ii., 391
.(Etna., i., 399; iii., 24, 35
"Affaire du collier," i., 366
Africa, i., 264, 397
Agamemnon, ii., 3
Agathon (Wieland), ii., 259
Agnes, iii., 35, 36
Agrippe von Nettesheim, iii., 271
Aja, Frau, nickname of Goethe's
mother, i., 222, 296, 344/"-. 3S4;
ii., 210; iii., I4S
Aktenstiicke zur Geschichte, etc.,
(Scheibler), ii., 451
Alarkos (Fr. Schlegel), iii., 144
Alba, character in Egmont, i., 330^.
Albert, character in Werther, i.,
160, igiff., 196, 199
Albrecht, Rector, i., 17
Alcest, character in Die Mitschul-
digen, i., 83/., 423
Alchemy, Goethe's study of, i., 93,
103
Alcinous, palace of, i., 162; iii., 92
Aldobrandini Wedding, the, an an-
tique fresco, ii., 318
Alemannische Gedichte (Hebel), iii.,
Alexander, Czar of Russia, ii., 4o8;3'->
413^., 418, 432
Alexander the Great, i., 201 ; iii.,
274
Alexandria, i., 170
Alexandrine, the, Goethe's use of,
i., 8s
Alexis (Karl von Schweitzer), i., 35/
Alexis und Dora, ii., 319; iii., $2,
62, 376
"Alle Freiheitsapostel, " etc. (from
Venezianische Epigramme, No.
so), ii., 149
Allegory, distinction between sym-
bolism and, iii., 306/.
Allgemeine Literatur-Zeitung^Jena.),
the, ii., ISO, 423; Goethe's con-
tributions to, 32s, 332. 33S. 42s
Allleben, quotations from, iii., 6
Alphonso, Duke of Ferrara, ii., 41
Alphonso, character in Tasso, ii.,
35. 38, 41. 43f-. 441
Alpin, character in Ossian, i., 193
Alps, the, i., 212, 226, 228, 229,
348f., 353. 369. 372, 384. 402,
407 ;ii., 79, 215, 314; ill., 92. 196,
215, 259, 270
" Als eine Blume zeigt sie sich der
Welt" (from AufMiedings Tod),
i., 26s
Alsatia, i., 9S/-, 98, 99; Goethe
makes collection of folk-songs in,
117, 238; 139, 311, 343. 345 ;
ii., 126, 421. 432 ; iii-. 25, 62, 374
Altdorf, i., 227, 431
Altenberg, ii., 417
Altenstein, ii., 451
"Alter, harst du noch nicht auf"
(from "Wenn ich auf dem
Markte geh' ."), iii., iss
387
388
llnbei
Altes wnd Neues (Vischer), iii., 382
Alteste Urkunde des Menschenge-
scMechts (Herder), iii., 381
AU-Italienische Gentdlde als Quelle
zu Goethes Faust (Dehio), iii., 383
Altmflhl, ii., 270
Am Flusse, iii., 374
Amanuenses, Goethe's, iii., 163/.
Amateur Theatre, the, in Weimar,
i., 258; ii., 32, 93
America, i., 230, 241, 360; ii., 249;
iii., 199, 211,213,215,216; Goe-
the's attitude toward, zigff- ; 224,
225/., 242, 273
"Amerika, du hast es besser
(from Den vereiniglen Staaten),
iii., 220
Amine, character in Die Laune des
Verliehten, i., 81/.
Amine, original title of Die Laune
des Verliebten, i., 39, 81, 423/.
Amor, i., 167, 411; ii., 81
Amor and Psyche (Raphael), i., 386
Ampere, i., 417; ii., 443
Amphion, i., 43
Am-yntas, ii., 445
An Belinden, quotations from, i.,
218, 2i9;f. ; 232
An Cidli (Klopstock), quotation
from, i., 149
An den Herzog Karl August, quota-
tion from, i., 283
An den Kuchenbacker Hendel, i..
An den Mond {An Luna), i., 425
An den Mond ("PflUest wieder
Busch und Tal"), i., 343; iii., 19,
^ 40f., 43f-, SO, 37S. 37^
An die Entfernte, iii., 376
An die Erwahlte, iii., 376
" An die Tiiren will ich schleichen,"
iii., 376
An ein goldenes Herz, das er am
Halse trug, i., 228
An eine Freundin, i., 425^.
An Frau von Stein (W-< iv., 210),
quotation from, i., 297
An Frau von Stein (W., v'., 66), i.,
363
An Lida, quotation from, i., 306
An Lili, quoted, i., 245
An Luna, i., 425; iii., 374
An Merck, quotation from, i., 175;
42 8f.
An Mignon, ii., 314; iii., 376
An Psychen (Wieland), quotation
from, i., 275if.
An Sckwager Kronos, i., 211; iii.,
40, 47. 375
An Werther (first number of
Trilogie der Leidenschaft), iii.,
161
Analyse und Synthese, quotation
from, iii., izpf.
Anatomisches Handbuch (Loder),
iii., 90
Anatomy, Goethe's study of, i., 2,
308, 361, 362; ii., 323, 432; iii,,
82, 86^., 93, 103
Anderlind, ii., 450
Andermatt, i., 227
Andr^, i., 230; iii., 374
" Angedenken du verklungner
Freude" (from An ein goldknes
Herz, daser am Halse trug), i., 228
Angela, character in Wilhelm. Meis-
ters Wanderjahre, iii., 204, 223
Angelico, Fra, iii., 196
Angelo, Michael, i., 329, 385/., 404;
ii., 21; iii., 3S2
Anger, Goethe's fits of, i., 417/.
Anhang zur Lebensbeschreibung des
Benvenuto Cellini, iii., 100
Anmerkiingen iibers Theater (Lenz),
i., 121
Anmerkungen zu Rameaus Neffe, i.,
379
Anna Amalia, i., 144, 2SSJf-, 261,
263, 264, 266, 271, 273, 2g3f.,
312^. 344/-: ii-. 85^., 94. 112.
348, 442; m., 258
Annalen, ii., 158, 338, 354; iii., 153,
154, 172, 383; see Tag- und
.. Jahreshefte
Annchen (Annette), 5ee Anna Kath-
arina SchOnkopf
Annette, i., 56, 86, 87, 264, 424, 425
Ansbach, i., 259; ii., 341
"Anschaun, wenn es dir gelingt"
(from Genius, die Buste okr Natur
enthullend), iii., 85
Antaeus, iii., 131
Antigone, ii., 22
Antigone (Sophocles), quotation
from, i., 199
Antinous, i., 438
Antiope, character in Elpenor, ii.,
440
Antique, the, i., 3; ii., ^38
Antique art, Goethe disregards, i.,
72; his study of, 100, 122, 183,
\T!.ff-, and ii., 87, and iii., 11;
lis adherence to, ii., 81, and iii.,
9, 100, 263
Antoni, character in Wer ist der
Verrdterf iii., 202f.
Antonio, character in rflw.ro, ii., 35,
38, 41, 43^., 441/.
Antwerp, i., iii, 434
Apel's garden in Leipsic, i., 45
Apennines, the, i., 382; iii., 113
Apolda, ii., 430; iii., 137
Apollo, ii., 4, II, 23, 25, 33 ; iii., 168
Apollo Belvedere, i., 385, 438
371
his
Inbei
389
Apology (Plato), i., 421
Appian Way, the, i., 387
Arcadia, iii., 339
Arcadian society, i., 3S
Architecture, Goethe s study of, i.,
i04f., STzjf.; Von deutscher Bau-
kunst, 105, 142 ; Dritte Wallfahrt
nach Erwins Grabe, 228/. ; iii., 98;
see antique art
Architettura (Palladio), i., 377/.
Ardennes, the, ii., 142
Argonne, Forest of, ii., in
Arianne an Weity, i., 42 sf.
Ariel, character in Faust, iii., 331
Ariosto, ii., 42, 46, 47, 67, 69, 442
Aristocrat, Goethe an, ii., 77, 193
Aristophanes, i., 253, 259; ii., 209;
iii., 299
Aristotle, i., 29, 178, 363, 423; ii.,
171/. ; iii., 127, 269
Arkas, character in Iphigenie, ii., 6^
Arkwright, iii., 215
Arlon, ii., 113
Amdt, Ernst Moritz, ii., 429, 431/-,
454; iii-, 15
Amim, Achim von, iii., 145
Ars Poetica (Horace), quotation
from, i., 74
Arsinoe, character in Satyros, i., 249
Art, (jroethe's study of, i., 2 if.,
1°ff; 73. loz. 159. 167, 183, 185,^
279, and ii., 77, 87, 160, 3i7f->
325ff., and iii., 10, 11, loojf.; he
supervises the institutes of, in
Weimar, ii., 76; he plans a work
on the development of, 311 f-',
his labour for the advancement
of, 322; his lectures on, 331;
harmony between his science and,
iii., 81^., 98^. ; see also drawing,
engraving, etching, painting, and
wood-engraving
Arthur, character in Shakespeare's
King John, ii., g6f.
Arve, the, i., 351
Asia, i., 373, 397; iii., ijf.
Asia Minor, iii., 55
Assisi, i., 382
Assunia, the, (Titian), i., 438
Astronomy, Goethe's study of, ii.,
323
"At the Fountain," scene in Faust,
iii., 27s, 283
"At the Spinning Wheel," scene in
Faust, iii., 275, 284, 375
Athena, ii., J
Athenaum (the Schlegels), ii., 263,
385; iii., 144
Athens, ii., 202
Athroismos, iii., 87
Atmospheric pressure, Goethe's
theory of, iii., 117
Atta Troll (Heine), quotation from,
iii., 68
Atzbach, i., 163
Auerbach, Berthold, iii., 377
" Auerbach's Cellar," scene in Faust,
i., 41, 342 ; iii., 257, 275, 283, 287,
326, 327
Auerbachs Hof, i., 45, 64
Auerstadt, i., 41
Auf dem See, quotation from, i.,
226; iii., 40; quoted, 72^. ; 375,376
AufMiedings Tod, quotations from,
i., 258, 265, 273
Aufsatze uber Goethe (Scherer), iii.,
381
' Aug', mein Aug', was sinkst du
nieder, " see Auf dem See
Augereau, Marshal, ii., 343
Augsburg, i., 174, 408, 432; ii., log
Auguste, Princess, iii. 165
Aulis, ii., 3, 17
Aurea Catena Homeri, i., 93
Aurelie, character in Wilhelm Meis-
ter), ii., 238, 242, 248 ff., 266,
Aus dem Goethehause (Heitmliller) ,
i-, 434
Aus Friedrich L. v. Stolbergs Ju-
gendjahren (Hermes), i., 430
Aus Goeihes Fruhzeit (Scherer), i.,
42s
Aus Goethes Leben (Ludecus), ii.,
444
Aus Herders Nachlass, i., 420
Aus Makariens Archiv (in Wilhelm
Meisters Wanderjahre), iii., 193,
242/.
AusWeimars Glanzzeit (Diezmann),
ii-, 444
Aussohnung (third number of Trilo-
gie der Leidenschaft), inspired by
Mme. Szymanowska, iii., 166
Austerlitz, ii., 340
Austria, i., 11, 24, 321, 322,
324^-, 437; ii- 89, 104, 340, 415;
Goethe meets Empress of, 415.
419; he meets Emperor of, 418;
424, 426, 427; iii., II, 138, 140
Autographen-Katalog (Cohen), ii.,
453
Autographs, Goethe's collection of,
iii., 163
Bacchus, iii., 61
Bach, P. E., iii., 375
Bachtold, ii., 440, 441
Bacon, Francis, ii., 162; iii., 95,
273
Baden,!., 182, 310, 325; ii., 341;
iii., 26
Baden-Baden, iii., 29
Bahrdt, i., 152
Bailleu, i., 437
39°
Iribcx
Ballade vom vertriehenen und zu-
ruckkehrenden Graf en, iii., 56,
57/- 68
Baltic Sea, the, iii., 62, 117
Bamberg, i., 171, 172, 174, 179
Barbara, character in Wtlhelm
Meister, ii., 218, 250/., 266
Bardolino, i., 270
Barenthal, the, i., 100
Barthel^my, i., in
Basedow, i., 20'^if., 210, 246, 251;
ii., 114; iii., IS
Basel, i., 228, 347; ii., 128, 441
Bastberg, the, i., 100
Bastille, the, ii., 103, 145
Batsch, ii., 203
Batteux, i., 412; ii., 325
Battista Pigna, character in the
original Tasso, ii., 35
Baucis, character in Faust, iii., 345
Baumannshohle, the, i., 338
Bavaria, i., 322 ; ii., 341
Bayle, i., 30, 421; ii., 157
Bayreuth, ii., iig, 341
Bear, Goethe's nickname, i., 220,
225
Beaumarchais, source for Cktvigo, i.,
235^.; concerning Clavigo, 432/.
Beaumarchais, character in Clavigo,
i., 237, 238, 432; iii., 297
Beaumarchais (Bettelheim), i., 433
Beauties of Shakespeare (Dodd), i.,
79
Beautiful, the, Goethe's conception
of, i., 75, 77, 106, 423; ii., 196/.,
389; symbolised in Pandora,
39if-; 453
Beautiful soul, i., 92 ; ii., 116; char-
acter in Wilhelm Meister, 238ff,
265, and iii., 203^.
Beck, actor, ii., 124
Beckenried, ii., 318
Bedeuiende Fordernis durch ein
einziges geistreiches Wort, iii., 85,
^ 92
Beethoven, ii., 420; iii., 374/.
"Before the City Gate," scene in
Faust, iii., 315/.
Behrisch, i., 54ff., 64^., 79, 81, 86,
88, 425
Bei Betrachtung von Schillers Scha-
del, iii., 193
Beitrage zur Optik, ii., 100, 104, 323 ;
iii., 118, 124, 126
Belagerung von Mainz, ii., 118/.;
iii., 172
Belles-lettres, Goethe's interest in,
i., 40, 46, 73, 79, 159
Bellomo, ii., 53/., 96, 99
Belriguardo, ii., 42, 43, 60
Belsazar, i., 39, 86
Belsazar (Heine), iii., 52
Bentham, iii., i6p, 192
Benvenuto Cellint, ii., 330
Bdranger, iii., 173
Bergamo, i., 373
Bergen, battle of, i., 21
Bergstrasse, the, i., 233
Berlichingen, Gotz von, see Gotz
Berlin, i., 177, 259, 260, 272, 323,
429. 433' 437. 439; "•. 73. 90.
205, 208, ^46, 416, 425, 426, 434,
441, 450; iii., 117, 140, 142, 153,
166, 174, 384
Berlioz, Hpctor, iii., 376
Bernard, Lili betrothed to, ii., 301
Bernard, Nikolaus (Lili's uncle), i.,
220; iii., 17
Berne, i., 212, 347/-. 35°. 37S
Bernhard, Duke, iii., 165, 380
Bemstorff, Count, iii., 75
Bertram, iii., 10
Bertuch, i., 262/. ; concerning" Goe-
the, 297; 320/., 435, 436; ii., 82,
124, 334. 442; iii., 137
Beschreibung der Stadt Leipzig
(Leonhardi), i., 423
Bessungen, Forest of, i., 147
Bethlehem- Judah, i., 273
Betrachtungen im Sinne der Wan-
derer (in Wilhelm Meisters Wan-
der jahre), iii., 193, 226
Bettelheim, i., 433
Bettina, see Brentano
Bialystok, ii., 424
Bible, the, i., 13, 17, 48, 69, 79,
91, 96, 109, IIS, 119. 173. 283/.,
340^., 422; ii., 158; iii., 2, 127,
_ 149. 317
Biedermann, u., 174, 444, 453; ni.,
107
Biel, i., 347
Biester, ii., 453
BilderbiMh fur Kinder (Bertuch),
i., 263
Bildung der Erde, iii., 115
Bingen, ii., 109; iii., 6
Birkenstock, von, iii., 7
Birs, the, i., 347
Bismarck, iii., 368
Bitsch, i., 100
Black Eagle, the, i., 325 ; ii., 426
Black Forest, the, i., 225
Blanckenburg, ii., 260
Blessig, i., 212
Bhicher, ii., 408; iii., 12, 151
Blume, i., .434/.
Blumenbach, Adele, ii., 451
Blumenbach, anatomist, iii., 88,
90
Blumengruss, iii., 376
Boccaccio, ii., 439
Becklin, iii., 319
Bode, i., 266
1n&ei
391
Bodmer, i., 74, 107, 223, 246; ii.,
440; iii., 257
Boehmer, i., 437
Boerhave, i., 93
Bohemia, ii., 92, 445, 449; iii., 14,
112, 161
Bohm, i., 433
Bohme, Frau, i., 46/., 65, 68, 80,
lOI
Bohme, Councillor, i., 46, 68
Bohn, i., 233
Boie, i., 175, 176, 211, 259; iii.,
257
Boisserfe, Melchior, iii., 9, 148
Boisserfe, Sulpiz, i., 380, 417, 438;
ii., 354, 414; iii., gff., i$f., 17,
19, 25/., 148, 166, 170, 174, 181,
192, 268
Boito, Arrigo, iii., 376
Bologna, i., 381, 386, 438; ii., 440
Bonaparte, Napoleon, see Napoleon
Bonaparte, Jerome, ii., 421/.
Bonaparte, Louis, ii., 4isf.
"Bond," the, in Die Wanderjahre,
iii., 2i4ff., 380
Bondeli, Julie, i., 146
Bonn, i., 207; iii., 16
Borchardt, i., 233
Borghese gardens, i., 3; iii., 260
Borkenhauschen, the, i., 271
Born, i., 157, 162, 166
Bospprus, the, ii., 340 *
Botany, Goethe's study of, i., 308,
361. 396. 398. 405; ii., 85, 323;
iii., 90ff., 98, 103, 182, 377/.
Bottiger, i., 297, 436; ii., 272, 309,
334, 451. 4S3
Boucke, iii., 46
Bourienne, iii., 175
Bower, i., 15, 419
Bozen, i., 369; iii., 5
Brackenburg, character in Egmont,
i-. 33S
Braggadocio, see Der Renommist
Brahm, i., 429
Brahms, iii., 374f.
Brandenburg, i., 24
Brandl, A., iii., 381
Braunfels, i., 166
Brautnackt, iii., 374
Breitinger, i., 107
Breitkopf, Bernhard, composer of
music to Goethe's Neue Lieder, i.,
68, 86, 89; iii., 374
Breitkopf, Constanze, i., 59, 68, 77,
81, 89
Breitkopf, Gottlob, i., 68, 89
Breitkopf, Wilhelmine, i., S9. 68,
77. 89
Bremen, i., 89, 153, 157; m., 174
Brenner, the, i., 369, 384; iii., 116
Brenta, the, i., 373
Brentano, Aatonie, ii., 449; iii., 7,
16
Brentano, Bettina, i., 15, 419/.; ii.,
407; iii., 145, 176
Brentano, Franz, iii., 7
Brentano, Klemens, ii.,.202 ; iii., 145
Brentano, Maximiliane, see La
Roche
Brentano, Peter Anton,i.,i88/. ; iii.,
7
Brentano, Sophie, ii., 444
Brescia, i., 373
Breslau, i., 429; ii., 9o;5f., 191; iii.,
103, 384
Bretten, iii., 271
Brief des Pastors zu — ,an den neuen
Pastor zu — , i., 204
Briefe an Merck (Wagner), iii., 90,
376
Briefe aus der Schweiz, i., 412^., 431/.
Briefe der Frau Rath Goethe (KOs-
ter), ii., 449
Briefe die neueste Literatur betref-
fend, see Literaturbriefe
Briefe und Aufsatze von Goethe
(SchesU), i., 425, 430
Briefe von Goethe und dessen Mutter
an Friedrich Freiherm von Stein
(Ebers and Kahlert), ii., 444
Briefe von Heinrich Voss (Abr.
Voss), i., 418
Briefe von und an Goethe (Riemer),
ii., 453; iii-. io8f.
Briefwechsel des Grossherzogs Karl
August mit Goethe, iii., 379
Briefwechsel zwischen Goethe und
Zelter, ii., 451 ; iii., 362
Briefwechsel zwischen Schiller und
Goethe, iii., 172
Brienz, i., 348
Brienzer See, i., 348
Brion, Christian, i., 124
Brion, Frau, i., 124, 127, 241
Brion, Friederike, i., 85, 122, 123^.,
137, 146, 173, 218, 222, 234, 236/.,
240, 241, 345/., 424, 426, 427;
iii., 25/., 27, 39, 44, 62, iss, 161,
218, 252, 294/^.
Brion, Marie Salomea j., 124, 131
Brion Pastor, i., 124
Brion, Sophie, i., 124, 237, 427
Brizzi, ii., 417
Brocken, the, i., 339^., 352; iii.i
38f., 297#., 328
Bromius, iii., 61
Bruhns, K.,' iii., 129
Brunnen, ii., 318
Bruno, Giordano, i., 248; iii., 84,
273
Brunswick, 1., 156, 157, 256, 271;
ii.. Ill, 112, 342 ; iii., 384 -
Brussels, i., iii, 330, 333, 335
392
Hn^ex
Brutus, i., 246; ii., 187
Buck Suleika (in West-ostlicher
Divan), iii., 18; quotations from,
19/. (29
Buchsweiler, 1., 98, 100
Buenco, character in CZowgo, i., 237
BufiE, Charlotte (Lotte, Lottchen),
i;. 159^-. 183/., 185, 199, 218, 227 ;
ii., 212^. ; iii., 12, 18
BufiE, Hans, i., 166
BufiE, Karoline, i., 159
Buff, Steward, i., 159, 161, 165
Buffon, i., 308
Bully, see Raufbold
Bully, character in Faust, iii., 343
Btinau, Count von, i., 261
Bundeslied, ii., 207; iii., 376
Bungert, iii., 376
Burckhardt, Jacob, i., 378
Burdach, iii., 64
Bflrgel, iii., 137
Bflrger, i., 175/., 296; iii., 52
Buri, von, i., 35/.
Burkhardt, i., 435, 436; ii., 445
Burschenschaft, the, iii., 330, 337
Bury, Fritz, i., 387 ,407; ii., 88, 314,
406
Btisching, i., 418/.
Biittner, iii., 125
Buttstadt, ii., 321
Byron, iii., 166, 173, 264;^'., 341/.,
381
Cabiri, the, iii., 338
Cacilie, character in Stella, i., 240^.
Caesar, i., 170, 183; hero of the
dramatic fragment, 245/. ; ii.,
184, 187, 413
Cagliostro, i., 398/.; ii., 122
Calderon, i., 5; ii., 417; iii., 144
Campagna, the, i., 387, 395
Campagne in Frankreich, see Kam-
pagne, etc.
Campanella, iii., 273
Camper, iii., 88, 89/.
Campetti, ii., 368
Campo Santo, iii., 383
Canals, Goethe interested in, iii.,
174
Capitol, the, in Rome, i., 388, 406
Capri, i., 401, 438;?.
Capua, i., 395
Card-playing, Goethe's attitude
toward, i., 50, 68, loi
Care, character in Faust, iii., 346/.,
383
Carletta (Antonio Valeri), i., 439
Carlos, character in Clavigo, i., 236)^.
Carlyle, i., 366; iii., 173, 244
Cartwright, iii., 215
Casar, i., 142, 204, 210, 239, 245/.,
365; ii., 273; iii., 254
Cassel, ii., 421; iii., 89
Cassius, ii., 187
Castel Gandolfo, i., 405
Castelli, iii., 375
Cataclysms, the theory of, iii., 108
Catania, i., 399/.
Catechisme des Industriels (Saint-
Simon), iii., 192
Categorical imperative, Kant's, ii.,
176
Catharine II., iii., 253
Catholicism, iii., &f., 351^.
Causes, final, ii., 161/.
Cecilia Metella, Tomb of, i., 387.
Cellini, Benvenuto, ii., 330
Cento, i., 381, 418
Cestius, Pyramid of, iii., 187
Chalons, ii., 190
Chamber of Finance, Goethe presi-
dent of, i., 317, 320^., 3S9, 360,
361. 363. 435/-; "-.36. 76
Chamouni, i., 350/.
Champagne, ii., iii
Chancellor, the, character in Faust,
iii-. 333
Characteristic, the, in art, ii., 326^.
Charade, iii., 145
Charles I., ii., 118
Charles IV., iii., 345
Charlotte, character in Die Wahl-
verwandtschaften, ii., 355if-, 386
Charlotte von Stein (IHintzer), ii.,
444
Chefs-d'ceuvre des Thi&tres Etran-
gers, i., 430
Chemistry, Goethe's study of, i., 93,
103; ii., 323
Chemnitz, ii., 416/.
China, iii., s, 144
Chiron, character in Faust, iii., 338
Chloe, iii., 47
Cholevius, ii., 450
Chorus Mysticus, in Faust, iii., 350,
352
Chriemhilde, ii., 440
Christ, i., 212; ii., 158; iii., 57, 178,
236;f., 299, 352, s6sf.
Christianity, Goethe's attitude
toward, iii., 363/.
Christoph, character in Die Wan-
derjahre, iii., 213
Chronicles (Gottfried), i., 16, 222,
420
Church, the, Goethe's attitude
toward, i., 17/., 158/., and iii.,
363; see religion
Cicero, i., 48; iii., i6g
Cipriani, character in Wilhelm
Meister, ii., 256/.; iii., 211
" Classical Walpurgis Night," scenes
in Faust, iii., 269, 335^., 353.
383
Unbei
393
Claudine von Villa Beth, i., 245,
404, 410; iii., 375
Claustal, i., 339
Clavigo, hero of the drama, i., 133,
23Sff-. 242^, 432
Clavigo, i., 136; discussion of, 235-
239. 432f.; ii-, 272; iii., 297
Clock, Goethe's father's, iii., 183
Clodius, i., 46, 50, 6$f., 80
Coblenz, i., 166, 206; ii., 114; iii., 16
Coburg Gymnasium, i., 11
Cohen,ii., 453
Coins, Goethe's collection of, iii.,
163
Col de Balme, i., 351
Colberg, ii., 349
Collections, Goethe's, iii., 163
CoUeoni, statue of, i., 438; ii., 87
Colloquies, German-Latin, i., 31^.
Colma, character in Ossian, i., 193
Cologne, i., 207, 209;^., 325; ii., 119;
iii., is/.
Cologne cathedral, the, i.; 209; iii.,
9. IS. 148
Colosseum, the, in Rome, i., 387,
406
Colour, theory of, Goethe's study
of, i., 50, and ii., 99, no, 118,
323/. ; reception of Goethe's, 201,
204, 207; Goethe's attack on
Newton's, 208; his lectures on,
331; discussion of his, iii., ii7-<
127, 378
Columbus, i., 32; iii., 100
Comenius, i., 16, 420
Confession of faith, Faust's, iii.,
2gif.
Confession des Verf assets, iii., 121,
125, 126
Confessions of a Beautiful Soul, ii.,
217, 238^., 254, 267, 448
Constance, i., 408, 439; ii., 105
Constantin, Grand Duke, ii., 409
Constitution, Weimar, iii., 136/.
Continuity, Goethe's theory of, iii.,
109
Contrat Social (Rousseau), i., 138
Conversations with Lord Byron
(Medwin), iii., 266
Copernicus, iii., 102, 273
Corneille, i., 22, 79
Cornelia, sister of Tasso, ii., 34
Corpus Juris, the, i., 29
Correggio, i., 268, 407
Correspondance Littiraire (Grimm),
ii., IIS
Cotta, publisher, ii., 317, 332, 3S4.
414/; iii., 263, 381
Coudenhoven, Frau von, ii., 115
Coudray, architect, iii., 165. S^S
Courland, Duchess of, ii., 417
Cousin, Victor, ii., 174
Cracow, ii., 92, 190
Cramer, Councillor, iii., 6
Creizenach, W., iii., 381, 384
Crell, J. C. (Iccander), i., 41
Crete, ii., 11
Cronos, iii., 227
Custine, ii., 114, 449
Cuvier, iii., no, 360
Czenstochau, ii., 92
Dalberg, ii., 192, 410
d'Alembert, i., in'
Damasippus, i., 32
Damoetas, iii., 47
Dannecker, ii., 317
Dante, iii., 3S5
Danube, the, ii., 340
Darmstadt, i., 21; Goethe in, 143,
167/. ,184, 211, 223, 228, 22 9, 354;
the, saints, 145^., 168, 182;
Goethe's odes to them, 147; 239,
2S2, 310, 421; ii., 184, 241; iii.,
89
Darmstadt, Landgrave of, ii., 128
Daru, ii., 411, 412
Darwin, iii., lo&ff., 367, 378
Das Buchlein von Goethe, ii., 444
Das Gliick (Schiller), quotation
from, i., 167
Das Gliick der Liebe, i. , 42 s
Das Gottliche, quotation from, ii.,
167; iii., 62, 291
Das Jahrmarktsfest zu Plunders-
weilern, i., 146, 204, 422 ; iii., 37s
Das Kreuz an der Ostsee (Werner),
ii-. 35°
Das Lied von der Glocke (Schiller),
iii., 166
Das Madchen von Oberkirch, ii.,
126/., I4S, iss, 273, 445^
Das Marchen, ii., 128-132, 446
Das Nibelungenlied, i., 137; iii.
148
Das nussbraune Madchen (in Wil-
helm Meisters Wanderjahre), iii.,
190, 192, 2o6f.
Das Pathologische bei Goethe (MO-
bius), ii., 452
Das Repertoire des Weimarischen
Theaters, etc. (Burkhardt), ii.,
44S
Das romische Karneval, ii., 85
Das Schreyen, i., 42s
Das Ungluck der Jacobis, i., 204
Das VeUchen, iii., 37s, 376
. . . dass du, die so lange mir
reharrt war" (from Buch Sulei-
ka), iii., 14.
David und Goliath, puppet play, i. , 3 8
De I'Allemagne (Madame de Stael),
i., 417, 434; ii-, 443
De Oratore (Cicero), i., 48/.
394
1lnt)ei
Death, Goethe expects an early, i.,
3S6. 358, 36°. 408
Dechent, ii., 448
"Dedication" (Faust), ii., 278; iii.,
296, 305
Dehio, G., iii., 383
Deinet, Councillor, i., 147
Delph (Delf), Demoiselle, i., 221,
233/; ii., 274, 27s, 276
Delphi, ii., 19
Dem aufgehenden Vollmonde, iii.,
40, 66, 182/. ; quotation from, 183
Dem 31. Oktober 1817, iii., 143,
149/- . , ^.
Dem Menschen wie den Tieren %st
ein Zwischenknochen der obern
Kinnlade zuzusckreiben, iii., 87^.,
log
Dem Schauspieler Kruger, quotation
from, ii., 18; quoted, 28
"Dem Wolf, dem tu' ich Esel boh-
ren," i., 225
Dembowsky, iii., 379, 380
Demetrius (Schiller), ii., 193, 338
Demonic, the, i., 3, 54, 13S, 327^.
Den 6. Juni 1816, quoted, iii., 28
Den vereinigfen Staaten, quotation
from, iii., 220
Denkwurdigkeiten (Vamhagen), i.,
428
Denmark, i., 321 ; ii., 421
"Denn solches Los dem Menschen
wie den Tieren ward" (from
Pandora), iii., no/.
Denon, ii., 344
Der Besuch, iii., 70/.
Der Burgergeneral, ii., 123^., 154,
iSS. 273
Der deutsche Merkur, (Wieland), i.,
176, 178, 420, 432; ii., 8s
"Der du an dem Weberstuhle
sitzest," iii., 197
"Der du von dem Himmel bist,"
see Wandrers NachtUed
Der ewige Jude, i., 210, 365, 410;
ii-. 273
Der Falke, i., 365; ii., j., 439/.
Der Fischer, iii., 42/., 59. 62,375,
376
Der Freimutige (Kotzebue and
Merkel), ii., 425
DerFiu:hsohneSch'wanz(Ra,gedoTn,)
i., 92
Der getreue Eckari, iii., 58/., 375
Der Goldene Spiegel (Wieland), i.,
258, 311. 312; iii., 2S4
Der Gott und die Bajadere, ii., 314;
iii., 12, ip, 55, 56, 62, 63
Der griechische Genius (Schiller),
quoted, H., 313
Der Gross-Cophta, i., 404, 410; ii.,
121^., 154, 155, 273
Der Herr und der Diener (Moser),
i.. 310
Der Herr und die Magd (folk-song),
i., 238
Der Hund des Aubry de Montdidier
(French melodrama), iii., 152/.
Der Junggesell und der Muhlbach,
iii., 376
Der Konig in Thule, i., 210; iii., 59,
60, 64/., 289, 375, 376
Der Lowenstuhl, iii., 57
Der Mann von funfzte Jahren (in
Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre),
ii.. 353 ;i"-. 190. 193. 208^.
Der Messias (Klopstock), i., 19, 27,
211, 285
Der Musensohn, iii., 376
Der neue Pausias una sein BhMnen-
madchen, ii., 314
Der Rattenfanger, iii., 376 ■
Der Renommist (Zacharia), i., 42
Der Sammler und die Seinigen, ii.,
327, 328, 331
Der Sanger, m., 02, 376
Der Schatzgrdber, ii., 314
"Der Spiegel sagt mir: ich bin
schi5n" (from Buck der Betrach-
tungen in West-ostlicker Divan),
iii., 51
Der Taucher (Schiller), iii., 52
Der Totenianz, i., 3
Der untreue Knabe, {., 3, 210; iii.,
62j 65, 374
Der Wandrer, i., 100; iii., 47, 65, ji
Der Zauberflote zweiter Teil, ii.,
321
Der Zauberlehrling, ii., 314; iii., 64
Derones, i., 22/., 39, 421
Des Epimenides Erwachen, ii., 434/.,
454
Des Knaben Wunderhorn (Amim
and Brentano), iii., 145, 148
Des Kunstlers Vergotterung, i., 206
"Des Menschen, der in aller Welt"
(from original version of Jdgers
Abendlied), ii., 2 ; iii., 45
Des Sdngers Fltich (Uhland), iii.. 52
Des teutschen Burschen fliegende
Blatter (Fries), iii., 137
Descent, the theory of, iii., losff.,
^378
Dessau, 1., 66, 323 ; u., 441
Deutsche Geschtchte, etc. (HSusser),
"•• 445
Deutsche Schaubiihne (CJottsched),
i., 38
Deutschordenshof (Das deutsche
Haus), i., 160, 161, 162, 166
Devrient, O., iii., 384
Dialect, Goethe's, i., 44
Dialogues (Galileo), iii., 360
Dialogues (Plato), ii., 206
Unbci
395
Diamond Necklace, The (Carlyle), i.,
366
Diamond necklace intrigue, the, i.,
366, 404; ii., 121/.
Diana, ii., 3/., 6, 7, 17, 19, 25, 159
Dichtung und Wahrheit, i., 39, 77,
80, 133, 139, 2i6f., 221, 222/.,
232^., 251, 253, 327; ii., 161, 167,
272, 280, 415, 417^, 432, 446,
448; 111., 8, 10, siff., 82, 84, 172,
264, 359
Dictionnaire Historique et Critique
(Bayle), i., 421; ii., 157
Diderot, i., in, 120
Diderots Verszich uber die Malerei,
iii., 378
D^e Aufgeregten, ii., 125/., 147, 155,
273
Die Bedeutung der Magie und Sorge
in Goethes Faust (Tiirck), iii., 383
Die Befreiung des Prometheus, ii.,
Die Bekehrte, iii., 376
Die Braut von Korinth, ii., 314; iii.,
S3i 56, 62f., 65; quotation from,
72
Die Braut von Messina (Schiller),
i., 400
Die Buhnengeschichte des Goethesch-
en Faust (Creizenach), iii., 384
Die Burgschaft (Schiller), i., 400
Die deutschen Machte und der
Fiirstenbund (Ranke), i., 436
Die deutschen Universitdten (Lexis),
iii., 97
Die drei aUesten Bearbeitungen von
Goethes Iphigenie (Diintzer), ii.,
441
Die erste Walpurgisnacht, i., 3;
iii., 53f., 63, 375
Die FauUtere und dte Dickhdutigen,
iii., 107
Die Fischerin, i., 265; iii., 59, 374
Die Freuden, iii., 374
Die gefdhrliche Wette (in Wilhelm
Meisters Wanderjahre), ii., 353;
iii., 190
Die Geheimnisse, i., 307, 364, 410;
quotation from, ii., 165; 273
Die geistigen und sozialen Stro-
mungen des 19. Jahrhunderts
(Ziegler), ii., 447
Die Geschwister, i., 302 ;ii., 1, z, 213,
272; iii., 12
Die gliicklichen Gotten, ii., 452
Die Getter Griechenlands (Schiller),
ii., 206
Die Hexenkiiche, see "Witches'
Kitchen"
Die HoUenfahrt Christi, i., 37
Die Horen (Schiller), ii., 206, 207,
317
Die Huldigungder KUnste (Schiller),
r.."',337 ...
Die Jagd, 111., 172
Die Jager (IflEland), ii., 98
Die Kindermorderin (Wagner), i.,
122
Die klassische Walpurgisnacht (Val-
entin), iii., 383
Die Kritik der praktischen Vernunft
(Kant), ii., 172; iii., 205/.
Die Kritik der reinen Vernunft
(Kant), ii. , 172, 173
Die Kritik der Urteilskraft (Kant),
ii., 172, 177, 180, 196; iii., loi,
102
Die Laune des Verliebten, i., 39, 54,
„.S7. 81/;, 85, 244, 423/.; ii., 272
Die Lehrjahre, see Wilhelm Meisters
Lehrjahre
Die Leiden des jungen Werther, i.,
55- 78, 152, iSS. 156. 157. i6of.
182-202, 203, 204, 214, 237, 238,
252, 260, 312, 338, 340, 350, 366,
412, 429/., 430, 431/.; ii-> 61, 62
140, 162, 184, 2iif., 214, 259,
264, 267, 272, 309, 380, 383, 411/.,
453: "i-. 40, 161, 165, 257
Die letzte Krankheit Goethes (Vogel),
iii., 384/.
Die Lube des Vaterlands (Sonnen-
fels), i., 150
Die Liebende schreibt, iii., 375
Die Luisenburg bei Alexandersbad,
iii., 114
Die Metamorphose, etc., see Ver-
stcch, die Metamorphose, etc.
Die Mitschuldigen, i., 77, 80, 81,
Szjf., 424f.; ii., 272
"Die Nachtigal, sie war entfemt"
(Ldndlich), iii., 375
Die Natur, see Fragment uber die
Natur
Die naturliche Tochter, ii., 132-146,
154. 273. 332. 446, 452
Die neue Melusine (in Wilhelm
Meisters Wanderjahre), i., 125,
i34f.; ii-, 353 ; >"•. 19°. 2I7;?-
Die NoOchide (Bodmer), i., 74
Die Osterszenen und die Vertrags-
szene in Faust (Niejahr), iii., 382
Die pilgernde Torin (in Wilhelm
Meisters Wanderjahre), ii., 353 ;
iii., 190, 20if., 203
Die politische Korrespondenz Karl
Friedrichs von Baden (Erdmanns-
dOrffer), i., 436
Die Rduber (Schiller), ii., 31, 183,
185, 191
Die Reliquie, i., 425
Die romantische Schule {Hayra.), iii..
Die schone Nacht, iii., 373, 376
396
llnbei
Die Shelette der Nagetiere, iii., 107
Die Sohne des Tals (Werner), ii.,
.35°
Die Sprode, iii., 376
Die vier Haimonskinder (popular
tale), i., 222
Die Vogel, i., 325; ii., 426
Die Wahlverwandischaften, ii., 272,
347-387. 388, 390, 404, 415,
4SI, 452; 1"-. 8, 146, 191, 230,
231, 256, 264
Die Walpurgisnacht im ersten Teile
von Goeth^s Faust (Witkowski),
iii., 299
Die Wanderjakre, see Wilhelm
Meisters Wanderjakre
Die Wette, ii., 419
Die Zauberfloie (Mozart), ii., 286,
321
Dieburg, i., 310
Diede, ii., 451
Diersburg, iii., 26
"Dies zu deuten bin erbbtig"
(from BiKh Suleika), iii., 20
"Dieses ist das Bild der Welt," i.,
Diezmann, 1., 434; 11., 444
Diner zu Koblenz, i., 206
Dionysus, ii., 398
" Directeur des plaisirs," Goethe a,
i., 316
"Dismal Day — A Field," scene in
Faust, see "Dreary Day — A
Field"
Dissertation, Goethe's doctor's, i.,
102, 138/., 141
Divan (Hafiz), iii., 2
"Doch im Innern scheint ein Geist
gewaltig zu ringen " (from Meta-
morphose der Tiere), ii. 160;
iii.. Ill
Doctor, Goethe a licentiate in law
instead of a, i., 138
Doctor Faust (folk-book), i., 76;
see Doktor Faust
Doctor Faustus, The Tragical His-
tory of (Marlowe), iii., 271/., 273,
^27S, 381
Doctor Marianus, in Faust, iii., 352
Dodd, i., 79
Doge, the, of Venice, i., 374; iii., 20
Dohm, i., 437; ii., 115
Doktor Faust (puppet play), iii.,
D61e, the, i., 349
Dolitz, i., 70
Dolmetsch, i., 21
Don Carlos (Schiller), ii., 185, 191,
192
Don Juan, i., 242
Don Quixote (Cervantes), i., 263
Donatello, i., 373
Doric style, i., 396
Domburg, iii., 66, 182
Dorothea, heroine of Hermann und
Dorothea, ii., zSoff., 449, 450
Dortchen, character in Die Fisch-
erin, iii., 60
D'Orville, J. G., i., 220; ii., 279; iii.,
17
Drakendorf, ii., 387
Dramatischer Nachlass von Lenz
(Weinhold), i., 435
Drawing, Goethe's study of, i., 16,
30, 70/., 167; his collection of
drawings, iii., 163
"Dreary Day — A Field," scene in
Faust, iii., 261, 283, 298, 300/.
Dresden, i., 41, 65; Goethe in, 71/.,
122, 162, and ii., 93, 416, 432;
i., 268, 424;ii., 183,385,431,445;
in., 161, 384
Dritte Wallfahrt nach Erwins Grabe,
i., 228
Drollinger, i., 33
Drusenheim, i., 124
" Du hast es lange genug getrieben ''
{W., V'., 182), iii., 139
" Du versuchst, o Sonne, vergebens"
{Den 6. Juni 1816), iii., 28
Dumouriez, ii., 116
"Dumpfheit," Goethe's, i., 3, 6,
344, 418; iii., 46
Dfintzer, i., 421, 430, 435; ii., 441,
444. 445. 448, 449; iii-. 137. 383
Diirckheim see Tflrckheim
Diirer, ii., 327, 450; iii., 147
Dflsseldorf, i., 207/., 310; ii., 114/.,
116, 326
Dutch art, i., 71, 75, 162; ii.,iis
Dyk, ii., 433
Earth-Spirit, the, in Faust, iii., 32,
2SS. 27s, 278^., 284, 313, 335,
382
Ebers, ii., 444
Eberwein, iii., 376
Eckermann, i., 272, 434 ; ii., 35, 272,
277. 379. 441. 447. 452; iii., 78,
91, 107, 113, ii7;f., 131, i64f.,
168, 175, 181, 185, 186, 193, 243.
266/., 338/., 359, 363, 374, 379.
382
Eckhof, i., 257
Edda, the, i., iis
"Edel sei der Mensch" (from Das
Gottliche), ii., 167
Edelsheim, von, i, 310, 437
Edgar, character in ShaJkespeaie's
King Lear, i., 131
Edinburg, iii., 174
Eduard, character in Die Wahlver-
wandtschaften, i., 192; ii., 3SS#.,
452
Unbei
397
Eger, iii., 113
Egeria, ii., 115; iii., 144
Egle, character in Die Laune des
Verliebten, i., 81^.
Egloffstein, Henriette von, ii., 276,
278, 331. 444
Egloffstein, Karoline, iii., 167
Egmont, hero of the drama, i., 231,
234, 327;^-; iii-. 64
Egmont, i., 232, 245, 270, 327-336,
364, 403, 404, 410, 437; ii-. 6, 31,
37. IS4. IS9. 272; iii., 257, 339,
375, 383
Egoist, Goethe not an, ii., 106, 108,
187, 200
Egypt, i., 394; iii., 338
Ehrenbreitstein, i., 188, 310
Ehrlen, Dean, i., 138
" Ehriicher Mann " (from Drei Oden
an meinen Freund Behrisch), i.,
66f.
EichendorS, iii., 79
Eichhom, iii., 16
Eichstadt, ii., 336
Ein Jahrhundert chemischer For-
schung, etc. (Hofmann), ii., 451
Eine Faustouvertiire (Wagner), iii.,
376
"Eine Liebe hatt' ich," etc.,
Venezianische Epigramme, No.
7). ii-. 81 ,
Eine neue Faust-Erklarung (Tiirck),
iii., 57, 383
" Einer einzigen angehOren" (Zwis-
chen beiden Welten), iii., 184
Einfache Nachakmung der Natur,
Manier, Stil, ii., 85, 100
Einlass, quotation from, ii., 387
Einleitung in die Propylden, iii., 99
Einleitung und Erlauterung zu
Goethes Hermann und Dorothea
(Cholevius), ii., 450
Einleitung zu einer allgemeinen
Vergleichungslehre, iii., 102
Einleitung zur Naturphilosophie
(ScheUing), ii., 324
Eins und Alles, quotation from,
ii., 164; iii., 62; quotation from,
106
Einschrdnkung, iii., 46
Einsiedel, Hildebrand von, i., 261/.,
264, 266, 281, 43s; ii-, 85, 444;
iii., 258
Einsiedel, Lieutenant von, i., 264
Einsiedeln, i., 266/., 430; ii., 317
Einwirkung der neueren Philosophie,
iii., loi, 377
Eisenach, i., 261, 313, 342, 360,
^389. 43S
Elbe, the, u., 410, 425
Elberfeld, i., 209
Elbingerode, i., 338
Elective affinities, ii., 355^.
Electra, ii., 15
Elegie, see Marienbad Elegie
Elfriede (Bertuch), i., 263
Eliezer, i., 96
Elizabeth, character in Gotz, i.,
Elpenor, 1., 364; n., i, 273, 440
Elsheimer, i., 267
Elvira, i., 243
Elysium, i., 26, 45, 146, 147
Elysium, i., 147; iii., 47
^merson, i., 417
Emile (Rousseau), iii., 227
Emilia Galotti, ii., 376
Emilia Galotti (Lessing), i., 178,
238
Emmaus, i., 212
Emmendingen, i., 182, 224, 347
Emperor, the, character in Faust,
iii., 332^., 343f-, 353
Empiricism, Goethe's, i., 94, 151
Ems, i., 20^fi., 210; ii., 79
Encyclopedists, the, i., 119
Engelbach, i., 98, 100
England, i., no; ii., 340, 421, 4241
iii., 169, 174, 199, 215, 242
English, Goethe's study of, i., 16,
30. 79. 115^-
Engraving, Goethe's study of, i.,
167; his collection of engravings,
iii., 163
Ense, see Vamhagen
Ensisheim, i., 139
Entelechy, Goethe's use of, ii.,
171/.
Eos, ii., 398, 401, 402
Ephemendes, i., 423 ; quotation from,
iii., 84
Epictetus, i., 29
Epicurus, ii., 386
EpikurischGlaubensbekenntnisHeinz
Widerporstens (ScheUing), ii., 447
Epilog zu Schillers "Glocke," quo-
tations from, ii., 194, 337; 338;
last lines of, iii., 369
Epilog zum Trauerspiele Essex, ii.,
433
Epimeleia, character in Pandora,
ii-. 394^- , . „ ,
Epimetheus, character m Pandora,
ii., 390^.
Epimenides, hero oiDes Epimenides
Erwachen, ii., 434/-. 454
Epoche, ii., 3 5 if.
Epoques de la Nature (Buffon), i.,
308
Erdbeschreibung, etc. (Leonhardi),
i., 43 s
Erdkiihlein (Erdkfllin, Erdtulin),
i., 279
ErdmannsdOrffer, i., 436
398
Unbei
Erfurt, i., 41, 273, 280, 418; ii.,
99, 150; Congress of, i., 201, and
ii., 408-414, 420, 428, 433 ; iii., 4
Ergo Bibamus, iii., 52, 376
"Erhabne Grossmama, etc., i.,422
"Erhabner Geist," etc. (from "For-
est and Cavern" in Faust), iii.,
"Erhabner Grosspapa," etc., 1., 422
Erich, polyhistor, ii-, 335
Eridon, character in Die Laune des
Verliebien, i., S7> 81/., 244, 424
Erie Canal, the, iii., 174
Erlangen, ii., 276
Erlauterungen zv, Hermann und
Dorothea (Diintzer), ii., 449
Erl-King, the, iii., 59
Erlkonig, i., 3, 265; iii., 59^. 374.
375. 376
Erlkonigs Tochter (in Herder's
Volkslieder), iii., 59
Emesti, branch of the Saxon dy-
nasty, i., 314, 322
Emesti, professor, i., 48/., 164
Eros, ii., 399
Erster Entwurf einer dllgemeinen
Einleitung in du
Anatomie, etc., iii., 85, 104/.
Erster Verlust, iii., 376
Ervinus k Steinbach, i., lo^ff.; ii.,
446; iii., 147, 250
Erwin und Elmire, i., 207, 245, 404,
410 ;
Erzbischof Ernst (Vischer), ii., 327
Erzgebirge, the, i., 367
"Es ist nichts in der Haut," iii., 83
"Es schlug mein Herz — geschwind
zu Pferde" (from Willkommen
und Abschied), i., 127/.
"Es war ein Bule frech genung,"
see Der unlreue Knabe
"Es war ein fauler Schafer," iii.,
376
"Es war eine Ratt' im Kellemest"
(from Faust), iii., 376
"Es war einmal ein KOnig" (from
Faust), iii., 376
Eschenburg, i., 157, 199
Esenbeck, Nees von, iii., 377
Etain, ii., 113
Etching, Goethe's study of, i., 68/.,
88, 167 ; his collection of etchings,
iii., 163
Eternal-Womanly, the, in Faust,
iii., 288, 297, 303, 342
Ethica (Spinoza), i., 208, 308; ii.,
158, 168, 169, 170, 447; iii., 84,
377
Ettersberg, the, 1., 338; 111., 36
Ettersburg, i., 258, 318, 417, 424
Eudemonism, ii., 176
Eudora, character in Soiyros, i., 250
Eugenie, character in Die natiirliche
Tochter, ii., issif., 137/., 446
Eulengebirge, the, ii., po
Euphorion, character m Faust, iii.,
267/., 339^., 353
Euphrates, the, iii., 19
Euphrosyne, ii., gtff., 318; iii., 66
Euripides, ii., 3, 5, 12, 16, 19, 22,
440; iii., 360
Europe, i., 310, 366, 373; ii., 27,,
92, 103, 105, 112, 113, 132, 151,
172, 190, 316, 340, 410, 411, 414,
424; iii., 2, 4, 135/., 143, 144, 199,
221, 267, 268, 337
Eutin, iii., 62/.
Evolution, Goethe's idea of, iii.,
95^-. roof-. 104
Eybenberg, Marianne von, ii., 416
Eyes, colour of Goethe's, i., 15,420
Fahlmer, Johanna, i., 187, 207, 221,
224, 240, 241, 285, 296, 347, 431
Fair, in Frankfort, i., 20, 141, 221,
231; in Leipsic, 45. 57
Falcke, i., 157
Falk, i., 420; ii., 408/.
Fatime, amoebaeum between Ali
and, i., 247
Faust, the historical and legendary,
i., 45. 142, 17°. 183, 420; iii.,
271/-. 295
Faust, hero of the folk-book, iii.»
273/-
Faust, hero of the puppet play, iii.,
251/-
Faust, hero of Goethe's drama, i.>
2, 6, 80, 342 ; ii., 253 ; iii., 45, 132,
248^., 382, 383, 384
Faust, i., 3; Goethe's experiences
reflected in., 18, 93, 118, 136, and
ii., 278, and iii., 247^. ; history of
the composition of, i., 142, 202,
204, 210, 211, 239, 245, 364, 403,
410, and ii., 85, 333, and iii.,
247^.; verse form of, ii., 29, and
iii., 304/., 339; reception of, ii.,
203. 3°9. and iii., 257^., 270,
3S7/;. discussion of, 247-358;
music to, 375, 376; notes on,
381^.; on the stage, 384; otlier
references, i., 144, 438, and ii.,
2, 128, 147, 158, 272, 360, 392,
452, and ni., 32, 34, 67, 132/.,
146, 165, 171, 246, 3S9, 367, 380;
see also Faust, ein Fragment and
Urfaust
Faust (Gounod), iii., 376
Faust, ein Fragment, ii., 85; iii.,
260/., 275-296, 313, 319, 320, 382
Faust, etn mtisikalisches Charak-
terbild fur Orchester (Rubinstein),
iii., 376
Inbei
399
Faust-Symphonie (Liszt), iii., 376
Faustina, i., 406, 439
Faustina, antique bust of, i., 438
Fayel.character in Gout's Masuren,
i., 187
Federigo, character in Der Falke,
ii-. 439
Felix, character in Wilhelm Meister,
ii., 242, 249, 2S°if-. 261, 394,
448/.; iii., 196, 199, 207, 212,
223/., 231/.
sang, 1., 147; m., 47
Ferdinand, Duke of Brunswick, ii..
Ill, 112, 342
Ferdinand, character in Egmont, i.,
331, 335
Ferdinand (Fritz Stolberg [?]), i.,
431
Fernando, character in Stella, i.,
192, 222, 240, 242ff., 433; ii., 378
Fernow, ii., 453
Ferrara, i., 381 ; ii., 34/., 38^., 442,
443
Festschrift des Hochstips, ii., 451
Festschrift zum Neuphilologentage
(1892), i., 430
Feti, Domenico, i., 423
"Fetter grfine, du Laub" (from
Herbstgefuhl) , iii., 49/^.
Feuerkugel, the, in Leipsic, i., 45
Fichte, ii., 140, 150, 179^., 202,
423; iii., 143/., 229, 231, 244, 317,
337
Fielding, ii., 259
Fielitz, i., 434/^.
Fiesco (Schiller), ii., 185
Final causes, iii., 102
Fischer, Kuno, ii., 18, 442; iii.,
381/
Fiske, John, iii., 310
Flachslaud, Karoline, see Herder
Flavio, character in Der Mann von
funfzig Jahren, iii., 2o8ff., 223
Fleischer, i, 40
Florence, i., 381/., 402, 407, 437;
ii., 37, 42^., 416; iii., 186
FWfilen, i., 227; ii., 318
Poligno, i., 382
Folk-poetry, Goethe's study of, i.,
16, 109, 114/., 117/.; iii., 47
Fonseca, Wollheim da, iii., 384
"Forest and Cavern," scene in
Faust, iii., 132/., 260, 261, 275,
282^., 293, 294, 314, 382
FOrster, Friedrich, i., 69
Forster, Georg, ii., 109, 119
Fossiler Stier, iii., 108
Fossils, Goethe appreciates the
significance of, iii., ii4/-; his
collection of, 163
Fouqufi, ii., 429
Fourier, iii., 192
Fragment, see Faust, ein Fragment
Fragment ilber die Natur, ii., 447;
quotations from, 158, 159, 160,
and iii., 85; 126
Fragmente Aber die neuere deutsche
lAteratur (Herder), i., 112
France, i., 11, 24, 94, 97, no, in,
ngf., 122, 137^, 140, 311, 419.
430; ii., I02ff., lOQff., 126, 132,
142, I4S. 146, 147. 151. 19°.
191/-. 199. 217. 27s. 302, 318/-.
34o;5^., 408, 415; Empress of, 418,
421, 423, 428; iii., 140, 170^
174, 261, 332, 344, 360
Frangois de ThSas, Comte de Tho-
ranc (Schubart), i., 420
Franconia, i., 9, 314
Franken zur griechischen Literatur,.
Goethe's review of, i., 150
Frankenberg, i., 393
Frankfort-on-the-Main, i., 8ff., 14,,
2iff., 40, 43, 45, 52, 70, 8i, 82,
89, 90, 91, 94, 96, 102, 103, 122,
133. 138, 140, 141, 143. 152/.,
161, 167, 168, 171, 182, 183,
185, 188, 200, 204, 205, 207,
21lff., 2l6ff., 221;^., 229, 230,
232, 234, 23Sff., 241, 254, 255,.
273/-. 276, 296, 309, 329, 344,
354, 360, 376, 389, 410, 418/.,
421, 423, 424, 428, 429, 430„
432; ii., 85, 89, 93, losff., 114,
118, 119, 212, 213, 241, 276, 281,
308, 3I4#-, 320, 410; iii.. S. 8^.,
II, 13. 17. 19. 25, 26, 29, 64,
154, 179, 186, 248, 249, 270, 271
Frankfurter gelehrte Anzeigen, i.»
I47f ., 163, 176, 180, 204, 423
Franz I., Emperor of Austria, ii.,
418
Franz I., Emperor of Holy Roman
Empire, i., 24
Franz, Robert, iii., 374^
Franz, character in 5d«z, i., 171,172,
179, 180; iii., 61
Franz Sternbalds Wanderungen
(Tieck), iii., 146
"Franztum drangt in diesen ver-
worrenen Tagen" (irovn. Herbst),
ii-> 153
Frascati, 1., 438
Frauenbilder aus Goethes Jugend-
zeit (Dflntzer), i., 430
Frauenplan, the, in Weimar, i.„
359; ii-. 318; iii.. 136
Prauenstein, house of, i., 8
Frederick II., the Great, i., 9, 20„
107, 177, 256, 259, 267, 323, 324,.
325, 437; ii., 348, 422. 425
Frederick William II.. ii., 425
Frederick William HI., ii., 425, 426,.
432, 434
400
llnbei
Freedom of the press, in Weimar,
iii-, 137
Freiberg, ii., 416
Freiburg, ii., 90
Freie Deutsche Hochstift, das, i., 421
French, Goethe's study of, i., 16,
19, 22/., 30, 39, ss 79
French revolution, the, 11., i02Tf.,
118, 120, 121-1SS, 193, 204, 208,
217 ; iii., 214, 261, 271
"Freudvoll und leidvoU," (song
in Esmont), iii., 375, 376
Freundschaft und Liehe auf der
Probe (Wieland), ii., 451
Freytag, Gustav, iii., 241
Friedberg, ii., 308
Friedeberg, ii., 93
Friederike, see Friederike Brion
Friederikens Ruhe, i., 125
Friedrich, Goethe's servant, iii., 164
Friedrich, character in Wilhelm
Meister, ii., 247; iii., 202, 216,
222
Friedrich Eugen, Duke of Wflrtem-
berg, i., 52
Friedrich L. Graf zu Stolberg (Jans-
sen), i., 430, 431
Fries, Professor, iii., 137
Fritsch, Minister von, of Saxony,
i., 261, 289
Fritsch, Minister von, of Weimar,
i., 2 59, 26of., 290, 289jf., 312/.,
317, 435 ; n., 35.442
Fritz, i., 426
Fritz, Old, ii., 125
Froitzheim, i., 419, 426^
Frommann, bookseller, ii., 349/.,
416; iii., 14s
Frommann, Frau, ii., 349^., 416,
451; iii., 140
Fruhzeitiger Friihling, iii., 375, 376
Fulda, i., 41 ; Abbot of, in Gotz, 179
"FfiUest wieder Busch und Tal,"
see An den Mond
Fundamenta Botanica (Linn6), iii.,
106
Furca, the, i., 352/.; ii., 318
Fflrstenberg, Baron von, ii., 117
Fiirstenhaus, the, in Weimar, i., 271
Gagern, Baron von, ii., 120
Galatea, character in Faust, iii.,
„ 337. 338
Galicia, ii., 92
Galilee, Sea of, i., 401
Galileo, iii., 360
Gallitzin, Princess, ii., 116/.
Ganges, the, iii., 55
Ganymed, iii., 47, 291
"Ganz," i., 409, 439
"Gap," the, in FaMSi,iii., 296, S^sif-
Garbenheim, i., 155, 156, 157, 162
Gartenhaus, Goethe's, i., 279, 297,
3591 ii., 182; iii., 40, 136
Garve, ii., 91, 445
Gattamelata, statue of, i., 373
"Geb' Euch Gott alien guten Se-
gen," (from An den Herzog Karl
August), i., 283
"Gedichte sind gemalte Fenster-
soheiben," iii., 37
Gedichte von einem polnischenjtiden ,
Goethe's review of, i., 148/., 163
Gefunden, iii., 62, 376
"Geh' ich hier, sie kommt heran"
(from "Wenn ich auf dem
Markte geh' "), iii., 156
Geheimes, iii., 375
Geistesgruss , i., 206; iii., 376
Gellert, i., 49, 50, 67, 77, 88, 425/.
Generalbeichte, iii., 51
Geneva, i., 349/-. 43i; i"-. i6S.
192
Genius, die BUste der Natur enthiil-
lend, iii., 85/.
Genius, in Wanderers Sturmlied,
iii., 61; see also i., 106, 108, 122,
136, 292
Genoa, iii., 186
Genoveva, Leben und Tod der
heiligen (Tieck), iii., 144
Gentz, iii., 150
Geographisch-historische Beschrei-
bung merkwurdiger Stddte, i., 4^3
Geography, Goethe's study of, i.,
16, and iii., 173
Geologiscke Probleme und Versuch
ihrer Auftosung, iii., 378
Geology, Goethe's study of, i., 308,
361, 382, 396, 408, and iii., 15,
109, iizjf., 17s, 378; see Neptun-
ist and Vulcanist.
Georg, character in G6tz,i., 179,180
George, landlord's son at Drusen-
heim, i., 124
GerbermUhle, the, iii., 12, ijjf., 25,
27, *i6i
German, Goethe's study of, i., 18,
19, 30. 49f-. 73ff-< 137 ,
German Confederation, the, 1., 272;
ii., 434; iii., 141. 154
Germany, i., 24, 30, 106/., 255, 267,
272. 273. 301. 31°. 322, 324, 326,
366, 369, 374, 418, 433, 437;
ii-, 27, 77, 87, 94, 104, 122, 124,
128, 149, 152, 172, 204, 208, 274,
304, 314. 315. 339. 341. 393. 408/.,
410, 421, 423, 427, 428, 429, 430,
432, 434. 449; iii-. 4. 55. 94. i35.
137, 138, 142, 143, 154, 170, 174,
181, 199, 227, 229, 240^., 244,
361, 367/-. 384
Gerock, Antoinette, i., 167, 183
Gerstenberg, i., 49, 431
1In^eI
40I
Gesang der Geister uber den Wassern,
i., 348; iii., 375
Gesang der Parzen (iTom Iphigenie),
iii-. 375
Geschichte der Konigl. Preuss. Akad.
d. Wiss. (Harnack), ii., 453
Geschichte der Pddagogik (Raumer),
iii., 380
Geschichte des Abfalls der Nieder-
lande (Schiller), ii., 185
Geschichte des deutschen Retches
(Kotzebue), iii., 139
Geschichte des Elsass (Lorenz-Sche-
rer), ii., 453
Geschichte Gotifriedens von Berli-
chingen mit der eisernen Hand
dramatisiert, i., 142, 170; iii., 253/.
Geschichte meines botanischen Studi-
ums, iii., 105/.
Geschichte seiner {meiner) bota-
nischen Studien, iii., 98
Gesellige Lieder, ii., 331; iii., 51/.
Gesellschaft der schOnen Wissen-
schaften in Strasburg, i., 426
Gesner, i., 30, 421
Gesprdche mit Goethe (Eckermann),
(juotations from, ii., 441, and
iii., 107, 113, 168, 382; character
of, 164; ii., 452; iii., 91, 118, 131,
374, 379
Gessler, ii., 318
Gessner, i., 49
"Gewiss, ich ware schon so feme"
{An Frau von Stein), i., 363
Gianini, Countess, i., 266
Gickelhahn, the, iii., 362
Giessen, i., 11, 152, 164
Gilbert, i., 259
Gingo biloba^ (in Btich Suleika),
iii.. 24
Giotto, i., 373; ii., 88
Giovanna, character in Der Falke,
ii., 439/-
Girgenti, i., 399
Glaciers, Goethe's theory of, iii.,
"S
Glatz, county of, ii., 92
Gleim, i., 49, 78, 259, 420; ii., 208
Gluck, i., 303, 435; iii., 374
Gluckliche Fahrt, iii., 375, 376
Gluck der Entfernung, i., 425; iii.,
373
Gluck und Traum, iii., 373
Gmelin, iii., 25
Gbchhausen, Luise von, i., 264;
saves the Urfaust, 264, and iii.,
258, 381; saves Annette, i., 264,
42s; 281, 43s; ii., 8s
GOchhausen, Major von, iii., 381
GScking, ii., 270, 449
Godeke, ii., 445
Goebel, J., i., 78, 427, 435
VOL, III — 26
Goecke, i., 428
Goertz, see GOrtz
Goethe, August von, ii., 82, 83, 86,
314/-. 319. 329. 333. 345. 354. 433;
iii., 156, 157, 159, 16s, 185 ff.,
269, 361
Goethe, Christiane von {n^e Vul-
pius), i., 439; ii., 79/., 8i#., 86,
no, 114, 115, 117, 314/., 319,
332, 333. 343, 345/., 348, 354, 385,
418, 431, 444/.; iii., s, 13. 28, 62,
63, 156/., 184
Goethe, Cornelia, i., 15, 27, 40, 43,
S2, 56, 58, 68, 80, 81, gof., 142,
182, 186, 189, 224, 237, 347, 393.
421, 425, 431; ii., 1; iii., 380
Goethe, Friedrich Georg, i., 11, 50
Goethe, Hermann Jacob (the poet's
step-uncle), i., 419
Goethe, Hermann Jacob (the poet's
brother), i., 15
Goethe, Johann Caspar, i., iiff., 14,
16, 18, 2iff., 34, 40, 43, 45, 69,
79, 90, 94, 103, 138, 141/., 152,
153, 186, 213, 214, 215, 221, 223,
230. 233, 309, 343. 344. 419,
430; ii., 105, 280; iii., 183, 186,
253
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von,
birth, i., 8; native city, 8yf.;
, family tree, loff.; early life at
home, 14^.; influences outside
the home, 2off.; first love, 24;^^.;
the youth of seventeen, 30/f. ;
earliest productions, 3i^.;youth-
ful ambition, 40; student at
Leipsic, 41^.; love affair with
Katchen, 53^.; journey to Dres-
den, 71/.; illness in Leipsic, 88f. ;
return home, 89; recovery of
health, go/f. ; departure for Stras-
burg, 94; student at Strasburg,
9SJf. ; tour of Lower Alsatia and
northern Lorraine, 99/.; Storm
and Stress, 106^. ; love affair with
Friederike, 123^.; university ed-
ucation completed, 137^. ; tour
of Upper Alsatia, 139; return
home, 140; activity as an advo-
cate, 141; Darmstadt associa-
tions, i43ff. ; activity as a journal-
ist, i47#. ; experience at the
Imperial Chamber, 152^.; love
affair with Lotte, isgff.; return
home, 166; friends scatter, 182/.;
thoughts of suicide, 187/.; inter-
course with Maxe La Roche,
iSSf.; his fame spreads, 201;
literary lion of the day, 203^.; ,
journey to the Lower Rhine, '
2o6ff.; intercourse with Anna
Sibylla M<inch, 213/.; acquaint-
402
llnbei
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von;
(continued)
ance of Karl August, 214/.;
betrothal to Lili, 2i6ff.; journey
to Switzerland, 22 sff.\ engage-
ment to Lili broken, 232; invita-
tion to visit Weimar, 232; arrival
in Weimar, 275^.; the Duke's
Mentor, 282^.; member of the
Privy Council, 2&gff.; residence
in his Gartenhaus, 297; love
affair with Frau von Stein, 299^. ;
official activities, 309^.; journey
to Berlin, 323; journey to the
Harz, 337^.; second journey to
Switzerland, 343^.; official bur-
dens, 35Sif-i house in Weimar,
3S9; second Werther crisis, 365/.;
flight to Italy, 367; first sojourn
in Italy, 368^.; tour of Sicily,
397^. ; love affair with the beauti-
ful Milanese, 40 5^; return to
Weimar, ^08; a changed man, ii.,
77; rupture with Frau von Stein,
78;^.; conscience marriage to
Christiane, 81^.; second journey
to Italy, 86if. ; journey to Silesia,
89^.; director of Court Theatre,
93; campaign in France, lo^ff.;
visit to his mother after thirteen
years of separation, lo^ff.; siege
of Longwy, 109/.; battle of Val-
my. III/.; retreat with the
Germans, ^^2ff.; journey to
Dflsseldorf, ii4Jf.; visit in M-(in-
ster, 116/.; return to Weimar,
117/.; siege of Mainz, iiSJf. ;
travels on the Rhine, 119; again
in Weimar, 119; friendship with
Schiller, i82ff.; rupture with
Herder, 198/.; relation to the
Duke cooled, Jggf.; friends in
Jena, zo2f.\ the Xenien war,
2o8ff.; prepares for a third
journey to Italy, 311; makes
a will and burns correspondence,
314; takes Christiane and her son
to Frankfort, 315; last tour of
Switzerland, 3i6jyf. ; nine quiet
years (i 797-1806) at home,
32iff.; interested in the theatre,
architecture, art, and the Uni-
versity of Jena, 321^.; new
friends, Knebel, Meyer, Riemer,
Zelter, 329^.; serious illness, 333;
irritating experiences, 334^.; an-
other serious illness, 336; death
of Schiller, 337/.; friendship with
Wolf, 338; battle of Jena, 343;
French soldiers in his house,
344/.; legal marriage, 34s/'; rela-
tion to Minna Herzliets, 349/f-;
death of his mother, 406^. ; Con-
gress of Erfurt, 4ogjf.; interview
with Napoleon, 411/5^.; acquaint-
ance with Louis Bonaparte, 415/-;
acquaintance with the Emperor
of Austria and the Empress of
France, 418^. ; acquaintance with
Beethoven, 420; Prussian up-
rising, 423^.; battle of Leipsic,
431^.; siege of Erfurt, 433; cele-
bration of peace, 434; again on
the Rhine, iii., sff.; friendship
with Boisser^e, gff.; relation to
Marianne von Willemer, 11^.,
^7ff-', visit with Minister vom
Stein, 15^.; death of Christiane,
28; the lyric poet, 30-80; the
naturalist, 81-134; after the war
of liberation, 135^. ; prime minis-
ter, 136; attitude toward freedom
of the press, 137^.; relation to
romanticism, 143^.; end of ac-
tivity as theatre director, 1 51 ff.;
relation to Ulrike von Levetzow,
155^.; August's marriage, 156/.;
activities of old age, 162^. ; assist-
ants, 164/.; distinguished visit-
ors, i6sff.; grandchildren, 167/.;
youthfulness preserved, i6&ff.;
other characteristics as an old
man, 169^. ; jubilees, 1 78^. ; death
of Karl August, 181; death of
Frau von Stein, 183/.; death of
August, iSsff.; last days, 359;^.;
death, 364/.; funeral, 365^.;
significance to the world, 367^.
Relatives : — Paternal grand-
father, see Georg Friedrich Goe-
the; paternal grandmother, see
Cornelia Schellhom; maternal
great-grandfather, see Attorney
' Lindheimer; maternal grand-
father, see Johann Wolfgang Tex-
tor; maternal grandmother, see
Anna Margaretha Lindheimer;
father, jee Johann Caspar Goethe;
mother, see Katharina Elizabeth
, Goethe
Goethe, Katharina Elisabeth {n^e
Textor), i., 13, 15, 17, 86, 91, 93,
94, 141, 161, 169, 210, 213, 221,
222, 296, 311, 343 f ., 354, 357/.,
360, 418, 419/.; ii., losff., 118^.,
210, 280, 314^-, 334, 4o6#-,
444. 449; iii., 183; see Frau Aja
Goethe, Ottilie von, iii., 156/., 168,
i8s, 187,270,361,364,379
Goethe, Walther von, iii., 156, 167/.,
185, 241, 362, 379
Goethe, Wolfgang von, iii., 156,
167/., 185,361,362, 379
Goethe a Roma (Carletta), i., 439
■flnbei
403
Goethe aus naherm personlicheH
Umgang (Falk), i., 420; ii., 408/.
Goethe im Sturm und Drang (Weis-
senfels), i., 424
Goethe in der Epoche seiner Vollen-
dung (Harnack), ii., 447
Goethe in Hauptziigen seines Lebens
(SchOll), i., 436
Goethe in seiner prakiischen Wirk-
samkeit (Fr. von MtiUer), ii., 444
Goethe und die Romaniik (Schiid-
dekopf and Walzel), iii., 379
Goethe und Frankfort am Main
(Strieker), i., 418
Goethe und Karl August (IXintzer),
iii-, 137
Goethe und Schiller (GrSf), ii., 444
Goethefestschrift, etc., ii., 451
Goethehaus, the, in Frankfort, i.,
421; in Weimar, i., 359; ii., 318;
iii., 136, 163
Goethes Brief wechsel mit einem Kinde
(Bettina Brentano), iii., 145
Goethes Briefwechsel mit Schultz, iii.,
117
' Goethes Charakter (Saitschick), ii.,
444
Goethes drei letste Lebenstage (Hol-
sten), iii., 385
Goethes Eintritt in Weimar (Diint-
zer), i., 435
Goethes Faust (Diintzer), iii., 383
Goethes Faust (Fischer), iii., 381, 382
Goethes Faust (Minor), iii., 382
Goethes Faust (Vischer), iii., 382
Goethes Faust (Ziegler), iii., 382
Goethes Faust in ursprunglicher
Gestalt (Schmidt), iii., 381
Goethes Faust, Zeugnisse und Ex-
curse (Pniower), ii., 449; iii., 381
Goethes Faustdichtung in ihrer kilnst-
lerischen Einheit dargestellt (Val-
entin), iii., 383
Goethes Gartenkaus, quotation from,
i., 279
Goethes Gesprache (Biedermann),
ii., 174, 444, 453; iii., 107
Goethes Goldner Jubeltag, iii., 180
Goethes Gotz aufder Buhne (NoUen),
i., 428, 429
Goethes Hermann und Dorothea
(Keck), ii., 450
Goethes Iphigenie (Fischer), ii., 18
Goethes Iphigenie auf Tauris in
vierfacher Gestalt (Bachtold), ii.,
440, 441
Goethes Leben (Viehoft), 1., 420
Goethes letzte literarische Tdtigkeit
(K. W. Mailer), iii., 95. 385
Goethes lyrische Dichtungen der
ersten Weimarischen Jahre (Koe-
gel), i., 435
Goethe's Poems (Goebel), i., 78, 435
Goethes schdne Seele (Dechent), ii.,
448
Goethes Tagebucher (Diintzer), i.,
435
Goethes Tasso (Fischer), ii., 442
Goethes Theaterleitung in Weimar
(Pasqu6), ii., 445
Goethes Unterhaltungen mit dem
Kanzler von Mailer (Burkhardt),
ii., 448
Goethes Verhaltnis zu Kant (Vorlan-
der), ii., 447
Goethes Verhaltnis zu Klopstock
(Lyon), i., 78, 147
Goethes Werke, vollstandige Ausgabe
letzter Hand, iii., 172
Goethes Wohnhaus in Weimar,
quoted, iii., 166
Golden Bull, the, i., 19; iii., 345
Goldoni, i., 79
Goldsmith, i., 115; ii., 259
GOrres, iii., 16
GOrtz, Count, i., 214, 260, 435?
ii., 35, 441/.
GOschenen, i., 227
Goslar, i., 339
Gotha, i., 157, 273, 418; ii., 1^0,441
Gotha, Duke of, i., 268
Gothaischer Hofkalender, i., 423,
437
Gothic art,Goethe'sattitude toward,
i., 104, 122, 376f., 379/., 384.
407, 438; ii., 328; iii., 10
Gott, Gemiit und Welt, quotation
from, iii., 102
Gotter, i., 157, 187; iii., 255
Goiter, Helden und Wieland, i., 204,
2I4f.
Gottfried, i., 16, 222, 420
Gottingen, i., 211, 259
Gattinger Hain, the, i., 222
Gottling, ii., 331, 45'
Gottsched, i., 38, 49, 73/., 77, "3!
iii., 33
Gotz, character in Gou6's Masuren,
i., 187
Gotz, the historical, i., 142, 169,
170, 428
Gotz, hero of the drama, i., 156,
169^., 247, 327, 432_
Gotz von Berlichingen, i., 3, 98, 136,
142, 156, i6jf., 169-181, 185,
186, 201, 236, 238, 24s, 260, 327,
33°, 356, 376, 428f.; ii., 31, 184,
272, 425; m., 61, 254, 256, 329,
357. 375. .383 ^ „
Gou^, von, I., 156/., 187
Gounod, iii., 376
Graf, ii., 444
Graf von Essex (Dyk), ii., 433
Grandison, i., 430
404
fltiDa
Grandison der Zweite (MusSus), i.,
262
Granite, Goethe's theory of, iii.,
112/.
Grasse, i., 22, 420
Gratz, ii., 94
Graz, i., II
Grecomania, the romantic, iii., 147
Greece, i., no; ii., 25, 33; iii., 55,
169, 174, 242, 336, 337, 340, 382
Greek, Goethe's study of, i., 16, 19,
29, 30, 79, 117; see also various
Greek authors
Greenland, i., 370, 372
Grenzen der Menschheit, iii., 62;
quotation from, 279; 291, 375
Gretchen, Goethe's early love, i.,
24f., 36. 133 . ^
Gretchen, character m Faust, 1.,
136, 144; iii., 253, 256, 283/.,
288^., 343, 344, 350
Gries, ii., 444
Griesbach, ii., 203
Grillparzer, iii., 177
Grimm, Baron, ii., 115
Grimm, Jacob, ii., 422
Grindbrunnen, the, i., 20
Grindelwald i., 348
GrOning, i., 89
Groschlag, von, i., 310
Gross ist die Diana der Epheser, ii.,
159; iii., S4/-. 63
Gross-Brembach, i., 318
Grosse Scheideck, i., 348
Grosser Hirschgraben, in Frank-
fort, i., 14
Grossglockner, the, i., 339
Grossman, i., 169
Grotta Azzurra, i., 439
Grotthus, Sara von, 1., 429; ii., 416
Grundlage der gesammten Wissen-
schaftslehre (Fichte), iii., 143
Grundlinien der Philosophie des
Rechis (Hegel), iii., 241
Grundriss, etc. (GQdeke),ii.,445
Guarini, ii., 50
Gubitz, iii., 375
Guise, Duke of, ii., 336
Gitnderode, von, i., 100 '
Gflnther, Councillor, ii., 345
Giinther, J. C, iii., 46
Gutzkow, iii., 384
Hackert, Georg, i., 395
Hackert, Philipp, i., 393; Goethe's
biography of, ii., 417
Hadrian, i., 3
Hffimon, character in Antigone, i.,
199
Haffner, i., 426
Hafiz, iii., 2ff., 20
Hagedom, poet, i., 92
Hagedom, von, art collector, i., 71
Hagenau, i., 100, 123
Hahn, i., 211
Halberstadt, i., 259
Hall, i., 369
Halle, ii., 330, 335, 338, 425, 445
Haller, i., 311; iu., 96, 253
Hamann, i., 107, no, in, 113,
IIS, 248; ii., 116
Hamburg, i., in, 151, 429. 432;
ii., 445, iii., 63, 384
Hamburgische Dramaturgie (Less-
ing), i., 76, 423
Hamilton, Sir William, i., 395
Hamlet (Shakespeare), i., 177, 196,
379; ii., 236
Hammer, iii., 2, 20
Hanau, i., 41. 3S4
Handbook of Proverbs (Bohn), i.,
233
HSndel, pastry-cook, i., 65
Handicraftsman, the, in Wilhelm
Meisters Wanderjahre, iii., ig6ff.,
213^-
Hanover, the state, i., 437; li., 341,
421
Hanover, the city, i., 156, 157,
183, 295; iii., 164
Hans Sachsens poetische Sendung,
ii., 214; quotation from, iii., 70
Hanswurst, i., 76
Hanswurst (Wurstel), character in
Hanswursts Hochzeit, i., 252/.
Hanswursts Hochzeit, i., 249, 252^.
Happiness, Goethe's theory of, ii.,
162^.
Harbours, Goethe interested in, iii.,
174
Hardenberg, Chancellor von, iii.,
140/.
Hargreaves, iii., 215
Harmony, of Goethe's nature and
work, i., I, 88, 103, 409, 439; ii.,
ii7;iii.,66ff., 77f., 8if., 98#..
368
Harnack, Otto, n., 447, 450, 453;
iii., 380
Harpist, the, character in Wilhelm
Meister, i., 141; ii., zz°if-> 256.
264, 265, 448; iii., 375, 376
Harte, Emma, i., 395
Harz Mountains, i., 3, 337^-. 35'.
356. 361. 436; ii-. 338; iii-, 38, 40
Harzreise im Winter, quotations
from, i., 338, 342; iii., 38, 68, 375
Hatem, character in West-ostlicher
Divan, iii., 14, 19, 23, 24, 27
Haugwitz, von, i., 222, 225
Hausser, ii., 445
Havequick, character in Faust, iii.,
344
Haydn, Joseph, iii., 375
fln^ei
405
Haym, R., iii., 378/.
Heathenism, Goethe's, iii., 147/.
Hebel, iii., 25
Hebrew, Goethe's study of, i., 16/.,
30
Hegel, 11., 148, i8of., 202, 317;
iii., 241, 244
Rehire, quotation from, iii., 80
Heidelberg, i., 221; Goethe in,
233/-. and ii., 119, 275, 316?., 354,
and iii., I of., 13, ig, 21^., 25, 26;
i., 418; ii., 274, 276, 281
Heidenroslein, i., 118; iii., 47, 62,
374. 376
Heilbronn, i., 172, 174; ii., 317
Heine, iii., 35^., 52, 68
Heinrich, Prince, i., 323
Heinroth, iii., 85
Heinse, i., 199, 208, 209, 251; ii.,
34, 114, IIS, 264
"Heiss mich nicht reden," etc.,
iii., 376
Heitmtiller, i., 434
Helen, ii., 4
Helena, character in the puppet
play Doktor Faust, iii., 252; in
the folk-book, 274; in Goethe's
Faust, 253, 256, 2S9, 263, 266ff.,
288, 33iff.
Helena, episode in Faust, ii., 333,
36o;iii.,263,266ff.,339ff.,38i,384*
Helios, ii., 394, 402
Helmholtz, iii., 119, 123, 134
Helmholtz, Hermann von (Koenigs-
berger), iii., 134
Helmont, van, i., 93
Hempel, ii., 441
Henderich, von, ii., 350
Henneberg, i., 313/., 435
Hennes, i., 430
Henning, von, iii., 123
Hennings, von, i., 157
Henry III., ii., 336
Hensel, Frau, i., 257
Hephaestus, ii., 391
Heraclitus, ii., 229
Herbarium, Goethe's, iii., 163
Herbst (Vier Jahreszeiten), No. 62
quoted, ii., 133
Herbstgefuhl, iii., 49/.
Herculaneum, i., 396
Hercules, i., 64
Herder, i., i, 107, iioff., 144, 147,
152, 170, 182/., 221, 222, 229,
251/., 266, 288/., 291, 367, 409,
425, 427, 433; ii-, 82/., 86, 124,
150, 173) 198/., 200, 205, 326,
329, 336,446, 447; iii., 59. 62. 63.
83, 98, no, 129, 14s. 228, 253,
286, 367, 374, 381; concernmg
Goethe, i., 3, 4. "8, 148, 167, 176
326, 418. 423. 436. 439. and
ii., 448, and iii., 90, 250, 258;
his influence on Goethe, i., iizff.,
121, 123, 143, 14s, 248, and
iii., 47, 250; i., 167, 176; ii., 35,
138, 140, 218, 272
Herder, Karoline (»^e Plachsland),
i., 118, 144, 14s, 146, 168, 176,
182, 229, 289, 439; ii., 78, 83,
88, 185, 198/.
Herders Reise nach Italien, i., 439
Hering, Robert, ii., 446
Hermann, hero of Hermann und
Dorothea, i., 192; ii., zSoff.
Hermann, Assessor, i., 53, 59, 69,
89
Hermann, Gottfried, ii., 440
Hermann und Dorothea, i., 3, 412;
ii., 8s, 103, 127, 264, 269-310, \^
3". 341, 383. 446, 449/.; iii-.
79, 261, 365, 367
Hermann und Dorothea (Elegie), ii.,
45°
Hermes, ii., 264
Hermes, character in Satyros, i.,
249/.
"Herrin, sag', was heisst das
Flflstem" X^^oiaVolVmondnacht),
iii., 71
Herrmann, Max, i., 422
Herrn von Hoffs geologisches Werk,
iii., 378
Hersilie, character in Wilhelm
Meisters Wanderjahre, iii., 203,
223/.
Herz, Henriette, ii-, 416
Herzensergiessungen eines kunstlie-
benden Klosterbruders (Wacken-
roder), iii., 146
Herzlieb, Wilhelmine (Minchen,
Minna), ii., 349ff-. 355. 386/, 389,
405,416, 451; iii., 26, 145. 191
Hesiodic poems, i., 29
Hesperides, iii., 259
Hesse, Councillor, i., 145, 310
Hesse-Darmstadt, ii., 341
Hesse-Homburg, i., 145
Heuer, O., i., 421
Heusciieuer, the, ii-, 92
Heyden, i., 419
Heyse, Paul, ii., 440
"Hier befolg' ich den Rat," etc.
(from Romische Elegien, No. 5) , i.,
385
Highways and Canals, Goethe
director of, i., 317
Hilarie, character in Der Mann
von funfzig Jahren, iii., 2o8ff.,
223
Hirt, archaeologist, 1., 388; m., 262
Hirt, esthetician, ii., 327
Historia von D. Johann Fausten,
etc. (Spies), iii., 271
4o6
Unbei
Historisch-krifische Nachrichten von
Italien (Volkmann), i., 438
Historisches Taschenbuch (18 14),
ii., 429
History, Goethe's study of, i., 16,
30, 94, and ii., 77, and iii., 173;
his attitude toward, ii., 152, 187,
and iii., 281; he understands his
place in, 176
History of Gottfried von Berlich-
ingen Dramatised, see Geschichte
Gottfriedens von Berlichingen dra-
matisiert
History of the Popes (Bower), i.,
15, 420
Hither Pomerania, ii., 421
Hitzig, iii., 244 •
" Hoch auf dem alten Turme steht,"
see Geistesgruss
Hochst, i., 26
Hochzeitlied, iii., 56, 57, 375
Hof, ii., 342
Hofmann, A. W., ii., 451
Hofmann, stuccoer, ii., 332
Hohe Karlsschule, the, i., 354
Holbach, i., 119
Holdfast, character in Faust, iii.,
344
Holland, i., 24, 419; "-. 34°, 415/-;
iii., 89
Holstein, ii., 119
Holstein-Eutin, Prince of, i., no
Holsten, Karl, iii., 385
Helty, iii., 79
Holy Roman Empire, the, ii., 342
Homburg, i., 354 .
Homer, Goethe interested in, i.,
19, 115, 117, 118/., 122, 143, 150,
IS3. 155. 162. 164^197. 376, and
iii., 250; i., 109, 114, igo, 192,
197, 201; ii., 84, 42, 430; iii-. 182,
368
Homunculus, character in Faust,
iii-. 335i?-. 3S3. 383
Hoppe, i., 29
Horace, i., 32, 33, 74, 208, 259
Horgen, ii., 318
Horn, i., 43, 52. S3. ^S/-. 81, 89,
183, 426
Hospental, i., 353
Hospice, the, i., 228
Howard, meteorologist, iii., 116
Hrotswitha, iii., 175
Huber, i., 69, 70; ii., 109, 183
Huber, Therese, ii., 451
Hufeland, jurist, ii., 150, 203, 335
Hufeland, professor of medicine,
ii-, 203. 335; iii-. 38s
Hugo, Victor, iii., i73;F., 360
Humanity, Goethe's i., i, 3, and
ii., 119, 216, and iii., 178,
367//-
Humboldt, Alexander von, i., 267;
ii., 202; iii., 129, 361
Humboldt, Alexander von (Karl
Bruhns), iii., 129
Humboldt, Frau von, iii., 10
Humboldt, Wilhelm von, i., 353 ; ii.,
202, 262, 309, 321, 329, 448;
iii., 166, 176, 178, 244, 262, 268,
269, 270
Hflnfeld, iii., 5
Hungary, ii., 445
Hunter, i., 420
Huron, Goethe's nickname, i., 220
H'iisgen, Councillor, i., 19, 309
Hutten, iii., 273
Icarus, iii., 340
Iccander (J. C. Crell), i., 41
Ice age, Goethe's idea of an, iii., iij
"Ich geh' meinen alten Gang"
{An Frau von Stein), i., 297
"Ich komme bald, ihr goldnen
Kinder," i., 127
Ideen zur Geschichte der Menschheit
(Herder), iii., no, 129
Iffland, ii., 98, 434
Igel Monument, ii., 109/., 113
"Ihr Gedanken fliehet mich "(Frau
von Stein), i., 389/.
"Ihr kOnnt mir imtner ungescheut"
(from Zahme Xenien), iii., 151
"Ihr verbliihet, stisse Rosen"
(iroraErwinundElmire), iii., 376
"Ihrer sechzig hat die Sttmde"
(In das Siammbuch des Enkels,
Walter von Goethe), iii., 241
Ihro der Kaiserin von Frankreich
Majestat, ii., 418
Ihro der Kaiserin von Osterreich
Majestat, ii., 418
Ihro des Kaisers von Osterreich
Majestat, ii., 418
Iken, ii., 449
II Principe (Machiavelli) , iii., 254
11 Principe Constante (Calderon), i.,
^, S. 37.9; ii- 417
Ilfeld, 1., 338
Iliad, the, iii., 263
111, the, i., 119
Ilm, the, i., 3, 255, 274, 297, 408;
"-, 349; 111.. 40
Ilmenau, i., 322, 339; ii., 92, 108,
329; iii., 112, 179, 361
Ilmenau, i., 262, 315, 434; iii-. 391
quotations from, i., 284, 287
Im Gegenwartigen Vergangnes, quo-
tation from, iii., 4
"Im Grenzenlosen sich zu finden"
(from Bins und Alles), ii., 164
"Im holden Tal, auf schneelDedeck-
ten HOhen" (An Lili), i., 245
Imbaumgarten, Peter, i., 348
Unbex
407
Immermann, ii., 445
Immermann, Karl (Putlitz), ii., 445
Imperial Chamber, the, i., 10, 11,
152. 153/-. 156. 16°. 309. 428
' ' In alien guten Stunden " {Bundes-
lied), ii., 207
In das Stammbuch des Enkels,
Walter von Goethe, quoted, iii.,
241
In das Stammbuch von Friedrich
Maximilian Moors, quoted, i.,
37
"In engen Hfltten und im reichen
Saal" (from Auf Miedings Tod),
i., 258
India, iii., 2, 144
Indian, Goethe's nickname, i., 220
Indiana, iii., 192
Individuality, Goethe's apprecia-
tion of, ii., 1 7 if.
Indus, the, iii., 55
Industries, Goethe's interest in, i.
100, 339, and ii., 90, 92
Innsbruck, i., 369
Institutes (Hoppe), i., 29
Interlaken, i., 348
Intermaxillary, Goethe's discovery
of the, in man, i., 362, and ii.,
169, and iii., 83^., 108, 109
Ion (Schlegel), ii., 334; iii., 144
Ionian Islands, i., 373
Iphigenia, character in Euripides,
ii., 3/., 16
Iphigenia, heroine of the drama,
i., 82, 265, 300, 334, 438; ii., iff.,
48, 138, 247, 255, 276, 277, 386,
440; iii., 176, 224, 245
Ipkigenie, i., 308, 329, 365, 373,
376, 410; ii., 1-32, 34, 37, 38,
41, 73. 115. 123. 134, 183, 191,
192, 203, 272, 277, 280, 298,
332. 383, 441. 444. 446; iii- 180,
245, 287, 367
Ipkigenie (Gluck), iii., 374
Ipkigenie auf Delphos, i., 418
Ipkigenie in Delphi, i., 410, 418, 440
Ipkigenie in ikrer ersten Gestalt
(Stahr), ii., 441
Iris, the, ii., 34
Isabel, i., 39
Isergebirge, the, ii., 93
Isis (Oken), iii., 137, 141
Isolation, Goethe's.i., 360; ii., 198^.
"1st auf deinem Psalter" (from
Harzreise im Winter), i., 338
"1st es mOglich! Stern der Sterne"
(from BiMk Sideika), iii., 22
Istria, i., 373
Italian, Goethe's study of, i., 16,
30. 39/-. 79. 371; ii-. 79
Italieniscke Reise, experiences upon
which, is based, i., 368-413, 438,
439; ii., 8s, 440; iii., 99, 100,
106, 117, 172
Italy, i., 3, II, 64, 213, 223, 228,
233. 234. 264, 329, 353, 36s,
366, 367, 368-413, 418, 419,
430. 437/-; "•, 3. 31. 33< 37. 5°.
71. 75^-, 8s, 86-88, 91, 99, 105,
106, 107, Ii4f., 122, 136, 152,
163, 172, 182, 184, 185, 190,
191, 192, 200, 216, 226, 278,
3ii#-. 3=^5. 316, 318, 319/., 340,
344.417. 440. 443. 444; iii-. 4. 29,
43. 92. 98. 103. 120, 125, 132,
147. 174, 186/., 2sgff., 262, 283,
284, 287, 377, 378
Ixion, i., 364, 382
"Ja, Gbtterlust kann einen Durst
nicht schwachen " (Wieland), iii.,
250
Jabach house in Cologne, i., 209;
iii., 16
Jacob, i., 112
Jacobi, Betty, i., 207/.; ii., 115
Jacobi, Fritz, i., 6., zoyjf., 212, 215,
236, 240, 248, 259, 310, 417,
433; ii., ii4f., 119. 124, 159,
160, 168, 171, 174/., 177, 394;
iii., 63, 65 ,
Jacobi, Georg, i., 145, 148, 207^.,
211
Jacobi, Lenchen, ii., 115
Jacobi, Lottchen, i., 207; ii., 115
Jacobins, the, ii., 104, no, iig,
123, 149. 150
Jagemann, Karoline, iii., 26, 152^.
Jagers Abendlied, quotation from,
ii., 2; iii., 45. 375. 37^
Jahn, ii., 429
Jakrm.arkt zu Hunfeld, iii., s
Jamaica, ii., 301
Jamblika, iii., 58
Janssen, i., 430, 431
Jarno, character in Wilkelm Meis-
ter, ii., 232^., 251, 267; (Montan),
iii., 198/., 212, 221, 222, 224
Jaxthausen, i., 174, 179
Jean Paul, iii., 228, 241
"Jeglichen Schwarmer schlagt mir
ans Kreuz" (Venez. Epigr., No.
52), ii., 148
Jena, i.^ 42. 273, 313, 319, 362, 433,
435; ii., 32, 84, 150, 172, i8s,
187, 193, 19s, 198. 202, 203,
205, 262, 274, 281, 317, 321, 322,
329. 331. 333. 334, 335ff-; battle
of, 343/-; 348, 349ff-, 352, 353.
354, 386, 390, 4i3f., 415, 416,
423, 425. 426, 428, 451; m.,
83. 137. 138, 140, 141. 144, 152/-.
162, 165, 271, 361
4o8
1In^eI
Jenaische Allgemeine Literaturzei-
tung (founded by Goethe), ii.,
336. 337; iii-. 263
"Jene Menschen sind toll" {Venez.
Epigr., No. 57), ii., 147
Jentzel, General, ii., 343/.
Jerusalem, ii., 151
Jerusalem Delivered (Tasso), i., 39;
ii-. 33. 41. 44, S7. 64
Jerusalem, Wilhelm, i., 157, 185,
187, 188
Jery und Bately, L, 353; ii., 308;
iii., 376
Jesus, 111., 343
Jew, the wandering, i., 210
Job, i., 29; iii., 310
Johann, ii., 409
John, Goethe's amanuensis, ii., 433;
iii., 163
Jonas, ii., 448
Joseph, i., 38, 421
Joseph, Archduke, i., 23^., 154; ii.,
8g
Jourdain, character in MoliSre, ii.,
420
Journal des Luxus und der Moden
(Bertuch), ii., 334
Journal von Tiefurt, ii., 447
Journals, Goethe's reading of, iii.,
I74^
Jubilee, of Karl August's corona-
tion, iii., 178/.; of Goethe's
arrival in Weimar, ijgff.
Julie, character in Wer ist der
Verrdterf, iii., 202/.
Juliette, character in Wilhelm Meis-
ters Wander jahre, iii., 203
Jung, Marianne, see Willemer
Jung-Stilling, i., 88, 98/., 120, 209,
211, 426; ii., 207; iii., 25
Jungius, Joachim, Goethe's essay-
on, iii., 9S/.
Juno, Goethe's bust of, i., 393,
438; ii., 81
Juno Ludovisi, i., 385
Jupiter, Goethe's bust of, i., 438;
iii., 177
Jupiter d'Otricoli, i., 385
Jura Mountains, i., 347, 349
urisprudence, jurist, see law
Just, character in Minna von
Barnhelm, i., 174
Kabale und LAebe (Schiller), ii., 185
Kahlert, ii., 444
Kalb, Chamberlain von, i., 232^.,
262, 279, 290^., 29s, 320
Kalb, Frau von, i., 266; ii., 35
Kalte Kiiohe, the, i., 268
Kammerberg, the, iii., 113
Kampagne in Frankreich, Goethe's
experiences upon which, is based.
ii., 102-118; 274; iii., 82, 96, loi,
120, 128, 172, 377
Kamtz, iii., 117
" Kann wohl sein! so wird gemeinet
(from Biich Suleika), iii., 23/.
Kanne, Doctor, i., 64
"Kanntest jeden Zug in meinem
Wesen" (from "Warum gabst
du uns die tiefen Blicke "), i., 300
Kant, i., iii.; ii., 160, I72jf., 179,
181, 190, 195/=., 208, 283, 383,425,
447, 448; iii., loi, 102, 205^.
Karl, Prince of Prussia, iii., 165
Karl, character in Das Madchen
von Oberkirch, ii., 127
Karl, character in Gotz, i., 172
Karl, Archduke, ii., 316
Karl Alexander, iii., 165
Karl August, i., 144, 255, 256, 258,
260, 261, 262, 265, 266, 267^.,
28o#., 312/., 318, 320, 325, 338,
357. 359. 364, 366, 367, 383, 413,
434^. 436, 437; "-, 35, 37, 86,
89#-, 94. io4ff.. 128, 140, 149,
183/., 198/., 314, 323, 330, 332,
335, 342, 344, 345. 346, 4o8ff.,
412^., 428, 433, 434, 440, 441,
442, 444; iii-, 25, 26, 90, 100,
136, 137/-, i4of., 154, 178/., 181/.,
183, 185, 258/., 260, 267, 269,
373, 379; Goethe's relation to,
i., 214, 223, 232, 279, 282^., 29s/.,
297, 312, 3i4i?., 320, 322#., 343-
354, 360, and n., 75/., 77, 113,
199/-, 333/-, and 111., 39, 46, 136,
152/-, 157/-, 161, 165, I79f.;
concerning Goethe, i., 292/., 295,
and ii., 420
Karl Friedrich, iii., 165
Karl Theodor von Pfalz-Sulzbach,
i., 322
Karlsbad, i., 367, 389; ii., 339, 342,
348, 353, 390, 405/., 407, 415,
418, 420; 111., 7, 112, 150, 158
Karlsruhe, i., 182, 223, 263, 310,
354; ii-, 354; iii-, 25
Karoline, Landgravine,!., 144/., 183
Karsch, Anna Luise, i., 259
Karsten, actor, iii., 152/.
Kassel, i., 387
Katchen, see Anna Katharina
SchQnkopf
Kaufmann, i., 251
Kaufmann, Angelika, i., 388, 407,
439
Kaunitz, Count, i., 24
Kayser, i., 225, 402, 404, 408; iii.,
374
Keck, ii., 450
Keller, Frau von, i., 275
" Kennst du das Land," see Mig-
non
Inbei
409
"Kennt ihr solcher Tiefe Grund"
(from Biich Suleika), iii., 27
Kepler, iii., 273
Kestner, Charlotte, see Charlotte
Buff
Kestner, J. C, i., 153, 157-167,
183, 184/., 187, 199, 29s, 422;
ii., 212/^.
Kielmannsegge, von, i., 156/.
Kilian, i., 429
Kilian Brustfleck, character in
Hansmursts Hochzeit, L, 253
King John (Shakespeare), ii., 96
King Lear (Shakespeare), i., 131,
379
Kircnhoff, Alfred, iii., 92
Kirms, ii., 94. 200, 332
KlSrchen, character in Egmont, i.,
Klassische Asthetik der Deutschen
(Harnack), ii., 450
"Kleine Blumen, kleine Blatter,"
see Mit einem gemalten Band
Kleine Sckriften (BOttiger), ii., 451
Kleiner Hirschgraben, in Frankfort,
i., 26
Kleist, i., 49
Kleist, the Courland Barons von,
i., 120
Kleist, Heinrich von, iii., 146
Klettenberg, FrSulein von, i., 92/.,
96, 100, 103, 183, 214, 215,
311; ii., 116, 170, 241, 448; iii.,
9. 249
Klingemann, ui., 384
Klinger, i., 251, 291
KlinkowstrOm, von, i., 263
Klopstock, i., I, 18, 19, 49> 78,
87, 107, no, 14s, 147. 149. 298,
211, 212, 266, 285^., 430; ii.,
208; iii., 46, 61, 170, 374
Kloster, the, i., 271
Klosterbruder, the (Wackenroder) ,
iii., 146, 148
Knebel, Hans, i., 434
Knebel, i., 3. 2I4. 239. ^59f; 264.
266, 268, 269, 271, 301, 321,
360, 364, 418. 434, 435; "•- 103.
150, 182, 200, 202, 320, 323, 329,
349. 35°. 351. 429. 453; iii-. i^.
86, 88, 9S, loi, 132, 3sgs con-
cerning Goethe, i., 4, 215, 326,
337, and ii., 429, and iii., 127,
257
Knebels literarischer Nachlass, i.,
433. 434; iii-. 90
Kniep, i., 395^., 402
" Knittelvers," Goethe's employ-
ment of, ii., 29, and iii., 304/.
Knittlingen, iii., 271
Koblenz, see Coblenz
Koch, Max, ii., 441
Kocll, actor, i., 257
Koch, Professor, i., 137; iii., 253
Kochberg, i., 283, 301; ii., 79, 185
KochendOrffer, i., 426
Koegel, i., 435
Koenigsberger, L., iii., 134
Kohlrausch, ii., 453
Kolmar, i., 139
K5nig, Dr., 1., 157
KOnigsberg, i., in; ii., 172
KOnigsthal, von, i., 23
Konstantin, Karl August's father,
i., 256
Konstantin, Karl August's brother,
i., 214, 258, 259
Kopp, ii., 33
KOppel, E., iii., 381
Koran, the, ii., iji
KOrner, Gottfried, i., 69; ii., 78,
93, 182, 183, 184, 186, 187, 191,
196, 263, 431, 448, 454
KOmer, Minna {n6e Stock), i., 69;
"•. 93
KOrner, Theodor, ii., 431, 4S4
Korner, Theodor, und die Seinett
(Peschel-Wildenow), ii., 454
KOster, ii., 449
Kotzebue, Amalie, i., 266
Kotzebue, i., 266; ii., 335, 425,
453". iii-. 138, 139. 141. 14a
Kranz, i., 263
Kraus, i., 263; ii., 346
Krauter, i., 427; iii., 164
Krebel, i., 53
Kreon, ii., 22
Krespel, i., 183, 213
Kreuchauf, i., 70
Kriegk, i., 419
Kritische W aider (Herder), i., 112
Krone, die (Corona SchrOter), i.,
266
Kriiger, ii., 18, 32
Kruse, Heinrich, i., 427
Kundling, iii., 171
Kunst und Altertum, i., 417; iii.,
148, 172
Kunstlers Abendlied {Lied des physi-
ognomischen Zeichners) , quota-
tion from, i., 403; iii., 47
KUnsilers V ergotterung, ii., 448
Kflssnacht, i., 228; ii., 318
"Kypsele," in Pandora, ii., 401^.
La Damnation de Faust (Berlioz),
iii-, 376
La Mort de CSsar (Voltaire), ii., 413
La Nouvelle HSloise (Rousseau), i.,
201, 349
La Roche, Chancellor von, 1., 310,
312
La Roche, Maximiliane (Maxe), i.,
188/.; ii., 114; iii-. 7. '45
4IO
llnbei
La Roche, Sophie, i., 146, 187, 215;
hi-, I4S
La Sposa Rapita, i., 40
Labores Juveniles, i., 422
Laertes, character in Wilhelm Meis-
ter, ii., 229, 234
Lago di Garda, see Lake Garda
La.go Maggiore, i.', 408; ii., 257;
iii., 22, 211
Lahn, the, i., 152, 155, 206; ii., 114
Lahnberg, the, i., 155
Lahneck castle, i., 206
Lahr, iii., 26
Laibach, i., 11
Laidion (Heirise), i., 208
Lake Como, i., 373
Lake Constance, i., 408; ii., 105
Lake Garda, i., 370, 408
Lake. Geneva, i., 349; iii., 115
Lake of the Four Forest Cantons,
"•.317 ,
Lake Zurich, i., 225, 226; 11., 314,
318; iii., 215, 262
Lamon, character in Die Laune
des Verliebien, i., 81/.
Landau, ii., 114
Ldndlich, iii., 375
Landolt, i., 420
Landshut, ii., 92; iii., 103
Lange, Councillor, i., 154
Lange, Frau, i., 154, 166
Lange, Fraulein, i., 160
Langensalza, ii., 119
Langer, i., 79, 89; iii., 249, 250
Langguth, ii., 451
Langmesser, ii., 441
Lannes, Marshal, ii., 343
Laokoon (Lessing), i., 71, 74/., 106,
423
Lasberg, Christel von, iii., 40^., 59
Lasinio, Carlo, iii., 383
Lassen, iii., 376
"Lasst fahren hin das AUzufl-ttch-
tige " (Zwischengesang of ' Zur
Logenfeier des Dritten Septembers
182s), iii., 366
Last Supper, The (Leonardo da
Vinci), i., 407
Latin, Goethe's study of, i., 16, 30,
39/-, 48ff.
Lauchstadt, ii., 99, 322, 338, 445
Lausanne, i., 349
Lauterbrunnen, i., 347/.
Lauth, the Misses, i., 97, 98
Lavater, i., j., 3, 204^., 210, 211,
22s, 228, 246, 296, 316, 353,
355, 356, 360, 417. 420, 426, 430,
432; ii., 114, 117, 122, is%i 159,
207, 320, 441; iii., 5, IS, 82, 254
Law, the, Goethe's study of, i., 29/.,
40, 5°, 79. 94. 102; his father
destines him for, 31, 40, 153, and
ii., 33/.; his lack of love for, i.,
40, 46, 73, and iii., 82; his ex-
amination in, i., 102; his disser-
tation, 102, 138; his practice, 141,
296; his knowledge of, 2, 309/^.
Law, John, iii., 332
Le Bourgeois GerUilhomme (Moliere),
ii., 420
Leben Blessigs (Fritz), i., 426
Leben und Tod der heiligen Genoveva
(Tieck), iii., 144
Leben und Verdienste des Joachim
Jungius (H., xxxiv., 20&ff.),
iii., 9S/., 131
Lebendiges Andenken, ni., 373
Lebensgeschichte (Jung-Stilling), i.,
211
Lebrun, i., 209; iii., 16
Lecturer, Goethe a, iii., 127/.
Leda, iii., 336
Leghorn, iii., 186
Lehrbuch der Meteorologie (Kamtz),
iii., 117
Leibnitz, ii., 171/.
Leipsic, i., 11, 31, 40, 41-89, 91. 94,
102, 103, IS7, 254, 265, 421, 423,
424, 425/-. 429; "-. 73. 93. 123,
183; battle of, 432/-; 445. 454!
iii-, 13. 47, 82, 138/., 168, 249,
251, 257. 286/., 379
Leipziger Liederbuch (Neue Lieder),
i., 68, 86, 87, 425; iii.. 373/-
Lemures, in Faust, iii., 348
Lenardo, character in Wilhelm
Meisters Wanderjahre, iii., 206/.,
2ii#., 230
Lengefeld, Charlotte von, see Schil-
ler
Lengefeld, Karoline, ii., 184/.
Lenore (Biirger), iii., 52
Lenz, i., 120/^., 170, 211, 215, 224,
237. 291, 426, 427, 435; iii., 59
Leonardo da Vinci, i., 407
Leonhard, von, iii., 143
Leonhardi, i., 423, 435
Leonora d'Este, character in Tasso,
i., 334; ii., 3Sf., 138, 386, 441,
443". iii-. 224
Leonora of Este, Princess, ii., 34
Leonora Sanvitale, character in
Tasso, ii., 35JJF., 441, 442
Leopold II., ii., 89
Lerse, Franz, i., 98, 119, 120, 139
Lersner, i., 419
Lessing, i., 41, 49, 68, 71, 74#-.
79, 106, 107, no, III, 157, 174.
177^. 199/-. 248, 266, 423, 429/.,
433; ii-. 27^., 171, 205, 208, 259,
32s, 327; iii., i7o;hisi5"aj««, 274,
29s. 381:302
Leuchsenring, i., 145^.
Levetzow, Amalie von, iii., 155
Inbei
411
Levetzow, Bertha von, iii., 155
Levetzow, Prau von, iii., 155, 158,
160, 161
Levetzow, Ulrike von, iii., 155-161,
^ 379
Lewes, 1., 160; n., 14, 440
Lexis, ill., 97
Leyden, i., iii
Licentiate, Goethe a, instead of
doctor, i., 138
Lida (Frau von Stein), iii., 184
Liebetraut, character in Gotz, i.,
172
Lieder im Volkston (Schulz), iii.,
375 '
Lieschen, character in Faust, iii.,
292, 296
Lila (FrSulein von Ziegler), i.,
146
Lili, see Elisabeth Sch5nemann
Lilis Park, i., 231
Limmat, the, i., 353; ii., 320
Limprecht, i., 71, 96
Limpurg, house of, i., 8
Lindau, Baron von, i., 348
Lindau, Meyer von, i., ^8
Lindenau, Count von, i., 64/jF.
Lindheimer, attorney, i., 10
Lindheimer, Anna Margaretha, i.,
10
Lindpaintner, iii., 376
LinnI (Linnaeus), ii., 157; "i., 96,
Lmz, 111., II
Lisbon, i., 20
Liszt, iii., 376
Literarische Zustdnde und Zeitge-
nossen (BOttiger), i., 436; ii,.
272. 453
Literarischer Sanskulotttsmus, ii.,
205
Literaturbriefe (Lessing), i., 76
Litolff, iii., 376
Litoraie di Lido, ii., 88
Lives (Plutarch), iii., 360
Livonia, iii., 253
Lobeda, ii., 331
Lobichau, ii., 417
Loder, i., 362; ii., 203, 335; iii., 83,
89, 90
Loeper, i., 78, 420, 423; ii., 441,
454; iii., 379^
Loewe, iii., 374r-
Lohlen, iii., 374
London, i., 264, 311; iii., I74i 192
Longuyon, ii., 113
Longwy, ii., 109/., 113
Lord's Supper, the, i., 67, 158
Lorraine, i., 100; ii., 275
Lothario, character in WUhelm
Meister, ii., 247^, 261, 267; iii.,
19s, 199, 207, 219/., 222,224
Lotte, character in Werther, i.,
i^off.; ii., 250, 297; iii., 211
Louis XV., iii., 344
Louis XVI., ii., 103/., 118, 193
Lower Alsatia, i., 99
Lower Bavaria, i., 322
Lower Saxony, i., 312
Liibeck, ii., 408
Lucerne, i., 353
Luciane, character in Die Wahlver-
wandtschaften, ii., 3S6ff.
Lucidor, character in Wer ist der
Verrater f, iii., 202/.
Lucinde, character in Wer ist der
Verrater f, iii., 202/.
Ludecus, i., 263; ii., 444
Luden, ii., 154, 424, 426, 430; iii.,
r 137
Ludwig, i., 45, 49, 103
Luise, Queen of Prussia, ii., 426
Luise (Voss), ii., 208, 282, 304,
308, 309, 38s
Luise, Grand Duchess, i., 223, 232,
260, 263/., 266, 273, zSsj^f. ; ii.,
35. 343/-. 414, 440; iii., 165, 180,
i8if. 184/., 258
Ltineberg Heath, iii., 164
Luther, i., 418, 428; ii., 153; iii.,
. 149, 150, 151, 272, 305, 368, 379
Ltitzelstein, i., 100
Lfltzow, ii., 431
Luxemburg, ii., 109, 113, 449
Lycurgus, i., 150
Lydie, character in Wilhelm Meis-
ter, iii., 222^.
Lyell, Charles, iii., 114
Lyon, i., 78, 147
Machiavelli, ii., 27; iii., 254
Mdchtiges ijberraschen, quotation
from, ii., 404
Macpherson, i., 115; see Ossiau
Macrocosm, the, in Faust, iii., 278
Magdeburg, ii., 327
Magic, Goethe's study of, i., gy,
see Faust
Magic Flute, The (Mozart), ii., 286
Mahadeva, iii., 19, 56, 57
Mahomet, i., 170, 183
Mahomet, i., 204, 210, 246/.; ii., 273
Mahomet (Voltaire), ii., 321, 411
Mahomets Gesang, i., 247; iii., 47,
62
Mahr, ii., 108
Mailied (" Wie herrlich leuchtet mir
die Natur"), i:, 118, 130; iii.,
47. 375. 376
Mailied ("Zwischen Weizen und
Korn"), iii., 376
Main, the, i., 14, 96, 143, 180, 273,
279; ii., 128; iii., 3, 12, 14, 16,
17, 27
412
Unbex
Mainz, i., 141, 214/., 310, 311; ii.,
109, 114, 118/., 199, 217, 449;
iii., 17, 141, 142, 261
Mainz, Elector of, ii., 115, 128
Majolicas, Goethe's collection of,
iii., 163
Makarie, character in Wilhelm
Meisters Wanderjahre), iii., 19a,
203^., 222/., 22s, 245, 380
Malcolmi, ii., 124
Malcolmi, Amalie, ii., 445
Mannheim, i., 122, 223, 376, 429;
ii., 119 183, 281, 450
Manso, ii., 34
Mantegna, i., 373; ii., 88
Manto, character in Faust, iii., 338
Mantua, ii., 88
Manzoni, iii., 173
Marcellus, iii., 382
Mdrcken vom neuen Paris, i., 35
Maremme, in Italy, iii., 260
Maret, Minister, ii., 411
Margaret, character in Faust, iii.,
275; see Gretchen
Margaret of Parma, character in
Egmont, i., 330, 335
Marggraf, ii., 450
Maria Luise, ii., 418
Maria Paulowna, ii., 337, 349, 409;
iii., 165
" Mariagespiel," the, i., 213, 235
Marianne, character in Die Ge-
schwister, ii., 213; iii., 12
Marianne, character in Wilhelm
Meister, ii., 218^., 250/., 266, 362,
448; iii., 12
Marie, character in Clavigo, i., 136,
236JF., 242
Marie, character in Das Madchen
von Oberkirch, ii., 127
Marie, character in Gotz, i., 136,
i7iff-. 237; "i-. 256
Marie, Princess, iii., 165
Marie Antoinette, i., 122; ii., 104
Marienbad, iii., issff-, 225
Marienbad Elegie, ii., 71; iii., 51;
quotation from, 158; 160
Marlowe, iii., 271, 273, 275, 381
Marten, character in Der Burger-
general, ii., 123
Martha, character in Faust, iii., 275,
289f.
Martial, ii., 208
Martigny, i., 351
Martin, Brother, character in Gotz,
i-. 173. 179
Martin Luther, oder die Weihe der
Kraft (Werner), ii., 350
Marx, Parson, iii., 26
Mary, Virgin, in Faust, iii., 351
Mdrz, iii., 376
Masuren (von Gou6), i., 157, 187
Mater Gloriosa, in Faust, iii., 352
Mathematics, Goethe's study of, i.,
16, 19, 308
Maximen und Reflexionen uher
Kunst, quotation from, iii., loi
Maximilian, character in German-
Latin colloquy, i., 32
Maximilian, Emperor, i., 33
Meckelsburg, the, i., 155
Mecklenburg, i., 156
Mecklenburg-Strelitz, Grand Duke
of, iii., 183
Medals, Goethe's collection of, iii.,
163, 180
Medea, ii., 440
Medicine, Goethe's study of, i., 79,
93. 103. 137; iii-. 82
Medicis, the, ii., 56
Mediterranean Sea, the, i., 373; ii.,
I go
Meaon (Clodius), i., 65
Medwin, iii., 266
Meeresstille, iii., 375, 376
Mefistofele (Boito), iii., 376
"Mein Erbteil wie herrlich,!' etc.
(from West-ostlicher Divan), iii.,
226
"Meine Ruh ist hin" (from Faust) ^
iii-. 37S, 376
Memingen, i., 224; iii., 27
Meiringen, i., 348
Meisenheim, iii., 26
Melanchthon, iii., 271
Melina, character in Wilhelm Meis-
ter, ii., 22off., 265, 266
Melina, Frau, character in Wilhelry^
Meister, ii., 220^.
Melusine, i., 155
M^moire (Beaumarchais), i., 235^.
Mimoires historiques de Stephanie-
Louise de Bourbon-Conti, ii.,
132
Mendelssohn, Felix, iii., 36, 166,
374^
Mendelssohn, Moses, i., 429
Menelaus, ii., 4; iii., 339, 342, 344
Mengs, n., 323
Mephisto, character in Berlioz's
Damnation de Faust, iii., 376
Mephistopheles, character in Faust,
i., 2, 144, 34s; ii., 123, 209; iii.,
168,257, 27s. 282^., 381/.; in the
puppet play, 251/.
Mer de Glace, the, i., 351
Merck, Johann Heinrich, i., 64,
143^., 152, 155. 157. 164. 166^..
17s, 183, 188, 189,205, 212, 223,
229, 236/., 239, 251, 267/., 300,
31°. 316, 319, 345, 357, 359, 361,
36s. 423. 427/-, 429, 431: "-.
168, 211, 442; iii., 83, 87^., 91,
114, 257, 286, 376
■flnbei
413
Merckbriefe [vol. i. — Briefe an J.
H. Merck; vol. ii. — Briefe an und
von J. H. Merck; vol. iii. — Briefe
aus dent Freundeskreise von
Goethe, Herder und Merck] (Wag-
ner), i., 423
Mercury, ii., 331
Mereau, Sophie, ii., 203
Merian, ii., 453
Merkel, ii., 425
Merkur, see Der deutsche Merkur
Merseburg, i., 88; ii., 99
Mesmer, ii., 368
Messina, i., 400
Metamorphose der Pfiamen, see
Versuch die Metamorphose, etc.
Metamorphose der Tiere, quota-
tions from, ii., 160, 161, and iii.,
87
Metamorphosis of plants, Goethe's
discovery of, i., 362; ii., i6g,
19s; iii., 87, giff., 112, 377
Metaphysische Anfangsgriinde der
Naiurwissenschaft (Kant), ii., 177
Meteorology, Goethe's study of, iii.,
ii6f., 173, 182
Method, Goethe's scientific, iii.,
I29ff.
Mettemich, iii., 154
Metz, Dr., i., 93
Meuse, the, ii., 112
Meyer, C. F., iii., 305
Meyer, Heinrich, i., 388, 403, 407;
ii., 88, 93, 120, 306, 310, 3i2ff.,
317. 319. 320. 322. 325^-, 329.
330, _ 332, 344, 346, 351. 3S3.
450; iii., 7, 29, IDS, 170, 172, 262
Meyer von Lindau, i., gSf.
Meyer-Cohn, i., 433
Michels, Viktor, ii., 441
Mignon, character in Wilhelm Meis-
ter, i., 141, 228, 366, 372, 408;
ii., 230^., 250, 253;?., 264, 265,
448; iii., 12, 190, 211, 375, 376
Mignon ("Kennst du das Land"),
L, 227f; iii., 19, 69, 72, 375, 376
Milan, i., 255, 271, 402, 407. 437!
iii., 174
Milky Way, the, i., 351
Milton, ii., 446
Mineralogy, Goethe's study of, i.,
361. 396. 398; iii., 98, 112
Minerals, Goethe's collection of,
iii., 163
Minerva, i., 247
Minerva, Cape, i., 401
Minna von Barnhelm (Lessing), i.,
59, 62, 68, 76/., 174/., 178
Minnesingers, the, i., 137
Minor, i., 425; iii., 382
Mirabeau, ii., 142
"Misel," i., 279
Miss Sarah Sampson (Lessing), i.,
61, 62
Mississippi, the, iii., 177
Missolonghi, iii., 265, 267/., 341
Mit einem gemalten Band, x., 130;
iii., 44, 376
"Mit Flammenschrift war innigst
eingeschrieben," see Epoche
Mitteilungen des Vereins f. Gesch.,
etc., i., 419
Mitteilungen uber Goethe (Riemer),
ii- 377, 444; iii., 328
Mitteilungen uher Goethe und seinen
Freundeskreis (Dembowsky), iii.,
, 379
Mittler, character in Die Wahlver-
wandtschaften, ii., 360^.
MObius, ii., 452
Modern Philology, i., 427
Mohammed II., iii., 175
Moli^re, i., 22; ii., 420
MoUer, Goethe's assumed name on
his Italian journey, i., 369
Molsheim, i., 139
Monad, ii., 171
Monastery, Goethe's, iii., 163
Monbrisson, Maria von, ii., 450
Mont Blanc, i., 350
Montan (Jamo), character in Wil-
helm Meister, iii., 198
Montanvert, i., 351
Monte Rosa, i., 339
Monte Rosso, i., 399
Moors, Max, i., 19^., 37, 40, 43, 53,
54
Moralische Abhandlungen (Salz-
mann), i., 211
Moravianism, i., 92
Morhof, i., 30, 421
MOrike, iii., 79
Moritz, director of the chancery, i.,
23
Moritz, legation councillor, i., 19,
96
Moritz, K. P., i., 388, 407; ii., 186
Morphology, Goethe's contribu-
tions to, iii., 104;^.
Morris, Max, ii., 451; iii., 382
Morus, i., 46, 49, 65, 80
Moscow, ii., 420; iii., 2
Moser, i., 310; ii., 241
Moser, i., 214, 311/.; iii., 253, 254
Moses, i., 114, lis; ii-,27; iii., 250
Moses (Christian Brion), i., 124
Moses (Michael Angelo), i., 386
Mothers, the, in Faust, iii., 334/.,
3SS. 382
Motz, iii., 16
Mouan, Castle of, i., 420/.
Moutier, i., 347
Mozart, iii., 374/.
Miichler, iii., 375
414
Unbei
Miihlberg, the, iii., 13, 27
Muhlhausen, i., 357
Mflhlheim, i., 207
Miiller, Chancellor Friedrich von,
ii., 410/., 428, 444, 448, 453; iii.,
159/., i6s, 169^., 177, 179/-.
366. 379f-
MtiUer, Johannes (scientist), iii., 128
Mailer, Johannes von (historian),
ii., 330, 422
Miiller, K. W., iii., 95, 385
Mftnch, Anna Sibylla, i.,4i83, 213/.,
23s. 240, 43°
Mlinchhausen, Min star von, i., 264
Mlinchow, i., 420
Munich, i., 369, 433; ii., 445! "i-i
174
Mtinster, i., ^25; u., 11 67.
Mtinster (Switzerland), i., 347
Mtlnstertal, the, i., 347
Mfinter, ii., 444
Musarion (Wieland), i., 78
Musaus, i., 262
Musenalmanack (Boie), i., 211
Musenalmanach (Schiller), ii., 208,
209
Music, i., 16, 30, 55, 68, 189, 216,
4o4/.;iii., i66;inGoethe'spoetry,
iii., 76#.
Mycenas, 11., 4
Myology, Goethe's study of, iii., 83
Mysticism, i., 3, 93, 108; iii., 273
MythenstOcke, the, i., 227
Nach Falkonet und iiber Falkonet, i.,
431
"Nachahmung der Natur" (Stu-
dien), i., 412
Nachgefukl, iii., 376
Nachodine, heroine of Das nuss-
braune Mddchen, iii., 190, 2o6jf.,
211, 215/., 223
Nachtgesang, iii., 376
Nahe, the, ii., 109, 118
Nahe des Geliebten, iii., 375, 376
Nanny, character in Die Wahlver-
wandtschaften, ii., 373
Naples, i., 11, 395ff-, 400^^., 405,
408, 413, 437; ii., 37, 424; in.,
92 97, 187,378
Napoleon, i., 3, 201, 264; u., 132,
316, 318, 34of., 343:^-. 388, 395,
401, 408-414, 4i8ff., 428, 432,
453i4S4; iii., i/-, 14, 13s. 17s
Narciss, character in Confessions of
a Beautiful Soul, ii., 239, 241
Nassau, ii., 341; iii., 15
Nassau Castle, iii., 15, 16
Natalie, character in Wilhelm Meis-
ter, ii., 247/., 2S4/.,26s, 386, 448/.;
ui., 190, 195, 203/., 212, 216,
224^
Nathan der Weise (Lessing), ii.,
2 7f-
National Assembly, the, of France,
ii., 102, 104
Naturalist, Goethe the, iii., 81;^.
Mature, Goethe's attitude toward,
i., 70, 94, 108, 116, 118, 119,
iS4ff.> 167. 279/-. 297; iJ-. 77; iii-.
Naturalism, 1., 279
Nauheim, ii., 451
Naumburg, i., 41, 302
Nausicaa, i., 162
Nausikaa, i., 397, 399, 406, 410; iii.,
92
Nazarenism, iii., 147
Necessity, i., 135; ii., i59#., 189
Neckar, the, ii., 183, 281
Necker, i., 145
Nemesis (Luden), iii., 137
Neoplatonism, i., gs
Neptunists, the, iii., 113^., 212, 33S
Netherlands, the, i., 207
Nette, see Anna Katharina SchOn-
kopf
Nettesheim, Agrippe von, iii., 271
Neudeutsche religios - pairiotische
Kunst, iii., 143
Neue Erdbeschreibung (Biisching),
i., 418/.
Neue Gottergesprache (Wieland).
ii., 112
Neue Liebe, neues Leben, quotation
from, i., 218; iii., 376
Neue LAeder, see Leipziger Lieder-
buch
Neuhauss, Demoiselle, i., 266
Neuhof, i.j 35
Neujahrslied, i., 425; iii., 374
Neumann, Christiane, ii., 96/., 31S
Neuwied, i., 2o6f.; iii., 16
New Harmony, iii., 192
Newspapers, Goethe's reading of,
iii., 174/.
Newton, ii., 99/., 208, 323; iii.,
122/if., 127
Ney, Marshal, ii., 343
Nicaragua Canal, the, iii., 174
Nicknames, Goethe's, see Wolf,
WOlfchen, Bear, Huron, Indian
Nicolai, i., 259; ii., 208, 264, 425,
453; iii., 257, 281
Nicolovius, Alfred, iii., 380
Niebuhr, iii., 175
Niederbronn, i., 100, 122, 376
Niederrossla, ii., 342
Niejahr, J., iii., 382
Niethammer, ii., 203
Nietzsche, iii., 281
"Night — Open Field," scene in
Faust, iii., 261
Night Thoughts (Young), i., 259
■flnbei
415
Niklas, character in Die Fischerin,
iii., 60
Niobe, group, ii., 383
Nobility, Goethe's patent of, i., 317
NoUen, J. S., i., 428, 429
Norberg, character in Wilhelm
Meister, ii., 2iSff., 251
Nord und Siid, i., 431
Nordhausen, i., 338
NOrdlingen, i., 433
Normahty, in Goethe's poetry, iii.,
34ff.
North Carolina, iii., 380
North Sea, the, iii., 117
Norway, iii., 35
NOthmtz, i., 261
Notre Dame de Paris (Hugo), iii.,
174.360
Nouveau Chrisiianisme (Saint-Si-
mon), iii., 192
Nouveaux Principes d'Economie
Politique (Sismondi), iii., 192
Novalis, ii., 263/.; iii., 144, 150
Novelle, iii., 172
Numa, i., 150
"Nun du mir lassiger dienst " (from
Romische Elegien), i., 411
"Nun glahte seine Wange rot und
rOter" (from Epilog zu Schillers
"Glocke"), ii., 194
"Nun wird, Ihm selbst aufs herr-
lichste zu lohnen," iii., 180
"Nur dies Herz, as ist von Dauer"
(from Buch Suleika), iii., 24
" Nur Luft und Licht " (cf. Dtintzer,
Goethes Eintriit in Weimar, 71),
iii., 179
"Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt,"
iii., 376
Nuremberg, i., 169, 171, 172, 408;
ii., los, 320, 450
"O, dass die innre SchOpfungs-
kraft" (from Kunstlers Abend-
lied), i., 403
O'Donnell, Countess, ii., 419, 432
"Ob's Unrecht ist, was ich emp-
finde" (Frau von Stein), i., 302/.
Oberkirch, Frau von, i., 428
Oberland, the, in Weimar, i., 314
Oberlin, i., 137; iii., 253
Obermann, Fraulein, i., %<)f.,62,6&,
77
"Oberon and Titania's Golden
Wedding" (in Faust), ii., 209
Oberpostamtszeitung (Frankfort), iii.
8
Oberrossla, ii., 323, 450
Ober-Steinberg, i., 348
Oberwald, i., 352
Ode an Herrn Professor Zacharia, i.,
425
Oden (Klopstock), i., 211
Odilienberg, ii., 355
Odoard, character in Wilhelm Meis-
ters Wanderjahre, iii., 221, 226,
234
Odysseus, i., 398
Oeser, Priederike, i., 68, 70, 76, 77,
79, 89, 116, 376
Oeser, Friedrike, i., 68, 70, 89, 93
Offenijach, i., 220/., 230/., 241;
ii., 279; iii., 270
Offenbar Geheimnis, iii., 3
Offenburg, iii., 26
Offne Tafel, iii., 51
' ' Ohne Wein kann's uns auf Erden,"
i., 225
Oken, iii., 137/., 141
Olaf, Herr, in Erlkonigs Tochter,
iii., 59
Oldenburg, ii., 441
Olearius, character in Gotz, i., 17^
Olenschlager, von, i., 19, 309; li.,
241
Oliva, character in Egmont, i., 333
Olivia (Marie Salomea Brion) i.,
124, 128
Olympian, Goethe the, i., 413; iii.,
194
Olympus, i., 344; ii., 18, 21
Ophelia, iii., 302
Oppositionsblatt (Bertuch), iii., 137
I , Optics, see theory of colour
Optische Beitrage, see Beitrage zur
Optik
Orange, character in Egmont, i.,
33°ff-
Orator (Cicero), i., 48
Orbis Pictus (Comenius), i., 16, 420
Orestes, character in Iphigenie, i.,
300, 38s ; ii., ijf., 48, 247, 440.452 !
iii., 45. 176
Orestes, character in Euripides,
ii., 4
Orient, the, ii., 432
Origin of Species (Darwin), iii., 378
Orology, Goethe's theory of, i., 361
Orpheus, iii., 338
Orphic poems, i., 29
"Os intermaxillare," see inter-
maxillary
Osnabrtick, i., 311
Osnabrucker Intelligenzblatt, iii., 253
Ossian, i., 109, 114, 115, 117, 118,
119, 122, 142, 193, 384; iii., 250,
276
Ostade, i., 162
Osteology, Goethe's study of, iii.,
82/., 93
Ottilie, character in Die Wahlver-
wandtschaften, ii., 354ff-, 374ff-.
452; iii., 26
Ottilienberg, the, i., 139
4i6
llnbex
Ottingen, ii., 270
Ovid, i., 406
Owen, Robert, iii., 192
Pacific Ocean, ii., 265; iii., 2
Padua, i., 373, 377, 391; ii., 88; iii.,
290
Paestum, i., 396, 399
Painting, Goethe's study of and
interest in, i., jojf., 167, 2ogf.,
373ff-. 403/-. 409; ii., 87, 216; iii.,
7, 98, 99/., i2off.
Palace, the, of Weimar, 1., 255, 271 ;
ii., 322, 332
Palaeontology, Goethe's interest in,
i., 100; iii., 108, 115
Palaophron und Neoterpe, ii., 333
Palatinate, the, i., 234, 310, 345;
"•. 343
Palermo, 1., 397^., 437! "•. i°S;
111., 92, 378
Palladio, 1., 372, 37Sf.; ii., 87
Palma di Goethe, in Padua, i., 373
Panama Canal, the, iii., 174
Pandora, heroine of the drama, i.,
247; "•, 388^.; iii., iss
Pandora, 11., 128, 273, 353, 388-
404, 452/.; quotation from, iii.,
no/., 264
Pandorens Wiederkunft, ii., 388
Pantheism, Goethe's.i., 93, 208; ii.,
;^ 156^.; iii., 23s/., 291/., 363/.
Pantheon, the, in Rome, i., 385,387,
438
Paolo Veronese, ii., 87
Parabase, quotation from, iii., 85
Paracelsus, i., 93; iii., 271, 336
Paradise Lost (Milton), ii., 446
Paria, iii., 55/., 63/., 374
"Paries," iii., 117
Paris, i., 94, 111,120, 139,232,263,
311; ii., 102/., no, 119, 120, 151,
193. 275. 293. 344, 413. 422, 427,
434; m., 170, 174, 175, 360
Paris, hero, iii., 334
Parma, i., 402, 407
"Parodiert sich drauf als Doktor
Faust" (Einsiedel), iii., 258
Parthenon, the, i., 396, 404; iii., 11
Parthenope, i., 396
Parzenlied (in Iphigenie), ii., 21, 31 ;
see Gesang der Parzen
Parzival, ii., 262
Pasqu6, ii., 445
Passavant, i., 225, 227, 228; ii., 317
Pater Brey, i., 146, 204
Pater Profundus, in Faust, iii.,
352
Patriotische Phantasien (MOser), i.,
214, 311/.; iii., 253
Patriotism, Goethe's, i., 104/., 120;
ii., 428^.; iii., 150
Paulus, ii., 172, 203, 317, 33s; iii.,
10
Paulus, Karoline, ii., 203
Paulus (Reichlin-Meldegg), ii.,
150
Peasants' War, the, i., 171; iii., 329
"Pedagogical province," the, in
Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre,
iii., 207/., 223, 23of.
Peloponnesus, the, iii., 267
Pempelfort, i., 208, 209, 212; ii., 114
Penelope, i., 162
Penn, William, iii., 199
Perfection, Goethe's doctrine of,
ii., 160
Pericles, ii., 202
Persia, iii., zjf., 144
Perugia, i., 382
Peschel, ii., 454
Pestalozzi, iii., 36, 228^.
Peter, iii., 272, 363
Peter the Martyr (Titian), i., 438
Petrarch, ii., 42, 351, 352
Pfeil, Councillor, i., 53
Pfenninger, i., 225; ii., 158
Pfingstweide, the, i., 20
Phcedrus (Plato), i., 421
Phanias, character in Musarion, i.,
78
Phanomen, quotation from, iii., 4
Pharsalus, iii., 337
Philemon, character in Faust, iii.,
345
"Philemon and Baucis," scene in
Faust, iii., 270
Phileros, character in Pandora, ii.,
394^.
Philhellenism, iii., 170
Philine, character in Wilhelm Meis-
ter, ii., 170, 229, 265/.; iii., 222/.
Philinte, iii., 47
Philipp, Goethe's valet, i., 297
Philipp Hackert, ii., 417
Philo, character in Confessions of
a Beautiful Soul, ii., 240/.
Philology, Goethe's study of, i., 94
Philosophia Botanica (Linn6), iii.,
106
Philosophie der Geschichte (Hegel),
ii., 148
Philosophy, Goethe's, i., 29, 50, 79,
92/.; ii., 156-181, i8jf.,324,446f.;
m., 173
Phoebus, i., 167
Phoebus Apollo, iii., 61
Phorcyd, Mephistopheles a, iii.,
339ff.
Phyllis, character in Wilhelm Meis-
ier, ii., 239^.
Phyllis, iii., 47
Physics, Goethe's study of, i., 50;
ii., 99, 323; see colour
Unbei
417
Physiognomische Fragmenie (Lava-
ter), i., 204, 211, 225, 228, 246,
420; iii., 82
Physiognomische Fragmenie, iii., 82
Physiognomische Reisen (Musaus),
i., 262
Physiognomische Reisen, quotation
worn, i., 262
Physiognomy, Goethe's studjr of, i.,
204, 225, 228, 246, 420; iii., 5,
82
Pierson, iii., 376
Pietb, (Michael Angelo), i., 386
Pietism, in Frankfort, i., 200
Pilgers Morgenlied, i., 147; iii., 47,
61, 376
Pindar, i., 115, 142, i43. i47. i53.
^376
Pisa, m., 383
Pitture al Fresco del Campo Santo
(Lasinio), iii., 383
Plaques, Goethe's collection of, iii.,
163
Plaster casts, Goethe's collection
of, iii., 163
Plato, i., 29, 421; ii., 42, 206, 399;
iii., 127, 234, 334, 378
"Pleasure-Garden," scene in Faust,
iii., 269
Pleiades, the, i., 351
Pleisse, the, i., 41, 91, 425
Pleissenburg, the, i., 70
Pless, i., 434
Plessing, i., 338; iii., 38, 41
Plotho, Baron von, i., 24
Plutarch, iii., 334, 360, 382
Pniower, ii., 449; iii., 381
Po, the, ii., 86
Poems of a Polish Jew, see Gedichte
eines polnischen Jtiden
Poet, Goethe the, i., 6, 24^., 31, 38,
47f-. 52/-. 54^, 80, 86, 113/?.,
143. 153. 168, 357, 363, 409; n.,
33/., 84, 216, 227, 271^., 332/.,
441; iii., 30-80, 176; see poetry
Poetics (Aristotle)j i., 423
Poetry, theory of, i., 74^., 109,113/.,
188, 231, 328/.; ii., ^oJ., 73, i67f.,
169/., 389, 449; 111., 33J., 368/.,
373. 374ff-; -see poet
Pogwisch, Ottilie von, see Goethe
Poland, ii., 92, 424
Polarity, Goethe's theory of, ii.,
177; iii., 126/.
Political economy, Goethe's study
of, iii., 173
Politics, Goethe's study of, 1., 19,
ZOQ-ff.; iii., 174/.
Polyhistor, etc. (Morhof), i., 421
Pomerania, i., 52
Pompeii, i., 396
Pontine Swamps, the, i., 395
Pope, the, i., 394
Portici Museum, i., 396
Porto del Popolo, Rome, i., 407
Portugal, i., 24, 321
Posdorf, ii., 275
Potsdam, i., 259
Prayer, Goethe's attitude toward,
i., 18, 158, 287/.; ii., 170
"Prelude," the, to Faust, iii., 34,
67, 296, 308/.
Pre-Raphaelites, the, iii., 147
Primiz LinecB Isagoges, etc. (Gesner) ,
i., 421
Prime minister, Goethe the, iii., 136
Primrose, family in The Vicar of
Wakefield, i., 124
Principal Decree of the Imperial
Deputation, iii., 135
Principes de Philosopkie Zoologique
par Geoffrey de Saint-Hilatre,
Goethe's review of, iii., no
Prinzesschen, the, i., 395
"Prison," scene in Faust, i., 334;
iii., 261, 27s, 296, soiff., 331
Privy Council, the, of Weimar, i.,
289-293, 313, 317, 322, 337; ii.,
76; iii., 136
Professor, Goethe's desire to be a,
i., 40, 45/.; urged by friends to
be a, i37f.
Prolog, Mai 7. I^pi, ii., 98
Prolog zu den neusten Offenbarungen
Gottes, verdeuischt durch Dr. Carl
Friedrich Bahrdt, i., 204
"Prologue in Heaven," scene in
Faust, iii., 296, 299, 304, 308,
309^., 318, 320, 323, 327, 352,
Prometheus, 111., 253
Prometheus, character in Pando ra,
ii., 389#.; iii., rfo
Prometheus, hero of dramatic frag-
ment, i., 183, 247;f.; iii., 142, 197
Prometheus, dramatic fragment, i.,
187, 204, 210, 239, 247/., 252, 365;
ii., 29, 158, 159; iii., 142, 367
Prometheus, poem, i., 248, 433; iii.,
47, 142, 375
Prometheus (Seckendorf and StoU),
ii.., 389
Prometheus Bound and Unbound,
ii., 391 ...
Proomion, 111., 62
Prophet, Goethe the, ii., 189
Propylden, ii., 325, 328
Proserpina, i., 3^03; ii., i
Proserpine, in Faust, iii., 338/.,
340,
353
Protestantism, Goethe's, iii., 148^.,
35iff-
Proteus, 111., 105
Prussia, i., 107, 322, 326, 437;
4i8
Hn^ei
Prussia (^continued)
ii., 73, 89, iz8, ISO, 33s, 34°f;
342/., 348/., 408. 42i#-. 427. 449;
iii., 140, 141
Psyche, character in Satyros, i.,
249^.
Psyche (Karoline Plachsland), i.,
146
Psyche (Fraulein von Keller), i.,
27Sf-
Punta della Campanella, 1., 401
Puppet show, i., 38/.
Purity, Goethe's, i., 4, Si ^9'> i"->
176
Purpose, ultimate, ii., 161/.; adapt-
ability to, 178
Pylades, character in Iphieenie, ii.,
iiff.
Pylades, character in Euripides, ii.,
4
Pylades, Goethe's friend, i., 24;^.
Pyramid of Cestius, iii., 187
Pyramids, the, i., 201
Pyrenees, the, ii., 142; iii., 113
Pyrmont, ii., 334
Quietist, Goethe no, iii., 142
Raab, ii., 316
Racine, i., 22
Radical evil, Kant's, ii., 175/.
Radziwill, Prince, iii., 376, 384
Ramler, i., 78, 259, 260
Rammelsberg, i., 339
Ranke, i., 436
Raphael, i., 122, 183, 268, 376, 381,
382, 386, 404, 438; iii., 250
Rapp, i., 264; li., 317
Rastlose Liebe, iii., 375, 376
Rationalism, Goethe's, i., 79, 92
Ratisbon, i., 31, 369; iii., 253
Rauch, iii., 176^^.
Raufbold, character in Der Renom-
mist, i., 42
Raumer, Karl von, iii., 380
Realist, Goethe a, ii., 151, 188
Realp, i., 353
Rechenschaft, iii., sif.
Recke, Elisa von der, ii., 444
Reden, Count, ii., 92
Reden an die deuische Nation
(Fichte), ii., 180
Reforms introduced by Goethe, i.,
319^-
Reformation, the, i., 173; iii., 138^.,
251, 272/.
Rega, the, i., 52
Reich, i., 77
Reichard i., 423
Reichardt, ii., 90, 2o8, 334; iii.,
263, 374
Reiohenbach, iii., 94/.
Reichenbach, treaty of, ii., 90
Reichlin-Meldegg, ii., 150
Reichshofen, i., 100
Reiffenstein, i., 387, 407
Reimarus, iii., 62
Reineck, Herr von, i., ig, 309
Reineke Fuchs, ii., 118, 204
Reinhard, ii., 151, 385, 419, 422;
iii., 166
Reinhold, ii., 172
Reise am Rhein, Main und Neckar,
iii., IS
Reise nach lialien (Herder), i., 439,
Reissiger, iii., 376
"Reizender ist mir des Friihlings
Bliite (from An Belinden), i., 218
Religion, Goethe's, i., 17, 20, 92,.
96, 158/., 183, 248, 294, 340/.;
u., 117, 446/.; m., 84, 234^., 363^..
Rembrandt, iii., 175
Renaissance, the, iii., 251, 272/.,
334, 336
Renaissance art, i., 380, 382, 384;;
ii., 326; iii., 262
Renunciation, Goethe's, ii., 163^.
Representative Men (Emerson), i.,^
417
Reschwoog, von, 1., 131
Resignation, Goethe's, ii., i6sif.„
387; iii., 32/., 239/.
Reuchlin, iii., 273
Reuss, Prince, ii., no
Revolutions-Almanack fur ijgs, ii.„
445
Rheingau, the, iii., 7
Rheintscher Merkur, iii., 16
Rhenish Confederation, the, ii.^
341, 342, 34S. 408
Rhine, the, i., 9, 96, 143, 206^., 210,^
?29, 273, 343, 354, 368, 430, 436;
ii., 105, 114, 118, 119, 124, 126„
204, 274, 281, 282, 284,316^ 317,.
340, 341. 432, 434, 449; iii-. if; 6^
14, 15/., 25, 27, 28, 29, 186
Rhine-Danube Canal, the, iii., 174
RhOn, the, i., 361
Rhone, the, i., 350, 352
Rhone Glacier, i., 352
Richardson, i., 188; ii., 259
Richter, art collector, i., 71
Richter, Jean Paul, see Jean Paul
Richter, Ludwig, iii., 79
Richterswyl, i., 226; ii., 317
" Richtetest den wilden, irren Lauf""
(from Warutfi gdbst du uns die-
iiefen Blicke), ii., 3
Riemer, i., 418, 433; ii., 329. 348».
351. 377. 39°. 433, 444. 453! "'•.
108, 164^., 328
Riese, i., 44, 45, 47, 48, 49, 51, 86„
183
Riesengebirge, the, ii., 90, 93
Unbei
419-
Rietz, iii., 376
Riga, i., Ill
Riggi, Maddalena, i., 403/., 439;
ih., 62
Rigi, the, i., 227, 340; ii., 318
Rinaldo RinaUUni (Vulpius), ii., 445
Rino (Frau von Stein), i., 279
Rippach, i., 41
Rocmitz, i., 424; iii., 194
ROderer, i., 187, 426
Roetteken, i., 423
ROhr, iii., .366
RoUe, i., 349
Roman Empire, the, ii., 430
Roman House, the, iii., 179
Roman uber das Weltall, i., 365,
410
Romanticism, ii., 202/., 373; iii.,
^ =t43ff.
Rome, 1., II, 14, 57, 170, 329, 379,
381-395,. 400, 402-4071 409. 418,
432. 437. 438, 439; "-. 37. 43ff-.
71. 7S. 76, 77. 81, 105, 117, 182,
203, 314, 329. 406, 441; 111-. 98,
99, 100, 116, 120, 187, 262, 287
Rome, King of, see Archduie
Joseph
Romische Elegien, i., 78, 406, 439;
quotations from, 385, 411, and
ii., 81, 88; iii., 65
Romische Geschichte (Niebuhr), iii.,
17s
Rosne, de, see Derones
Rousseau, i., 17, 79, 88, 120, 138,
146, 150, 158, 188, 198, 201, 205,
251. 271, 349; ii-. 166. 17s. 267;
iii., 227, 274, 278
Roussillon, Fraulein von, i., 145,
146, 182
Roveredo, i., 370, 371
Rubens, i., 207; ii., 327; iii., 305
Rubinstein, iii., 376
Rudolstadt, ii., 184, 185
RudorflE, Fraulein von ("die Ru-
del"),.i-, 266; ii., 329, 444
Ruhnken, i., iii
Ruprechtsau, the, i., 119
Russia, i., S3; ii., 340, 421, 423.
424, 426, 427; iii., 138, 140, 141,
253.
Ruth, 1., 39
Ryden, i., 58, 60
Saale, the, iii., 182
Saalfeld, battle of, ii., 343
Saar, the, i., 100
Saarbrttcken, i., 100; ii., 275
Sachs, Hans, i., 121, 210; iii., 304/.
"Sag' ich's euch, geliebte Baume,"
i-, 3°4/-
' ' Sag , wie band das Schicksal uns
so rein genau" (from "Warum
gabst du uns die tiefen Blicke "),
i., 300
St. Agatha (not by Raphael), i., 438
St. Cecilia (Raphael), i., 381, 386
St. Claude, i., 349
St. Genevieve, character in Tieck's
Genoveva, iii., 144'
St. Gothard, the, i., 227, 229, 268,
352/-, 384; ii-, 317^
Saint-Hilaire, GeofiEroy de, iii., 95,
no, 360
St. Joseph, character in Wilhelm
Meisters Wanderjahre, ii., 452;
iii., 199, 213
St. Louis, Knight of, i., 98
St. Mark in the Mud (Venice), ii.,
86
St. Mark's, in Venice, i., 380
St. Ottilia, ii., 35s, 376, 452
St. Peter, iii., 139, 140
St. Peter's, in Rome, i., 383, 385
St. Petersburg, i., 183; ii., 442
St. Rochus, iii., 6f., 9
Saint-Simon, iii., 192
Saints, Darmstadt, see Darmstadt
Saitschick, ii., 444
Sails, von, i., 212
Salzburg, i., 369; ii., 269, 270, 279
Salzmann, i., 64, 97, 99, loi, 122,
131^, 137. 143. 152. 167. 169. 170.
173, 211, 224, 426, 428; iii., 253
Samaria, i., 91, 343; ii., 407
Sand, iii., 141
Sankt Joseph der Zweite (in Die
Wanderjahre), ii., 452; iii., igo,
196
Sankt Rochusfest zu Bingen, iii., 6/.
Sarasin (Langmesser) , ii., 441
Sardinia, i., 262
Sartoux, Count, i., 420/.
Satan, iii., 297, 299
Satyros, hero of the drama, i., 249^.
Satyros, i., 249^^.
Sauer, i., 425
Saussure, de, i., 351/.
Savoy, ii., 190
Saxony, i., 261, 309, 311, 437; ii.,
93, 150, 183, 190, 341, 44S; iii.,
379
Scaligers, the, tombs of, i., 371
Scepticism, Goethe's attitude tow-
ard, i., 92, 158; see religion
Schadenfreiide, iii., 374
Schdfers Klagelied, iii., 37s, 376
SchafEhausen, i., 225, 353; ii., 317
Schardt, Frau, i., 266, 435; ii., 185
Schardt, Councillor von, i., 266
"Scharfe deine kraft'gen Blicke"
(from Einlass), ii., 387
"Schau, Liebchen, hin!" (from
Sonnette, No. 15), ii., 351
Scheibler, ii., 451
420
llnbei
Scheidemantel, ii., 443/.
Scheintod, iii., 374
Schellhom, Cornelia, i., 11, 38
Schelling^^ii., 180/., 202, 317, 324,
327.33s. 390. 429. 447. 452/.;
ill-, 144/-, 146. 149. 338
Schenkendori, iii., 79
Scherer, Wilhelm, i., 251, 425; ii.,
453; iii-, 381
Scherz, List und Roche, i., 404
Schicksal der Handschrifi, iii., 92
Schiller, i., 3, 258, 270, 273, 280,
330, 334, 3S4, 36s, 367. 400, 418,
433, 437; ii-> S, 31. 32, 78, 81,
84, 93. 95. 124, 128, 138, 140, 151,
160, 182-210, 217, 260, 262/.,
268, 274, 281, 290, 296, 306, 309/.,
3^3, 314, 317, 319, 321, 324. 32s.
327. 329. 330, 331. 333. 335. 337,
422, 426, 444, 446, 447, 448, 449,
45°. 453; iii-, 52, 61, 109, 118,
I2S, 127, 131, 132, 144, 189, 228,
238, 261/., 263/., 286, 291, 301,
305, 306, 307/., 328, 329, 334,
365, 381
Schiller, Charlotte von (nie Lenge-
feld), ii., 80, 184^, 187, 333,
444; in., 159, igi
Schiller (Weltrich), ii., 447
Schillers Briefe (Jonas), i., 433; ii.,
448
Schinkel, i., 438
Schlegel, A. W., i., 430; ii., 202, 262,
309, 334, 450; iii-, I43f-
Schlegel, Dorothea, ii., 203
Schlegel, Priedrich, ii., 202, 262,
263, 385, 452; iii., 143^., 147,
148/.
Schlegel, Karoline, ii., 203; iii.,
144
Schleiermacher, ii., 416
Schleswig-Holstein, ii., 421
Schlettstadt, i., 139
Schlosser, Christian, iii., 8/.
Schlosser, Fritz, iii., 8/., 180
Schlosser, Georg, i., 49, 52/., 86,
147. 152, 167, 182, 184, 224, 310,
347; ii., 119, 206; ni., 8, 63
Schlosser, Hieronymus, i., 183; iii.,
8
Schlbsser, L., iii., 376
Schmid, C. H., i., 176
Schmidt, Erich, i., 425, 43°. 435.
438:11-, 352. 444; iii., 381
Schnaps, character in Der Burger-
general, ii., 123, 12s
Schneeberg, i., 367
Schneekoppe, the, ii., 93
Schneider, i., 19, 27/., 419
Schell, i., 425, 430, 436
SchoUenen, the, i., 227
" Schon langst verbreitet sich's in
ganze Scharen " (from Epilog zu
Schillers "Glocke"), iii., 369
SchSnbom, i., 236, 246
SchOnemann, Elisabeth (Lili), i.,
216, 219-234, 239, 240, 241, 24S,
300, 328/., 346, 384; ii., 2, 274f.,
289, 293, 301, 307^., 362, 440,
449, 450; iii., 12, 17, 18, 25, 27,
45. 49
SchOnemann, Frau (n4e D'Orville),
i., 216, 221
SchOnkopf, Anna Katharina (Kat-
chen), i., 53^., 68, 78, 81, 91, 133,
134,425:111-, 155
Schankopf, C. G., i., 53, 55, 68, 69,
89, 218
SchOnkopf, Peter, i., 60
Schopenhauer, iii., 281
Schopenhauer, Johanna, ii., 416,
444, 445
Schr6er, ii., 448
SchrOter, Corona, i., 265/., 314, 435
Schubart, i., 176, 198/.; ii., 423
Schubart, Martin, i., 420
Schubarth, ii., 165, 385
Schubert, iii., 374/.
Schuchardt, iii., 163/., 168
Schuckmann, von, ii., 90, 445
Schtiddekopf, iii., 379
Schuft, character in Hanswursts
Hochzeit, i., 252
Schulthess, Barbara (Babe), i., 225,
408, 432; ii., IDS, 273, 276/., 278,
320; iii., 207
Schultz, iii., 166, 176/.
Schulz, Fraulein, i., 61
Schulz, J. A. P., iii., 375
Schumann, iii., 374^.
Schurke, character in Hanswursts
Hochzeit, i., 252
Schiitz, i., 387
Schiltz, Professor, ii., 335
Schwalbach, ii., 119
Schwaz, i., 369
Schweidnitz, ii., 90
Schweighauser, ii., 450
Schweitzer, i., 35
Schweizeralpe, iii., 66
Schweizerlied, iii., 376
Schwind, iii., 79
Schwyz, i., 227; ii., 317
Schwyzer Haken, the, ii., 317
Science, Goethe's interest m, i., 16,
30, 102, z^iff.; ii., 76; see the
various sciences
Scientist, Goethe the, iii., 81^., 173
Scott, Walter, iii., 173, 175
Sculpture, Goethe's study of, i., 100,
122, 37iyiP.;iii., 98
Seckendorff, Chamberlain von, 1.,
262, 29s, 434, 43s; ii., 442; iii.,
374
Unbei
421
Seckendorf, Leo von, ii., 389
Seebeck, ii., 416
Seekatz, i., 21, 30
Segesta, i., 399
Sehnsucht, iii., 376
Seidel, i., 369, 418, 433; ii., 213
Seidler, Luise, ii., 416; iii., 7
Seine, the, iii., 2
"Seit ich von Dir bin" (from An
Lida), i., 306
Selige Sehnsucht, quotations from,
ii., 72, 165; iii., 62
Selima, i., 39
Senckenberg, i., 419
Senckenberg (Kriegk), i., 419
Serlo, character in Wilhelm Meis-
ter, ii., 235^^.
Sesenheim, i., 100, 123^., 240, 345^.,
426; iii., 45, 64, 252, 256, 270,
294
SeuSert, ii., 451
Seven Mountains, the, i., 210
Seven Years' War, the, i., 20^.,
256, 310, 322, 420
Seydlitz, ii., 91
Seyler, i., 257
Shakespeare, i., 62, 76, 7tff; 109,
114, IIS. "6ff-. 121, 131, 142,
143. 167, 170, 17s, 176, 177, 179,
246, 330, 426; ii., 96/., 13s, 157,
208, 214, 233, 234, 23s, 238, 268, »
448; iii., 105, 184, 230, 271, 300,
304, 368, 374
Shiraz, iii., 3
Sicily, i., 95, 397ff-. 405; ii., 373;
iii., 92, 100
Sickingen, character in Gotz, i., 172
"Sie schwankt und ruht, zum. See
zurttckgedeichet (from Machtiges
Uberraschen) , ii., 404
Sieben Kompositionen zu Goethes
Faust (Wagner), iii., 376
Siebenschldfer, iii., 58
Siewer, Dr., iii., 116
Sieyfe, ii., 142
Silesia, i., 323; ii., 89-93, 199, si 7;
iii., 103
Silesian wars, i., 20
Simon Majgus, iii., 272
Simplicissimus, ii., 262
Simplon, the, iii., 186
Sinuses, frontal, iii., 107
Sismondi, iii., 192, 223
Sistine Chapel, i., 385, 386, 404, 438 ;
iii., 271
Sistine Madonna, the, i., 26S
Skeletons, Goethe's collection of,
iii., 163
Skull, the, vertebral origin of, ii.,
88; iii., 112
Smolensk, ii., 420
"So lasst mich scheinen," iii., 376
" So soUst du, muntrer Greis " (from
Phanomen), iii., 4
Socrates, i., 131, 170; iii., 303
Sokrates, i., 142; ii., 273
Solger, i., 418
SOlfer, character in Die Mitschuldi-
gen, i., 83/.
Solomon, Key of, iii., 317
Solomon's Song, i., 29
Solon, i., 150
Solothurn, i., 349
SOmmering, ii., 109, 119, 316; iii.,
88ff., 169, 376, 378
Sondershausen, i., 338
Sonette, ii., 351/.; quotation from
No. I., 404
Song, A, over the Unconfidence
toward Myself, i., 86
Sonnenfels, i., 150
Sophie, of Saxony, iii., 379
Sophie, character in Clavigo, i., 237
Sophie, character in Die Mitschuldi-
gen, {., 83/.
Sophocles, i., 114, 199; ii., 115
Soret, ii., 277; iii., 95, 165, 167/.,
169, 182, 379
Sorrento, i., 438
Soult, ii., 412
Southern Dwina, the, ii., 420
Spain, i., 24; ii., 413
Sparta, iii., 339
Spartianus, i., 132
Spaun, iii., 375
Speyer, ii., 114
Spessart, the, i., 174
Spiegel, Chamberlain von, ii., 428
Spielhagen, ii., 452
Spielhagen-Album{,SciamAt),u.., 352
Spies, Johann, iii., 271
Spina, Abbate, i., 407
Spincourt, ii., 113 ^iAtt "=''■»' '''■'
Spinoza, i., 208, 248, 308, 421;
ii., 27, 156-181, 186, 188, 383/.,
446, 447; iii., 3tff., 84, 102, 105,
131/., 274, 278, 367. 377,„ . ,
Sptnoza imjungen Goethe (Hermg),
ii., 446
Spliigen Pass, the, i., 408; ii.,. 105
Spohr, iii., 375
Spoleto, i., 387
Sprichwortliche Redensarten (Bor-
chardt), i., 233
Sprizbierlein, Prau, in the Urfaust,
iii., 286
Spruche in Prosa (H., xix), quota-
tions from, ii., 453 and iii., loi,
no, 123, 130, 131, 226, 376, 378
Staatsverfassungsarchiv (Luden), iii.
137
Stadel, Rosette, lu., 13
Stael, Madame de, i., 417, 434; ii.,
330. 336. 443
422
llnbei
Stafa, ii., 314, 317^.
Stagemann, iii., 150
Stahr, ii., 441
Stans, ii., 318
Stark, Professor, ii., 334
Stark, Pastor, i., 19
Statesman, Goethe's ambition to
be a, iii., 253/., 258
" Staub, den nab' ich langst entbeh-
ret" (from Allleben), iii., 6
Staubbacb waterfall, i., 348
Stavoren, ii., 89
Stein, Minister vom, iii., TSif-< 373
Stein, von, reformer of Prussia, i.,
26s
Stein, Frau von, i., 64, 133, 229,
264, 266, 279, 280, 298, 29gf3o8,
318, 321, 323, 339/., 353. '357.
360, 364, 365, 367, 369, 372,
388^"., 392/., 409. 430. 433. 43S.
436, 439; "•. !#•. 18, 32, 34, 3S/.,
38. 71. 73. 78ff., 81, 82, 106, 107,
184, 185, 230, 232, 278, 309, 333,
349. 355. 386, 431, 440, 441, 443,
445. 452; 111., 12, 33, 40^., 43f.,
63. 83, 90, 91, 97, 98, 116, 118,
132. 183/., 224/., 227, 260, 379,
380
Stein, Fritz von, i., 302, 360; ii., 79,
107. 333. 444; iii-, 103. 116. 226,
229, 238
Stein, Master of the Horse von, i.,
214, 229, 263, 264, 301, 321, 364,
365
Steinbach, Ervinus k, see Ervinus
Steinhardt, Frau, i., 266
Stella, heroine of the drama, i.,
24of-. 433; ii-. 277
Stella,!., 8s, 222, 23Qff., 433; ii.,
272, 279, 378; 111., 257
Stella, wife of Swift, i., 240
Stem, A., i., 439
Sternbald, Franz, character in
Tieck's Franz Sternbalds Wan-
derungen, iii., 148
Sternberg, Count, iii., 112
Sterne, i., 429; iii., 226
Sternheim (Sophie La Roche), i.,
146
Stetten, i., 275
Stiedenroths Psychologie, iii., 131,
134
Stock, Dora (Dorchen), i., 69
Stock, Frau, i., 69
Stock, J. M., i., 68/., 155; ii., 183
Stock, Minna, see Minna KOmer
Stoics, the, i., 29
Stolberg, Christian zu, i., 222^.,
225; li., 207
Stolberg, Friedrich zu (Fritz), i.,
222^., 225, 291, 430/-; ii-. 206,
207; iii., 62, 79, 258
Stolberg, Auguste zu (Gustchen),
i., 229/., 231, 240; iii., 45. 75/-
Stolberg, Katharina, i., 436/.
StoU, Dr., ii., 389
Storm and Stress, i., 106^., 110,
118, 122, I4S, 150, 173, 174, 177,
189, 201, 223#., 238, 240, 248,
279, 282, 316, 329, 356, 376;
h., IS7. 162, 176, 191, 203, 213,
432; iii., 47, 64, 168, 248, 272/.,
274, 278, 287, 288, 300, 304
Strasburg, i., 88, 94, 95-140, 141/.,
158, 201, 209, 223/., 228, 229, 24S,
246, 346/-, 376, 419. 423. 426,
428, 430; ii., 146, 27s, 281, 323,
3SS, 441. 446; iii., 64, 82, 84,
155, 248, 250, 253, 255
Strasburg cathedral, i., 95, 103^.,
119, 228, 376; ii., 446; iii., 10,
88, 147, 270
Strassburger Goethevortrage (Ziegler
et al.), iii., 382
Straube, Frau, i., 47
Strauss, Richard, iii., 376
Strieker, i., 418
"Student" scene in the Urfaust,
iii., 25s; in the Fragment, 261,
275. 283, 286/.
Studien, quoted, i., 412
Studien zur Goethephilologie (Minor
and Sauer), i., 425
"Study," scenes in Faust, iii.,
. 318^.
Stuttgart, 1., 353; 11., 105, 183, 317,
320
Stiitzerbach, iii., 137
Style, Goethe's, i., 85^., 117/-, 143.
i47#-, 168, I74f-, i97f-. 237ff-.
244, 232, 334^., 341. 4117-; 11-.
29if-. 73^-. 100. i34#-, 197. 266,
3°4f-, 38o#., 402^.; 111., 76^.,
192^., 304^., 355/-. 383/-
Styria, ii., 94
Suez Canal, the, iii., 174
Suicide, Goethe's thoughts of, i.,
184, 187
Suleika, character in West-ostlicher
Divan, iii., 14, 19, 20, 21, 22,
23. 27. SI. 66. 375
Sulpiz Boisser6e, (Mathilde Bois-
serfe) i., 417, 438
Swabia, i., 9; ii., 190, 195, 317
Sweden, ii., 421
Swift, i., IIS, 240
Switzerland, i., 3, 139, 143, 183,
212, 22Sf., 3isf., 329, 337,
343f-. 3SS/-. 4307-. 436; "•. 190.
3i4ff-, 32s. 340; iii-, 186, 197,
21S. 2S7
Symbolical, the, in Goethe's poetry,
iii-. 33. S6#-. 68/. ; distinction be-
tween, and the allegorical, 306/.
Unbei
423
Symbolism, Goethe's definition of,
iii., 131
■Symposium (Plato), i., 421
Syracuse, i., 399
Syria, iii., i
Systime de la Nature (Holbach), i.,
119
Syst^me Indusiriel (Saint-Simon) ,
iii., 192
Szymanowska, Mme., iii., 166
Tacitus, ii., 413
Tag- und Jahreshefte, in., 131; see
Atmalen
Talma, ii., 409
Tancred (Voltaire), ii., 321
Taormina, i., 400
Tamowitz, ii., 92, 93
Tartarus, ii., 17
Tasso, hero of the drama, ii., 35^.,
76, 441, 443
Tasso, i., 308, 364, 403, 407, 410;
ii., i., 6, 33-74, 80, 84, 85, 123,
134, 138, 191. 203, 272, 280,
381, 383. 44iff., 446; iii., 260
Tasso, the poet, i., 374, 438; ii.,
33f; 5° ...
Taunus Mountams, the, 1., 14, 143;
iii., IS
Tauris, ii., sff.
■"Tausend andem verstummt," etc.
(Schiller's Der griechische Genius) *
"-. 313
Teleology, Goethe's rejection of, iii.,
102
Tell, i., 431; ii.,318
Tempe, i., 147
Teplitz, ii., 415/-. 4i9/-i 43i. 43^;
iii., 28
Terence, i., 40; ii,, 321
Terni, i., 391
Terracina, i., 395
Teufelsaltar, the, i., 342
Teufelsbrucke, the, i., 227
Textor, J. W., i., 10, 20, 26, 38,
309, 422
Textor, Katharina Elisabeth, see
Katharina Elisabeth Goethe
Thames, the, iii., 174
The Hague, ii., 116
Theatre, the, Goethe's interest in,
i., 22, 39, 45. 2S7f-. 394; "•■
94f., 321, 349, 411, 417; 1"-.
iSif., 162
Theatre Franpais, u., 409^.
Theology, Goethe's study of, i.,
29/., 79; iii., 173; see religion
Therese, character ,in Wilhelm
Meister, ii., 250^., 263; iii., 224
Thibaut, iii., 10
Thiele, i., 68
Thirty Years' War, i., 106; ii., 113
Thoas, character in Iphigenie, ii., 6^
Thoas, character in Euripides, ii.,
3
Thonon, iii., 115
Thoranc, Count, i., 21^., 420
Thouret, architect, ii., 317
Thousand and one Nights, ii., 451
Through Nature to God (Piske), iii.,
310
Thun, i., 347
Thurmgia, 1., 11, 157, 273, 322,
361; ii., 184, 190, 204, 339, 341,
444. 445. 449; "1-. 29. 112, 271
Thusnelda (Luise von GOchhausen),
i., 264
Tiber, the, ii., 76
Tiberius, i., 439
Tieck, i., 239; ii., 202; iii., 144/., 146
Tiefurt, i., 258; iii., 179
Tilsit, ii., 425
Timur, character in West-ostlicher
Divan, iii., 3, 14
Tintoretto, ii., 87
Tischbein, i., 383, 387, 394, 395^.
Tischlied, iii., 376
Titian, i., 197, 376, 438; ii., 87
Trdgodie aus der Christenheit,ii.,4ii
Traits de V Association Domestique
et Agricole (Fourier), iii., 192
Transfiguration (Raphael), i., 386
Translucent media, Goethe's theory
of, iii., i2i#.
Trapp, i., 96/.
Trebra, i., 420
Treitschke, ii., 454
Trent, i., 369/.; iii., 5
Treptow, i., 52
Treves, i., 310; ii., 109, 113, 114
Trilogie der Leidenschaft, iii., 158,
161, 166, 381
Trippel, i., 388
"Trocknet nicht, trocknet nicht,"
see Wonne der Wehmut
Troost, i., 98f.
Trost in Tranen, iii., 376
Troy, ii., 12; iii., 268, 339, 341
Trziblitz, iii., 161
Tschingel Glacier, i., 348
Tubingen, ii., 317
Tunnels, Goethe's interest in, iii.,
174
Tiirck, iii., 57, 383
Tlirckheim, Bemhard von, i., 346;
ii., 27s, 301; iii., 25
Turkey, ii., 89, 424
Type, Goethe's hypothesis of an
anatomical and vegetative, iii.,
104/.
Typical, the, i., 412; ii., 136, 306/.;
iii., 33, zoof.
Typus, (juotation from, iii., 83
Tyrol, ii., 190
424
Inbei
"Uber alien Gipfeln ist Ruh,"
..iii., 66; quoted, 362; 376
Uber Anmut und Wiirde (Schiller),
..iii-. 132
Uber das Verhaltnis der bildenden
Kiinste zu der Natur (Schelling),
..ii., 180
Uber das Weltall, see Roman uber
.. das Weltall
Uber den Granit, quotation from, i.,
..340/.; 362; iii., 113
Uber die dsthetische Erziehung des
Menscken (Schiller), ii., 193
Uber die Lehre des Spinoza Qac-
.. obi), ii., 159
Uber die Sprache und Weisheit
.. der Indier (Fr. Schlegel), iii., 148
Uber Wahrheit und Wahrschein-
^Uchkeit der Kunstwerke, ii., 328
"tjbermensch," i., 4; ii., 137; iii.,
280/.
Uhland, iii., 52, 68, 79, 146
Ukraine, iii., 253
Ulm, iii., 383
"Und da duftet's wie vor alters"
(from Im Gegenwartigen Vergang-
nes), iii., 4
"Und es ist das ewig Eine" (from
Parabase), iii., 85
"Und frische Nahrung,neuesBlut,"
see Auf dem See
"Und so geschah's!" etc., see
Epilog zu Schillers "Ghcke"
"Und so lang du das nicht hast"
(from Selige Sehnsucht), ii., 165
"Und sogleich entspringt ein Le-
ben" (from Allleben), iii., 6
' ' UndumzuschafEen dasGeschaflEne ' '
(from Eins und Alles), iii., 106
Unger, ii., 217
Universality, Goethe's, i., 4, 79;
iii., 368
University of Erfurt, ii., 150
University of Giessen, i., ii, 152,
419
University of Halle, ii., 346
University of Heidelberg, i., 429;
ii., 3S4
University of Jena, i., 257, 314, 318,
321; ii., 76, ISO, i8s, igi, 317,
322, 335/-, 344i 340; hi., 13 7.
I4ir-, I49i i8i
University of Leipsic, i., 11, 4i#.,
419, 424
University of Leyden, i., 260
University of Strasburg, i., 88, 94,
9Sff., 360
University of Ttibingen, ii., 317
University of Wtirzburg, iii., 383
Unschuld, iii., 374
Unterhaltungen deutscher Ausge-
wanderten, ii., 128, 446
Unterseen, i., 348
Upper Palatinate, i., 32a
Upper Saxony, i., 312
Upper Silesia, ii., 92, 93 190,
Upper Weimar, i., 269
Ural, the, ii., 340
Uranie, see Fraulein von Roussillon
Urfaust, the, i., 245, 264^1., 85,
159; iii., 251, 25s, 258, 260/., 275,
283, 284, 286, 287, 288, 293,
296, 313, 320, 357, 381, 382, 383,
384
Umer Loch, the, i., 227, 268
Urner See, ii., 318
"Urpflanze," the, i., 398; ii., 178,
197, .448; iii., 92, 377/.
Ursel Blondine, character in Hans-
wursts Hochzeii, i., 252
Urseren Tal, i., 268, 353
"Urtier," Goethe's term, iii., 378
Usong (Haller), i., 311; iii., 253/.
Uz, i., 259
Val Moutier, the, i., 347
Valentin, Veit, i., 422; ii., 451; iii.,
383
Valentine, character in Faust, iii.,
261, 296/.
Valentinus, Basilius, i., 93
Valeri, Antonio, i., 439
Vall6e de Joux, the, i., 349
Valmy, ii., iii/., iS3
Vanessa, wife of Swift, i., 240
Vanitas! Vaniiatum vanitas, iii.,
SI. 376
Varnhagen von Ense, 1., 428; 11.,
108, 420; iii., 150
Velasquez, i., 197
Velletri, i., 395
Venezianische Epigramme, No. 7
quoted, ii., 81; quotation from
No. 4, 86; 88; No. 57 quoted,
147; No. 52 quoted, 148; quo-
tation from No. 50, 149; 204, 207
Venice, i., 373i^-, 382, 39i> 4o8,
437. 438; ii.', 82, 86f., 89, 91,
105, 217; iii., S. 20, 112
Venus of Medici, i., 407
Verdun, ii., 11 of., 113
Verhandlungen der Kaiserlich Leop.
Karol. Akad. d. Wiss., iii., go
Vermachtnis, quotation from, ii.,
166; iii., 62, 193
Verona, i., yjojf., 382, 387; ii., 88
Verrocchio, i., 438; ii., 87
Vers irr4guliers, i., 248; ii., 29, 440,
441; iii., 20
Versailles, ii., 102
Verschaffelt, i., 407
Versuch, die Metamorphose der
Pfianzen zu erklaren, ii., 85; iii.,
92ff., 95. 103, 104, 360
Ilnbei
425
Versuch einer Geschichte des Volks-
schauspiels vom Dr. Faust (Creiz-
enach), iii., 381
Versuch einer Witterungslekre, iii.,
Versuch uber den Roman (Blancken-
burg), ii., 260
Versuch uber die Gestalt der Tiere,
iii., 103
Vesuvius, i., 395, 396
Vevay, i., 349
Vicar of Wakefield (Goldsmith), i.,
IIS, 123. 124
Vicenza, i., 372/., 377, 408; ii.,
88
Victor, General, ii., 343
Viehoffi, i., 420
Vienna, i., 31, 272, 429; ii., 441;
Congress of, iii., 135; 174. 253
Vier Jahreszeiten, Herbst, No. 62
auoted, ii., 153
a Borghese, iii., 270; see Bor-
ghese gardens
ViUemain, iii., 175
Virchow, iii., 97/.
Virgil, i., 131, 259; ii., 34, 43, 44
Vischer, Fr., iii., 382
Vischer, Peter, ii., 327
Vistula, the, ii., 424
Viticulture, Goethe interested in,
iii., 182
Vitznau, i., 227, 228
Vogel, Dr., iii., 165, 364^., 384/.
Voigt, Minister von, ii., 149, 331,
332, 349. 414, 433; i"-. 137. 142,
149
Voigt, Councillor von, ii., 428
Volga, the, iii., 177
"Volk und Knecht und Uberwin-
der" (frora. Bitch SuUika), iii., 23
Volkmann, i., 438
Volks und andere Lieder (Secken-
dorflE), i., 434
Volksfreund (Ludwig Wieland), iii.,
137
Volkslieder (Herder), iii., S9. 62,
I4S. 374
Volksmarchen der Deutschen (Mu-
saus), i., 262
Volkstadt, ii., i8s
Vollkommene Emigrationsgeschichte
(GOcking), ii., 270/., 449
Vollmondnacht, quotation from, iii.,
71
Volpato, i., 439
Volpertshausen, i., 160
Voltaire, i., 9, 37, 119. 177". "•. 321.
411. 413 , . ,
Vom Berge, quoted, 1., 220
Von denfarbigen Schatten, iii., 119,
124
Von den goUlichen Dingen und
ihrer Offenbarung (Jacobi), iii.,
63
VonderEinsamkeit (Zimmermann),
i., 229
"Von der Gewalt, die alle Wesen
bindet" (from Die Geheimnisse) ,
ii., 165
Von deutscher Art und Kunst (Her-
der), i., 176
Von deutscher Baukunst, i., 105, 142 ;
ii., 450; iii., 2 53
"Vor dem GUicklichen her tritt
PhObus" (from Schiller's Das
GlOck), i., 167
Vorlander, Karl, ii., 447
Vorspiel zu Eroffnung des Weimar-
ischen Theaters, ii., 349; quota-
tion from, iii., 197
Vosges, the, i., 95; ii., 432
Voss, Abr., i., 418
Voss, Heinrich, i., 418; ii., 385,
444
Voss, J. H., ii., 202, 208, 282, 304,
308, 309; iii., 10, 79
Vulcanists, the, iii., 113^., 212, 338,
343
Vulpius, C. A., ii., 406, 444/.
Vulpius, Christiane, see Christiane
von, Goethe
Vulpius, Ernestine, ii., 445
Vulpius, Juliane Auguste, ii., 445
'Vulpius, Ulrike, iii., 159
Wackenroder, iii., 146
Wagner, character in Faust, iii.,
257-275. 280, 282, 284, 313, 314,
316. 33Sf-
Wagner, Heinrich Leopold, i., 122,
212, 291
Wagner, J. J., iii., 336, 383
Wagner, Richard, iii., 319, 376
Wahle, ii., 445
Wahlheim, in Werther,i., 155, 196
Wahnfried, iii., 376
Waldberg von Wien, i., 99
Waldeck, i., 283/.
Waldner, Henriettevon, i., 428
Waldner, Luise Adelaide von, i.,
266
WaXlensteins Lager (Schiller), ii.,
332
" Walpurgis Night," scene in Faust,
iii., 263, 296, 2g^ff.
" Walpurgis-Night's Dream," scene
in Faust, ii., 209; iii., 300, 342
Walzel, i., 431; iii., 379
Wanderers Sturmlied, i., 143; iii.,
40, 47, 61, 62; quotation from,
252; 376
Wandrers Nachtlied ("Der du von
dem Himmel bist"), quoted, i.
287^, and iii., 36; 4S/-...375. 376
426
llnbei
Wandrers Nachtlied ("Tiber alien
Gipfeln ist Ruh"), quoted, iii.,
362; 376
"War, Goethe at the scene of, 11.,
102-120
War Commission, i., 317, 319/., 324,
359
Warsaw, ii., 346, 424
Wartburg, the, iii., 4, 138^., 272
"Warum gabst du uns die tiefen
Blicke," quotations from, i., 300,
and ii., 3
" Warum stehen sie davof " (Goethes
Wohnhaus in Weimar), iii., 166
"Warum ziehst du mich unwider-
stehlich" (from An Belinden). i.,
219/.
"Was bedeutet die Bewegung"
(from Buch Sideika), iii., 21
"Was der Dichter diesem Bande"
{Dem Schauspieler Kruger), ii.,
28
Wasen, i., 227
Weber, Karl Maria von, iii., 375
Wechsellied zum Tame, iii., 375
Weckelsdorfer Felsenstadt, ii., 92
Wedel, von, i., 262, 269, 343^-.
351. 434, 43S
"Weg ist alles, was du liebtest"
(from Neue Liebe, neues Leben),
i., 218
Weidenhof, the, i., 11
Weimar, i., 69, 100, 119, 158, 214,
223, 232, 234, 23s, 251, 234-326,
329. 342> 348, 354, 353-367, 368,
373, 376, 377, 386, 388, 389, 391,
392, 408, 409, 410, 424, 42s, 429,
432, 433/-. 435. 437; ii-. 2. 3^.
32. 33. 35. 37. 73. 75. 77. 78, 79.
83, 85/., 88, 89, 93, 95, 99, 103,
losff., 114, 118, 120, 124, 128,
149. 150. 172, iSsff., 198^.,
202/., 20s, 212, 215, 274, 276, 278,
313. 314, 315. 317. 320, 321,
329, 33°ff-. 337, 339. 342#., 352.
354. 388. 4o8f., 413/., 417, 420,
423, 425. 426, 427, 4^ijf., 441/..
443. 445. 452, 453; i"-. 2, 4. 9.
13, 18, 28, 29, 40, 46, 63, 64, 90,
112, 116, 117, 127, 136^., 140/.,
144, 145. 151. 152. 162, 164,
i65#., 175. 176. 178^., 182, 183,
185, 187, 254, 258, 260, 265, 266,
271. 287, 332, 3S9, 36i#., 368,
379. 381, 384
Wetmar-Album (Diezmann), i., 434
Weimar Gymnasium, i., 262, 271/.
Weimars Album, i., 5
Weinhold, i., 435
Weinhold, Karl, zum 26. Okt., i8gj
(Schmidt), ii., 444
Weisbach, Werner, i., 439
Weislingen ,character in Gotz, i. , 1 3 3 ,
lyiff., 236, 432; iii., 256
Weismann, i., 422
Weisse, C. F., i., 77, 79; ii., 445;
iii., 46/.
Weissenfels, i., 424
Weissenstein, the, i., 387
" Weit und schOn ist die Welt " etc.
(from letter to Frau Herder, May
4. 1790). ii-. 89
Wekhrlin, W. L., ii., 423
Wekhrlin, Ludwig (BOhm), i., 433
Welling, Georg von, i., 93
Weltgeisterei, the, i., 281
Weltrich, ii., 447
Weltseele, ii., 324; iii., 52, 62
" Weltseele, komm, uns zu durch-
dringen " (from Eins und AUes),
ii., 164
Wengemalp, the, i., 348
"Wenn du, Suleika (from Buch
Suleika), iii., 20
"Wenn ich auf dem Markte geh',"
quotations from, iii., 155, 156
" Wenii ich, liebe Lili, dich nicht
liebte" (Vom Berge), L, 226
Wer ist der Verraterf (in Wilhelm
Meisters Wanderjahre), iii., 193,
201, 202/.
"Wer nie sein Brot mit TrSnen
ass," ii., 230; iii., 376
"Wer sich der Einsainkeit ergibt,"
iii-. 376
"Wer Wissenschaft und Kunst
besitzt" (from Zahme Xenien),
iii., 132
Werner, geologist, iii., 115
Werner, character in Wilhelm Meis-
ter, ii., 223, 227/., 236, 245, 249,
252/., 265
Werner, R. M., i., 429
Werner, Zacharias, ii., 350/., 390;
iii-, 145
Werner (Byron), iii., 265
Wernigerode, i., 338
Werther, hero of the novel, i., 28,
155. 160, 189^., 247, 2S3, 366,
430. 432; I1-. 72, 214, 226, 250,
297. 336. 412, 443; iii., 59, 62,
161, 197, 211, 276, 278; Werther
costume, i., 200, 223, 27^
Werther, or Werthers Leiden, see
Die Leiden des jungen Werther
Werthem, Chamberlain von, i.,
263, 264
Werthem auf Neunheiligen, Jean-
nette Luise von, i., 265, 435
Werthern-Beichlingen, Emilie von,
i., 264, 435
Werthes, i., 208, 212
WesselhOft, Betty, ii., 416
Westminster Review, The, iii., 192
Unbei
427
West-ostUcher Divan, quotations
from, ii., 387, 405^-. and iii., 4^.,
6, 14, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 27, 226;
3ff; 14, 29» 49. 58, 144, 146, 264,
367
Westphalia, i., 9; ii., 421
Wettstein, i., 164
Wetzlar, i., 11,31, 152, 153-168,183,
184, 185, 187, 189, 218, 29s, 310,
372, 40s. 428, 431; u., 114, 308;
lii., 253, 255, 270
Weyland, i., 98, 100, 124, 126
"Wie des Goldschmieds Bazarlad-
chen" (from Bttch Suleika), ii.,
405
■"Wie herrlich leuchtet mir die
Natur," see Mailied
"Wie zum Empfang sie an den
Pforten weilte " (from Marienbad
Elegie), iii., 158
Wiederfinden, iii., 62
Wiegenlieder (Bertuch), i., 262
Wieland, i., 1,49, 77/., 79, 116, 144,
146, 176, 178, 179, 204, 208, 211,
214/-, 237, 256, 257, 258/., 260,
265, 267, 273, 275^., 280, 296,
3". 312. 36s. 420, 435; ii., 8s,
112, 150, 172, 205, 208, 259. 264,
272, 329. 344. 4i3i 414. 442, 451;
iii., 228, 250, 254, 258
"Wieland, Ludwig, iii., 137
Wieliczka, ii., 92, 105
Wien, Waldberg von, i., 09
Wiesbaden, ii., 119; iii., 4^., 15, 17,
28
Wilhelm, character in Die Geschwis-
ter, ii., 2, 213
Wilhelm, character in Werther, i.,
191
Wilhelm Meister, hero of the novel,
i., 141, 153, 410; ii., 214-268,
362, 393, 394. 448/.; iii., 78, 190-
246
Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre, i., 22,
39, 78, 116, 176/., 26s, 360, 363,
364, 410, 418, 436; ii., 72, 128,
211-268, 269, 272, 274, 281, 313,
450; iii., 12, 63, 64, 66/., 143/.,
189/., 19s, 196, 198, 201, 211,
212, 213, 220, 230, 239, 261
Wilhelnt Meisters Wanderjahre, i.,
125, 342; ii., 128, 180, 241, 259,
313. 333. 348, 353/-; i"-. 22, 78,
168, 171, 188, 189-246, 256, 264,
330. 348, 378, 380/., 383
Wilhelm Tell (Schiller), ii., 193
WilhelmshOhe Castle, i., 387
Wilhelmstal, ii., 451
Will, freedom of, ii., 159/.
Willemer, Jacob von, iii., iiff., 373
Willemer, Marianne von (n^e Jung),
i., 3; iii., Iiff., 63/., 161, 182, 373
WiUkommen und Abschied, i., 118'
I27ff.; iii., 39, 44, 47
'Willst du dich am ganzen er-
quicken " (from Gott, Gemut und
Welt), iii., 102
Winckelmann, i., 17, 70, 76, 79,
107, no, 261, 376, 384, 394; ii.,
32s, 327; iii., 228, 220/.
Winckelmann und sein Jahrhundert,
ii., 417, 452; iii., 9, 148
Winckler, i., 50
Winkel, iii., 7, 8
Winkler, i., 71
Winter, i., 429
Winterkasten, the, i., 387
"Wisset nur, dass Dichterworte "
(from Hegire), iii., 80
" Witches' Kitchen," scene in Faust,
iii., 260, 261, 27s, 282, 283, 287/.,
299
Witkowski, iii., 299
Wittelsbach line, i., 322
Wittenberg, iii., 271
Woldemar (Jacobi), i., 417
Wolf, Wilhelmine, ii., 338
Wolf, F. A., ii., 330, 338, 451; iii.,
228
Wolf, Goethe's nickname, i., 161,
418; ii., 407
Wolf, actor, iii., 153
► Wolf, Frau, actress, iii., 153
Wolf, composer, iii., 376
WOlfchen, Goethe's nickname, iii.,
167, 361
Wolfenbflttel, ii., 27
WolfiE, orchestra director, i., 263
WolfiE, Frau, i., 266
Wolff, K. F., iii., 94
Wolfgang, character in German-
Latin colloquy, i., 32
Wolkengestalt nach Howard, iii.,
116
Wolllieim, iii., 384
WoUwart, Frau von, i., 266
Wolzogen, Karoline, ii., 203
Wonne der Wehmut, iii., 45, 48/.,
375. 376
Wood-engraving, Goethe's study
of, i., 69
World-woe, i., 190, 198, 201
Worms, i., 96; ii., 114
Wort und Bedeutung in Goethes
Sprache (Boucke), iii., 46
Wrede, Councillor, i., 234
Wfirtemberg, i., 52, 353; ii., 34; iii.,
361
Wiirzburg, iii., 26, 27, 29, 383
Wustmann, i., 423
Xenien, ii., 203^., 217, 262, 309,
334. 448; iii., 144. 30°. 306
428
In^ci
Young, poet, i., 259
Young, scientist, iii., 119
Zabern, i., 100
Zaberner Steige, i., 100
Zacharia, the poet, i., 42
Zacharia, brother of the poet, i., 53
Zahme Xenien, quotations from,
ii., 158, and iii., 85/., 132, 151
Zelter, i., 188; ii., 32, 162, 330;.,
337. 35°. 420, 426, 453; 111.,
6, 19, 28, 142, 166, 187, 362,
366. 374/-. 380. 381
Zermatt, 1., 353 ,. . ^ , . „
"Zeugest mir, dass ich gehebt bin
(from Dem aufgehenden VoU-
monde), iii., 183
Zeus, ii., 391; iii., 227
Zichy, von, iii., 140/.
Ziegenberg Castle, ii., 451
Ziegesar, Silvie von, ii., 387
Ziegler, Th., ii., 447! "i- 382
Ziegler, FrSulein von, i., 14S. ^46,
241
Ziller, the, i., 369
Zimmermann, i., 229, 279, 417; ii.,
3°9
Zellner, 111., 376
ZoUverein, the, iii., 16
Zoology, Goethe's study of, i., 396;
ii., 323; iii., 93, 98, 378
"Zu den Kleinen zahl ich mich"
,,* (cf. Creizenach, Briefwechsel zwi-
schen Goethe und Marianne von
Willemer, 2d ed., p. 38), iii., 14
Zu Strassburgs Sturm- und Drang-
periode (Froitzheim), i., 426
Zucchi, i., 388, 407
Zueignung ("Da sind sie nun!"),
i-> 425
Zueignung ("Der Morgen kam"),
i., 307; quotation from, iii., 34
Zueignung (Faust), quotation from,
ii., 278/.; 314; iii., 262
Zug, i., 228; ii., 318
Ziillichau, ii., 387
Zum Shakespeares Tag, i., 116, 142;
ii-. 1 59
Zumsteeg, 11., 317
Zur Buhnengeschickte des Gotz (Win-
ter and Kilian), i., 429
ZurFarbenlehre, ii., 100, 166, 323/.,
3S3. 415. 4S2, 4S3; iii-. "8-128;
see colour, theory of
Zur Leichenfeier des dritten Septem-
bers 1823, quotation from, iii.,
366
Zur MorphoJcgie, iii., 86, 94, 104,
112, 129, 134, 377
Zur Naturwissenschaft, iii., 90,376/.
Zur vergleichenden Physiologie des
Gesichtsinnes (Mliller), iii., 128
Zurich, i., 151, 204, 225, 228, 353,
408, 432; ii., 273, 276, 317, 320;
iii., 257
Zweibriicken, i., 100
Zweiliitschinen, i., 348
"Zwinger," scene in Faust, iii., 273,
„ 2.93
Zwingli, 111., 379
Zwischen beiden Welten, quoted, iii.,
184
"Zwischen Weizen und Kom"
(MaUied), iii., 376
ERRATA
Read as follows:
Vol. I., p. 3, 1. 25, Die erste Walpwrgisnacht.
p. 76, 1. 17, Hamburgische Dramaturgie.
' p. 76, 1. 29, The Literaturbriefe.
p. 95, 1. 4, Lorraine.
p. 100, 1. I, Lorraine.
p. 118, 1. 3, Mailied and Heidenroslein.
P- 133. 1- 33. Weislingen.
p. 157, 1. 10^., Wilhelm Jerusalem (born in 1747), son of
the famous Brunswick abbot, and a
friend of Lessing, Eschenburg, and
the crown prince of Brunswick, etc.
p. 204, 1. 32, Brief des Pastors etc.
p. 210, 1. 10/., Es war ein Bute frech genung.
p. 211, 1. 20, ode An Schwager Kronos.
p. 226, 1. 19, SSonne.
p. 232, 1. 7, Weimar.
p. 248, 1. 34, irriguliers.
p. 249, 11. 6, 9, Satyros.
p. 252, 1. 12, Satyros.
p. 258, 1. 10, ®tter«bur98.
p. 258, 1. 35, Ettersburg.
p. 269, 1. II, 1781.
p. 297, 1. 28, SKKonbe tti.
p. 318, 1. 23, Ettersburg.
p. 406, 1. 12, Elegien.
p. 418, 1. I, Im neuen Reich.
p. 424, 1. II, Ettersburg.
p. 430, 1. 26, Frauenbilder etc.
p. 433, 1. 46, Knebels literarischer Nachlass.
p. 434, 1. 26, do.
Vol.11., p. 31, 1. 30, drama, Egmont.
p. 103, 1. 19, reinercn ^itlfcn.
p. 157, 1. 17, constant.
p. 188, 1. 19, Schiller's.
p. 290, 1. 31, ftcft.
p. 426, 1. 12, Weimar.
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