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GIFT OF 

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http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924026384945 



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. 



XLhc%itc of (3octhc 

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