Geothe's correspondence with a child

Boston University

College of Liberal Arts
Library

GOETHE'S

CORRESPONDENCE

WITH A CHILI).

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BOSTON:
T I C K N O R AND F I E L D S

M DCCC T.IX.

BOSTON UNIVERSITY

COLLEGE OF LIBERAl'aRTS

LIBRARY

University Press, Cambridge :
Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.

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9 NOTE.

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X- Bettixa VON" Arnim died at Berlin on tlie 20tli of January,
(r 1859, in the seventy-third year of her age. She was born at
Frankfort-on-the-Main in 1785, and was the sister of Clemens
Brentano, a brilliant dramatist and novelist, whose plays still '
keep possession of the German stage. Educated in jDecuhar
freedom from the restraints which ordinarily invest female life,
she was early distinguished for her eccentricities of sentunent
and conduct, as well as for her sparkling displays of intellect.
Goethe became her idol, and the nature of the worship was dis-
closed in a book which she published in 1835, under the title of
Goethe's Briefwechsel mit einem Kinde, — " Goethe's Correspond-
ence with a Child," — which is a most extraordinary exhibition
of sentiment, not unmingled with poetic and profound thought.
Goethe was about sixty years old, and condescended to the lav-
ish affection of the young girl, encouraging her idolatry rather,
and patronizing her sallies of wit and fancy. Two thirds of the
book were her own. This work she herself translated into Eng-
lish.

Five years later, she published another book, called Die GUn-
derode^ consisting of correspondence between herself and a cer-
tain Friiulein Giinderode, a canoness, who so far retained the
passions of the world as to commit suicide on account of an
unhappy attachment to Creuzer, the philological writer. It was
partly translated by our countrywoman, Margaret Fuller.

Bettina was early married to Ludwig Acliim von Arnim, a
distinguished writer also, and one of the leaders of that school of
German literature which took the name of the Romantic. This

-^ was a school which began silently to protest against the sceptical,
or rather merely intellectual, tendencies of the modern German
mind ; and it sought, by steeping literature in the hearty, noble,
and many-colored legends of the Middle Ages, to give to it more

^ of freshness, depth, freedom, and color. The severe forms of the

■^- classic purisms of style it abandoned for a more racy, richer, and

■'>

iv NOTE.

freer turn of expression. Tieck, Fouque, Schwab, Uhland, and
the two Schlegels were its leading representatives, and gave to
it, for a time, considerable vogue. If it had no other eifect, it
revealed to the Germans themselves the inexhaustible mines of
poetic material to be found in then* own mediaeval history, and in
the popular and fairy tales of the common people. Yon Arnim
was one of the authors of Des Knciben WunderJiorn, which we
beHeve has been translated into English.

For a long while the house of Bettina, at Berlin, was the great
attraction of that literary metropolis ; but after the death of her
husband, in 1831, she lived in comparative retirement.

DEDICATED

TO THE PEINCE PUCKLEE.

Had they of thy many errors

Always much to say ;

Had indeed to forge their saying -^

Trouble in every way ;

Would they have the good of thine

Gently liked to say,

With a conscious faithful hint,

As 'twere better, nay, —

Then trust me, should be the best

No concealed ray.

Which, indeed, not many a guest

Grants a cheering day.

(Westeastern Divan, Book of Contemplation.)

It is no gift of chance or of wliim that is brought here to you.
By well-reflected reasons, and with joyful heart, I bid you to the
best I am able to offer, as a token of my thanks for the confi-
dence you trust me with.

All are not fit to sound truth, but only its appearance ; to trace
the secret ways of a profound nature, to solve the problems in it,
is denied to them ; they only may utter their delusions, which
jDroduce stubborn prejudices against better conviction, and robs
the mind of its authority to acknowledge what is deviating from
the common ; it was in such confusions that my views of you
were also entangled, while, moved by your own feelings, you
declined every derogating judgment of me, kindly trusting you
loould enrich heart and mind hy me; how made this blush me.
The simpleness of your views ; of your self-contemplating, self-
forming nature ; your subtile perception of others' disposition of
mind ; your prompt organ of speech ; in a melodious style sym-
bolically displaying, in various ways, inward contemplation and
exterior objects, this natural art of your mind ! — all this has
cleared my ideas of you, and made me acquainted with that
higher spirit in you, which ideally parodies so many of your
utterances.

You once wrote me : " He who sees my parJc, sees into my
heart" It was last year, in the midst of September, that I en-

vi TO THE PEINCE PUCKLER.

tered your park, early in tlie morning ; the sun was spreading his
beams ; it was a great silence in all Nature ; clear paths led me
between fresh green plots, on which the flower-bushes seemed
still asleep ; busy hands soon came to cherish them ; the leaves,
shaken down by the morning breeze, were gathered, and the
confused branches unwreathed ; I went further on different days,
at different hours ; in every dh'ection, as far as I came, I found
the same carefulness and peaceful grace, which was spread all
around. Thus does the loving develop and cherish sense and
beauty of the beloved, as you here cherish an inheritance of
Nature you were trusted with. I '11 fain believe this to be the
mirror of your most profound heart, as it implies so many a
beauty. I '11 fain believe, that the simple trust in you will be no
less cherished and protected, than each single jilant of your park.
There I have read to you from the Diary and my letters to
Goethe, and you liked to listen ; now I give them up to you ;
protect these pages like your plants, and so again leave un-
minded the prejudice of those, who, before they are accjuainted
with the book, condemn it as not genuine, and thus deceive
themselves of truth.

Let us remain well minded to one another. What faults and
errors may be imputed to us by others, who don't see us in the
same light, we will not give up a confidence in a higher idealism,
which so far overreaches all accidental offences and misunder-
standings, and all assumed and customary virtue. We will not
disown the manifold noble causes, intimations, and interests of
being understood and beloved ; if others do not comprehend it,
let it remain a problem to them.

Bettina Arnim.

August, 1834.

PREFACE.

This Book is for the Good, and not for the Bad.

Whilst I was preparing these papers for the press, I was in
different ways advised to omit much, or at least to give my ex-
pressions another turn, to remove all possible chance of their
being misunderstood. But I soon perceived, that we follow good
counsel only then when it is not contrary to the tendency of our
own inclinations. Among many advisers there was but one
whose counsel satisfied me ; he said : " This book is for the Good,
and not for the Bad, who alone can misinterpret it ; let every-
thing remain as it is : that gives the book its true value ; and to
you one can only be thankful, that you have confidence enough
to believe that what the good cannot misunderstand will also not
be misinterpreted." This advice inspired me ; it was the sugges-
tion of Mr. Klein, agent of the house of Trowitzsch and Son ;
the same who provided for type and paper, corrected the orthog-
raphy, set commas and points, and, by my little understanding in
these matters, evinced much patience. This opinion of his, thus
expressed, confirmed me therein, not to yield to ill-boding proph-
ets, or the timorous conscience of my other counsellors. What-
ever may be the consequence of this advice, I rejoice in it, because
it will undoubtedly be acknowledged as the most noble, by the
good : who will never allow, that the truth of a happy conscience
should turn and fly before the interpretations of the bad.

To the Chancellor Miiller, in Weimar, my thanks are also due,
for having troubled himself at my request, in spite of his manifold
business, to discover my letters among the vast mass which Goethe
had left. It is now eighteen months since I recovered them. At
that time he wrote to me : " Thus returns this untouched treas-
ure of love and constancy to the rich source from whence it
sprung ! But one thing I would beg of your friendship, as a
reward for my exact execution of your wish and will, and for
my self-restraint, — give me any pages of this, without doul)t,

viii PREFACE.

life-warm Correspondence ; I will religiously preserve it, neither
show it, nor let it be copied, but sometimes in stillness, delight,
edify, or afflict myself, according as the contents may be ; I shall
always possess in it a doubly dear memorial, as if it were a drop
of your heart's blood, which had flowed as a tribute to the great-
est and best of men." I have not satisfied this request ; for I
was too jealous of these pages, in which Goethe had taken so
extraordinary an interest ; they are almost all corrected by his
hand, both the orthography and here and there the construction ;
much is underlined with red ink, much with pencil, here paren-
thesis, there erasures. As I once saw him, after a long interval,
he opened a drawer in which my letters lay, and said : " I read
every day in them." These words raised in me at that time a
shght emotion ; and when I again read my letters, with these
traces of his hand, I felt the same emotion again, and I could not
easily have parted from even the most trifling pages. Therefore
I have passed over in silence the request of Chancellor Miiller,
but have not ungratefullv forgotten it ; mav the use I have made
of it prove to him both my thanks and my justification.

CORRESPONDENCE

WITH

GOETHE'S MOTHER.

COEEESPONDENCE.

March 1st, 1807.
Dearest Frau Rath *

I HAVE already waited long for some particular opportu-
nity of entering upon our correspondence. Since I sailed
forth from your Abraliam's-bosom, the haven of silent ex-
pectation, the storm-wind has never ceased to blow, and my
nay-yea sort of Ufe has, like a slow fever, robbed me of the
beautiful season. How I regret the pleasant prospect which
I enjoyed on the footstool at your feet ! not the top of St.
Catharine's tower, nor the forge of the sooty Cyclops, who
guard the " Golden Fountain " ; f no, I mean the view of
your speaking, fiery glance, which expresses what the lips
cannot utter. True, I am here in the very emporium of
adventure, but the splendid net with which your motherly
inspiration has encompassed me makes me indifferent to all.
Next door to me lives the adjutant of the king ; he has red
hair and large blue eyes ; I know one who considers him
irresistible, and that one is himself. The other night, he
waked me with his flute out of a dream, in which for my
life I had fain continued ; the next day I thanked him for
having so piously played the evening hymn to me ; he be-
lieved I was in earnest, and said I was a devotee ; since
that, all the Frenchmen call me so, and Avonder that I am
not vexed at it, — yet I like the Frenchmen very well.

Yesterday I met with an adventure. Coming from a
walk, I found Rothschild before the door with a beautiful
gray horse ; he said it was like a lamb, and whether I would

* The title by Avhich Goethe's mother was named in all Germany,
t The name of Goethe's house.

12 GOETHE'S COREESPONDEXCE

try it ? I did not wait for entreaty ; scarcely had I mount-
ed, when this lamb took the bit between his teeth and set off
with me, at full gallop, up the AVllhelmshoher alley, and
came back in the same manner. All came up to me deadly
pale ; the lamb stopped short and I jumped off ; and now
they all said how frightened they had been. I asked,
" What then was the matter ? " " Why, the nag ran away
Avitli you ! " " Indeed ! " said I. Rothschild wiped the
sweat from the horse with his silk handkerchief, laid his
coat over its back, that it might not take cold, and led it
home in his shirt-sleeves ; he was afraid he should never
have seen it again. When I went into company in the
evening, the Frenchmen no more called me a devotee, but
all cried unanimously, ''Ah Vliero'ine ! ''^

From out my world of dreams I say to you " Farewell ! "
for something of its power has also been spread over me.
A very handsome — yes, I must be blind if I did not see
it — well ! an elegant, slender, brown Frenchman, observes
me from afar, Avith piercing looks ; he approaches modestly,
he preserves the flowers which fall from my hands, he speaks
to me of my loveliness ; — Frau Rath, how does this please
one ? It is true I am cold and incredulous to liim, but nev-
ertheless, when any one near me says " le roi vient^'' I am a
little startled, for that is the name of mv amiable adorer. I
wish you good night ; write to me soon again.

Bettine.

Goethe's mother to bettixe.

March 14th, 1807.

I HAVE had my pen new pointed, and have filled my
dried-up inkstand to the very top, and since to-day is such
horrible weather that one would not turn a dog out of doors,
thou shalt immediately receive an answer. Dear Bettine !
I miss thee much in the sad time of winter ; how jo}'fully
thou camest springing to me last year! when it snowed in
every direction, then I knew it was just the right weather
for thee ; I had not to wait long before thou camest. Even
now, from old habit, I always peep at the corner of the
Catharine Gate, but thou comest not; and the very cer-
tainty of it grieves me. I have visitors enough, but they

WITH A CHILD. 13

are only sucli visiting people with whom I can chat about
nothing.

I also like the French : it 's always quite another sort of
life when the French, quartered here, receive their rations
of bread and meat, from that when the Prussian or Hessian
blocks are in garrison.

I did indeed enjoy the sight of Napoleon ; he it is who
has wrapped the whole world in an enchanted dream, and
for this mankind should be grateful ; for if they did not
dream, they would have got nothing by it, and have slept
like clods, as they have hitherto done.

Amuse thyself and be merry, for he who laughs can
commit no deadly sin.

Thy friend,

Elizabeth Goethe.

Thou makest no inquiries after Wolfgang, — I always
said to thee, wait only till another come, and thou wilt soon
cease to sigh for him.

March 20th, 1807.
Frau Rath,

Get away with your reproaches ! so much I say in an-
swer to your postscript, and no more. — Now guess what
the tailor is making for me. An Adrian ? No ! — A Padua-
soy ? No ! — A Boddire ? No ! — A Mantilla ? No ! —
A pair of poches ? No ! — A hoop-petticoat ? No ! — A
training-gown ? No ! — A pair of trousers ? Yes ! — Hur-
rah ! (Other times are now coming) — and a waistcoat and
coat too. To-morrow everything will be tried on ; it must
set well, for I have ordered all to be made full and easy ;
and then I throw myself into a chaise, and, courier-like,
travel day and night through the entire armies, between
friend and foe ; all the fortresses unbar at my approach, and
thus on to Berlin, where certain business will be transacted.
in which I have no concern. But then back a2;ain in all
haste, and no halt till Weimar. O Frau Rath ! how then
will all there look ? — my heart beats violently, although I
must travel till the end of April, before I can come there.
Will my heart have courage enough to resign itself to him ?
I feel as if he stood just before the door ! all the veins in my

14 GOETHE'S COREESPONDENCE

head beat ; ah ! if I were only with you ! that alone could
quiet me, to see you also beside yourself with joy ; or if one
would give me a sleeping potion, that I might sleep till I
awoke in his presence ! What shall I say to him ? ah ! he
is not haughty, is he? — I will relate to him everything
about you, and that I know he Avill like to hear. Adieu !
farewell, and wish me in your heart a happy journey. I am
quite giddy.

Bettine.

But I must tell you how all this has come about. My
brother-in-law came to me, and said if I could persuade his
wife to make a long journey of business Avith him, in male
costume, he would take me with him, and on his return, to
oblige me, would pass through Weimar. Only think ! Wei-
mar always appeared to me as far away as if it were in
another quarter of the world, and now it lies before the
door !

May 5th, 1807.

Dear Frau Rath,
A BOX containing a cup will be forwarded to you by the
mail ; it is the most ardent longing to see you again, which
induces me to send you so worthless a mark of my respect.
Do me the pleasure to drink your tea out of it every morn-
ing, and therewith to think on me. " A rogue gives more
than he has." At last I have seen WolfsanGf ; but alas !
what matters it? My heart is swelled like the full sail of
a ship, which, anchored on a foreign shore, would still so
gladly steer for home* Adieu, my dear good mother ; do
not forget me.

Bettine Brentano.

goethe's mother to bettine.

May 11th, 1807.

Why dost thou droop thy wings ? After so delightful a
journey, to write so short a letter, and tell me nothing of my
son but that thou hast seen him ; and that I know already,
for he wrote to me yesterday. What have I to do with thy

WITH A CHILD. 15

anchored bark ? It tells me exactly nothing, — write of
something which has happened. Consider I have not seen
him for eight years, and may never see him again. If thou
wilt relate nothing of him to me, who shall ? Have n't I
heard thy silly stories a hundred times, which, indeed, I
know by heart ? and now, when thou hast really seen and
heard something new, something more than common, —
when thou knowest thou couldst give me the greatest pleas-
ure, — thou tellest me — nothing ! Is anything the matter
with thee, then ? there is no ocean betwixt thee and Wei-
mar ; thou now knowest well one can be there, ere the sun
has twice risen. Art thou sorrowful ? Dear, dear child,
my son shall be thy friend, — thy brother, who surely loves
thee ; and for the future, thou shalt call me mother, all the
remaining days my old age grants me, — it is the only name
which can give me joy.

Thy true friend,

Elizabeth Goethe.
Thanks for the cup.

TO Goethe's mother.

May 16th, 1807.

Yesterday I wrote to your son ; do you answer for it
to him. I would, willingly too, write you everything, but I
have now so much to think upon, it is almost impossible to
tear myself away. I am ever with him in mind, how shall
I then relate what has heen. Have indulgence and patience.
I will come next week to Frankfort, and then you can ask
me everything.

Your child,

Bettine.

I lay some time in bed, and now I get up to write to you
all about our journey. I told you already, that we passed
through the armies in male dresses. Just before the gate,
my brother-in-law made us get out ; — he wanted to see
how our clothes set. LuUu looked very well, for she is
splendidly formed, and the clothes were admirably made ;
as for me, all was too loose and too lono;, as if I had bought
them at Rag-Fair. My brother-in-law laughed at me. and

16 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

said I looked like a Savoyard. The postilion had driven us
off the road through a wood, and, coming to a cross-way,
was quite at a loss. Although only the commencement of
our four weeks' journey, I was anxious lest we should miss
our way and thus come too late to Weimar. I clambered
up the highest fir and soon saw where the main road lay.
I made the wliole journey upon the box ; I had a fox-skm
cap, the brush hanging down behind. When we arrived at
a stage, I unharnessed the horses, and helped to put the
fresh ones to. I spoke broken German with the postilions,
as if I had been a Frenchman. At first it was beautiful
weather, as if spring were commencing, but soon became
complete winter. AYe passed through a Avood of gigantic
pines and firs ; all was hoary, spotless, — not a soul had
been before us, — it was perfectly white. Besides, the moon
shone on this desolate paradise of silver, — a deathlike still-
ness ! only the wheels creaking from the frost. I sat on the
box, but was not at all cold : winter's frost strikes sparks out
of me ! — As midnight approached, we heard a whistling in
the Avood ; my brother-in-law reached me a jDistol out of the
carriage, and asked M'hether I had courage to fire, if robbers
came ? I said, " Yes." " Only," said he, " don't fire too
soon." Lulu was in great trouble, inside the carriage, but
I, in the open air, with "pistol cocked, and sabre girt," num-
berless sparkling stars above, and glittering trees around,
which threw their giant shadows across the moonlit way, —
all this made me bold, on my exalted seat. Then I thought
on Aim, — whether, if he had met me thus in his young
days, it would not have made a poetical impression upon
him, so that he would have written sonnets upon me, and
never have forgotten me ? He may now think otherwise, —
he will be elevated above a magical impression : higher
qualities — how shall I attain them ? — will maintain a right
over him, — if constancy, eternal, fixed on his threshold, do
not at last make him mine. Thus was I disposed in that
clear, cold winter night, during which I found no opportu-
nity of firing off my piece, — when the day broke I first
received permission. Tlie carriage stopj^ed, — I ran into
the wood, and enthusiastically fired into the dense wilder-
ness, in honor of your son. In the mean time the axletree
was broken. We felled a tree with the hatchet which we
had with us, and bound it fast with ropes ; my brother then

WITH A CHILD. 17

found that I was veiy handy, and praised me. Thus we
proceeded to Magdeburg. At seven o'clock, precisely, the
fortress is shut ; we came a minute or two later, and were
obliixcd to wait till seven the next mornino;! It was not
very cold, and the two in the carriage fell asleep. In the
night it began to snow. I threw my cloak over my head,
and remained quietly sitting on my exposed seat. In the
morning they peeped out of the chaise, and there I was,
changed into a snow-hermit ! but before they had time to be
thoroughly frightened, I threw off my cloak, under cover of
which I had sat quite warm. In Berlin I was as one blind,
among many men ; I was also absent in mind ; I could take
part in nothing ; I longed always for darkness, that, undis-
turbed, I might think on the future, which now approached
so near. Ah ! how often did the alarum beat ! — Suddenly,
unawares, in the midst of tranquil stillness, — how, I know
not, — a sweet terror seized me. O mother! mother! think
on your son ! If you knew that in a short time you should
behold him, you would be as a conductor, in which every
thunder-cloud strikes. As we came within a few miles of
Weimar, my brother remarked, he did not wish to go so far
out of the way as through Weimar, and would take another
road, I was silent, but Lullu would n't hear of it ; she
said, " It had been once promised me, and he must keep his
word." Ah, mother ! the sword hung over my head, sus-
pended by a single hair, but fortune favored me.

We arrived in Weimar at twelve o'clock, and sat down
to dinner, but I could not eat. The two laid themselves on
the sofa and slept ; we had been up three nights. " I ad-
vise you," said my brother, " to take some rest also. Goethe
won't much care whether you come or not, and besides,
there is nothing so extraordinary to see in him." Can you
believe this robbed me of all courage ? Alas ! I did n't know
what to do : I was quite alone in a strange town. I had
changed my dress and stood at the window, looking at the
tower-clock ! just then it struck half past two. I felt as if
Goethe would not indeed care to see me, — I remembered
that people called him proud. I pressed my heart hard to
prevent its longings : — all at once it struck three, and it was
exactly as if he had called me. I ran down stairs to the
servants, there was no carriage to be had ; would I take a
sedan-chair ? " No," said I, " it is an equipage for a lazar-

2

18 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

liouse." I went on foot. The streets were a perfect choco-
late-pool ; I was obliged to be carried over the deepest
morasses, and in this manner I came to Wieland's, not to
your son's. I had never seen Wieland, but I pretended to
be an old acquaintance. He tried every way to recall me
to his mind, and then said, " Yes, you are certainly a dear
and well-known angel, but I cannot remember when and
where I have seen }'ou." I laughed at him, and said, " Xow
I know that you dream about me, for elsewhere you cannot
possibly have seen me." He gave me a note to your son, —
I took it afterwards with me, and have preserved it as a me-
morial. I send you a coj^y : —

" Bettine Brentano, Sophia's sister, Maximilian's daughter,
Sophia la Eoche's granddaughter, wishes, dear brother, to
see you ; says she fears you, and that this little note will be
a talisman of courage to her. Although I am tolerably cer-
tain she makes game of me, yet I must do what she asks,
and shall Avonder much if you are not compelled to do the
same.

" April 23d, 1807." "^•

With this billet I went forth. The house lies opposite
the fountain : how deafening did the water sound to me !
I ascended the simple staircase : m the wall stand statues
which command silence : at least, I could not be loud in this
sacred hall. All is friendly but solemn. In the rooms, sim-
plicity is at home. Ahj how inviting ! " Fear not," said
the modest walls, " he will come and will be, — and more,
he Avill not wish to be, as thou art," — and then the door
opened, and there he stood, solemnly grave, and looked with
fixed eyes upon me. I stretched my hands towards him, —
I believe. I soon lost all consciousness. — Goethe caug-ht
me quickly to his heart. " Poor child, have I frightened
you ? " These were the first words with which his voice
penetrated to my heart ; he led me into his room, and placed
me on the sofli opposite to him. There we were, both mute ;
at last he broke the silence : " You have doubtless read in
the papers, that we suffered, a few days ago, a great loss,
by the death of the Duchess Amalia ? " " Ah," said I, « I
don't read the papers." — " Indeed ? I had believed that
everything whicii happens in Weimar would have interested
you." " No, nothing interests me but you alone ; and I am

WITH A CHILD. 19

far too impatient to pore over newspapers." — " You are a
kind child." — A long pause, — I, fixed to that tiresome
sofa in such anxiety. You know how impossible it is for
me to sit still, in such a well-bred manner. Ah, mother, is
it possible so far to forget one's self? I suddenly said,
" Can't stay here upon the sofa," and sprang up. " Well,"
said he, "make yourself at home." Then I flew to his
neck, — he drew me on his knee, and locked me to his
heart. Still, quite still it was, — everything vanished. I
had not slept for so long, — years had passed in sighing
after him. I fell asleep on his breast ; and when I awoke
I began a new life. More I shall not write to you this time.

Bettine.

September, 1807.
FnAu Rath,
As often as I meet with anything comical, I think of you ;
and what fun and what tales there would have been, if you
yourself had seen or heard it. Here, in the vine-covered
Mildeberg, I sit with my friend, Mr. Schwab, who was for-
merly secretary to my father, and who has fed us children
with his stories. He can tell a story, at least as well as
you ; but he swaggers and makes use of Jews and Pagans,
the discovered and undiscovered world, in decorating of his
adventures. You, however, stick to the truth ; but with
such joyful notes of exclamation, that one wonders what is
coming. The squirrel which you gave me, I set free in the
great oak-forest ; and it was high time. During its five
miles' ride in the carriage, it perpetrated considerable mis-
chief; and at the inn, during the night, ate up the Burgo-
master's slippers. I don't know how you managed, that it
did not throw down all your glasses, gnaw all your furni-
ture, and dirty all your caps and turbans. He bit me ; but
in remembrance of the proud, handsome Frenchman, who
brought him on his helmet all the way from South France
to your house in Frankfort, I forgave him. I set him on
the ground, in the Avood : as I went away, he sprung again
on my shoulder, and would not take advantage of his lib-
erty, and I would fain have taken him with me again,
because he loved me better than the beautiful green oaks.
But as I got into the carriage, the others made such an out-

20 GOETHE'S COEEESPOXDEXCE

cry, and so abused our dear i^arlor companion, that I was
obliged to carry him back to the ^vpod. I made them wait
long enough for it : I sought out the finest oak m the whole
wood, and clambered up. At the top I let him out of his
bag ; he sprang gayly from branch to branch, then busied
hunself with the acorns, during which I descended. On
arriving at the bottom, I had lost the direction of the car-
riage, and, although I heard myself called, I could not in
the least distinguish from Avhence the voices came. I stood
still till they drove up to fetch me. They both scolded me,
but I Avas silent, laid myself at the bottom of the carriage,
on three bottles of Selterwasser, and had a delicious sleep,
till, by moonlight, the carriage was overturned, but so gently
that no one was hurt. Away flew a nut-brown chamber-
maid from the box, and, in romantic disorder, lay fainting
on the flat bank of the Maine, directly in face of the moon.
Two bandboxes, with lace and ribbons, flew somewhat fur-
ther, and swam, cleverly enough, down the river. I ran
after them into the water, which, from the great heat, was
very shallow, and all called after me, was I mad ? I could
not hear them ; and I beheve I and the boxes should have
swum back to Frankfort, if a boat which stood out in the
stream had not brought them to. I packed them under
either arm, and walked back again through the clear waves.
" Thoughtless girl," said my brother Frank, and with his
soft voice tried to scold. I put off my wet clothes, was
wrapped up in a soft cloak, and packed into the closed car-
riage.

In Aschaflenburg, they put me forcibly into bed, and
made me some camomile tea. Not to drink it, I pretended
to be fast asleep. Thereujjon my merits were discussed ;
how I had too good a heart, was full of kindness, and never
thought of myself; how I had swum after the bandboxes,
which, if I had not fished again to land, it would have been
impossible, the next morning, to have j)erformed toilette
before dining with the royal primate. Ah, they did n't
know what I knew, — namely, that in that wilderness of
false locks, gilt combs, and lace, was hidden a treasure, in a
red velvet bag, for whose sake I would have thrown both
boxes into the water, with all which did and did not belong
to me, and that but for this I should have rejoiced over the
return voyage of the bandboxes. In this bag lay concealed

WITH A CHILD. 21

a bunch of violets, which, in a party at Wieland's, in Wei-
mar, your son secretly threw to me as he went by. My
lady mother, I was then jealous of Wolfgang, and believed
the violets had been given him by a female hand ; but he
said, " Ai't thou not content, that I give them thee ? " I
took his hand in secret and drew it to my heart ; he drank
out of his glass, and placed it before me, that I also might
drink. I took it in the left hand and drank, then laughed
at him, because I knew he had placed it there that I might
let go his hand. " If," said he, " thou hast such cunning,
thou wilt know well how to chain me for life." I beg you
not to be puffed up, because I have trusted you with my
inmost heart ; I must have some one to whom I can impart.
They who have handsome faces wish to see them in the
glass ; you are the glass of my happiness, which now
blooms in its greatest beauty, and must, therefore, often see
itself reflected. Pray chatter to your son in your next
letter, (which, by the by, you can write to-morrow, without
first waiting an opportunity,) how, in the cold moonlight, I
swam after the bunch of violets in the bandbox for a
quarter of an hour, (so long it was n't though,) and that
the waves bore me, like a water-nymf)h, along, (waves there
were none, only shallow water, which scarcely bore up the
light boxes,) and that my inflated clothes showed like a
balloon. What are all the frocks of his youthful loves in
comparison with my Jloating garments. Do not say, that
your son is too good for me, when I run myself into such
danger for a violet ! I attach myself to the epoch of sen-
sitive romance, and come luckily on Werther, where, by the
by, I feel much inclined to turn Charlotte out of doors.
Your son's taste, in that " white gown with \AX)k. ribbons,"
is bad. I will never, during my life, wear a white gown ;
green, — green, — all my clothes are green I

Apropos, take one peep behind your fire-screen, at the
pretty painted side, which you always turn to the wall for
fear the sun should fade it ; you will there discover that the
squirrel has committed great ravages on the fire-goddess,
having whitewashed her whole face. I would n't say any-
tliing about it, because, against your orders, I had fastened
the squirrel on the screen, and I feared you would be angry.
Therefore I tell it you by letter, that, in my absence, you
may expend your anger. To-morrow we go to Aschaffen-

22 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

burg, when I will write further. Let Eliza beat my foot-
stool, to keep out the moths, and let no one else sit upon it.
Adieu, Frau Rath.

I remain vour obedient handmaid,

Bettine.

to frau kath goethe.

Frau Rath,

You have a most villanous hand, a thorough cat's-paw. I
do not mean the hand which in the theatre applauds Werdi,
the actor, when, like a miller's ass, he tramps about the
stage, and essays to play tragical tragedy ; but the written
nand, which is abominable and illegible. You can, to be
sure, write, as unreadahly as you will, that I am a " silly
thing " ; I can still read it, even in the first " s," — for what
else can it mean ? You have told me so, often enough ; but
when you write to your son about me, busy yourself a little,
I beg, to make yourself legible. The " Mildberger Grapes "
I did at last decipher, though written in Chaldaic and He-
brew characters : I will send you a whole box full, which
indeed I had done, notwithstanding. Moreover, Mr. Schlos-
ser has written nothing particular in your letter. Again, I
can't bear that you should spend your time with him, and
I not there ; and I command you not to let him sit upon my
ottoman, for he is one who "' imagines he can play the lute,"
and believes he can assume my seat ; and you too, if you
see him so often, will imagine he is better than I : you did
believe so once ; nay, that he was a complete Apollo of
beauty, till I opened your eyes. Moreover, Mrs. Sclilosser
said, that, as a new-born child, he was laid out on a green
billiard-table, and that he contrasted so well, and looked like
a bright angel ! Is contrast, then, so great a beauty ?
Adieu. I am sitting to write in a manger, out of which
the cow is eating her clover ; but don't write this to your
son, it might appear a little too crazy ; for I myself, when I
think of finding my lover sitting and inditing tender letters
to me in a cow-stall, hardly know how I should behave my-
self. But I am sitting here, above, in pure despair, because
I want to conceal myself, and be alone, that I may think
upon him. Adieu, Frau Rath.

We dined yesterday at the primate's ; it was a holiday ;

WITH A CHILD. 23

Ave had curious dishes, representing mcfit, but which, after
all, were none. When we were introduced to him, he
chucked me under the chin, and called me " little angel "
and "lovely child." I asked him, how old he thought I
might be, — " Well, twelve certainly." " Thirteen," said
I. " Indeed ! " said he, " that is somewhat old ; you must
soon commence your reign."

Bettine.

(The answer is wanting.)

Winckel.

Dear Frau Rath,

All that I have written down I will read to you ; you
may convince yourself that I have added nothing, and writ-
ten only that which my eyes have drunk in from your lips ;
only I cannot conceive how it sounds so well from your lips,
and flows again so stupidly from my pen. That I am not
very wise, I give many proofs ; wherefore, I can very well
allow you to say to the people, that you wish they were all
as foolish as I ; — but never say now, that / am clever^ or
you compromise yourself ; and the landlord at Cassel, on the
great Rhine bridge, can afford a proof to the contrary. It
was so wearisome waiting till our entire luggage was exam-
ined, that I took the fly-flapper and pursued some gnats, till
they settled on the window-panes. I struck at them, — the
pane flew out, and with it the gnats to " golden liberty " into
the broad, proud Rhine below ; the landlord said it was stu-
pid, and I was much ashamed.

Ah, Frau Mother, what a curious sort of life is it, here in
Langewinkel : Nature should here show lovely, and it is so
without doubt, only I have not the art to see it. Before my
eyes can wander to the Johannisberg, they are arrested by
certain dirty alleys and a long field of caterpillared plum
and pear trees. Out of every dormer-window hang pearl-
strings of snips and slices. The tanner, opposite, pervades
with his vapors every perfume of the air, and all the five
senses are necessary to perceive anything in its beauty ; and,
indeed, if the whole scene were ever so charming, and the
scent brought no proof with it, the process would, neverthe-
less, be lost.

The organ in the church, too, sounds quite out of tune

24 GOETHE'S CORRESPOXDENCE

here. One must travel from Frankfort to ^Vinckel, if one
will hear such harsh discords performed to the honor of God.
Good bye.

Bettixe.

Our coaclmian will bring you a box of peaches, but don't
spoil your stomach, for it is not of " nature godlike," and is
easily seduced.

We went, last Thursday, with the two Schlossers to Lorch.
It was resolved to go by water. Christian Schlosser thought
he could not bear the water, and went on foot. I went with
him, to keep him company, but repented it. For the first
time, I spoke of Wolfgang Avith another besides you, and
that was a sin. I can bear to hear everything of him, but
no praise, no love. You love your son, for you bore him, —
that is no sin, and I have nothing to object to it, — but no
more ; only, others shall make no further pretensions to
him. You ask me, if I have engrossed him for myself?
Yes ! Frau Rath, to that I can answer. I believe, that there
is a way and manner of possessing another which none can
dispute, and this way I take with Wolfgang ; none before
me have understood it, that I know, spite of all his amours,
which you relate to me. Before his face I am indeed very
humble, but behind his back I hold him fast, and he must
struo;":le hard to set loose.

Frau Rath, I know princes and princesses only in the
magic world of fairy-tales, and by your descriptions, Avhich
are much the same, only that in the former the most beauti-
ful princesses are turned into cats, and generally set free
and married by some tailor. Consider of this, when you
next invent a tale, and afford this circumstance a moral
explanation.

Bettixe.

( The answer is wanting. )

It is true, I nave received a letter from Wolfgang, here
in Rlieingau. He writes, " Keep my mother warm, and
hold me dear." These sweet lines have sunk into me, like
the first spring-rain ; I am very happy, that he desires me
to love him ; 1 know well that he embraces the whole world ;
I know that all men wish to see and speak with him, that

WITH A CHILD. 25

all G ermany says, " our Goethe." But I can tell you, that,
up to this day, the general inspiration of his greatness and
his name has not yet arisen within me. My love to him is
confined to that little white-walled room, where I first saw
him ; where the vine, trained by his own hand, creeps up
the window ; where he sits on the straw hassock and holds
me in his arms, — there he lets in no stranger, and knows
of nothing but me alone. Frau Rath, you are his mother,
and to you I will tell it. When I saw him for the first time,
and returned home, I found that a hair from his head had
fallen upon my shoulder. I burnt it at the candle, and my
heart was so touched, that it also flamed, but merrily, and
joyfully, as flames in the blue sunlit air, of which one is
scarcely aware, and which consume their sacrifice without
smoke. So will it be with me ; I shall flutter joyfully my
life long in the air, and no one will know whence the joy
comes ; it is only because I know that when I come to him,
he wiU be alone with me and forget his laurels. Farewell,
and write to him of me.

Bettine.

Goethe's mother to bettine.

Frankfort, May 12th, 1840.

Dear Bettine,

Thy letters give me joy, and Miss Betty, who recognizes
them on the address, says : " Frau Rath, the postman brings
you a pleasure." Don't however be too mad about my son,
everything must be done in order. The brown room is new-
papered with the pattern which you chose ; the color blends
peculiarly well with the morning-twilight, which breaks over
the Catharine-tower, and enters into my room. Yesterday
our town looked quite holiday-like, in the spotless light of
the Alba.

Except this, everything remains as it was. Be in no
trouble about the footstool, for Betty suffers no one to sit
upon it.

Write much, even if it were every day.

Thy affectionate friend,

Elizabeth Goethe.

26 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

«

Schlangenbad.
Frau Rath,

We rode yesterday, upon millers' donkeys, far into the

country, away over Rauentlial. The way leads through

rocky paths, covered with woods ; to the left you look into

the deep ravine, and to the right on the Avoody, rising wall

of rock. " Then and there " the strawberries so seduced

me, that I almost came from my post ; for my donkey was

the leader. By continually halting to pluck the strawberries,

the whole party pressed uf)on me from the rear, and I was

obliged to leave thousands of crimson berries unplucked

upon the path. A week has now passed, but I still languish

after them ; those which are eaten are forgotten, the un-

j)lucked still burn in my recollection. Thus I should for

ever burn, if I neglected that which I have a right to enjoy,

and herein you need not fear that I should overturn " order."

I do not hang upon my beloved like lead : I am like the

moon, which shines into his parlor : Avhen well-dressed j)eo-

ple throng it, and many lamps are lighted, it is little noticed ;

but when they are gone, and the noise is passed, then the

soul has so much the stronger desire to drink in its light.

Thus will he also turn to me, and think of me, when he is

alone. I feel angry with all who have to do with him, yet

I fear none ; but with this you have no concern. Shall I

fear the mother, if I love the son ?

Bettine.

TO BETTINE.

Frankfort, May 25th.

Hey ! child, thou art bewitched ! what fancies hast thou
taken into thy head ? Why, who is thy '" beloved," who is
to think of thee by night, and by moonshine, too? Dost
thou think he has nothing better to do ? Ha ! your humble
servant !

I tell thee again ; everything in order, and write con-
nected letters, in which there is something to read. Stuff!
to write to Weimar, indeed ! Write of all that happens,
orderly, one thing after another. First, Avho is there, how
you like them, and how they are dressed ; whether the sun
shines, or whether it rains ; for that is also to the j)urpose.

WITH A CHILD. 27

My son has begged me again, to tell thee to write to him.
But pray, in an orderly fashion, or thou wilt ruin the whole
affair.

I was at a concert on Friday, where the violoncello was
played, and I thought of thee, for its tones sounded exactly
like thy hazel eyes. Adieu, child ! thou art in every way
missed by thy

Frau Rath.

Frau Rath,

I WILL with pleasure do you the kindness, and for once
write a long, legible letter, of my entire manner of life at
Winckel.

In the first place, we are a houseful of women ; not a
single man, no, not so much as a servingman amongst us.
All the shutters in the house are closed, that the sun may
not treat us like unripe vines, or quite roast us. The story
in which we live consists of one great saloon, in which are
a number of little closets, looking out on the Rhine, each
one of which is inhabited by a couple of our party. Dear
Maria, with the auburn hair, is our housekeeper, and sees
to the " baked and the boiled." In the morning, we come
out of our little rooms, and meet all together in the saloon.
It is a peculiar pleasure to see one after the other making
her appearance in Grecian drapery. The day passes in
humorous gossip, interspersed with song and guitar arjjeg-
gios. In the evening, we saunter along the banks of the
Rhine, and then encamp in the timber-yard. I read Homer
aloud : the peasants draw around and listen, the moon rises
between the hills and gives light, instead of the sun. In the
distance lies the dark ship, where a fire burns, and on whose
deck the watch-dog bays from time to time. When we close
the book, a regular political discussion takes jDlace, the gods
themselves pass for neither more nor less than other states-
men, and opinions are so hotly defended, that one might be-
lieve all had taken place yesterday, and that much might
still be altered. I have one advantage, namely, if I had not
read Homer to the peasants, I should not to this day have
known the contents ; their questions and remarks have
brought me to it. When we return home, we go, (when
tired,) one after the other, to bed. I then set myself to the

28 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

piano, and melodies come upon me, to wliicli I sing before
Heaven the songs I love best. " How good, how friendly
Nature is." In bed, I send my thoughts there, where I
best love, and thus I fall asleep. Will life contmue always
thus ? surely not.

On Saturday, my brothers were here, and stayed till
Monday, during which time we passed the nights on the
Rhine. George with his flute, to which we sung ; thus we
passed from village to village, till the breaking day drove
us home. Lady mother ! to glide upon the splendid mirror
of the Rhine by moonlight, and sing forth the boundings of
the heart, to encounter in friendly company all sorts of
merry adventures, to rise without care, and to lay dov.n
without harm : this is a life in the midst of which I stand.
Why do I suffer myself to be pleased with it ? do I not
know better? and is not the world great? and are there
not various things in it, tarrying only for the spirit of man
to becom alive in him ? and shall all this leave me un-
touched ? O God ! the prosaic Avorld is a hard nut, not
easy to crack, and many a kernel dries up beneath the thick
shell. Yes, man has a conscience : it exhorts him to fear
nothinof, and nesrlect nothino; which the heart asks of him.
Passion is the only key to the world by which the spirit
learns to know and feel everything, or how else should it
enter into the world ? and thus I feel, that only through my
love to him I am born in the spirit, that through him the
world unlocks itself to me, where the sun shines to me, and
the day divides from night. What I do not learn through
this love, I shall never understand. Would that I sat a
beggar-child before his door, and took a piece of bread
from his hand, and that he knew by my glance of ivhat
spirit I am the child: then would he draw me nigh to him,
and cover me with his cloak, that I might be warm. I
know he would never bid me go again ; I should for ever
wander in the house, and thus years would pass, and no one
should know who I was, and no one should know whence I
came : and thus years would pass, and life ; and in his fea-
tures the whole world should be reflected to me, and I
should not need to learn anything more. Why, then, do I
not do so ? It depends only upon whether I can take heart,
and so come into the haven of my happiness.

Do you still remember how, in winter-time, I came

WITH A CHILD. 29

springing through snow and rain, and you asked, " How
dost thou run over the street ? " and I said, " If I should
care more for the old town of Frankfort than for a poultry-
yard, I should not come far in the world " ; and you an-
swered, that you believed no water was too deep, and no
mountain too steep, for me ; and even then I thought to
myself. If Weimar were the deepest water and the steepest
mountain. I can now better tell you, that my heart is
heavy, and will remain so as long as I am not with him ;
and that you may find " in order " or not, as you please.
Adieu ! I shall soon come to you, full tilt.

Bettine.

TO Goethe's mother.

Winckel, June 12th.

A letter from you always makes a great bustle among
the people here ; they would fain know what we have to
say to one another, because I seem to them such a silly girl.
You may depend upon it, I never shall be wise. How shall
I. attain to wisdom? my lonely life does not lead to it.
What have I seen and heard this year ? In winter, I was
sick: then I made a magic-lantern of pasteboard, where
the cat and the knight had the principal parts ; I studied
the part of the cat for nearly six weeks, but she was no
philosopher, or I might have profited something. In spring,
the orange-tree blossomed in my chamber : I had a table
and a seat made around it, and there, in its sweet-scented
shade, I wrote to my friend : that was a joy for which no
wisdom could have recompensed me. In the mirror oppo-
site, I saw the tree reflected, and the sunbeams streaming
through its foliage ; there I saw her, the presumptuous bru-
nette, sitting to write to the greatest poet, — to the exalted
above all men. In April, I went out early upon the ram-
part, and sought the first violet, and botanized : in May, I
learned to drive a pair of horses : in the morning, I drov6
by sunrise to Oberrad, walked in the potato-fields, and
helped the gardener to plant " by line and level " : with the
milk-woman I laid out a carnation-bed, — the deep-red car-
nations are my favorite flowers. In such a way of life,
what can I learn, or how become wise ? What I write to
your son pleases him ; he always desires more, and that

30 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

makes me blessed ; for I revel in an abundance of thoughts,
which refreshingly express to him my love, my hapi^iness.
What, then, are talent and wisdom, since I, the most blest,
do not want them ?

It was last year, in the beginning of May, that I saw him
for the first time. He broke off a young leaf from the
vine which grew around his window, and laid it on my
cheek, saying : " This leaf and thy cheek are both downy."
I sat upon the stool at his feet, and leaned upon him, while
the time passed in silence. Now what of wisdom could we
have spoken to one another, which would not have detracted
from this unrevealed bliss? what words of genius could
have repaid that quiet peace which bloomed within us?
Oh! how often have I thought on that leaf, and how he
stroked my forehead and face, and how he passed his fin-
gers threw my hair, and said : "/«m not ivise, I am easily
deceived, and thou wilt gain no honor, if thou imposest upon
me with ' thy love.' " Then I fell upon his neck. All this
was not " Genius," and yet I have lived it over a thousand
times in thought, and shall my life long drink from that
fountain, even as the eye drinks in the light ; — it was not
" Genius," and yet to me it outshone all the wisdom of the
world. What could recompense me for his kind trifling
with me ? — what supply the fine, penetrating ray of liis
glance, which streams mto my eye ? I care nothing for
wisdom ; I have learned happiness under another form ;
that, too, which gives others pain, hurts not me, and my pain
no one can understand.

How brio-ht is this night ! The hills, with their vines
clothed in splendor, lie there, and sleepily suck in the nour-
ishino; moonli^it. Write soon : I have no one in Avhom I
so M'illingly confide, because I know you are not united to,
nor reserve yourself for, any one more than me, and that
you never talk about me to another. If you only knew
how far in the night it is ! The moon is setting : that
grieves me. Write to me yery soon.

Bettixe.

Winckel, June 25th.
Frau Rath,
I WENT Avith Frank to an iron-foundery, and must remain
two days in the narrow ravine, where it rained, or rather

WITH A CHILD. 31

wetted, continually. " To this," said the people, " we are
used ; we live like fish, always wet ; and if, by chance, we
have a few dry days, our skins itch so, that we wish to be
wet again." I must reflect how I may describe this singu-
lar earth-hole, where, from beneath dark and mighty oaks,
breaks forth a fiery glow, where solitary huts hang from the
faces of the hills, over which gleam the single lights at dusk,
and where the long evening, by a distant pipe, which always
plays the same tunes, proclaims, that here Loneliness is at
home, uninterrupted by any society. Why should the
sound of a solitary flute, blowing away by itself, be so tedi-
ously melancholy, that the heart is ready to burst with vex-
ation, so that one knows not which way to turn ? Ah ! how
fain would one then strip off these earthly garments and fly
aloft far into the air, — yes, like a swallow in the sky,
which cuts the ether with her wings as with a sharp bow,
soaring above the slavish chains of thought, far into bound-
less space, which thought cannot reach.

We were j)ut into monstrously large beds, I and brother
Frank : I joked and chattered a good deal with him, for he
is my dearest brother. In the morning he said to me, very
mysteriously : " Just look ! the master of the mines has a
gallows in his ear." I could not guess what he meant, but
as soon as I had an opportunity of looking into the ear, I
saw the joke. A spider had spun its web there, a fly was
made prisoner and half-eaten, while the remains hung in
the still unbroken web. Herein Frank clearly recognized
an emblem of the petrified tedious life here ; but I had
already recognized it in the inkstand, which was quite
furred, and containing but little fluid. This, however, is
only the half of this hole of loneliness. One would not
think it, but, by going slowly round, one comes to a defile.
In the morning, just as the sun had risen, I observed it, and
going through it, found myself suddenly on the steep, lof-
tiest verge of a yet deeper and wider caldron, whose velvet
bottom snugs softly to the hill-sides which surround it, and
which are thickly sowed with sheep and lambs ; in the mid-
dle stands the shepherd's cot, and near to this the mill,
turned by a stream which foams through the middle. The
buildings are hidden behind primeval, cloud-greeting lin-
dens, just now in blossom, whose fragrance ascended up to
me, and between whose thick foliage the smoke from the

32 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

chimneys found its way. The clear blue sky, the golden
sunshine, filled the whole vale. O God ! if I sat here, tend-
ing the sheep, and knew that, at evening, one who thmks on
me would come ; if I waited all day, and the sunlight hours
rolled by,' and the hour of shade, with the silver-crescent
moon and the stars, should bring the friend, he would find
me on the mountain-verge, running to his open arms, so that
he should suddenly feel me warm with love at his heart ! —
what else would then be worth living for ! Greet your son
from me, and tell him, that my hfe is certainly a peaceful
one, and enlightened by the sunshine, but that I care not for
this golden time, because I am always longing for the
future, when I expect the friend. Farewell ! With you,
midnight is the spirits' hour, in which you deem it a sin to
have the eyes open, lest you should see them ; but I have
just been walking alone in the garden, through the long
vine-walks, where grape upon grape glitter in the moon-
shine, and I leaned over the wall, and looked do^\Ti upon
the Rhine ; there all was still. But white foam-ripples
whispered, and there was a continued dabbhng on the shore,
and the waves lisped like infants. When one stands thus
alone, at night, amidst unfettered Nature, it seems as though
she were a spirit, praying to man for release ! And should
man set Nature free ? I must at some time reflect upon
this ; but I have ah-eady very often had this sensation, as if
wailing Nature plaintively begged something of me ; and it
cut me to the heart, not to be able to understand what she
would have. ^I must soon consider seriously of this ; per-
haps I may discover something which shall raise us above
this earthly life. Adieu, Frau Rath, and if you don't un-
derstand me, think only what an impression, even in your
present days, the distant sound of the postman's horn makes
upon you ; — about the same do I feel to-day.

/ Bettine.

to bettine.

Frankfort, July 2Stli.

Yesterday a fire took place at the chief guard-house,
directly opposite to me. It burned like a posy from the
lattice which looks on the Catharine Gate. My greatest
pleasure was to see the boys, with their skej^s on back, who

WITH A CHILD. 33

wanted to help to save everything ; but the possessor of the
house would n't let anything be saved, for the fire was soon
out, and then they wanted a douceur, which he would n't
give, and so they danced till they were chased away by the
police. I have had much company, who came to know how
I found myself after the fright ; and I was continually obliged
to begin the tale anew. The people have visited me, for
three days together, to see if I am not become black with
the smoke. Thy friend Meline was also here, and brought
me a letter from thee : it was written so small, that I was
obliged to have it read to me, — guess by whom ?

Mehne is really pretty : I said, the town ought to have
her portrait taken, and hang it up in the town-hall, and then
the Emperors could see what beauties their good town pos-
sesses. Thy brothers are also so handsome. I never, in
my life, saw so handsome a man as George, who looks like
the Duke of Mailand ; and all others must be ashamed to
stand near him with their chit-faces. Adieu, and greet thy
sisters from thy friend,

Elizabeth Goethe.

TO BETTINE.

There comes Fritz Schlosser, from Rheingau, and brings
me nothing but three mended pens from thee, and says, he
has sworn to let me have no quiet, till I tell thee M^ho it was
that read thy letter to me. Where is the great necessity ?
who should it be ? In Weimar all is still, and just as it was.
The journals relate beforehand, long before it is the truth,
whenever my son prej)ares for a journey, — he can't come
unawares upon me. One can see clearly that thy heart
deceives thy head. " Heart ! what dost thou want ? " This
is a proverb, and when it has said what it will have, it en-
ters, as it were, into a mean inn, where there is everything
to have, except — fresh eggs, just the very thing you want.
Adieu ; I. have written this by my chamber-lamp.

Thy affectionate

Elizabeth Goethe.

I had almost forgotten to write who it was that read thy
letter to me : — it was Parson Hufnagel, who also came to

34 GOETHE'S CORKESPONDENCE

see how I did, after my fright from the fire. I said : " Pray,
Mr. Parson, is the Catharine-tower just so high that it should
fall upon my nose when it comes down ? " There he sat
with his full stomach, in sable gown and round white double
bands, bob-wig, and buckled shoe, upon thy footstool, and
read the letter ; had my son seen it he Avould have laughed.

Catharine Goethe.

My dear Mother,
I THANK you for the two letters, one after the other :
they were ploughed through a heavy soil, one sees the clods
lying on the side ; surely it was Lieschen's fingers which
drew those furrows, — they are quite awry. What I Avonder
at is, that I am so fond of writing to you as never to miss
an opportunity ; and all that happens to me, I consider
whether it would not amuse you to hear of it ; this is be-
cause I cannot write everything and continually to Wolf-
gang. I said to him at Weimar, that if I lived there, I
would come to see him only Sundays and holidays, and not
every day. This pleased him ; and so, I think I ought not
to write to him every day, although he has said to me,
" Write to me every day, even if it were foliantos, it will
not be too much for me." I, also, am not every day in the
humor to write. I often think so quickly, that I cannot
possibly write ; and then the thoughts are so sweet, that I
cannot release them, and prevail upon myself to break off
writing : besides, I like to make straight lines and pretty
letters, and that refrains musing ; also, I have much to say
to him which it is difficult to express, and much to impart
that never can be expressed. There I often sit for hours,
and look into myself, and cannot say what I see ; but be-
cause in thought I feel myself with him, I like to remain
thinking ; it seems to me as if I were like a sun-dial, which
can only point the hour, as long as the sun shines upon it :
when my sun smiles upon me no more, one will not mark
the time on me any longer ; should one say I live, when he
does not love me any longer ? The life Avhich I now lead,
no one has an idea of it. By the hand, leads me the spirit
through lonely ways ; he sits down with me on the river's
brink, there he reposes with me ; then he leads me to the
high mountain, there it is night ; there we look down into

WITH A CHILD. 35

the misty dale, tlien one can scarcely see the path before
one's feet ; — I go with liiyn^ I feel that he is there, even
when he vanishes from my earthly eye ; and where I go
and stand, I trace his secret wandering around me ; and in
the night he is the blanket in which I wrap myself, and by
morning it is he^ before whom I veil myself when I dress.
Never more am I alone I In my solitary room I feel myself
known and understood. I cannot join in laughing, I cannot
take part in plays, I let art and knowledge go their way.
Half a year ago I began to study history and geography, —
it was folly. If the time in which we live were quite filled
with history, so that one had both hands full, only to comply
with its demands, there would be no time to ask after moul-
dering kings, — even so is it with me ; I have no time, I
must employ each moment in love. With respect to geog-
raphy, I have drawn a line with red ink upon the map,
from where I now am, to where I should like to go ; this is
the right way, and all others are wrong or lead astray. The
whole firmament, with sun, moon, and stars, belongs only to
the view of my home. There is the fruitful soil, in which
my heart bursts the hard rind, and blossoms into light.

They say to me, Why art thou mournful ? Should I
be merry ? — what should I be, that it could comply with
my inward life ? Every behavior has its cause ; the stream
would not flow, dancing and singing along, if its bed were
not formed thereto. So shall I not laugh, unless an inward
joyousness moves me to it : yes, I have joy Avithin my heart,
but this joy is so high, so mighty, that it cannot agree with
laughing. AVhen it calls me before daybreak from my bed,
between the sleeping plants, I wander up the mountain ;
when the dew washes my feet, and I humbly consider, that
it is the Lord of the worlds who washes my feet, because he
would have my heart pure, even as he purifies my feet from
the dust ; when I then come to the top of the mountain and
overlook all the lands in the first beam of the sun, — then
I feel this mighty desire expanding within my breast ; then
I heave a sigh, and breathe to the sun my thanks, that he
paints to me the riches, the ornament, of my life ; for all
that I see and understand is but the echo of my happi-
ness.

Adieu ; will you let the parson read this letter, too ? I
have written it with tolerably large letters. Did you find

36 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

bj my last letter, that I was as thirsty as he, or lunatic, or
anything of that sort ? how could you then let him read it ?
Why, you '11 turn his pulpit out of his head ! Bettine has
had headache for three days, and to-day she lies in bed,
and kisses the hand of her dear Frau Rath.

TO BETTINE.

Don't get ill, girl ! * " Rise ! take up thy bed and walk."
So said the Lord Jesus to the sick, and so say I to thee.
Thy bed is thy love, in which thou liest sick ; take it up,
do not spread it before evening, and then rest in it, when
thou hast endured the burden and heat of the day. Here
are a few lines, written by my son : I make thee a present
of them, for, according to the contents, they belong to thee.

The parson rumbled out thy letter to me, like a bad post-
chaise on a stony road, which jumbles all the passengers'
luggage together : besides, thou hast packed thy thoughts so
badly, without comma or stop, that if it really were luggage,
no one could find out his own. I have a cold, and am out
of humor : wert thou not so dear to me, I had not written.
Take care of thy health.

I always say, when people ask about thee, that " thou
takest fancies," and this thou dost, very easily. Now, it is
some night-bird, fluttering past thy nose ; then, at midnight,
when all honest folks are asleep, thou hast something to
think upon, and marchest through the garden on the Rhine,
in the cold, damp night-air. Thou hast a constitution like
iron, and an imagination like a sky-rocket, which, touched
by a spark, goes off. Take care to get home as soon as
possible. I am not, now-a-days, as I once was ; I am often
anxious about thee, and on Wolfgang I must think for hours
together ; how, when he was a little child, he played before
my feet, and then, how prettily he played with his brother
Jacob, and made stories for him. I must have some one
to whom to tell all this, and there is none who listens to me
like thee. I could well wish that the time were past, and
that thou wert here again.

Adieu ; manage to come. All is as clear before me, as
if it had happened yesterday. I can now tell you the nicest
stories about Wolfgang, and I believe thou hast infected

WITH A CHILD. 37

me, for I think that no good day, on which I have not spoken
of him.

Thy friend,

Elizabeth Goethe.

Dear Frau Rath,

I WAS at Kohl, where I bought this pretty vase. Give
it to your son, as from yourself, and that will please you
more than if I presented it to you. For myself, I would not
give him anything ; I would only receive from him.

Koln is a strange place ; one hears, every minute, differ-
ent bells tolling, which sound high and low, dull and clear,
from every side at once. There Franciscans, Minorites,
Capuchins, Dominicans, and Benedictines pass one another,
some singing, others grumbling a Litany, salutmg one an-
other with their flags and holy reUcs, and then vanishing
into their cloisters. At sunset I was in the Cathedral, where
the sun painted the colored windows upon the floor ; I clam-
bered everywhere about the building, and balanced myself
within the fretted arches.

To you, Frau Rath, it would have looked dangerous, if
you had seen me from the Rhine, sitting in those Gothic
roses ; and it was no joke, either. Sometimes giddiness was
about to lay hold on me, but I thought, " Shall it dare be
stronger than I ? " and then I purposely ventured still fur-
ther. As twilight came, I saw at Deutz a church with paint-
ed windows, lighted from within. The sound of the tolling
bells rolled over, and the moon, with single stars, came forth.
There I was, alone : around me the swallows twittering in
their nests, (of which there are thousands in the cornices,)
and on the water I saw some solitary sails swelling in the
wind. Meanwhile, the others had examined the whole
building, and had been shown all the monuments and relics.
In the same time I enjoyed a still moment, in which my soul
was lost in contemplation of nature, which melted all that
human hand had made, and me too, in the solemn harmony
of a heaven, glowing in the evening's purple. Understand
this, or understand it not, it is the same to me. I must
indeed tire you with my oversighted fancies, for to whom
else can I impart them ?

There is another "thing at Cologne, the beds ; which are

38 . GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

so high, that one must take a run before he can jump in :
one can make two or three assaults before one succeeds, and
once there, how may one get out again ? But I thought,
it is good to be here, for I was tired, and had pleased myself
the Avhole day with thinking what my dreams Avould bring
me ; and a boat, borne on a golden stream, laden and adorned
with flowers, came to me out of Paradise, bearing an apjjle,
which my beloved one had sent me, and which I eagerly
consumed.

On Sunday we visited many lumber-rooms, antiquities,
and depositaries of art, and I saw all with great interest.
There is a beautiful bowl, out of which the Elector used
to carouse, with four handles, on which sit nymphs who
bathe their feet in wine, with golden crowns upon their
heads, set with precious stones ; a dragon with four heads
(forming the four feet upon which the whole stands) winds
round the bottom ; the heads have open throats, which are
gilt Avithin. On the cover is a Bacchus, carried by two
satyrs ; he is of gold, the satyrs of silver ; the nym2:>hs, too,
have enamelled garments. The drinking goblet is of ruby-
glass, and the fretwork, which wdnds between the figures, is
very beautiful, being of silver and gold braided together.
There are many of these sort of things. I would only
describe this because it was so splendid, and I know you are
pleased with splendor.

Adieu, Frau Rath. We came here by water, and shall
return to Bonn by land.

Bettine.

Winckel.
Frau Rath,

I WILL not lie, if you w^ere not the mother you are, I

would not learn letter-writing of you. He has said, that

I shall supi^ly his place with you, and show you all that love

which he cannot ; and must be to you as if you had shown

to me all that love which he can never forget. When I

was with him, I was so silly as to ask, if he loved you ? then

he took me in his arms, and held me on his heart, and said :

" Touch a string, and it will vibrate, even if it should long

have yielded no tone." Then we were still, and spoke no

further of this, but now I have seven letters from him, and

WITH A CHILD. 39

in all he reminds me of you. In one he writes : " Thou
art ever with my mother ; it makes me glad ; it is as if a
sharp breeze had blown on me from yonder, and now I feel
myself warm and secure, when I think of thee and my
mother." In reply, I told him, that I had cut the table-
cloth with a pair of scissors, and that you had given me a
clap upon my hand, and said : " Exactly like my son ! — all
sorts of mischief hast thou learned of him."

Of Bonn I can relate nothins;. There it was airain, so
that one perceives all without reflecting on it ; if I remem-
ber right, we were in the botanical garden just as the sun
set ; all the plants were sleepy ; the seven mountains were
breathed on by the evening purj^le. It was cool : wrapped
in my cloak, I sat down upon the wall, and my face was
gilded by the last sunbeam. Think, I would not, or it had
made me mournful in the midst of mighty, silent nature.
Then I fell asleep, and when I awoke (a great beetle had
waked me) it was night, and very cold. The next day we
returned here.

Adieu, Frau Rath. It is very late, and I cannot sleep
at all.

Bettine.

to bettine.

September 21st.

I CANNOT suffer thee to write me the nights through, and
not to sleep. This makes thee melancholy and sentimental ;
would I have answered, till my letter came the wind has
shifted. My son has said, " What vexes one, that one must
labor off," and when he had a grief, he made a poem of it.
I have already advised thee to write down the story of
Giinderode, and do send it to Weimar ; my son would like
to have it ; he will preserve it, then it will trouble thee
no more.

Man is buried in consecrated earth : — even thus should
we bury great and rare occurrences in a beautiful tomb of
remembrance, to which each one may ajjproach and cele-
brate the memory thereof. This Wolfgang said, when he
had written Werther ; write then the story for love of him.

I will with pleasure write as much as lies in the power of
my poor pen, for I owe thee many thanks : a woman of my
age, and a young arid sprightly girl, who would be always

40 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

with me, and asks for nothing else ! yes ; that is indeed
worthy of thanks ; I have Avritten this to Weimar. When
I write to him about thee, he answers me directly. He
says, it is a comfort to him, that thou perseverest with me.
Adieu ; don't stay long at the Rheingau ; the black rocks
from which the sun rebounds, and the old walls, make thee
melancholy.

Thy friend,

E. Goethe.

Maurice Bethmann has told me, that Mad. de Stael will
pay me a visit : she has been in Weimar ; I wish thou wert
here, for I must polish up my French.

TO Goethe's mother.

You have not dealt well with me this time, Frau Rath :
why did you not send me Goethe's letter ? Since the loth
of August I have had nothing from liim, and it is now the
end of September. Mad. de Stael has perhaps made the
time appear short to him, and he has not thought on me.
A renowned Avoman is a curious thing, no other can be com-
pared with her ; she is like S]3irit, with which the grain it
is made from also cannot be compared. Spirit bites the
tongue and mounts to the head ; so does a celebrated
woman, too : but I better like the pure wheat, which the
sower sows in the loosened soil ; the kmd sun and the fruit-
ful showers woo it forth again, and then it greens the whole
field, bears golden ears, and at last gives a merry harvest-
home. I would rather be a simple grain of wheat than a
celebrated woman, and rather he should break me for his
daily bread, than post like a dram through his head. Now
I will just tell you, that I supped with De Stael yesterday, at
Mainz. No lady Avould undertake to sit next her, so I sat
myself beside her, and uncomfortable enough it was. The
gentlemen stood round the table, and planted themselves all
behind us, pressing one upon the other, only to speak with
or look at hei;: they leaned quite over me, and I said, in
French, " Your adorers quite suffocate me " ; at which she
laughed. She said, that Goethe had spoken to her of me,
and I remamed sitting, for I would fain have heard what he

WITH A CHILD. 41

said ; and yet I was vexed, for I would rather he should
speak to no one of me ; nor do I believe he did, — she only-
said so. There came at last so many, who all wanted to
speak with her across and over me, that I could endure it
no longer, and said, " Your laurels press too heavily upon
my shoulders " ; upon which I got up and made my way
through her admirers. Then Sismondi, her companion,
came and kissed my hand, and said I had much talent ; tliis
he told over to the rest, and they repeated it at least twenty
times, as if I had been a prince, from whom everything
sounds clever, be it never so commonplace. I afterwards
listened to her, while she was speaking of Goethe ; she
said that she had expected to see a second Werther, but was
mistaken, for neither his manners nor person answered the
character, and she lamented much that there was nothing of
Werther about him. Frau Rath, I was angry at such talk,
(you will say it was needless,) and turned to Schlegel, and
said to him, in German, " Madame de Stael has fallen into
a twofold error, first in her expectation, and then in her
opinion." We Germans expect Goethe can shake out of
his sleeve twenty such heroes, equally imposing for the
French, but think that he himself is quite another sort of
hero. Schlegel Avas wrong not to bring her to a better
understandmg on the subject. She threw the laurel-leaf,
with which she had been playing, upon the floor : I trod
upon it, then kicked it away and left her. This is the his-
tory of the " celebrated woman." Be under no uneasiness
about your French ; converse with her in the finger-lan-
guage, and make commentaries with your large eyes ; that
will astonish her. Mad. de Stael has a whole ant-hill of
thoughts in her head, and what can one have to say to her ?
I shall soon come to Frankfort, and there we can talk about
it more at large.

It is here very full of Rhine visitors. When I see in
the morning a boat coming out of the thick mist, I run to
the shore and beckon with my handkerchief, for they are
always either friends or acquaintances. A few days ago we
were in Nothgottes dale ; there was a great pilgrimage, the
whole Rhine was covered with boats, and on landing, each
disembarked a procession, and they wandered about to-
gether, each party singing their own song, — such a confu-
sion ! I was afraid it would be too much lor God, and so it

42 GOETHE'S COREESPONDENCE

proved, for He opposed a storm, and thundered tolerably
loud ; but they would have drowned the thunder, had not a
smart shower set the dear pilgrims, who were carousing in
the grass by thousands, scampering. I will not say, I have
a very sensitive respect for Nature, but I cannot bear to see
her so soiled with paper, uneaten bits, and broken plates
and bottles, as was the case here upon the fine green plain,
where a cross is erected between linden-trees, and where
the wayfarer, overtaken by night, gladly reposes, believing
himself protected by the consecrated spot. I can tell you I
was quite uncomfortable, and am to-day still in low spirits.
I love better to see the lambs feeding in the churchyard,
than the people in the church ; better the lilies in the field,
which, though they spin not, are nourished by the dew, than
long processions tramping over them, and treading them in
their loveliest bloom. I say good night, but have Avritten
this by dayhght.

Bettine.

" Costly splendor and works of art, seen in Coin and during
the journey, described particularly for my dearest Frau
Rathr

Pay attention, that you may understand, for I have tried
twice in vain to make an orderly representation of it.

First, a large table-ornament, which has haunted me con-
tinually, and which I think I saw in the great banqueting-
hall of the Elector's Palace. It consists of an oval, crystal
dish, from four to five feet long, representing a sea, softly
cut into waves, which rise more and more towards the mid-
dle, and at last mount very high, as they surround a silver
rock, with a throne, upon which Venus sits. Her foot is
placed upon the back of a Triton, who balances a little
Cupid upon his hand ; silver foam sprays around, and on
the highest waves mettlesome nymphs are riding, who hold
oars in their hands to whi^^ the billows. Their garments
are enamelled, mostly pale blue or sea-green, but also yel-
low. They appear to be engaged in a wanton and joyous
water-dance. Somewhat deeper, are seen silver sea-horses,
reined and partly ridden by Tritons. Everything is of
chased silver or gold, with enamelled ornaments. When
wine is poured into the hollow rock, it spouts from small

WITH A CHILD. 43

pipes, in five regular rays, round about Venus, and flows
into a basin concealed under the rock. This is the great
middle group. Nearer to the brim, amidst the waves, are
variegated shells and enamelled water-lilies, from the cal-
ices of which, little loves, with drawn bows, rise and shoot
at one another. Between these flee mermaids with fishes'
tails, pursued by mermen with pointed beards ; some seized
by their weedy garlands, others caught by a net. On the
other side are sea-nymphs, who have taken a flying Cupid
prisoner, and want to pull him beneath the waves. He
defends himself, and has placed his little foot on one mer-
maid's breast, while another holds him fast by his varie-
gated wings. This is a delightful and most joyous grouj).
Cupid is of ambergris, and the nymphs of gold, with enam-
elled garlands. The groups are disposed in either half-oval.
All is enamelled with blue, green, red, yellow, and every
bright color. Many sea-monsters, with open gorge, peep
forth from the crystal waves, and snap at the fleeing
nymphs ; and thus a gay complication of joyous, glittering
splendor is spread over the whole, from the midst of which
rises the rock with Venus. At one end of the dish, (where
the handle generally is,) opposed to the spectator, sits the
Cyclops Polyphemus, holding Galatea prisoner in his arms ;
he has one large eye in his forehead ; she is looking timidly
down upon a flock of sheep, dispersed on either side, by
which means the group forms a slight curve, terminated by
two lambs lying asleep, the one at either end. At the other
side sits Orpheus, (also opposed to the spectator,) playing
on his lyre ; and behind him, a laurel, on whose golden-
spread branches birds are jDcrched. Some nymphs, with
oars in their hands, have stolen near to hearken. And then
there are all sorts of sea-animals, with two dolphins, one on
either side, terminating this group like the other, by forming
a slight curve. Particularly pretty is a little monkey,
which, having made a parasol from a leaf, sits listening at
the feet of Orpheus. This is, as you may easily suppose,
a wonderful piece of magnificence, — a very costly but yet
an elevated composition ; and I could spend another half-
hour over the beauty of individual figures. Gold and silver
impress me with the idea of something holy. I know not
whether it be, that I always washed the gold and silver
Mass-service and chalices in the Nunnery, cleaned the cen-

44 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

sor, and cleared the altar-candlesticks from the melted wax,
toucliing all with a degree of reverence ; I can only tell
you, that the sight of this rich specimen of art inspired me
with a holy feeling.

Now I will describe something else, also beautiful, and
which pleases me still better in the recollection, — and con-
noisseurs say, that it has more style. This, by the by, is a
word, of which, when I ask the signification, one answers,
" Don't you know what style is ? " and A\dth this I must be
contented. I have, however, found it out. Everything great
and exalted must have a ground for being so ; now when
this ground, cleaned from prejudice and the huddling to-
gether of extraneous matter and views, forms the basis of
the work, — there is pure style. Works of art must exactly
express that only Avhich elevates, and nobly delights, the
soul, and nothing more. The feeling of the artist must be
directed to this end alone, — everything else is false. In
Wolfgang's smaller poems, the sentiment is of one mould,
and what he there expresses, richly fills each soul with the
same refined feeling. This is the case with all his poems ;
but I will only quote the briefest, which I have so often, in
the lonely woods, when returning home from my walks, sung
with high enjoyment.

" 0 thou ! who of Heaven bom,
Every pain and sorrow stillest,
And all those who doubly mourn,
With thy doubled presence fillest ;
Ah ! weary me ! let goading cease !
AVhy sorrow-pained, why joy-carest?
Lovely Peace !
Come, ah come, into my breast."

In the convent I heard a good deal of preaching about
the " Avorldly spirit," and the " vanity of all things," and I
myself have read legends to the nuns, year in, year out ;
and neither devil nor saint made the slightest impression on
me : I believe they were not of " pure style " : but one
such song fills my soul with the most dehghtful feeling ; no
exhortation, no lesson of wisdom, could impart so much of
good to me : it frees me from aU selfishness ; I can give all
to others, and wish them the best good-fortune, without ask-
ing anything for myself This comes from the pure and
noble style. There are many other songs which I could
quote, that elevate me beyond everything, and give me a

WITH A CHILD. 45

delight, which makes me rich in myself. That song, " The
Beautiful Night," I have sung, this year, at least a hundred
times, when returning late home.

" Fair Luna breaks through oak and copse,
Zephyr ushers on her way,
And courteous birch, with bending tops,
To her their sweetest incense pay."

How happy and delighted was I, this spring, as the birch-
trees around me, during my song, actually strewed their
perfumed incense before the hastening Luna. No one shall
convince me, that pure delight is not prayer. But in the
church I never could succeed. There I groaned for very
weariness, for the sermon Avas like lead on my eyelids.
O me ! how light I felt, when I could spring out of the
Convent-church into the pretty garden ! There the smallest
sunbeam was to me a better exposition than the whole
Church History.

The second work of art I have to describe, is a dolphin
made from a large elephant-tusk. His jaws are open, and
two little Cupids are fixing the bit : a third, who sits upon
the dolphin's neck, gathers up the bridle from either side :
on the middle of the back is a golden saddle, with a seat of
complex workmanship representing an arbor of vines, in
the midst of which stands an ivory Bacchus, a handsome,
soft, and slender youth with golden hair, and wearing a
Phrygian cap ; one hand is placed in his side, and in the
other he holds a golden vine, which, rising from under the
saddle, shadows him with its fine and beautiful foliage. On
both sides of the saddle are two muscles, used as grape-
baskets, in each of which sit two ivory nymphs, blowing
conchs. The broad fins, as well as the tail of the fish, are
of chased gold and silver ; immediately behind the saddle,
the body of the fish winds upwards, as if it were lashing the
air with its tail ; on the top of the bend sits an elegant little
nymph, clapping her hands ; she is raised somewhat higher,
and overlooks the Bacchus group ; the tail-fins form an ele-
gant shade over the nymph. The fish's throat is lined with
gold ; it can also be filled with wine, which then spouts up
in two streams from the nostrils. At great festivals it is
placed in a golden basin on the sideboard. This now is a
work of lofty style, and I can also say, that it quite filled me
with a silent and holy reverence. There are many things

46 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

of this sort, all bearing reference to the Rhine. Among
others is a ship of cedar, finely made, with beautiful ara-
besques : a bas-relief surrounds the upper part of the hull,
and on the deck, the three Electors of Coin, Mainz, and
Trier sit carousing. This did not give me so much pleas-
ure, although there is much of what is beautiful about it,
jiarticularly the goddess of Fortune, forming the head of
the vessel.

I will further describe a goblet, representing a wine-press,
which is indeed a masterpiece. In the middle is a high
cask ; this forms the proper goblet. Up the sides, with
tubs full of grapes, clamber boys in graceful attitudes, from
the shoulders of men, to reach the brim, and there pour out
the fruit. In the middle, forming the knot of the cover,
which sets deep into the cup, stands a Bacchus, upon whom
two tigers are springing : he is about to press with his feet
the heaped up grapes, which, interspersed with single ten-
drils, form the lid. The boys, who reach over fi^om every
side to empty their tubs, form a most beautiful brim : the
strong men at the foot of the press, who raise the boys on
their shoulders, and in various ways assist to ascend, are
splendid beyond measure ; naked, except here and there one,
wearing a tiger-skin on his shoulders, else quite at their
ease. On one side of the goblet are the Mainz arms, on the
other those of Coin.

The whole goblet rests upon a stand, formed like a rising
hill ; here nymphs are lying and sitting in a circle ; some
playing on tambourines, cymbals, and triangles, others
striving with leopards, Avhich spring over their heads ; it is
really most elegant. I have now described it to you, but
if you had seen it first you would have cried out loud, for
very astonishment. What strikes one, when one sees such
works from the hand of man ? My head was in a whirl,
and, in the full inspiration of the moment, I thought I should
have no rest till I could also invent and form such beauti-
ful things. But as I came out, and it was evening, and the
sun was setting so splendidly, I forgot all, except to bathe
my senses, with the last sun-ray, in the cool Rhine.

A mother takes all conceivable pains to content her little
unconscious infant ; she meets its wants, and turns every-
thing into its plaything : if it rejects all, and will be content
with nothing, she lets it cry out its naughtmess till it is

WITH A CHILD. 47

tired, and then tries again to amuse it with phxytliings.
Even thus God treats man : He gives him all that is beau-
tiful to delight and charm him, and to heighten his percep-
tion. Art is a pretty plaything, which leads the inquiet,
ever-fermenting spirit back to itself, teaches man to think
and to perceive, giving him that skill which makes and im-
proves his powers. He must give himself entirely up to the
purity of such invention, (trusting to the playful desires of
fancy,) which is able to raise and mature him to the highest
point of perfection. Mighty secrets, of a higher develop-
ment, lie surely concealed in art ; nay, I even believe, that
the propensities, which the ^^prosaics" affirm to have no
useful end, belong to those mysteries which lay the germ of
great (but in this life, unintelligible) qualities in the soul ;
this will burst forth in the next life a higher order of in-
stinct, fitted to the more spiritual element.

The way, too, in which those works of chased gold and
silver are exhibited is worthy of remark, and gives the op-
portunity of seeing them in all their sj)lendor at one view, as
well as of examining each one at leisure. There is a wall
of ebony in which are deep recesses ; that in the middle for
the reception of the chef-d'oeuvre, is large, and then smaller
ones on either side for the others, such as goblets, cups, etc.
By pressing a spring, the floor of each recess starts out, and
the contents may thus be viewed on every side.

I have thought of another goblet, of bronze ; a genuine
antique, as one affirms ; and one must believe it, for it is so
simple and yet so majestic. A youth, probably Ganymede,
is sitting negligently upon a stone ; an eagle upon the
ground, between his knees, spreads out his wings, as if he
would strike, and lays his stretched head upon the youth's
breast, who looks down upon the eagle, while he raises both
arms, holding in his hands a splendid drinking-cup, which
forms the goblet. Can one imagine anything more beauti-
ful ? No ! The wild eagle, so passionately at once attack-
ing and reposing upon the quiet youth, and he, lifting up
the cup so playfully, is inexpressibly beautiful, and I thought
many things uj)on seeing it. I will just describe another
partition to you, and then to bed, for I am very tired. Imag-
ine to yourself a golden honeycomb, (of which the whole
wall consists,) with numberless octagonal, golden cells, in
each of which is a different saint, elegantly, nay, charmingly

48 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

carved out of wood, robed in beautiful garments, painted in
gay colors. In the middle, where the queen-bee's cell is,
stands Christ ; on either side the four Evangelists, around
the Apostles, then the Fathers, after them the Martyrs, and
last of all the Hermits. This I saw exhibited as altar-piece
at the church in Oberwesel. Not a single figure from which
one could not make a picture at once beautiful, naive, and
peculiar in its kind. Adieu, Frau Rath. I must break off,
or dayhght might intrude upon my extemj^orizing.

Bettine.

TO BETTINE.

Frankfort, October 7th, 1808. •

The description of thy splendid and costly things gave
me a great deal of pleasure ; if it be only true that thou
hast seen them, for in such things one cannot trust thee too
little. Thou hast already, from thy footstool, often rehearsed
to me such impossibilities ; for when thou (with respect be
it said) once lau chest into invention, neither bit nor bridle
can hold thee. Why ! I wonder that thou hast yet made an
end, — that thou hast not talked on, in one continued strain,
if it were only to find out thyself what thy head really con-
tains ! — I often think, however, that it must be true, be-
cause thou canst relate everything so naturally. Besides,
whence couldst thou get to know all this ? But it is curious,
that the Electors always have to do with fish and water-
nymphs ; at the coronation I also saw such thmgs in the
plate-rooms ; there was a silver fountain, adorned with beau-
tiful figures, from which wine spouted ; and this was placed
as an ornament ujDon the table. And once the Elector of the
Palatinate had a fish-ballet performed ; there the carp,
dressed in gold and silver scales, danced a minuet on their
tails. Well ! tliou alone hast seen all this ; — such things as
one sees in the imagination exist, also, and belong to the
spiritual kingdom, where nothing is corporeal, but all exist-
ing only in spiritual form.

Come here soon again. Thou hast swarmed through the
entire summer ; my letter-writing is quite done for, and I
have not seen thee so long, that I quite yearn after thee.

Thy true and hearty friend,

E. C. Goethe.

WITH A CHILD. 49

TO Goethe's mother.

Frau Rath,
The whole day / am not at home ; but when I write to
you, then I feel that I have a home. It is now the season
when the people set up their field-gods to frighten the spar-
rows from the grapes. This morning, I could not conceive
what wonderful sort of a visitor there was so early in the
vineyard, and glimmering through the thick fog. At first,
I thought it was the devil ; for he was dressed in coat of
crimson, trousers of black, and gilt paper cap ; and in the
twilight of evening I was afraid to go by, and indeed so
sorely, that I turned back and would not go to the water-
side, as is my constant custom. But when I was again in
my room, I thought if any one I liked had appointed to
meet me there, I should have felt no fear ; therefore I once
more (and happily) passed by the rag-phantom ; for yonder
something I like really waits for me, — the still, far-spread
quiet, over the broad Rhine, over the brooding vine-hills.
With what may I compare it so well as with the still, quiet
evening, in which my memory pays him a friendly visit,
and he allows the little bark of my childish thoughts to land
by him. What I think of such lonely evening hours, when
twilight changes place with night, you can best imagine ;
for we have talked it over a thousand times, and experi-
enced so much delight in it. I often think over the time
when we travelled together to visit him. I had not then
seen him ; you whiled away the time of my ardent longing
by painting his friendly surprise, and our apj^earance, under
a thousand different forms. Now I know him, and how he
smiles ; and the tone of his voice, so composed, and yet so
full of love ; and his exclamations, which come swelling
from the depth of his heart like the tones of song ; and how
friendly he soothes and assents to that which one utters in
the violence of a full heart. When I so unexpectedly met
him again last year, I was quite beside myself, — wanted to
speak, but could not compose myself ; then he laid his hand
upon my lips, and said, " Sj)eak with thine eyes, I under-
stand all " ; and as he saw that they were filled with tears,
he pressed down my eyelids and said, " Quiet, quiet best
befits us both." Yes, my dear mother ! quiet was instantly
poured over me, for I had all after which alone I had longed

4

50 GOETHE'S- COKRESPONDENCE

for years. Ah ! mother, I thank you a thousand times, that
you bore me this friend to the world, — where else could I
find him ? Do not laugh at this, but think only that I
loved him before I knew the least of him ; and if you had
not borne him, where he would then have been is a question
you cannot answer.

It is quite impossible for me to write of Giinderode on
the Rhine ; it is not that I am so sensitive, but I am on a
spot not far enough removed from the occurrence for me
perfectly to review it. Yesterday I went down yonder,
where she had lain ; the willows are so grown that the spot
is quite covered ; and when I thought how she had run
here, full of despair, and so quickly plunged the violent
knife into her breast, and how long this idea had burned in
her mind ; and that I, so near a friend, now Avandered in the
same place, along the same shore, in sweet meditation on
my happiness, — all, even the slightest circumstance, seem-
ing to me to belong to the riches of my bliss, — I do not
feel equal, at such a time, to arrange all, and pursue the
simple thread of our friendship's life, from which I might
yet spin the whole. No ! it distresses me, and I reproach
her, as I used to do in my dreams, that she has left this
beautiful earth. She had yet to learn, that Nature is jdos-
sessed of spirit and soul, holds communion with man, and
cares for him and his destiny ; that " promises of life " float
around us in the air : — yes ! she used me ill ! she fled from
me in the moment when I would have imparted to her
every enjoyment. She was so timid ; a young canoness,
who feared to say grace aloud : she often told me that she
trembled when her turn came to pronounce the benedicite :
— our communion was sweet, — it was the ej^och in which
I first became conscious of myself. She first sought me out
in Offenbach ; she took me by the hand, and begged me to
visit her in the town ; afterwards, we came every day to-
gether ; with her I learned to read my first books with
understanding ; she wanted to teach me history, but soon
saw that I was too busy with the i^resent to be held long by
the jiast. How delighted I was to visit her ! I could not
miss her for a single day ; but ran to her every afternoon :
when I came to the cliapter-gate, I peeped through the key-
hole of her door, till I was let in. Her little apartment was
on the ground floor, looking into the garden : before the

WITH A CHILD. 51

window grew a silver poplar, up which I climbed to read :
at each chapter I clambered one bough higher, and thus
read down to her : — she stood at the window and listened,
speaking to me above ; every now and then she would say,
" Bettine, don't fall." I now for the first time know how
happy I then was ; for all, even the most tritling thing, is
impressed on my mind as the remembrance of enjoyment.
She was as soft and delicate in all her features as a blonde.
She had brown hair, but blue eyes, that were shaded by
long lashes : when she laughed, it was not loud, it was
rather a soft, subdued crooing^ in which joy and cheerful-
ness distinctly spoke ; she did not walk, she moved, if one
can understand what I mean by this ; her dress was a robe,
which encompassed her with caressing folds ; this was ow-
ing to the gentleness of her movements. She was tall of
stature, — her figure was too flowing for the word slender
to express ; she was timid-friendly, and much too yielding,
to make herself prominent in society. She once dined with
all the canonesses at the Royal Primate's table ; she wore
the black chapter-dress, with long train, white collar, and
cross of the order ; some one remarked, that she looked
amidst the others like a phantom, — a spirit, about to melt
into air. She read her poems to me, and was well pleased
with my applause, as if I had been the great Public ; and
indeed I was full of lively eagerness to hear them ; not that
I seized upon the meaning of what I heard ; on the con-
trary, it was to me an " element unknown," and the smooth
verses affected me like the harmony of a strange language,
which flatters the ear, although one cannot translate it.

We read Werther together, and conversed much upon
suicide ; she said, " To learn much, to comprehend much,
and then die early ! I would not survive when youth had
left me." We read, that the Greeks said of the Jupiter
Olympus of Phidias, that mortal, who left the earth without
seeing it, had been cheated of what was most splendid.
Giinderode said, " We must see him ; we will not belong to
the unblessed, who thus leave the earth." We laid the plan
of a journey, — devised our route and adventures, wrote
everything down, pictured all before us, — our fancy was so
busy, that reality could hardly have afforded us a better
experience. We often read in this fictitious journal, and
delighted in the sweetest adventures, which we had there

BOSTON UNIVERSITY

52 GOETHE'S COREESPONDENCE

met with : invention thus became, as it were, a remem-
hrancer, whose relations still continued their connections
with the present. Of that which happened in the real
world we communicated to each other — nothing : the king-
dom in which we met sunk down like a cloud, parting to
receive us to a secret paradise : — there all was new, — sur-
prising ; but congenial to spirit and heart ; and thus the
days went by. She wished to teach me j^hilosophy ; what
she imparted to me, she expected me to com23rehend, and to
give again, in my way, under a written form. The essays
which I wrote on these subjects she read with wonder ; they
did not contain the most distant idea of what she had com-
municated ; but I maintained that I had so understood it :
she called these themes revelations, enhanced by the sweet-
est colorings of an ecstasied imagination. She collected
them carefully, and once wrote to me : " Thou dost not yet
understand how deep these openings lead into the mine of
the mind ; but the time will come when it will be imj)ortant
to thee ; for man often goes through desert jDaths, — the
greater his inclination to penetrate, the more dreadful is the
loneliness of his way, the more endless the wilderness. But
when thou becomest aware how deep thou hast descended
into the spring of thought, and how there below thou findest
a new dawn, risest with joy again to the surface, and speak-
est of thy deep-hid world, — then Avill it be thy consolation ;
for thou and the world can never be united ; thou wilt have
no other outlet, except back through this sj)ring, into the
magic garden of thy fancy ; — but it is no fancy, it is Truth,
which is merely reflected from it. Genius makes use of
fancy, to impart or instil the Divine, which the mind of man
could not embrace, under its ideal form. Yes ! thou wilt
have no other way of enjoyment in thy hfe than that which
children promise themselves from magic caverns and deep
fountains, through which one comes to blooming gardens,
wonderful fruits, and crystal palaces, where yet unimagined
music sounds, and the sun builds bridges of its rays, upon
the centre of which one may walk with a firm foot. All
this, in these pages of thine, will form a key, with which
thou mayest, perhaps, unlock deep-hid kingdoms ; there-
fore, lose nothing, nor contend against that incentive which
jDrompts thee to write, but leam to labor in thought, without
which Genius can never be born in the S23irit : — when it

WITH A CHILD. 53

becomes incarnate in thee, then wilt thou rejoice in inspira-
tion, even as the dancer in music."

With such wonderful lessons did Giinderode nourish the
infancy of my mind. I was then on a month's visit to my
grandmother, at Offenbach, to enjoy the country air, on ac-
count of my doubtful state of health : how, then, must such
letters have affected me ? did I understand their contents ?
had I an idea of what I myself had written ? No ! I knew
as little how to interpret the text of my written inspirations
as the composer how to trace the text of his composition to
its source : he throws himself into a finer element than him-
self; it bears him, it nourishes him, his food becomes inspi-
ration ; this incites and charms, without emjDowering him to
give it a palpable construction, although it raises the facul-
ties, purifies the mind, and touches the soul. Thus was it
between me and my friend : melodies streamed ujoon my
raised fancy ; she listened and felt an endless pleasure in
them, preserving that which, if I had retained them, had
only disturbed me. She often called me a sibyl, who dare
not preserve her own predictions ; her summons charmed
me, although I felt a sort of fear ; my spirit was bold and
my heart timid ; yes, there was indeed a struggle within
me ; — I wanted to write, I looked into unfathomable dark-
ness ; I was obliged to exclude the external light ; I liked
best when I had shaded the window, and yet saw through
the curtain, that the sun was shining without : a nosegay,
whose colors stole through the half-light, could fix me and
set me free from inward anxiety, so that I forgot myself,
while I gazed on the shadowy gleaming of the flowers, and
scent, color, and form made a beautiful whole : here I
learned truths, (from wdiich I went forth into dreamings,)
and which suddenly set my spirit free ; so that, with quiet
composure, I could comprehend and impart my forebodings :
— while I saw the flowers illumined only through a crevice
in the shutter, I discerned the beauty of color, and the
excellence of beauty ; color itself became a sj)irit, which
addressed me like the scent and form of the flowers. The
first thing which I thus learned was, that everything in
Nature's images is of divine origin, — that the divine spirit
is beauty, nursed in the lap of Nature, — that beauty is
greater than man, but that knowledge alone is the beauty
of man's free mind, which is above all cor^Doreal beauty.

54 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDEXCE

O, I only need " to dive into tlie fountain," and I could
perhaps again tell all whicli I learned by my communion
with the color, form, and scent of that nosegay ; I could
also relate still more, which would sound wonderful and
particular enough ; I should fear it would not be believed,
or be considered as raving and folly ; — but why should I
conceal it here ? To him who will read this, it Avill occur,
that he has often remarked the wonderful phenomena of
light, which, by means of color and accidental or particular
media, formed new images. Thus was it then with my
soul, and thus it is even now. The great and piercing eye
of the spirit was arrested by an internal ray of light, (it
must perforce drink it in,) without being able to free itself
by self-willed reflection ; my friend knows weU what en-
chantment is caused by this spell-bound gaze on a ray of
light, (the spirit of color.) and he knows, also, that the sem-
blance is no semblance, but truth itself.

As soon as I came forth from this internal contemplation,
I was dazzled ; I saw dreams ; I pursued their forms.
This made no difference in the common intercourse of life,
for herein I fitted without being pushed against, because I
never moved myself ; but I say w^ithout fear to my master,
(whose blessing I now beg upon his child,) I had an inward
world, and secret powers and senses, by which I hved in it.
My eye saw clearly great visions as soon as it was shut. I
saw the heavenly globe ; it revolved before me in immeas-
urable greatness, so that I could not see the great whole,
although I had an idea of its rotundity. The starry host
passed on a dark ground before me. Stars, dancing, formed
pure spiritual figures, wliich I, as spirit, understood. Mon-
uments formed themselves of columns and shapes, behind
Avhich stars passed away, others dipping into a sea of colors ;
blooming flowers came forth and grew up on high; far
golden shadows covered them from a still higher white
light, and thus vision followed vision in this inward world.
At the same time, my ears perceived a fine, silver ringing ;
by degrees it became a sound, wliich grew louder and more
powerful the longer I Ustened. I rejoiced, for it strength-
ened me, and gave strength to my spirit to harbor this
mighty sound within my ear. Did I open my eyes ? all
was gone ! all was still ! and I perceived no interruption,
only I could no longer distinguish this so-called real world

WITH A CHILD. 55

(in wliicli other men maintain that thej exist) from this
world of dream or fancy ; I knew not which was sleeping
and which waking ; nay, I at last believed that I only
dreamed the common life, and I must to this day leave it
undecided, and shall be in doubt for years to come. I was
so certain of being able to float and fly, I was inwardly
proud of it, and rejoiced in the consciousness ; a single
elastic pressure on the tip of the foot, and I was in the air ;
I floated slowly and gracefully two or three feet along the
earth, but soon touched it again, and again flew ofi", floated
to the side, and thence back again. Thus, to my unspeak-
able pleasure, I danced to and fro in the garden by moon-
light ; I floated over the stairs, up and down ; sometimes I
raised myself to the height of the lower boughs, and chirped
among the branches. In the morning I awoke with the full
persuasion that I could fly, but during the day forgot it. I
wrote to Giinderode, I know not what ; — she came out to
me at Offenbach, looked at me anxiously, and made perplex-
ing inquiries after my health. I looked in the glass ; my
eyes were become darker than formerly ; my features were
incomj)arably finer, the nose so small and thin, the mouth so
wavy, and the complexion quite pale ; I rejoiced, and saw
my figure with delight. Giinderode said I should remain
no more so long alone, and took me with her to the town.
A few days passed, and I was attacked by fever. I laid
myself to bed and slept, and loiow nothing more, but that I
slept. At length I awoke. It was the fourteenth day since
I had first slept. When I opened my eyes, I saw her taper
figure moving to and fro, wringing her hands. "But, Giin-
derode," said I, " why do you cry ? " " Be God for ever
praised ! " cried she, coming to my bedside, " art thou at
length awake ? art thou again restored to consciousness ? "
From this time forth she would not let me read any philos-
ophy, nor write any more essays, as she firmly believed
these to be the source of my illness. I was well pleased
with my figure ; the paleness which remained after the
fever dehghted me beyond measure. My features appeared
to me very expressive ; the eyes, which were become full,
prevailed, while the other parts of the face were become,
in proportion, intellectually passive. I asked Giinderode,
whether the first traces of transfiguration were not already
there .''

56 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

Here I have broken off, and have not written for many-
days ; it rose before me with such earnestness and weight,
anguish would not give way to thought. I am still young ;
I cannot fathom the immense. Meantime, they have here
been making harvest-home ; vine-dressers, crowned with
leaves, brought the must down from the hills amidst shout
and song, preceded by pipes, to which they danced. O thou
who readest this, thou hast no robe so soft, that it may en-
wrap the wounded soul ! What dost thou not owe me, that
I make the sacrifice of allowing thee to touch my wounds ?
How canst thou repay me ? Thou wilt never rej^ay me !
Thou Avilt not call and invite me to thy side ; and because
I have no shelter in love, thou wilt not harbor me, and thou
wilt grant no relief to my yearning ! I see that I shall stand
by myself, alone, even as I to-day stood alone on the bank
Avith the gloomy willows, where the death-shiver still hovers
over the spot ; there no grass grows ; there she pierced her
beautiful body, in the very point where she had been taught,
that the heart might be most surely reached. O Jesu Maria !

Thou, my master, thou, flaming genius above me ! I have
wept, not for her I have lost, who, like the spring-breeding
gales, encircled me round, who protected and inspired me,
who confided to me, as my goal, the loftiness of my own
nature, I have wept for myself, with myself; I must become
hard as adamant to myself, to my own neart. I dare not
complain that I am not loved ; I must severely chastise this
passionate heart ; it has no right to demand, no, it has no
right. Thou art mild and smilest upon me, and thy cool
hand assuages the glowing of my cheeks ; this shall content
me.

Yesterday we sailed up the Rhine in vine-decked boats,
to view the hundred-fold celebration of the vintage, on either
side of the banks. Ours was a merry crew ; they wrote
wine-inspired songs and sayings, and sent them, under a
continual volley, swimming down the Rhine. On each heap
of ruins great firs were placed, wliich were set on fire at
twilight. From the Miiuse-tower, in the midst of the proud
stream, rose two mighty pines ; their flaming, chaiTed boughs
fell intQ the hissing flood. From every side it thundered
with guns and rockets, and beautiful groups of fire-balls
rose, virgin-pure, into the air. On board the boats songs
were sung, and, in sailing by, garlands and grapes were

WITH A CHILD. 57

thrown from one to the other. Wlien we came home it was
late, but the moon shone bright ; I looked out of the window,
and still heard from the other side the roar and shout of the
home-returning, and on this side, where she had lain dead
upon the bank, all was still. There is no one now, thought
I, who asks after her, and I went towards the spot, not with-
out a shudder. I was anxious, when I saw from afar the
mist hovering over the willow-trees, and I had almost turned
back, for it was as if it were she herself, who there floated,
hovered, and expanded. I went towards the spot, but prayed
by the way that God would protect me ; protect ? — from
what ? from a spirit, whose heart, during her life, was full of
willing love to me ; and now that it is freed from its eartlily
covering, shall I flee from it in fear ? Ah ! perhaps she has
entailed upon me the better part of her spiritual wealth,
since her death. Fathers entail upon their children, why
not friend upon friend ? I cannot tell how oppressed I feel.
She, perhaps, the friendly bright one, may have enriched
me ! As I returned from her grave, I found some people
who were looking for their cow, which had strayed, and I
accompanied them ; they guessed, directly, that I had come
from thence ; they had much to relate about Giinderode,
who had often entered into friendly chat with them, and
given them alms. They said, that as often as they passed
by yonder place, they said a pater-noster ; I have also prayed
there, both to and for her soul, and have bathed myself in
the moon's light, and have cried aloud to her, that I yearned
after her and those hours, in which we harmlessly exchanged
with one another thought and feeling.

She told me little of her other concerns. I do not know
in what connection she stood, excej)t with me ; she had in-
deed spoken to me of Daub, in Heidelberg, and also of
Kreutzer, but I was ignorant whether one were dearer to
her than the other. I once heard of it from other people,
but did not believe it. One day she met me with a joyful
air, and said, " Yesterday I spoke with a surgeon, who told
me it wa,s very easy to make away with one's self"; she
hastily opened her gown and pointed to the spot, beneath
her beautiful breast ; her eyes sparkled with delight ; I
stared at her ; for the first time I felt uneasy. " Well," I
asked, " and what shall I do when thou art dead ? " " O,"
said she, " ere then, thou wilt not care for me any more ;

58 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

we shall not remain so intimate till then, I will first quarrel
with thee." I turned to the window to hide my tears and
my anger-throbbing heart ; she had gone to the other win-
dow and was silent. I took a secret glance at her ; her eye
was raised to heaven, but its ray was broken, as though its
whole fire were turned within. After I had observed her
awhile, I could no longer control myself; I broke out into
loud crying, I fell on her neck, tore her down to a seat, and
sat upon her knee and wejDt many tears, and for the first time
kissed her on her mouth, and tore open her dress and kissed
her on the spot where she had learned to reach the heart ;
and I implored her, with tears of anguish, to have mercy
upon me, and fell again on her neck, and kissed her hands,
which were cold and trembling, and her lips were convulsed,
and she was quite cold, stiff, and deadly pale, and could not
raise her voice ; she said slowly, " Bettine, don't break my
heart." I wanted to come to myself and not give her pain ;
I smiled, cried, and sobbed aloud, but she seemed to grow
more anxious : she laid herself on the sofa ; then I tried to
jest, and to make her believe I had taken all as a joke. We
spoke of her will ; she bequeathed something to each one, —
to me, a little Apollo under a glass bell, upon which she had
placed a laurel crown ; I wrote down everything. As I
went home, I reproached myself, that I had been so excited ;
I felt that it icas all a jest, or indeed fantasy, which " belongs
to a realm, that does not maintain its truth in reality." I felt
that I was wrong, and not she, who had often spoken to me
in this manner. The next day I brought her a young
French officer of Hussars, with his high bear-skin cap ; it
was William von Tiirkheim, the handsomest of all youths,
— a complete child, full of fun and good-nature. He came
unexpectedly, — I said, " There, I have brought thee a lover,
who shall make life again 23leasant to thee." He dispelled
all melancholy ; we joked and made verses ; and since the
handsome William maintained that he had made the best,
Giinderode wanted me to present him the laurel crown ; I
would not hear of a duninution of my legacy. At last I
was obliged to make over to him half the crown, and so I
had only the other half. As I once came to her, she showed
me a dagger with silver hilt, which she had purchased at the
mart ; she was delighted with the beauty and sharpness of
the steel. I took the blade and tried it on my finger, blood

WITH A CHILD. 59

followed directly, and she started. I said, " O GUnderode,
thou art so timid, and canst not look on blood, and constantly
cherishest an idea, implying the firmest courage ! — but I
am fully persuaded that I am, rather of the two, capable of
daring something, although I would not kill myself; but I
have courage to defend myself and thee in the hour of peril ;
and when I now press on thee with this dagger, — see ! how
art thou terrified ! " Slie retreated in alarm ; and my old
ra":e was aorain roused, under the mask of maddest wilful-
ness. I pressed more and more earnestly upon her, she ran
into her bed-chamber and took refuge behind a leathern
chair. I buried the dagger in it and tore it to pieces by
repeated stabs ; the horse-hair Hew about the room ; she
stood supplicating, behind the chair, and begged me not to
hurt her. I said, " Rather than suffer thee to kill thyself,
I myself will do it." " My poor chair ! " said she. " What !
your chair, indeed ! it shall serve to make the dagger blunt " ;
therewith I gave it without mercy stab on stab, till the
wdiole room was one cloud of dust ; then I flung the weapon
far away, that it flew ringing under the sofa. I took her by
the hand and led her to the garden, into the vine-bower ; I
tore off the young grapes and threw them before her feet,
and trod on them, and said, " Thus dost thou abuse our
friendship." I showed her the birds in the branches, and
that we, like them, had, till now, lived sportively, but con-
stant to one another ; I said, " Thou mayest depend upon
me ; there is no hour of the night which, if thou wert to
utter a wish, would make me hesitate for a moment. Come
to my window at midnight and whistle, and I will without
preparation go round the world with thee, and what I would
not dare for myself, that I dare for thee. But thou, — what
right hast thou to cast me off? how canst thou betray such
truth ? and now promise me, that thou Avilt no more intrench
thy timid nature behind such cruel, vaunting notions." I
looked at her ; — she was ashamed and hung her head, and
looked away, and was pale ; — we were both a long time
still. " Giinderode," said I, " if thou art in earnest, give me
a sign " ; — she nodded. Slie made a journey to the Rhein-
gau ; from thence she wrote me a few lines, once or twice ;
I have lost them, or I would insert them here. Once she
wrote as follows : " When one is alone upon the Rhine, one
becomes quite melancholy ; but in company, the most awful

60 GOETHE'S GOERESPONDENCE

spots become just the most cliarming. I, however, hke to
greet alone the wide-spread, purple sky of evening ; then I
invent a fairy tale, as I wander on, which I will read to thee.
I am every evening curious to know how it will proceed ;
sometimes it becomes quite awful, and then rises again to
the surface." When she returned, and I wished to read the
tale, she said, " It is become so mournful, that I cannot read
it ; I dare riot hear any more about it, and cannot write any
more to it, it makes me ill " ; and she took to her bed, and
kept it several days ; the dagger lay at her side, but I thought
no more of it ; the night-lamp stood by ; I came in. " Bet-
tine, three weeks ago my sister died ; she was younger than
I, — thou hast never seen her ; she died in rapid decline."
" Why do you tell me this, now for the first time ? " said I.
" Why, how could it interest thee ? thou hast not known
her ; such things I must endure alone," she replied, with
tearless eyes. This sounded oddly to me ; to my young na-
ture, all brothers and sisters were so dear, that I believed I
should have been in despair if one had died, and that I
could have given my life for either of them. She continued :
" Only think ! three nights ago, this sister appeared to me ;
I lay in bed, and the night-lamp was burning on that table ;
she entered slowly, in white garments, and remained stand-
ing at the table ; she turned her head towards me, inclined
it, and gazed on me. At first I was frightened, but soon
became tranquil. I sat up in bed to convince myself that I
was not sleeping. I gazed at her also, and she seemed to
nod her assent to something, — took the dagger, and raised it
toward heaven with her right hand, as if to show it to me,
and laid it down again softly and soundlessly ; and then she
took the lam.]), raised it also on high, and showed it to me ;
and, as if to sign to me that I understood her, she nodded
softly, carried the lamp to her lips, and extinguished it, —
only think," said she, with a shudder, — " extinguished it !
— and, in the darkness, my eye still felt her form ; and
then an anguish fell suddenly uj)on me, which must be
worse than the death struggle ; yes, for I would rather have
died than have borne such anguish any longer."

I had come to take leave, because I intended going to
Marburg with Savigny ; but now I wished to remain Avith
her. " Go, by all means," said she ; " for I go also, the day
after to-morrow, to the Rheingau," — so then I went away.

WITH A CHILD. 61

" Bettine," she called to me at tlie door, " remember this
story ; it is certainly remarkable ! " These were her last
words. From Marburg I often wrote to her at the Khein-
gau, of my curious way of life. I lived the whole winter
on the mountain, just under the old castle. The garden was
enclosed by the fortress-wall. I had an extended view from
the window, over the town, and the richly cultivated Hessen-
land. Gothic towers rose in every direction, from out the
snow layers. From my bed-chamber I used to get into the
garden ; I clambered over the fortress-wall, and climbed
through the desert gardens ; (where the gates could not
be swung back, I broke through the hedges ;) there I sat
on the stone stairs ; the sun melted the snow at my feet.
I searched for mosses, and carried them home in their frozen
beds. I had thus collected from thirty to forty mosses, which,
in my cold chamber, all blossomed round my bed, in little
earthen dishes placed upon the ice. I wrote to her about
this, without saying how it really was. I wrote in verse,
" My bed stands in the midst of a cold country, surrounded
by groves, which bloom in every color ; and there are silver
groves of primeval growth, like those on the island of Cy-
prus ; the trees stand in close rows, weaving together their
mighty boughs ; the lawn from which they sjDring is rose red
and pale green ; I, this day, carried the entire grove on my
benumbed hand, into my cold ice-bed land." To this she
answered, also in verse :

" 'T is moss of a primeval age,
Which thus spreads forth its carpetage.
I doubt, if hunters scour its vales,
Or frisking lambs browse in its dales ;
If Winter cover it with flakes,
Or Spring its blooming flowers awakes.
But still the midge's humming song
Echoes its green-clad groves among;
From waving trees, of silvery hue,
Hang tiny drops of glistening dew ;
And in each dew-drop, sparkling sheen,
At once reflected, lies the scene.
Thou must other riddles try.
If thy wit may mine defy.''

"We were now involved in the proposition and solution of
riddles. Every moment I met with some little adventure in
my walks, which, concealed in double sense, I sent her to
solve. She generally gave an infantine, merry solution. I
once described to her a hare, which met me in a wild, lonely

62 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

wood-path, as an elegant kniglit. I called it la petite perfec-
tion, and said it had captivated my heart. She immediately
answered :

" To a plain, -^vhich •u'as pleasant and green,
There came a kniglit of noble mien.
Who bid the trumpet sound for repast,
And all hares fled, ti-embling at the blast.
Thus, I hope, erelong, will a knight to thee come,

Thy heart, by hares, thus captive taken.
From" all these weights to set at freedom,
And there fresh ardor to awaken."

There Avere allusions to httle love-adventures. Thus
passed a part of the winter. I was in a most happy frame
of mind ; others might call it over-excitement, but to me it
was natural. On the fortress, which surrounded the large
garden, was a watch-tower ; and within stood a broken lad-
der. Just by us a house had been broken into ; the thieves
could not be traced, but were beheved to have hidden them-
selves in the tower. I had taken a survey of it, by day, and
knew, that for a strong man it was impossible to ascend by
this rotten, nearly stepless, and heaven-high ladder. I tried
it, but slid down again, as soon as I had made a short way.
At nio-ht, after I had lain a little while in bed, and Mehne
was asleep, the thought would not let me rest. I tlirew
a gown about my shoulders, stepped out of the window, and
passed by the old Marburg Castle. There the palatinate
Philip, with Elizabeth, peeped laughing out of the window.
I had already, often enough, by day, viewed this stone group,
leaning, arm in arm, out of the window, as if they would
survey their possessions ; but now, at night, I was so afraid,
that I hastened away, with lofty jumps, to the tower. There
I laid hold on the ladder and helped myself up, God knows
how ; what was impossible for me by day, succeeded by
night, under the beating anxiety of my heart. When I was
nearly up, I halted. I considered that the thieves might
really be above, and there attack and throw me headlong
from the toAver. There I hung, and knew not whether to
go up or down ; but the fresh air, which I scented, enticed
me up. How I felt there, when suddenly, by snow and
moonlight, I surveyed wide-spread Nature, alone, assured,
— the great host of stars above me ! thus it is after death ;
the freedom-striving soul, which most painfully feels the
burden of the body, in the moment when it is about to cast

WITH A CHILD. 63

it off, is at length victorious, and becomes free from anxiety.
There my only feeling was, to be alone ; nothing then
charmed me like solitude, and before this blessing all else
must yield. I wrote to Giinderode, that once again all my
happiness depended on the humor of this caprice. I wrote
to her every day, what I did and thought upon the open
watch-tower. I set myself on the parapet and let my legs
hang down. She continually desired to have more of my
tower-inspiration. She said, " It is my cordial ! thou speak-
est like a prophet arisen from the dead." But when I wrote
to her that, on the wall, which was scarce two feet wide,
I ran round about, and looked merrily at the stars, and that
though at first I felt dizzy, I was now quite bold, and that
it was the same to me there above, as if I were on the
ground : — she answered me, " For God's sake ! don't fall.
I cannot yet make out whether thou art the sport of good
or evil spirits." " Don't fall ! " she again wrote, " although
it were pleasant to me to hear thy voice from above con-
verse upon death, yet I fear nothing so much as that thou
shouldst fall, crushed into a miserable and unwilling grave,"
— but her exhortations caused in me neither fear nor giddi-
ness ; on the contrary, I became foolhardy. I knew well, I
had the triumphant conviction, that I was guarded by spirits.
Strange it was, that I often forgot it, and that it often waked
me in the midst of sleep, and I hastened forth at uncertain
hours of night ; that on my way, and upon the ladder, I
always felt the same anxiety as on the first evening ; and
that always, when above, I enjoyed the blessing of a breast
freed from a heavy weight. When the snow lay there
above, I wrote Gunderode's name in it, and " Jesus Naza-
renus, rex Judceorurn " over it, as a talisman of protection ;
and there I felt as if she must be shielded from all evil
suggestions.

At this time Kreutzer came to Marburg, to visit Savigny ;
so ugly as he was, it was at once inconceivable how he could
interest a woman. I heard him use expressions in speaking
of Giinderode, as if he had a right to her love ; in my con-
nection with her, separated as it was from all outward influ-
ence, I had never before suspected this, and was in a moment
most violently jealous. In my presence he took a child on
his lap, and said, " What 's your name ? " Sophia. " Well,
as long as I am here you shall be called Caroline ; Caroline,

64 GOETHE'S COERESPOXDEXCE

give me a kiss." At this I became angrj, tore the child
from his lap, and carried it out, away thi-ough the garden
on to the tower ; when above, I placed it in the snow, near
her name, and laid myself also there, with my burning
cheeks, and cried aloud, and the child cried too ; and as I
came do^^^l, Ivi*eutzer met me ; I said, " Out of my way,
begone ! " The philologer could fancy, that Gam-mede
would hand him Jupiter's goblet ! It was new-year's night ;
I sat on my tower and looked into the depth below, — all
was so still, — no sound, even to the furthest distance ; and
I was sad about Gunderode, who had sent me no answer ;
the town lay beneath me. All at once it struck midnight ;
then arose a roar, the di'ums beat, the post-horns crashed,
they fired guns, they hurrahed, the student-songs sounded
from all sides, and the shouts of jubilee increased till they
surrounded me, almost hke a foaming sea ; — forget it I
never shall, but I cannot say how wondrous it seemed to
me, there above on that giddy height, and how by degrees
it again became still, and I found myself quite alone. I re-
turned home, and wrote to Gunderode ; perhaps I may yet
find the letter among my papers, and then I will insert it ;
I know that I begged her most ardently to answer me ; I
wrote to her about these student-songs, how they echoed to
heaven, and roused up the depths of my heart ; yes, as I
laid as it were my head at her feet and prayed for an an-
swer, and waited with a burning longing a whole week, but
received no answer, I was blind, deaf, without jierception.
Two months passed away, and I was agam m Frankfort.
I ran to the chapter-house, opened the gate, and lo ! — there
she stood and looked at me coldly, as it seemed. " Giinde-
rode," I cried, " may I come in ? " She was silent, and
turned away. '•' Giinderode, say but one word, and my
heart beats against tliine." " No," said she, '' come no near-
er, turn back again, we must at any rate separate." '' What
does that mean ? " " Thus much : that we have been de-
ceived in one another, and do not belong together." Ah !
I turned away ; first despair I first cruel blow ! so dreadful
to a vounsf heart ! I, who knew nothins^ but entire submis-
sion, nay, abandonment, to my love, must be thus rejected !
I ran home to Meline ; I begged her to go with me to Giin-
derode, to see what was the matter with her, and to induce
her to allow me to look a moment in her face ; I thought if

WITH A CHILD. G5

I could only once catch her eye, I should have her in my
power. I ran across the street, and remained standing at
her room door ; I let Meline enter alone ; I waited, trembled,
and wrung my hands, in the little narrow passage, which had
so often led me to her ; Meline came out with tear-swelled
eye3, and drew me away in silence. For a moment grief
overcame me, but I was soon again myself. Well, thought
I, if fate will not be kind, we '11 e'en play at rackets with
her. I was gay, I was merry, I was over-excited, but at
night I wept in sleep. On the second day, I took the way
leading to her dwelling ; and then I saw the house of Goe-
the's mother, of whom I knew nothing further, and had
never visited. I entered. " Frau Rath," said I, " I have
lost a friend in the Canoness Gtinderode, and you must
supply her place." " We will try," said she ; and so I went
to her every day and set myself on the " ottoman," and made
her tell me all about her son, which I wrote down and sent
to Gunderode. When she departed for Rheingau, she sent
me the papers back : the girl who brought them said the
canoness's heart beat violently as she gave them to her, and
that to her question of "what message," she answered,
" Nothing."

A fortnight passed, and then Fritz Schlosser came ; he
asked me for a line to Giinderode, as he was going to the
Rheingau, and wished to make her acquaintance. I said
we had quarrelled, but begged him to speak of me, and
mark what impression it made upon her. " When do you
go ? " said I ; " to-morrow ? " No, in a week." " O, do go
to-morrow, or you will find her no more, — it is so melan-
choly on the Rhine," said I, jestingly, " she may do herself
some mischief." Schlosser looked at me anxiously. " Yes,
yes," I said, petulantly, " she will plunge into the water, or
stab herself, out of mere caprice." " Do not libel her,"
said he ; and now I began to do so, in right earnest. " Take
heed, Schlosser, you find her no more, if you delay accord-
ing to your old custom ; and I tell you, go rather to-day
than to-morrow, and save her from her unreasonably melan-
choly humor " ; and, in jest, I described how she would kill
herself; in a red gown, with loosened bodice, and close
beneath her breast, the wound. This was called wanton
wildness in me, but it was unconscious excitement, in which
I described the truth, with perfect accuracy. On the next

5

66 GOETHE'S CORRESPOXDEXCE

day, Francis came to me and said : " Girl, we will go to the
Rheingau, there thou canst visit Giinderode." " AYhen ? "
I asked. " To-morrow," he said. Ah, I packed up with
such precipitation, I could hardly wait for going ; everything
I met was pushed hastily out of the way, but several days
passed, and the journey was still jDut oif ; at last my desire
for the journey Avas changed into deep mournfulness, and I
had rather have stayed behind. When we arrived at Mit-
telheira, where we j^ut up for the night, I lay at the Avindow
and looked on the moonlit water ; my sister-in-law, Antonia,
sat by the window ; the maid, who laid the cloth, said :
" Yesterday, a young and beautiful lady, who had been re-
siding here for six weeks, made way with herself, at Winck-
el ; she walked a long time by the Rhine, then ran home
and fetched a handkerchief; in the everdno: she was souo;ht
in vain, the next morning she was found on the bank, among
the willow trees ; she had filled the handkerchief with stones
and tied it about her neck, probably because she intended
to smk in the Rhine ; but as she stabbed herself to the
heart, she fell backwards, and a peasant found her thus
lying under the wallows by the Rhine, in a sjDot where it is
deepest. He pulled the dagger from her breast, and flung
it, full of horror, far into the Rhine ; the sailors saw liim flee
the spot, and so came up and brought her into the town."
At first I had not attended, but at last, listened with the
rest, and cried, " That is Giinderode ! " They talked me out
of my belief, and said it must certainly be some other,
since there were so many from Frankfort, in Rheingau. I
allowed myself to be convinced, and thought, " Exactly that
which one prophesies, is, generally, not true." At night I
dreamed she came to me, in a boat adorned with garlands,
to be reconciled with me ; I sjjrang out of bed and into
my brother's room, and cried : " It is all false, I have just
had so vivid a dream ! " " O," said my brother, " do not
build upon dreams." I again dreamed, that I rapidly crossed
the Rhine, in a boat, to seek for her ; the water was troubled
and weedy, and the air was dark, and it was very cold : —
I landed on a swampy shore ; there was a house, with damp
walls, from which she floated forth, and looked anxiously at
me, signifying to me, that she could not sjDcak : — I ran
again to the room of my brother and sister, and cried : " No,
it is surely true ! for I dreamed that I saw her, and asked,

WITH A CHILD. 67

' Giinderode, why liast thou done this to me ? ' and she was
silent and sunk her head, mournfully, and could not an-
swer." Now, in bed, I reflected on all, and bethought me,
that she had formerly said, she would break with me before
she completed her jDurpose ; (now our separation was ex-
plained ;) and that she Avould give me a sign when her res-
olution was fixed ; this, then, was the story of her dead sister,
which she had imparted to me half a year ago ; her de-
termination was then already taken. Oh ! tell me, ye lofty
souls, what mighty power moved this lamb in innocence, this
timid heart, thus to act ? The next morning we proceeded,
at an early hour, further up the Rhine. Francis had or-
dered the boat to keep on the other side, to avoid coming
too near to the spot ; but there stood Fritz Schlosser, on the
bank, and the peasant, who had found her, was showing
him where the head had lain, and where the feet, and that
the grass was still laid ; and the boatmen steered, involun-
tarily, in that direction, and Francis unconsciously repeated,
after the j)easant, all that he could hear at that distance ;
and thus I was compelled to listen to the dreadful frag-
ments of the story about the red gown, unlaced, of the dag-
ger, which I knew so well, and the handkerchief of stones
about her neck, and the gaping wound : — but I did not cry,
— I was silent. Then my brother approached me, and said,
" Take courage, girl ! " We landed at Riidesheim ; the
story was in every one's mouth. I ran past all, with the
speed of wind, and up Ostein, a mountain, a mile high,
without stopping ; — when I came to the top, my breath
was gone, and my head burned ; I had far outstripped the
rest. There lay the splendid Rhine, with his emerald island
gems ; there I saw the streams descending to him from
every side, and the rich, peaceful towns, on either bank, and
the blessed lands on either side ; then I asked myself, if time
would not wear out my loss, and then I resolved to raise
myself above grief, for it seemed to me unworthy to utter
^rief, which the future would enable me to master.

CORRESPONDENCE

WITH

GOETHE.

U'lTH flaming characters was deeply graven
In Petrarch's breast, before each other day,
Good-Friday. Even thus I well may say
To me is Advent, eighteen hundred seven.

Love's flame was not then lit, but brighter bumed
For her, whose form my heart long since elected,
Which wisely then my mind again rejected, —
Now to my heart with double power retm'ned.

Petrarca's love, the lofty, pure, undying.
Was um-equited ; ah ! how full of sadness,
Heart-agony, — for ever a Good-Friday.

But lo ! to me, undimmed by breath of sighing.
An endless jubilee, and full of gladness,
Shows the bright Future, — an eternal May-day.

COKRESPONDENCE.

TO GOETHE.

Cassel, May 15tli, 1807.

" Dear, dear daughter ! call me for all days, for all
future time, by that one name which embraces my whole
happiness. My son is thy friend, thy brother, who surely
loves thee," etc.

Such words does Goethe's mother write to me ! what
right do they give me ? A dam within my heart has, as it
were, broken up : — a child of man, alone on a rock, sur-
rounded by rushing storms, uncertain of itself, wavering
here and there, like the thorns and thistles around it, — such
am I ; — such I was before I knew my master. Now I
turn like the sunflower to my God, and can prove to him,
by the countenance glowing with his beams, that he has
pierced me. O God ! dare I ? and am I not all too bold ?

And what shall I then ? relate how the glorious friendli-
ness, with which you met me, now exuberates in my heart,
— all other life at once repressed ? — how I must ever
yearn towards that time, when I first felt myself tvell ? All
this avails nothing ; — the words of your mother ! — I am
far from making claims on that which her goodness destines
for me, — but these words have dazzled me ; and I must,
at least, satisfy the longing to let you know with what
a mighty power love turns me, at every moment, towards
you.

Nor dare I hesitate to resign myself to a feeling which
bursts from my heart like the young seed in spring ; —
it was to he so, and the seed was laid in me. It is not
my purposed will, that often, from the conversation of the

72 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

moment, I am borne away to your feet, — then seat myself
on the ground, and lay my head m your lap, or press your
hand to my lips, or stand by your side and throw my arms
about your neck, and it is long before I find a position in
which I remain. Then I chatter at my ease ; but the an-
swer Avhich I make myself m your name I pronounce delib-
erately. " My child ! my dear, good girl ! sweet heart ! "
Yes, thus does it sound from out that mysterious hour^ in
which I believed myself conveyed by spirits to another
world ; and when I then think that even so it might sound
from your lips, if I really stood before you, then I tremble
with joy and longing. 0 how many hundred times do we
dream, and our dreams foretell better than will ever happen
to us. Sometunes, too, I am petulant and Avanton, and prize
that man as happy who is so beloved ; then you smile, and
assent to it with friendly generosity.

Woe me, if all tliis never come to pass, for then I shall
miss all which is most splendid in hfe. All, is not wine the
sweetest and most coveted of all heavenly gifts ? that he
who has once tasted it never desires to forswear di'unken
inspiration. This wine I shall miss ; and every other will
be to me as tasteless, spiritless water, of which one does not
desire a single drop more than is necessary.

How, then, shall I console myself? Avitli the song, per-
haps, " Li arms of love we rest us well. Well too in lap of
earth," or, " I would I lay and slept, Ten thousand fathom
deep."

I wish I could finish my letter with a look mto your eyes ;
there would I quickly draw out a pardon for my boldness,
and enclose it. I should then not be anxious about my
childish prattle, which yet for me is so much in earnest.
There it is carried to its destmation, many miles in quick
haste, — the postman trumpets its arrival with full enthusi-
asm in the air, as if he triumphantly asked, "What do I
bring ? " — and now Goethe breaks open his letter, and finds
the infantine prattle of a silly, unimportant child. Shall I
still ask forgiveness ? O, you well know how overjoyed,
how full of SAveet feeling the heart often is, though child-
ish lips cannot find the word, scarcely the tone, to give it
birth.

Bettine Brentano.

WITH A CHILD. 73

TO BETTINE, FROM GOETHE, ENCLOSED IN A LETTER TO

HIS MOTHER.

Such fruits, ripe and sweet, one would fain enjoy every
day, — the which one might be entitled to reckon among
the most beautiful.

- "Wolfgang Goethe.

Dear mother, give this enclosed note to Bettine, and beg
her to write to me still further.

to GOETHE.

May 25th.

When the sun shines hottest, the blue sky is often
clouded ; we fear the storm and tempest, a sultry air op-
presses the breast, but at last the sun conquers, and sinks
tranquil and burnished in the lap of evening.

Thus was, is, with me after writing to you ; I was
oppressed, as when a tempest gives warning of its approach,
and I often blushed at the thought that you would find it
wrong ; at last my mistrust was dispelled by words, wdiich
were few, but how dear ! If you only knew what quick
progress my confidence made in the same moment that I
knew you were pleased with it ! — Kind, friendly man !
I am so unskilled in interpreting such delicious words, that
I doubted their meaning ; but your mother said, " Don't be
so stupid ; let him have written what he will, the meaning
is, you shall write to him as often as you can, and what you
like." 0, I can impart nothing to you but that alone which
takes place in my heart. O, methought, could I now be
with him, my sun of joy should illumine him with as bright
a glow as the friendly look with which his eye met mine.
Yes, splendid indeed ! A purple sky my mind, a warm
love-dew my words, the soul must come forth like a bride
from her chamber, without veil, and avow herself. O mas-
ter ! in future I will see thee long and often by day, and
often shall it be closed by such an evening.

I promise, that that which passes within me, untouched
by the outward world, shall be secretly and religiously
offered to him, who so willingly takes interest in me, and

74 GOETHE'S GORRESPONDENCE

whose all-embracing power promises the fuhiess of fruitful
nourishment to the young germs of my breast.

Without trust, the mind's lot is a hard one ; it grows
slowly and needily, like a hot plant betwixt rocks ; thus am
I, — thus was I, till to-day ; and the fountam of the heart,
which could stream nowhere forth, finds suddenly a passage
into light, and banks of balsam-breathing fields, bloonung
like paradise, accompany its course.

0 Goethe ! my longings, my feelings, are melodies, which
seek a song to which they may adapt themselves. Dare I
do so ? — then shall these melodies ascend high enough to
accompany your songs.

Your mother wrote, as from me, that I laid no claim to an
answer to my letters, and that I would not rob that time
which could produce for eternity : but so it is not ; my soul
cries like a thirsty babe ; all this time, past and future, I
would drink into myself, and my conscience would make me
but small reproach, if the world from this time forth should
learn but little from you, and I more. Remember, in the
mean time, that only a few words from you fill up a greater
measure of joy than I expect from all futurity.

Bettine.

Your mother is very happy and in health ; she drinks
twice as much wine as last year, goes through wind and
weather to the theatre, and in her overjoy sings to me, " O
thou tender, constant soul, whose oath not even fate could
break."

Supplement.

We have a contest, I and your mother ; and it is now
come so far that I must caj^itulate : the severe condition is,
that I myself must relate the whole matter to you ; how I
have been in fault, and how your good mother has endured
it so merrily and humorously ; she has spun out of this a
story, which she relates with thousand-fold pleasure ; she
could write it much better herself, but will not ; I must do
it as my punislnnent, and so I feel quite ashamed.

1 was to bring Gall to her, but under his name introduced
Tieck. She directly thrcAV off her head-di^ess, set herself
down, and requested Gall to examine her head, and see
whether the great quahties of her son might not have

WITH A CHILD. 75

passed over to him from her. Tieck was in a great di-
lemma, for I would not allow him a moment to set your
mother right ; she immediately began a violent contest with
me, desiring me to be quite silent and not set Gall into the
track : just then came Gall himself, and gave his name :
your mother did not know to which to turn, particularly as
I protested strongly against the right one ; he nevertheless
at last prevailed, for he held a fine speech over the great
properties of her head, and I was pardoned, and obliged to
promise never again to deceive her. A few days after, a
delightful opportunity of revenging myself offered. I in-
troduced to her a young man from Strasburg, who shortly
before had been with you ; she asked politely after his
name, and before he could answer I said, " The gentleman's
name is Wildgoose ; he has visited your son at Weimar,
and brmgs you many greetings from him." She looked
contemptuously at me, and said to him, " Dare I take the
liberty of asking your name ? " but again, before he could
legitimize himself, I had again uttered the famous name,
" Wildgoose." Quite enraged at my rude treatment, in
miscallmg the strange gentleman by this epithet of Wild-
goose, she begged his pardon, said my wantonness had no
bounds, and often, indeed, bordered on folly. I said, " But
the gentleman's name is Wildgoose." " O, be silent," said
she ; " how could a reasonable man be called Wildgoose ? "
When the gentleman at last could edge in a word, and
acknowledged that it was his evil fate to be so named, it
was delightful to hear the excuses and assurances of high
respect on either side ; they were as much amused with one
another, as if they had been acquainted for years ; and on
his taking leave, your mother said, with an heroical attempt,
" Farewell, Sir Thomas Wildgoose, — I never believed to
have been able to have brought it over my tongue."

Now that I have written, I first perceive how severe my
punishment, for I have used up a large part of the sheet
without bringing in a word of my own concerns, which lie
so near my heart. Yes ; I am ashamed to say anything
more to you to-day, than to conclude my letter with assur-
ance of reverence and love ; but to-morrow I begin a new
letter, and this shall be reckoned for nothing.

Bettine.

76 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

TO GOETHE.

June 3d.

I HAVE fetched the enclosed letter from your mother to
you, that I might write the earUer without being immodest.
How willingly might I write to you quite intimately, like a
child, and indeed without rhyme or reason, exactly as it
comes into my head : — may I ? p. e., that I was in love for
five days together : is that without rhyme ? Well, what is
seen reflected in the stream of your youth ? Only see !
Heaven and earth are painted there ; hills, and rainbows,
and lightning, parted thunder-clouds, stand in beautiful
order, and a loving heart moves through the midst to meet
a more elevated happiness, and a still evening crowns the
sunlit day in arms of the loved one.

Therefore, don't be angry, that I was five days in love.

Bettine.

GOETHE TO BETTINE.

June 10 th.

The poet is often so happy as to be able to rhyme to that
which is unrhymed, and so it may be granted you, dear
child, to send him without consideration everything of this
kind which you have to communicate.

But oblige me with a fuller description of that which held
five days' possession of your heart, and whether you are
sure that the enemy does not still lurk in ambush. We
have also received news of a young man adorned with a
great bear-skin cap lingering in your neighborhood, under
pretence of havmg liis wounds healed, while he perhaps
means to inflict the most dangerous ones.

Remember, in these dangerous times, the friend who finds
it more suitable not to come in the way of your heart's
present caprice.

a

June 14tli.
Dear Goethe, dear Friend :
To-day I and your mother have made choice of what
title I might give you ; and she has left these two open to
me, — I have written both ; I look forward to the time

WITH A CHILD. 77

when my pen shall dance quite otherwise, — unconcerned
wherever the flame may glow, — when I may discover to
you my secret heart, which beats so impetuously, and yet
trembles. Will you also solve such unrhymed rhapsodies ?
When I know myself surrounded by that same nature,
whose inward life becomes through your spirit intelligible
to me, then I often cannot distinguish them one from an-
other ; I lay myself down on the green turf, with embracing
arms, and feel myself as near to you as then when, in order
to soothe the commotion in my heart, you, encircled by my
arms, used the simple magic of your tranquil gaze, till I
felt myself penetrated by the certainty of my happiness.

Dear friend, who dare believe that that which has once
been so fully acknowledged and understood, could again be
lost ? No ! You are never far from me. Your spirit
smiles on me, and softly touches me, from the first spring
mornino: to the latest winter evenino;.

I can also explain to you the love-secret of the bear-skin
cap, and put you to the blush for your silent derision at my
serious constancy. Nothing is more charming than the
young plant, standing in full bloom, on which the finger of
God, each fresh morning, arranges the tender dew in pearls,
and paints its leaves with fragrance'. Thus last year
bloomed a pair of blue eyes from under the bear-skin cap ;
thus laughed and talked the agreeable Hps, thus moved the
graceful limbs, and so each question and answer j)roved a
tender passion, and breathed forth in sighs the fragrance of
the inmost heart, like this young plant. I observed it, and
understood the beauty, but still was not in love ; I intro-
duced the young hussar to Giinderode, who was then sad ;
we were every evening together, — the spirit played with
the heart ; I heard and felt a thousand declarations and
beautiful modulations, — and still I was not in love. He
departed : — one could see that the departure weighed on
his heart. " If I do not return," said he, " believe that the
late period has been the most delicious of my life." I saw
him spring down the steps ; I saw his handsome form, in
which worth and pride gave, as it were, a reproof to his
graceful youth ; I saw him mount his horse, and ride forth
into the shower of balls, — and I did not sigh after him.

This year he came again, with a scarce-healed wound
upon his breast; he was pale and languid, and remained

78 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

with us five days. In the evenmg, when all were gathered
round the tea-table, I sat in the dark recess of the room, in
order to observe liim. He played on the guitar, and I held
a flower before the light, and let its shadow play upon his
fingers, — this was my height of daring ; — my heart beat
with anxiety, lest he should remark it ; I retired again into
the shade, and kept my flower, which at night I laid under
my pillow. This was the last great incident in the love-
comedy of five days.

This youth, whose mother may be proud of his beauty,
of whom your mother related, that he was the son of the
first warm-beloved of my beloved friend, has touched my
heart.

Ancl now that friend may interpret, why this year heart
and eye were oj)ened to him, and not the last.

Thou hast waked me m the midst of warm summer-
breath, and as I lifted my eyes, I saw ripe apples, waving
above me from golden boughs, and I longed for them.

Adieu ! In your mother's letter there is much about
Gall and the brain ; in mine, much about the heart.

Pray, in your letters, do not greet Doctor Schlosser and
me any more in one paragraph ; it hurts my poor pride too
much.

Bettine.

Thy child, thy heart ! thy good girl : who loves Goethe
above all, and can console herself for all, with his remem-
brance.

TO GOETHE.

June 18th.

Yesterday I sat opposite to your mother on my otto-
man ; she looked at me and said : " Well, what is it ? why
don't you look at me ? " I wanted her to relate me some-
thing ; and had buried my head in my arms. " No," said
she, " if you won't look at me, I will relate nothing," and as
I could not conquer my caprice, she was quite silent. I
walked up and down the tlu-ee long, narrow rooms, and as
often as I passed by her she looked at me, as much as to
say : " How long is this to last "^ " At last she said : " Lis-
ten to me ! I thought you were going ! " " Where ? "

WITH A CHILD. 79

asked I. " To Weimar, to Wolfgang, to fetch some respect
for his mother." " Ah, mother, if that were possible ! " said
I ; and fell upon her neck and kissed her, and ran up and
down the room. " Well," said she, " why should it not be
possible ? the way is unbroken, there is no chasm between :
I don't know what prevents thee, if thou hast such a tre-
mendous longing: one mile, forty times repeated, is the
whole matter, and then thou comest back and relatest every-
thing to me."

Now have I dreamed the whole night of this one mile,
which I am to make forty times ; it is indeed true ; your
mother is right ; after chasing through forty hours, I should
lay on my friend's heart. On this earth I can find hun ; the
roads are travelled ones, everything points out the path;
the star of heaven lights on to his threshold ; the children
on the way call to me, " There he lives." What keeps me
back ? I alone am witness to my ardent longing ; and
should not I allow myself, what I beg and entreat, — that I
may take courage ? No, I am not alone ; these yearning
thoughts take to themselves forms ; they look me in the
eyes, inquiring how I could waste my life, without going
hand in hand with him, and eye to eye consuming in their
mutual fires. O Goethe, bear with me ; I am not every
day so weak as to cast myself down before thee, and not to
cease weeping till thou hast promised all to me. The
thought that I would be with thee goes like a burning sword
through my heart : — with thee ! nothing else ; as hfe now
lies before me, I know nothing more which I could ask ; I
wish to know nothing new, — nothing shall stir, not the leaf
on the tree ; the breezes shall be hushed ; time itself shall
be still, and thou shalt endure m tranquillity, tiU aU my
pains become stilled on thy bosom.

June 19th.

Yesterday evening, dear Goethe, it happened thus to me ;
the draught tore open the door, and extinguished the light
by which I had been writing to you. My windows were
open and the blinds let down, — the storm-breeze was play-
ing with them ; a violent thunder-shower fell, and my Httle
canary-bird was waked up ; he flew out into the storm, he
cried for me, and I employed the whole night in alluring
him back. Not before the storm ceased did I lie down to

80 GOETHE'S CORRESPOXDEXCE

sleep : I was tired and very sad, too, about my dear bird.
While I was studying Grecian history, with Gunderode, I
drew majDS, and when I drew the seas, he helj)ed me to
shade them : so that I was quite astonished, how assiduously
he always scratched here and there with his little beak.

Now he is gone ; the storm certainly cost him his life.
Then I thought, had I but tlown forth to seek thee, and
came through storm and tempest to thy door, which thou
wouldst not oi3en to me ; no ! thou hadst not been there ;
thou hadst not waited for me, as I did the whole nisflit for
my little bird ; thou hast others to commune with ; thou
movest in other spheres. Now it is the stars which hold
counsel with thee, then the deep precipitous rock-caverns ;
now thy glance mores, proiDhet-hke, through fields of mist
and air, and then thou takest the colors of the flowers, and
espousest them with light ; thou findest thy lyre ever strung,
and if it came glancing to thee, decked with fresh garlands,
thou wouldst ask : " Who has twined for me this beautiful
wreath ? " Thy song would soon scorch these flowers ;
they would hang their heads, they would lose their color,
and fall, unnoticed, to the ground.

All the thoughts which love prompts within me, every
ardent longing and wish, I can compare only to such field-
flowers : they unconsciously open their golden eyes over the
green meadows, they laugh awhile to the blue heaven, then
a thousand stars burn above them, and dance around the
moon, and cover the trembling, tear-laden flowers with night
and deep slumber. Even thus, poet ! art thou a moon, sur-
rounded by the starry host of thy inspirations ; but my
thoughts lie in a valley, like the field-flowers, and sink in
night before thee ; and my inspiration fails before thee, and
all my thoughts slumber beneath thy firmament.

Bettixe.

GOETHE TO BETTIXE.

June IStli.

My dear Child,

I ACCUSE myself that I have not earlier given thee a

proof, how full of enjoyment, how refreshing it is to me,

to be able to view the rich life which glows in thy heart.

Be it a want in myself, that I can say to thee but little ;

WITH A CHILD. 81

then it is want of, comj)osure, under all which thou impart-
est to me.

I write in haste, for I fear to tarry there, where such
abundance is poured upon me. Continue to make thy
home with my mother, (thou art become too dear to her,
that she can miss thee,) and reckon upon my love and
thanks.

G.

TO GOETHE.

Frankfort, June 29 th.

If I allowed my heart to pour itself through my pen,
thou wouldst throw many a page of mine aside ; for of
thee and of me, and of my love alone, this would be the
well-known and eternal subject.

I have it at my fingers' ends, and I feel that I must
relate to thee what I dream of thee at night, not consider-
ing that thou art here in the world for other ends. I have
often the same dream ; and it has already caused me much
consideration, why my soul always holds communion with
thee, under the same conditions. It is, as if I would dance
before thee ; I am clothed ethereally ; I have a feeling, that
I could succeed in every attempt. The crowd surround
me, I search for thee ; there thou art, sitting quietly, oppo-
site to me : it is, as if thou didst not mark me, but wert
otherwise employed. Now I step before thee, gold-shoed,
my silver arms hanging negligently, and there wait ; then
thou liftest up thy head ; thy gaze fixes involuntarily upon
me ; with slow steps I draw magic circles, thy eye leaves
me no more, thou art compelled to follow me, wherever I
turn, and I feel the triumph of success. In the dance I show
fhee all that, which thou couldst scarce forebode, and thou
wonderest at the wisdom which I dance before thee ; soon
I throw off my airy robe and show thee my wings, and rise
aloft ; then I please myself, as thy eye follows me ; then I
float do\vh again, and sink into thy embracing arms ; then
thou breathest forth sighs, and, quite penetrated, lookest
up to me. Waking from these dreams, I return to man-
kind, as from a far distance ; their voices seem strange to me,
and their features also ; and now let me confess, that at this

confession of my dreams, my tears flow. Once you sang for

6

82 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

me : "0 let me seem till I become, Put not off my garment
white." These magic charms, these magic powers, are my
white robe. I also entreat, that it may continue mine till I
be changed ; but, master ! tliis foreboding will not be dis-
puted, that this white robe will be put off from me, and that
I shall fall into the common, every-day hfe ; and that tliis
world, in which my senses live, will sink down ; that which
I ought protectingly to preserve, I shall betray ; there, where
I ought patiently to submit, I shall seek revenge ; and there,
where my artless, childlike wisdom beckons, there I shall
bid defiance, and lay claim to a higher knowledge ; but the
most mournful thing will be, that I, like all the rest, shall
burden with the name of sin that Avhich is none, and for
this I shall be rightly served. Thou ai't my protecting altar,
to thee will I flee ; this love, this mighty love, which rules
between us, and the knowledge which it imparts to me, and
the revelations, they shall be my protecting walls ; they will
free me from those who would judge me.

Thy Child.

TO GOETHE.

The day before yesterday we went to see Egraont ; they
all cried, " Splendid ! " After the play, we went, according
to Frankfort custom, up and down, under the moonht Lin-
den-trees ; there I heard it a thousand times re-echoed.
Little Dalberg was with us ; he had seen your mother at
the play, and desired I would introduce him to her ; she
was just about to make her night-toilet, but, as she heard
he came from the primate's, she let him in ; she had already
put on her white negligee-jacket, but her head-di'ess was
still entire. The amiable, elegant Dalbers; said to her, that
his uncle had, during the performance, seen from above
her joy-glancing eyes, and wished to speak with her, before
his departure, and whether she would dine with him the
next day. Your mother was very finely dressed at this
diner, which was attended by highnesses, and other remark-
able personages, out of compliment to whom your mother
was probably invited, and who all pressed upon her, to see
and speak with her. She was in excellent. spirits, and elo-
quent, and only sought to get away from me. She after-

WITH A CHILD. 83

wards told me she was anxious, lest I should bring her
into trouble ; but I believe, she played me a trick ; for the
primate said many strange things to me, about you, and that
your mother had told him I had a lofty and elegant mind.
Then he took a handsome Englishman by the hand, a
brother-in-law of Lord Nelson, and said : " This gentleman,
with the aquiline nose, shall lead you to table, — he is the
handsomest man in company ; be satisfied " : the English-
man smiled, but understood nothing of what was said. At
table he changed my glass, out of which I had drunk, and
begged my permission to drink out of it, or the wine would
not please him ; this I allowed, and every sort of wine which
was placed before him, he j)oured into this glass, and drank
it with looks of enthusiasm. It was a curious dinner-
conversation : at one time he moved his foot close to mine,
and asked me Avhat was my favorite amusement. I said,
I dance, rather than walk ; and fly, rather than dance, —
and therewith I drew back my foot. I had placed my little
nosegay, which I wore, in the finger-glass, that it might not
so soon wither, and to be able to wear it again after dinner ;
he asked, " Will you give me this ? " I nodded to him ; he
took it to smell, and kissed it ; he placed it in his bosom
and buttoned his waistcoat over it, and sighed, and then
he saw that I grew red. His face ran over with a look of
kindness ; he turned to me, without lifting up his eyes, as if
he would entreat me to observe his pleasing features ; his
foot again sought mine, and, with a soft voice, he said, " Be
good, pretty girl." I could not be unfriendly to him, and
yet I Avas willing to retreat with honor, so I fastened one
end of my long sash round his leg and tied it cleverly fast
to the leg of the table, quite secretly, that no one saw it ; he
allowed it, and I said, " Be good, pretty boy." And now
we were full of fun and chat to the end of dinner, and, in-
deed, it was a tender sort of merriment between us, and I
willingly enough allowed him to press my hand to his heart,
as he kissed it.

I told my tale to your mother, who said, I must write
it to you, for it was a pretty adventure for you, and that
you, alone, would interpret it well. And it is true ; thou,
who knowest how Avillingly I would lay my neck beneatli
thy feet, will not scold me, that I gave to the boldness of
the Englishman, who played with my foot, no severer re-

84 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

pulse. Thou, who hast knowledge of love, and the spirit-
uality of sense, ah, how beautiful is everything in thee !
with what a power the streams of life rush through thy
excited heart, and precipitate themselves, with force, into
the cold Avaters of thy time, foaming uj), so that mountain
and vale smoke with the life-glow, and the woods stand
with glowing stems on thy shores, and all on which thou
lookest becomes filled with beauty and with life. O God,
how fain would I now be with thee ; and if I were in flight,
far beyond all time, and floated over thee, — I must close
my pinions and tranquilly stoop to the almightiness of thy
eyes.

Men will not always understand thee ; and they who
pretend to stand nearest to thee, will deny thee most. I
see in the future, how they will cry, " Stone him." Now
that thy own insj^iration, like a lion, is on thy side, to watch
thee, the vulgar will not dare thee.

Your mother lately remarked, that the people of the pres-
ent time, are all like Mr. Gerning, who always says, " We
l^rivate hterati," and he speaks the truth, for he is not for
the public.

Rather be dead, than live for myself alone ! But I am
not so, for I ani thine, because I recognize thee in all. I
know that when the clouds tower up before the day-god, he
soon presses them down again with glowing hand ; I know
that he endures no shade, but that which he himself seeks
under the laurels of his own glory ; (the quiet of conscience
will oversliadow thee,) — I know that when he bows him-
self over evening, he raises his golden head again at morn-
ing. Thou art immortal, therefore it is good to be with
thee.

"When I am alone at evening in my dark room, and the
neighbors' lights shine upon the wall, (sometimes, too, wan-
dering lights shine upon thy bust,) or Avhen at night all in
the toAvn is still, — here and there a dog barks, a cock
crows, — I know not why this often aflects me with a more
than human power ; I know not for pain where to turn. I
would speak with thee otherwise than by words ; I would
fix myself upon thy heart ; — I feel that my soul flames.
As the air becomes so fearfully still before the storm, ex-
actly so cold and motionless are my thoughts, and my heart
heaves like the sea. Dear, dear Goethe ! then does the

WITH A CHILD. 85

remembrance of thee again dissolve me ; the signs of fire
and war recede slowly from my heaven, and thou art like
the streaming moonbeams. Thou art great and splendid,
and better than all which I have yet known, seen, or heard.
Thy whole life is so good.

B.

TO BETTINE

July 16tli, 1807.

What can one say and give to thee, which is not already
in a more beautiful way become thy own ? One must be
silent and give thee thy way. When an opportunity offers
to beg something of thee, then one may let his thanks for the
much which has unexpectedly been given through the rich-
ness of thy love, flow in the same stream. That thou cher-
ishest my mother, I would fain with my whole heart requite
thee : from yonder, a sharp breeze blew upon me, and now
that I know thou art with her, I feel safe and warm.

I do not say to thee, " Come." I will not have the little
bird disturbed from its nest ; but the accident would not
be unwelcome to me, which should make use of storm and
tempest to bring it safely beneath my roof At any rate,
dearest Bettine, remember that thou art on the road to
spoil me.

Goethe.

TO GOETHE.

Wartburg, August 1st, at night.

My friend, I am alone : all things sleep, and the thought,
that it is- so lately since I was together with thee, keeps me
waking. Perhaps, Goethe, tliis was the highest event of
my life : perhaps it was the richest, most blissful moment :
brighter days shall never come to me, — I would refuse
them.

It was, indeed, a "last kiss," with which I was compelled
to part, for I believed I must for ever hang upon thy lips ;
and as I drove through the walks and trees, under Avhich we
had wandered together, I thought I must hold fast by each

SQ GOETHE'S CORRESPOXDEXCE

trunk ; — but they disappeared ; the green, well-known
spaces melted in the distance, the loved meadows and thy
dwelling were long faded away, and the blue distance
seemed alone to keep watch over the enigma of my life.
But even the distance was lost, — and now nothing was left
me but my ardent longing, and my tears flowed at this part-
ing. Ah ! then I reflected upon all ; how thou hast wan-
dered with me in the night-hours, and hast smiled ujDon me,
as I interpreted the cloud-pictures, and my love, and my
beautiful dreams, and hast listened Avith me to the whisper-
ing of the leaves in the night-wind, to the stillness of the
distant, far-extended night, — and hast loved me, that I
know. As thou ledst me by the hand along the path, I
perceived in thy breath, in the tone of thy voice, — in some-
thing (how shall I describe it to thee) which breathed
around me, that thou receivedst me to an inward, a secret
life, and that in this moment thou hadst devoted thyself to
me alone, covetino; nothino; more than to be with me : and
of all this who shall rob me ? what have I lost ? My
friend! I have all that I have ever enjoyed: and wherever
I go, my happiness is my home.

How the rain-drops rattle against the small, round win-
dows, and how fearfully the wind roars ! I had already
lain in bed and turned myself on my side, and wished to
sleep in thee, in thinking on thee. What does it mean,
'' To sleep in the Lord " ? This saying often occurs to me,
when, between sleeping and waking, I feel myself busy
A\'ith thee ; — I know well how it is. The Avliole earthly
day passes away from him Avho loves, as this earthly life
does from the soul : she is laid claim to, here and there, and
though she promises not to lose sight of herself, yet at last
she has marked her way through the web of time, and
always under the secret condition of holding at one time
communion with the beloved ; but the hours, in passing by,
lay each their request or command upon her ; and there is
a resistless will in man, which constrains him to betake him-
self to everything : this power he allows to have sway over
him, as the sacrifice allows the sway which it knows con-
ducts it to the altar. And thus the soul sleeps in the Lord,
wearied of its whole lifetime, which was its tyrant, and now
lets sink the sceptre. Then divine dreams arise and take
her to their lap and bemantle her ; and their magic vapors

WITH A CHILD. 87

become continnnlly fuller, and close around the soul, that
she knows herself no more, — this is her rest in the grave.
Thus every night dreams arise when I will think of thee,
and I allow myself without opposition to be cradled therein,
for I feel that my bed of clouds rises upwards with me !

If you have this night been kept watching, you must
have at least an idea of the tremendous storm. Just now I
was determined to be quite strong and have no fear, but the
wind gave so powerful a gust, and dashed against the Avin-
dows and howled so piteously, that I felt compassion ; and
then it tore open the heavy door so maliciously, it wanted to
extinguish my lamp. I sprung upon the table and protected
it, and I looked through the open door towards the dark
gallery, to be quite ready if ghosts should enter. I trem-
bled with heart-beating anxiety. There I saw something
forming Avithout in the passage, and it really was as if two
men, Avho held one another by the hand, Avere about to
enter ; one was in Avhite and broad-shouldered, the other in
black and friendly-looking, and I thought, ^'- That is Goe-
the ! " Tlien I sprang doAvn from the table to meet you,
and ran through the door up the dark passage Avhich I had
feared, and Avent to the end to meet you ; and my Avhole
anxiety was changed into longing, and I Avas sad that the
spirits did not come, you and the Duke. You have often
been here together, you tAvo affectionate brethren.

Good night ! I am curious for to-morroAV ; it must shoAV
what the storm has done. The cracking of trees and hiss-
ing of Avater must mean sometliing.

August 2J.

This morning the sun Avaked me at half past four. I
don't think I have slept tAvo hours, and it must shine
directly in my eyes. The breaking clouds and Avhirhvinds
haA^e just passed aAvay ; golden tranquillity is spreading
itself from out the morning sky. I saAV the waters collect
and seek their Avay through rocky beds to the flood beloAV ;
fallen firs broke the foaming torrent, and pieces of rock
divided its course, — it Avas irresistible ; it tore along Avith
it all that could not stem its force. Then a poAverful desire
came over me (I could not stem it either) ; I shortened my
garments, the morning-Avind held me in by the hair ; I
placed my hands on my sides to preserve my balance, and

88 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

sprang clown with bold leaps from one crag to another, now
on this side, now on that, the foaming water my companion,
till I arrived below ; there lay, as if cleft by an axe to the
very roots, half the trunk of a hollow linden across the
gathering jfloods.

0 dearest friend ! he who drinks the morning mist, and
courses along with the fresh gale, the scent of the young
plants penetrating to his breast, and rising to his head;
then, when the temples beat and the cheeks glow, and he
shakes the rain-drops from his hair, — what a joy is that !

1 rested myself on the prostrated trunk, and there I dis-
covered, among the thick foliage of the boughs, numberless
birds' nests, little titmice with black heads and white throats,
seven in one nest, and yellow finches and bulfinches ; the
parent birds fluttered about my head and fed their young :
ah, if they should succeed in fledging them in so f)erilous a
situation ! only think, fallen down from the blue sky to the
earth, across a foaming flood ! if one of the little birds fall
out, it must be drowned, and the nests hang all on one side.
But the thousand bees and gnats wdiich buzzed about me,
all seeking nourishment in the linden, — if you could only
have seen all this with me ! no fau' could be more busy, and
all were so at home ; each sought his little inn under the
blossoms where it put up, and then flew busily away and
met its neighbor ; and they hummed as they passed by one
another, as if they told where good beer was to be had
cheap. What do I chatter to you about the linden ? and
still there is not yet enough of it : the trunk still hangs to
the roots : I looked up to the top of the standing tree,
which must now drag half its life along the ground, and in
autumn die off. Dear Goethe! if I had my cottage there
in the solitary ravine, and I were accustomed to wait for
thee, what a great event had this been ! how I should have
sprung to meet thee, and from afar have called to thee,
" Only think ! our linden ! " And thus indeed it is : I am
enclosed in my love as in a lonely cottage, and my life is, to
wait for thee beneath the linden ; where remembrance and
presence yield their scent, and longing entices on the future.
Ah, dear Wolfgang ! when the cruel tempest cleaves the
linden, and the more strong and luxuriant half falls with all
the life which is moving within it to the ground, and its
green foliage sadly withers over an evil fate, as over the

WITH A CHILD. 89

headlong moimtain torrents, and the young broods in its
branches are destroyed : oh! then think that one half yet
stands, and that in it all remembrance, all life which springs
forth from it, will be borne up to heaven.

Adieu ! Now we proceed on our journey, and to-morrow
I shall not be so near to you that the letter which I write
early in the morning can amuse you late at night, — ah, let
it amuse thee as if I myself were there, — tenderly !

I shall remain fourteen days at Cassel, from whence I
will write to your mother; she does not yet know that
I have seen you.

Bettine.

to bettine.

With many a thousand kiss iinsated still,
Must yet Avith one more kiss the farewell bless;
At such a parting (deep-felt wretchedness)
The much-loved shore, with all its flood and hill,

Dwellings and mountains, Avhile my straining sight
Had power to hold it, was my gladness' store ;
But soon, blue distance gathered in the shore,
And all stood clad in darkness dimly bright.

At length, when ocean bounded in the view,
Back to my heart, my ardent longing sped ;
Full-grieved, the lost, my tearful search employed.

T was then as though o'er heaven a brightness flew,
It seemed as if naught, — naught my grasp had fled,
As had I all that I had e'er enjoyed.

A stream foams forth, from mist--nTeathed rocky bed,
"With ocean's waters hastening to unite;
Whate'er be mirrored there, from height to height, —
On to the vale, its constant course is sped.

But with one nish, see ! Oreas headlong bounds, —
Her, follow cliff and wood in whirling wind
Down to the flood, — enjoyment there to find;
And hems the course, the'broad'uing basin rounds.

The water bursts in spray, curls back, recedes,
Crests up the cliff", to swallow up itself;
And hemmed to father Ocean is his strife

It Avavers, rests, to the smooth lake recedes,
In glancing waves rippling on rocky shelf,
The mirrored stars behold, — another life.

90 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

Thy fl}'ing pages, dearest Bettine, came exactly at the
right time to assist me in suj)porting my sorrow at thy
departir-e. Enclosed I send thee back a part of those
pages. Thou seest how one tries to revenge one's self on
time, (which robs us of all that is dearest,) and to immor-
talize blissful moments. Mayest thou see the value which
th*e poet must entertain for thee therein reflected.

Should thy Avandering life last any longer, neglect not to
give me news of everything; I follow, Avith pleasure, wher-
ever thy fairy spirit leads thee.

I enclose these pages to my mother, which she may send
to thee at a fitting time, as I do not exactly know thy ad-
dress. Farewell, and let thy promises be realized.

Goethe.

Weimar, August 7th, 1807.

TO GOETHE.

Cassel, August 13th, 1807.

"Who can imagine or fathom all that passes within me ?
I am now almost happier in the remembrance of the past,
than I then was in enjoyment of the jDresent ; my excited
heart, the surprise of l3eing with thee, this coming and
going, and returning in a few days, came all like clouds
driving along my sky : it must, by my being too near, at
the same time receive my shadow, as it is ever darker
where it is near the earth : now in the distance it becomes
serene, high, and perfectly clear.

I would fain press thy hand with both mine upon my
heart, and tell thee how peace and fulness are come upon
me since I have known thee.

I know that it is not the evening which now breaks in
upon my life ; 0 that it were ! Would that my days were
already passed, and that my wishes and my joys Avould all
twine themselves up thee, so that thou mightest be covered
and crowned by them, as with an evergreen foliage.

But you were, the evening I was alone with you, so that
I could not comprehend you. You laughed at me when I
was moved, and you lauglied aloud when I cried ; but why ?
And yet it was thy laughing, the tone of thy laughing,
which moved me to tears, as it was my tears which made
thee laugh : and I am content, and from under the cover of

WITH A CHILD. 91

this enigma I see roses bursting forth, Avhich spring at once
from sorrow and from joy. Yes ! prophet, thou art riglit ;
I shall often, with hght heart, root my way through fun and
merriment ; I shall sport myself weary, as in infaney, (ah !
it seems but yesterday,) when I merrily played about the
blooming fields, pressing down everything, and tore up the
flowers by their roots, to cast them into the water ; but on
sweet, warm, secure earnest I will repose, and this art thou,
laughing prophet !

I say to thee once again, Avho in the wide world can un-
derstand what passes within me, how I rest so quietly in
thee, so still, so without wavering of feeling ; I could, like
the mountains, yield days and nights over to the past, with-
out even shrinking in the remembrance of thee. And yet,
when the wind sometimes carries to the mountain-tops scent
and seeds from the whole blooming world, the mountains
are intoxicated as I was yesterday : for I loved the world,
and was blest as the bubblmg spring, into which the sun
shines for the first time.

Farewell, thou most beloved, who dazzlest me and makest
me timid. From this steep rock, up which my love with
danger of life has dared, I cannot again descend ; it is not
to be thought of : I should inevitably break my neck.

Bettine.

So far had I written yesterday. This morning I sat on a
stool and read, silent, and without thought or motion, in a
chronicle, for I was being painted, as you shall soon see ;
then they brought me the blue cover, and I left off reading,
and found myself there represented in divine splendor, and
for the first time I believed in my bliss.

What do I want ? I cannot conceive ; thou stunnest
me ; each little noise distresses me : oh ! if the whole
world were still, and I needed to know no more, after this
one moment which gives me pain, and to which I shall ever
return. Ah, and what shall I with thee ? not much. Often
and warmly to look upon thee, to accompany thee into thy
quiet home, to question thee in leisure hours of tliy past
and present life, as I have questioned tliy countenance of its
past and present beauty. In the library I could not resist
raising myself up to thy young bust, and, like a nightingale,
there to wet my beak : thou broad, full stream, how didst

92 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

thou foam tliroiigh the luxuriant region of thy youth, and
but hitely took thy quiet way through thy meadows : ah !
and I tJu'ew- rocks before thee, and as thou toweredst up
again, indeed it was not to wonder at, for I had rooted my-
self so deeply.

O Goethe ! the god above is a great poet ; he shapes des-
tinies, free floating in ether, of splendid forms. Our poor
heart is the mother's bosom, from which he gives them to
be born Avith great pain ; the heart despairs, but those des-
tinies rise upwards, and joyfully they resound in the heaven-
ly regions. Thy songs are the seed ; it falls into the well-
spread heart ; — I feel, that, let it be what it may, it will,
freed from the burden of earth, rise upwards as a heavenly
song, and consecrate to the god above these pains, and this
longing, and these aspirations, as shoots of the young laurel-
tree ; and blessed will that heart be, which ha^ borne these
pains.

Dost thou see how well I understand to speak so serious-
ly with thee to-day ? more so than ever before : and because
thou art young and excellent, and more excellent than all,
thou wilt also understand me. Through thee I am become
quite mild ; by day I busy myself with mankind, with music,
and books ; and at evening, when I am weary and will
sleep, the flood of my love rushes tumultuously through
my heart. Then I see pictures : all that Nature presents
to the senses, surrounds thee and speaks for thee ; thou
appearest to me on lofty heights, I overtake thee between
mountain walls, in winding paths, and thy countenance paints
enigmas, delightful to solve. That day, on which I parted
from thee with the one kiss, ivith luhich I did not part, —
I was in the morning nearly a whole hour alone in the room
where the piano stands ; I sat in a corner, on the ground,
and thought to myself : " It cannot be helped ; I must cry
once more " ; and thou wert quite near to me and didst not
know it, and I wept with laughing lips, for the firm green
land appeared to me through the mournful mist. Thou
earnest, and I said to thee very briefly, laying a restraint
upon myself, how dear thou wert to me.

To-morrow I go to Frankfort ; there I will pay }^our
mother all love and all reverence, for happy is the body
wliich has borne thee.

Bettine.

WITH A CHILD. 93

TO GOETHE.

August 21st.

You can have no notion with what joy your mother re-
ceived me : directly as I came in, she chased all the others
away who were with her. " Xow, gentlemen," said she,
" here comes one who has something to say to me," and so
all were obliged to leave the house. As soon as we were
alone, she wanted me to relate ; then I knew nothing. " But
what happened on thy arrival ? " " It was deplorable weath-
er." " I want to know nothing of the weather, but about
Wolfgang ; what happened, when thou camest to him ? "
"I did not come, he came." "Well, where?" "To the
Elephant, at midnight, three pairs of stairs up : all were
already fast asleep, the lamps in the hall extinguished, the
gate was locked, and the .landlord had the key under his
pillow, and was already snoring aloud." " Well, how did he
get in, then ? " " He rung the bell twice, and as, for the
third time, he pulled the bell long and loud, they opened
the door to him." " And thou ? " " I, in my garret, knew
nothing of it. Melme had been in bed a long time, and
slept in the recess with drawn curtains ; I lay upon the
sofa, and had clasped my hands over my head, observing
how the reflection of the night-lamp, like a great round
moon, played on the ceiling ; then I heard a rustling at the
door, and my heart started up instantly. I heard a knock-
ing, as I listened, but as it was quite impossible at this late
hour, and all was still, I would not attend to my presaging
heart : — and there he entered, enveloped to the chin in his
cloak, and shut the door softly after him, 'and looked round
about, to see where he might find me : I lay in a corner of
the sofa, rolled up in darkness, and was silent. Then he
took off his hat, and as I saw the glancing forehead and
searching look, and as the lips asked, ' Now, where art
thou ? ' T uttered a Ioav cry of amazement at my own bliss,
and then — he had found me."

Your mother thinks this Avould be a fine story at Wei-
mar. The minister paying a visit at midnight, in the Ele-
phant, up three pairs of stairs! Yes, the story is indeed a
fine one ! Now, when I read it over, I am charmed, sur-
prised, carried away, that all this should have happened to
me ; and I ask thee, what hour of thy life can come so

94 goethp:'S coerespondence

ff

late, that tliis shall not touch thy heart ? As thou layst in
the cradle, no one could have foreseen what thou wouldst
be ; and as / lay in the cradle, no one sung to me, that I
should at one time embrace thee.

Here I find everything in the old way : my fig-tree has
brought forth fruit and spread forth its leaves : my little
garden on the great balcony, which stretches from one wing
of the house to the other, is in full bloom ; the hops have
climbed to the roof; in their arbor I have placed my writing-
desk : there I sit and write to thee and dream of thee, when
my head is drunk with the sunbeams ; ah ! how I love to
lay in the sun, and let myself be burned through and

through.

Yesterday I passed by the Priory : from old habit I rang
the bell, and then I ran towards the narrow passage, which
leads to wdiat was Gunderode's dwelling. The door is still
locked up, no other has yet set foot over the threshold ; I
kissed the threshold, over which she had so often come to
me, and I to her. Ah ! if she were now alive, what a new
existence would open to her, when I should relate all, —
how we, in those hours of night, have sat so still by one an-
other, with locked hands, and how the single tones, which
fell from thy lips, penetrated to my heart. I write this to
thee here, that thou mayest never forget it. Friend, I could
sometimes be jealous of thy sweetness : the Graces are fe-
male, they glide before thee : where thou enterest, there is
holy order, (for all, even chance, fits itself to thee, at thy
appearance,) — they surround thee, they hold thee prisoner
and under disciphne, — for perhaps thou art often other-
wise inclined, but' the Graces will not allow it, — yes ! they
are far nearer to thee, they have more power over thee,
than I.

The primate, too, invited me, when he heard that I came
from Weimar ; I must tell him about you, and I related
to him everything, which could give him pleasure. Thy
maiden adorned herself ; she wished to do thee honor, —
yes, I wished to be beautiful, because I love thee, and be-
cause one knows that thou likest me, — - a pink satin gown,
with black velvet sleeves and bodice, and a sweet nosegay
at my heart, while a golden lace confined my black locks.
Thou hast never seen me dressed ; I can assure thee my
glass is on such occasions very friendly ; and this makes me

WITH A CHILD. 95

happy, so that I am always merry when I am dressed. The
primate, too, found me pretty, and called the color of my
gown "prejuge vamcu." ''No," said I: "Marlborough
s'enva-t-en guerre, qui sait quand il reviendra." " Le voilii
de retour," said he, and led forth my Englishman, who
three weeks ago had dined with him in my company, and
now I must again sit by him at supper. He said many ten-
der things to me in English, which I would not understand,
and to which I gave him cross answers ; so I was very
merry. As I returned at a late hour, my chamber was filled
with a s"\veet scent, and there was a tall flower, from which
this fragrance streamed forth, and which I had not yet seen,
— a nyctanthes ; a foreign servant, who spoke no German,
had brought it for me. This then was a kind present from
the Englishman, who had taken his departure that night.
I stood alone before my flower and examined it, and its
scent seemed to me like incense. The Englishman under-
stood the way to please me.

The primate has also given me some commissions. I am
to inform you, that when your son comes, he must visit him
in Aschaffenburg, to which place he is about to go ; but as
he Avill not come before Easter, the primate will be here

agam.

Thy child kisses thy hand.

Your mother sent for me to-day, and said she had a letter
from you ; would not let me look into it, and said, you wished
me to write a few lines to the Dux, because he had the
goodness to take care of my fallen Linden-tree, and that
thou callest entering into my elegiac feelings. Dearest
friend ! I cannot bear that another should enter into those
feelings, which are for you alone ; so drive him out again,
and be you alone in me, and don't make me jealous.

But say to the Dux, what my devotion here prompts ;
that there is another lofty tree, for his care of which, I
thank him ; whose blooming boughs stretch far beyond the
borders of this land into other regions of this world, yielding
fruits and fragrant shade. For care of this tree, for the
spring of kindness which waters it, for the soil of love and
friendship, from which it draws inspiring nourishment, my
heart remains eternally chained, and then I also thank Mm,
that he does not forget the Wartburger Linden.

96 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

TO BETTINE.

September 5th.

Thou liast shown thyself, dear Bettine, truly a little di-
vinity, wise and mighty, perceiving and fulfilling all one's
wants. And shall I scold or praise thee, that thou hast
made me again a child ? For with cliildish joy I portioned
out the present, taking also my part. The package came
just before dinner; under cover, I carried it there, where
thou hadst once sat, and drank to Augustus out of the beau-
tiful glass. How astonished he was, when I made him a
present of it. Reimer was invested with cross and purse.
No one could guess whence it came. I also exhibited the
skilful and elegant^ knife and fork; — then the housewife
became fretful, that she must go away empty. After a
pause, in order to try her patience, I at last drew forth the
beautiful gown-piece : the riddle Avas solved, and every one
was zealous and jo^-ful in thy praise.

Therefore, when I turn over this page, I have still noth-
ing to offer but praise and thanks : the choice elegance of
the presents was surprising. Connoisseurs were called in,
to admire the pretty wrestlers ; enough, — a festival took
place, as if thou thyself wert come again. And thou dost
come again to me, in each of thy dear letters, and yet under
so new and surprising a form, that one would believe, one
had not yet seen thee in that light ; and thou knowest so
charminfrly how to relate thy little adventures, that one
willingly suffers the jealous whims, which will then some-
times intrude, only to come to the quaint termination of the
joke. Thus it was with the humorous episode about the
Englishman, whose unseemly boldness led him at last to
afford a proof of his fine and gentlemanly feeling. I am
very grateful for such communications, which certainly might
not please everybody : may the confidence increase, which
brings me so much, that I would not now willingly miss ; I
must here also offer a word of praise for the manner in
which thou hast come to an understanding with my most
worshipful master. He could not either help wondering at
thy diplomatic talents. Thou art most lovely, my httle
dancer ; at each turn unexpectedly throwing one the gar-
land. And now I hope soon to have news of how thou liv-
est with my good mother, how thou takest care of her, and
what pleasant pastimes rise a^in before you two.

WITH A CHILD. 97

Dear Mellne's cap is also arrived. I dare not say it aloud,
but it becomes none so well as her. Friend Stollen's atten-
tion on the blue paper Avas, after all, agreeable to thee.
Adieu, my sweet child I write soon, that I may again have
somethinsT to translate.

TO GOETHE.

September 17th.

Friendly man ! you are too good ; you receive all that
which I write in the cheerful overflowing of my heart, as if
it were of ever so much worth ; but I feel in your friendly
condescension that you love me, like a child which brings
grass and weeds, thinking that it has gathered together a
choice nosegay : so also one smiles upon it, and says : " How
beautiful a nosegay, how pleasant a scent, it shall blossom
in my garden ; I will plant it here under my window," and
yet it is composed only of rootless field-flowers, Avdiich soon
wither. But I see with joy how thou takest me up into
thyself; how thou there boldest simple flowers, which must
have faded at evening, at the fire of immortality, and then
sendest them back to me. Dost thou name that "trans-
lating," when divine genius divides the ideal nature from
the earthly one, purifies it, unveils it, makes it again ac-
quainted with itself, and thus solves the question, how to
become blessed ? Yes ! Goethe, thus thou changest the
sighs, Avliich my yearning love breathes forth, into spirits
which surround me on the path of bliss, and hasten, alas !
far before me, on the way of immortality.

What holy adventure, which rises bold and jD^oud under
the protection of Eros, can reach a more glorious goal than
I have readied in thee ? Avhere thou Avitli joy grantest to
me : " Hemmed were to father Ocean thy strife." O, be-
lieve me ! never can I drink to satiety of these outpourings
of love : ever do I feel myself borne by the " raging storms "
to thy feet, and in this " new life," in which my happy stars
are reflected, I feel myself drowning in bliss.

These tears, which pale my writing, I would fain string
like pearls, and, adorned with them, appear before thee, and
say to thee, " Compare their pure water with thy other

98 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

treasures " : and then tliou slioiilclst hear my heart beat, as
on that evening when I kneh before thee.

Mysteries tioat around those who love ; they cover them
with their magic veil, from which beautiful dreams unfold
themselves. Thou sittest with me on green banks, and
drinkest dark wine out of golden goblets, and pourest the
last drops upon my brow. From this dream I waked to-
day, full of joy, that thou art kindly disposed to me. I be-
lieve that thou takest part in such di^eams, that in such
moments thou lovest ; — whom else could I thank for this
happy existence, if thou didst not give it me ? And then,
when I wake to the every-day life, all is so indifferent to
me ; and whatever may offer itself, I gladl}- do without.
Yes, I would fain be separated from all that which one calls
happiness, and only keep the inward secret, that thy spirit
enjoys my love, even as my soul is nourished by thy good-
ness.

I shall write of your mother. Well, it is odd enough,
but we are no longer so chatty together as formerly, al-
though not a single day passes without my seeing her. As
I returned from my journey, I was obliged to play the part
of relater ; and although I would rather have been silent,
yet there was no end of her questions, nor of her curiosity
to hear. I am irresistibly charmed when she gazes on me,
with her great infant-eyes, in which the most perfect enjoy-
ment sparkles. So my tongue was loosened, and by degrees,
much of the heart, too, which one cannot otherwise easily
express again.

October 2d.

Your mother has a sly way of bringing me to narration :
for instance, she says, '" To-day is beautiful weather ; Wolf-
gang will certainly go to his summer-house, it must be beau-
tiful there ; it lies in a dale, does n't it ? " " No, it stands
on a hill, and the garden also ascends the hill-side, behind
the house ; there are large trees, of fine growth, and beau-
tiful foliage." " Indeed ! and there, at evening, thou hast
wandered with him, out of the Roman house ? " " Yes, I
have told you the story twenty times, already." " Well, tell
it once more. You had liirht in the house ? " " No, we sat
on the seat, before the door, and the moon shone bright."
" Well, and there was a cold wind ? " " No, it was n't at

WITH A CHILD. 99

all cold, it was warm, and the air was quite still, and we
were still, too. The ripe fruits fell from the trees, and he
said, ' There falls another apple, and rolls down the hill,'
and then I shivered. Wolfgang said, ' Darling, tliou art
cold,' and threw his cloak over me, which I pulled tightly
around me, and I held his hand fast, and so the time i:>assed
awaj, and we both got up together, and went hand in hand,
through the lonely meadow-grounds ; each step resounded
to my heart, in the noiseless stillness ; the moon broke from
behind every bush, and lighted us ; then Wolfgang stopped
and smiled on me in the moonlight, and said to me, ' Thou
art my dear heart,' and then led me to his house, and —
that was all." "And those were golden minutes, against
which no gold can Aveigh," said your mother, " and they are
only granted to thee ; and among thousands, not one will be
able to conceive what happy lot has fallen to thy share ; but
I understand it, and enjoy it, as if I heard two sweet sing-
ing voices, communicating Avith one another, about their
secret happiness."

Then your mother fetched me your letter, and let me
read what you had Avritten about me ; " that you had great
joy, in hearing my stories about you." Your mother fancies
that I can relate better than her, and therefore leaves me
the task.

Here, then, I have described to you that beautiful evening.

I know a secret ; that when two are together, and a divine
genius rules between them, that is the greatest happiness.

Adieu, my dear friend.

TO GOETHE.

Ait, do not ask why I again begin a new page, since I
have nothing to tell thee. True, I do not yet know how I
shall fill it up, but this I know, that at last it will come to
thy dear hands. Therefore, I breathe upon it all that I
would express to thee if I stood before thee. I cannot
come, therefore my letter shall bear over to thee my undi-
vided heart, filled with enjoyment of past days, with hope of
new ones, with longing and pain, for thee ; and there I
know neither beginning nor end.

Of this day, I would impart nothing to thee. How shall

100 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

I tear myself from desire, meditation, and fancy ? How
shall I express to thee my true heart, which turns from all
other things, to thee alone ? I must be silent, as then, when
I stood before thee, to look upon thee. Ah, what could I
have said, I had nothing more to ask.*

Yesterday many wits met together in the Brentano house.
Among other gymnastic mental exercises, enigmas were pro-
posed ; there were several clever hits, and when the turn
came to me, I knew nothing. And as I looked round me
in this perplexity, and there was not a single countenance
which to me had a friendly, intelligent expression, I made
the following: "Why do men see no spirits ?" No one could
guess it ; I said, "Because they fear phantoms." "Who,
men ? " " No, spirits." Yes, so horrible did these faces
seem to me, so strange, so unintelligent, which spoke noth-
ing to me, as thy beloved features do, v/hich the spirits cer-
tainly fear not ; no ! it is thy beauty which induces the
spirits to play in thy features, and this is the irresistible
charm for the one who loves, that the spirit for ever streams
around thee.

On Sunday, quite alone in the great, lonely house : all
are rode, and walked, and gone out, and your mother is at
the garden, outside the Bockenheimer Gate, because to-day
the pears are to be shaken from the tree which Avas planted
at thy birth.

Bettine.

TO BETTINE.

Thou art a sweet-minded child ; I read thy dear letters
with inward pleasure, and shall surely always read them
again with the same enjoyment. Thy pictures of what has
happened to thee, with all inward feelings of tenderness, and
what thy witty demon inspires thee with, are real original
sketches, which, in the midst of more serious occupations,
cannot be denied their high interest ; take it, therefore, as a
hearty truth, when I thank thee for them. Preserve thy
confidence in me, and let it, if possible, increase. Thou
wilt always be, and remain to me, what thou now art. How

* See Appendix.

WITH A CHILD. 101

can one requite thee, except by being willing to be enriched
with all thy good gifts. Thou thyself knowest how much
thou art to my mother, her letters overflow with praise and
love. Continue to dedicate lovely monuments of remem-
brance to the fleeting moments of thy good fortune. I can-
not promise thee, that I will not presume to work out themes
so high-gifted and full of life, if they still speak as truly and
warmly to the heart.

The grapes at my window, which before their blossom,
and now a second time, were witnesses of thy friendly vision,
swell in their ripeness : I will not pluck them without think-
ing of thee. Write to me soon, and love me.

G.

TO GOETHE.

November 11th.

By the next mail you will receive a packet of music,
nearly all for four voices ; therefore, arranged for your pri-
vate orchestra. I hope you do not already possess them ;
for the present, it is all that I could get. If they please you,
I will send you hereafter all that I can find. You must not
depend upon my choice ; I am regulated by the reputation
of the works, and know but little about them. Music does
not impose upon me, and I cannot, therefore, judge : I do
not understand the impression wliich it makes upon me, —
whether it touches or inspires me : I only know, that I can-
not find an answer when I am asked if it pleases me. One
might say, that I have no understanding for it, — this I must
grant, but yet I trace in it " the unfathomable." As in other
works of art, the mystery of the trinity reveals itself, where
Nature puts on a body which the spirit penetrates, and which
is connected with that which is divine, so it is in music ; as
if Nature here did not descend to sensual perception, but
as if she excited the senses, that they might also rise with
her to the celestial.

When one speaks of a theme in music, and how it is car-
ried through ; or of the accompaniment of an instrument,
and of the understanding with which it is managed, my
opinion is, that it is the theme which carries the musician
along with it, that the theme develops and concentrates
itself so often, till the spirit has completely infused itself in

102 GOETHE'S COERESPOXDEXCE

it. And this is the object in music ; yes ! all which rejects
the earthly is the object for the spirit. I have an excellent
musician for my master ; when I ask him ivhy .^ he has never
an answer to give ; and he is obliged to confess, that every-
thing in music has heavenly laws ; and this convinces me
more and more, that, in the contact of divine and human,
no explanation can take place. I have here a friendly ac-
quaintance with a lady of a higlily musical nature ; we are
often together in the opera : she calls my attention to the
particular parts, to certain themes, and the effect of the m-
struments, and I am quite perplexed when I follow such
remarks. The element of music, into which I felt myself
raised, jDushes me out again, and instead, I jDerceive only a
theme prepared, ornamented, and tastefully managed. I am
not here m a world which gives me birth from darkness
into light, as I was at Offenbach, where I lay in my grand-
mother's garden, on the green banks, looking at the blue
and sunny sky, while, in the neighboring garden. Uncle
Bernhard's orchestra streamed through the whole au^, and
I knew nothing, wished notliing, but to yield up my senses
to music. Then I had no judgment, I heard no melodies ;
there was no longing, no inspiration, for music. I felt in it
as the fish feels in water. If I were asked, whether at that
time I had hstened, I should not exactly know ; it was not
listening, it was existence in music ; I was far too deeply
sunk, to have listened to that which I perceived.

I am stupid, my friend ! I cannot say what I know : thou,
I know, wouldst allow me to be right, if I could express
myself clearly, and in any other way thou wiltst least of all
understand it : — understand as the Philisters understand,
who apply their knowledge according to rule, and carry it
so far, that at last one cannot discriminate between talent
and genius. Talent strikes conviction, but genius does not
convince ; to whom it is imparted, it gives forebodings of the
immeasurable and infinite, while talent sets certain limits,
and so, because it is understood, is also maintained.

The infinite in the finite, — genius in every art is music.
In itself, it is the soul, when it touches tenderly, but when
it masters this affection, then it is sj^irit which warms, nour-
ishes, bears, and reproduces the own soul, — and, therefore,
we perceive music : otherwise, the sensual ear would not
hear it, but only the spiritual : and thus every art is the

WITH A CHILD. 10

Q

body of music, which is the soul of every art : and so is
music, too, the soul of love, which also answers not for its
working ; for it is the contact of divine with human ; and,
once for all, the divine is the passion which consumes the
human. Love expresses nothing through itself, but that it
is sunk in harmony. Love is fluid; it flows in its own ele-
ment, and that element is harmony.

November 17th.

Dear Goethe, — Place my strange thoughts to the ac-
count of the strange place in which I am ; I am in the Car-
melite church, in a concealed corner, behind a great pillar.
I come here every day at noon ; the autumn sun shines
through the church-window, and paints the shadow of the
vine-leaves here on the pavement and the white wall ; then
I see how the wind stirs them, and how one after the other
falls. Here is deep solitude, and those whom I meet here
at unwonted hours are certainly there in remembrance of
their dead friends, who lie buried here. Here, at the en-
trance, is the grave, in which father, mother, and seven
children lie buried ; one coffin stands upon the other. I
know not what entices me into this great dismal church, to
pray for the dead : shall I say, " Dear God in heaven, raise
these deceased ones up to thee in heaven"? Love is a fluid
element ; it dissolves in itself soul and spirit, and that is
bliss. When I go into this church, and pass by the grave
which covers my parents, brothers, and sisters, I fold my
hands ; and that is all my prayer.

My father loved me tenderly, I had great power over
him ; often, my mother sent me with a written petition to
him, saying, " Don't let him go till he says yes," — and then
I hung upon his neck, and turned myself about him, and he
said : " Thou art my dearest child, I can refuse thee noth-
mg.

I still remember, also, the great beauty of my mother ;
she had such lovely, and yet such lofty features, and did not
resemble common faces. You said of her, she was created
for the angels, — they should play with her. Your mother
has told me, that when you saw her for the last time, you
were in raptures at her beauty ; that Avas a year before her
death; General Brentano then lay in the house, sick of
heavy wounds ; my mother nursed him, and he Avas so fond

104 GOETHE'S COEKESPOXDENCE

of her that she dare not leave him. She j^layed chess with
him ; he said, " Check-mate ! " and sank back in his bed ;
she sent to fetch me, because he asked for the children, —
I approached the bed with her, — there he lay, pale and
still ; my mother called to him, " My general ! " Then he
opened his eyes, smiling, stretched his hand to her, and said,
" My queen ! " — and then he was no more.

I still see my mother, as in a dream, standing by the bed-
side, and holding the hand of the expired hero, her tears
roUing slowly from her large black eyes over her still coun-
tenance. Then you saw her for the last time, and you
prophesied that you should not see her again. Your
mother has told me how deeply you were moved. When
you saw me for the first time, you said, " Thou art like thy
father, but thou resemblest thy mother, too," and therewith
you pressed me to your heart, and Avere much affected, —
and yet it was many years afterwards. Adieu.

Bettine.

Of the Jews, and the new laws concerning their citizen-
ship, your mother has already given you information ; all
the Jews write since this ; the primate is much amused with
their wit. All the Christians write about education ; nearly
every week a new plan comes out by some new-married
educationer or other. The new schools do not interest me
so much as the Jews' institution, to which I often go.

TO BETTINE.

Weimar, January 2d, 1808.

You have, my dear httle friend, a very grand manner of
presenting us your gifts en masse. So your last packet (in
a certain measure) frightened me ; for if I do not go to
work very economically Avith the contents, my little choir
would be more liable to throttle themselves with it, than
reap any advantage from it. Thus, my dear, you see how
we may, even through generosity, subject ourselves to
reproach ; — but do not let this put you out of your Avay.
By the first opportunity, your health shall be drunk by the
whole company, and afterAvards, the " Conjirma hoc Deus^'*
of Jomelli, be sung as heartily and sincerely as ever Avas
the " Salviim fac Regem.^'

WITH A CHILD. 105

And now immediately another request, that we may not
get out of practice ; send me the Jewish pamphlets. I
should like to see how the modern Israelites behave under
their new citizenship, in which they are certainly treated as
real Jews, and quondam imperial thralls. If you accom-
pany these with some of the Christian plans of education,
our gratitude will be increased. I do not say, (as is gener-
ally the case upon such occasions,) that I am ready for any
reciprocal obligation, but when anything here which may
please you comes to maturity, you shall also receive it.

Dearest child, pardon me, that I was obliged to write by
a strange hand. To thy musical evangely, and to all the
dear and beautiful things which thou writest to me, I could
not to-day either have answered anything; but do not let
thyself be disturbed in thy caprices and whims ; it is of
much worth to me to have thee as thou art, and in my heart
thou wilt ever find a warm reception. Thou art a strange
child, and with thy hermitizing in churches, could easily
become a strange saint. I give thee to consider of it.

Goethe.

TO GOETHE.

He who abroad, on the top of Taunus, should see, morn-
ing and evening, the country around, and the whole dear
scene rising and sinking from beauty to beauty, while the
heart was busied with thee, like mine, — would surely be
better able to say that which he had to say. I would so
fain speak at ease with thee, and thou also desirest that I
should throw my caprices and humors down before thee.

Thou knowest my heart ; thou knowest that all there is
desire, thought, boding, and longing ; thou livest among
spirits, and they give thee divine wisdom. Thou must
nourish me ; thou givest all that in advance, which I do not
understand to ask. My mind has a small embrace, my love
a large one ; thou must bring them to a balance. Love
cannot be quiet till the mind matches its growth ; thou art
matched to my love ; thou art friendly, kind, indulgent : let
me know when my heart is off the balance ; I understand
thy silent signs.

A look from thy eyes into mine, a kiss from thee upon

lOG GOETHE'S CORRESPOXDEXCE

my lips, instructs me in all ; what might seem delightful to
learn to one who, like me, had experience from those. I
am far from thee, mine are become strange to me ; I must
ever return in thought to that hour, when thou heldest me
in the soft fold of thy arm, — then I begin to weep : but
the tears dry again unawares. Yes, he reaches with his
love (thus I think) over to me in this concealed stilhiess,
and should not I, with my eternal, undisturbed longing,
reach to him in the distance ? Ah, conceive what my heart
has to say to thee : it flows over with soft sighs, all whisper
to thee : be my only happiness on earth thy friendly will to
me. O dear friend ! give me but a sign * that thou art
conscious of me. You write that you will drink my health ;
ah, I grudge thee it not ; — leave no drop behind ; would
that I myself could be so poured into thee, and do thee
good !

Your mother told me, how vou were sittinof in the the-
atre, shortly after writing Werther, and how an anonymous
note was pressed into your hand, in which was written, Us
ne te comjyreiidrotit point Jean Jacques. But she maintains,
I might say to every one, tu me ne comprendras point Jean
Jacques ; for what booby will not misunderstand thee, or
will give thee thy due ? But she says that you, Goethe,
understand me, and that thou givest me my due.

The education plans and Jew pamphlets I will send next
post-day. Although you art not ready for every reciprocal
obligation, but yet will send me what is matured ; still think
that my love sends to thee burning beams, to bring each
emotion for me to sweet maturity.

Bettine.

TO GOETHE.

What shall I write to you, smce I am sad, and have
nothing new or welcome to say ? rather would I at once
send thee the white paper, instead of first covering it with
letters, which do not always say what I wish ; — and that
thou shouldst fill it uj) at thy leisure, and make me but
too happy and send it back to me ; and when I then see

* See Appendix.

WITH A CHILD. 107

the blue cover and tear it open, — curiously hasty, as long-
ing is always expectant of bliss, and I should then read
what once charmed me from thy lips : " Dear child, my
gentle heart, my only love, little darling," — the friendly
words with which thou spoiledst me, soothing me the while
so kindly, — ah, more I would not ask. I should have all
a^ain, even thy whisper I should read there, with which
thou softly pouredst into my soul all that was most lovely,
and madest me for ever beautiful to myself.* As I there
passed through the walks on thy arm, — ah, how long ago
does it seem ! — I was contented ; all wishes were laid to
sleep ; they had, like the mountains, enveloped color and
form in mist ; I thought, thus it would glide, — and ever on,
without much labor, — from the land to the high sea, —
bold and proud, with unfolded flags and fresh breeze. But,
Goethe, fiery youth Avants the customs of the hot season :
when the evening shadows draw over the land, then the
nightingales shall not be silent ; all shall sing or express
itself joyfully ; the world shall be a luxuriant fruit-garland,
all shall crowd in enjoyment, — and all enjoyment shall
expand mightily ; it shall pour itself forth like fermenting
wine-juice, which works in foam till it comes to rest ; we
shall sink in it, as the sun beneath the ocean-waves, but
also return like him. So has it been with thee, Goethe ;
none knows how thou heldst communion with heaven, and
what wealth thou hast asked there, when thou hadst set m
enjoyment.

That delights me, to see when the sun sets, when the
earth drinks in his glow, and slowly folds his fiery wings
and detains him prisoner of night : then it becomes still in
the world ; out of the darkness, longing rises up so secretly,
and the stars there above lighten so unreachably to it, — so
very unreachably, Goethe !

He who shall be happy becomes so timid : the heart,
trembling, pants with happiness ere it has dared a welcome ;
I also feel that I am not matched for my happiness ; what a
power of senses to comprehend thee ! Love must become
a mastershi}), — to want the possession of that which is to
be loved, in the common understanding, is unworthy of eter-
nal love, and wrecks each moment on the slightest occur-

* See Appendix.

108 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

rence. This is my task, that I appropriate myself to thee,
but will not possess thee, — thou most to be desired !

I am still so young, that it may be easily pardoned if I
am ignorant. Ah ! I have no soul for knowledge ; I feel
I cannot learn what I do not know ; I must wait for it, as
the prophet in the wilderness waits for the ravens to bring
him food. The simile is not so unapt : nourishment is
borne to my spirit through the air, — often exactly as it is
on the point of starvation.

Since I have loved thee, something unattainable floats in
my spirit, — a mystery which nourishes me. As the ripe
fruits fall from the tree, so here thoughts fall to me, which
refresh and invigorate me. O Goethe ! had the fountain a
soul, it could not hasten more full of expectation on to light,
to rise again, than I, with foreseeing certainty, hasten on to
meet this new life, which has been given me through thee,
and which gives me to know that a higher impulse of hfe
will burst the prison, not sparing the rest and ease of accus-
tomed days, which in fermenting inspiration it destroys.
This lofty fate the loving spirit evades as httle as the seed
evades the blossom when it once lies in fresh earth. Thus
I feel myself in thee, thou fruitful, blessed soil ! I can say
what it is, when the germ bursts the hard rind, — it is pain-
ful ; the smiling children of spring are brought forth amid
tears.

0 Goethe, what happens with man ? what does he feel ?
what happens in the inmost flammg cuj) of his heart ? I
would willingly confess my faults to thee, but love makes
me quite an ideal being. Thou hast done much for me,
even before thou knewest me; above much that I coveted
and did not ask, thou hast raised me.

Bettine.

TO GOETHE.

March 5 th.

Here in Frankfort it is wet, cold, villanous, abominable ;
no good Christian remains here willingly, — if your mother
were not here, the winter would be unbearable, so com-
pletely Avithout consistency, — only eternally melting snow.
I have at present a rival Avith her ; a little squirrel, which a
handsome French soldier left here at quarters, and which

WITH A CHILD. 109

she allows to do as it likes ; slie calls it Jack, and Jack may
gnaw table and chair: yes, he has already dared to seat
himself upon her dress-cap, and there to nibble the feathers
and flowers. A few days ago, I went in the evening, and
the maid admitted me, with the remark that she was not at
home, but must come directly. In the parlor it was dark ;
I seated myself at the window, and looked out over the
square. It was as if something scratched. I listened, and
believed I heard breathing, — I became uncomfortable ; I
again heard something moving, and asked, (because I would
fain have imputed it to the squirrel,) " Jack, is that you ? "
Quite unexpectedly, and very dejecting for my courage, a
sonorous bass vvoice answered out of the background, " Jack
it is not, but John," and therewith the " ubique mains spiri-
tus " cleared his throat. Full of reverence, I would not
from the spot : the spirit, too, only gave proofs of its exist-
ence by breathing, and once sneezing, — then I hear your
mother, she steps forward ; the scarcely burning, and not
yet fully lighted taper behind, borne by Betty. " Art thou
there ? " asked your mother, as she took off her cap to hang
it on its nightly pedestal, namely, a green bottle. " Yes,"
we both called out, and out of the darkness stepped a be-
starred gentleman, and asks : " Fran Rath, shall I eat
bacon-salad and omelette with you this, evening?" From
that I concluded, quite correctly, that John was a Prince of
Mecklenburg : for who had not heard the pretty story of
your mother, how, at the coronation of the Emperor, the
now Queen of Prussia (then a young infant jjrincess) and
her brother looked at the Frau Rath, as she was about to
eat such a dish, and that it so excited their appetites that
they together demolished it without leaving her a leaf?
Now the story was told with much enjoyment, and many
others beside, p. e. how she procured the princesses the
pleasure of pumping to satiety at the pump in the court-
yard, keeping the governess, by all possible arguments,
from calling the princesses away ; and at last, because she
would not listen to her, used force, and locked her up in a
room. " For," said your mother, " I would rather have
drawn upon myself the worst consequences, than that they
should have been disturbed in their innocent pleasures,
which were granted them nowhere except in my house :
they said to me, too, as they took leave, that they should

110 GOETHE'S CORRESPOXDEXCE

never forget how happy and delighted thej had been with
me." I could fill several sheets more with all such sorts of
recollections.

Adieu, dear master ! I greet jour wife. Riemer's sonnet
creaks like new shoes ; he shall take care of what I have
intrusted to him, and not have proved his zeal in vain.
Don't I do exactly as if I were your love ? write, scribble,
make blots and orthographical errors, and think it does n't
signify, because he knows that I love him ; and yet the
letter which you sent me was so pretty, and elegantly
couched on gold-edged paper ! But, Goethe, quite at the
end, you first think on me ! allow me to be so free as to
give you a reprimand for this letter ; couch all that you
wish to say in shortest terms, and write it with your oicn
hand: I don't know why you should keep a secretary to
announce what is superfluous ; I can't bear it, it offends me,
it hurts me. At the begrinnino; I believed the letter was not
for me, at all ; now I bear such letters so willmgly upon my
heart, till a new one come ; but how can I manage with
such a strange secretary's hand ? no, for this time I have
condemned you, in my anger, to be immediately shut up
with the secretary, in the old drawer, and I have not said a
word to your mother, that you had written ; I should have
been ashamed, if I must have rehearsed to her this j^eriwig
style. Adieu. Write that which thou hast to say to me,
and that only.

Bettine

TO GOETHE.

March 15th.

It is now six weeks since I heard a word from you,
either through your mother or any other means. I do not
believe that you are like many others, and bar the way to
your heart with business, and other things of importance ;
but I must fear that my letters come too frequently for thee,
and must restrain myself from that which could make me
blessed, if it were not so, and I dared believe, that my love
— Avhich is so claimless that it forgets thy glory, and speaks
to thee as to a twin-brother — could give thee joy. Like a
lion, I could fight for thee, would fain destroy and put to
flight all that is not worthy to come in contact with thee.

WITH A CHILD. Ill

I must, for tliy sake, despise the whole world ; must, for thy
sake, grant it pardon, because thou glorificst it, and yet I
know nothing of thee : only say if thou art pleased that I
should write ; only say, " Thou mayest ! " When, in a few
weeks, for spring will then be here, I come to the Rheingau,
I will write to thee from every hill ; I am always so much
nearer to thee when outside the town walls ; then I often
think I feel thee in every respiration, how thou rulest in my
heart ; when it is beautiful without, when the air soothes,
yes, when Nature is kind and friendly, like thee, then I feel
thee, ah, how distinctly. But what interest have I for you ?
You, yourself, have nothing to tell me ; in. the letter which
you wrote to me, and which I hold as dear as the apple of
my eye, you have not once named me, as you were accus-
tomed to do ; exactly as if I were not worthy of your
familiar confidence. 0, with me, aU goes so from lip to
heart ; I would spare nothing of love, and heart, and kiss.
In autumn, in the Carmelite church, I wrote all sorts of
recollections of my infancy : — they always occurred to me
when I came there, and yet I only went to think, undis-
turbed, on thee. Each season of my life blooms in thee.
I recall my childhood-years, and sport them through with
thee, and grow up and beheve myself hidden under thy
protection, and feel myself proud in thy confidence, and
then my heart quickens with ardent love ; then I seek thee,
how shall I find rest ? — on thy breast, alone, folded in thy
arms ! And were it not thou, I would be with thee ; but I
feel afraid before all eyes, which are directed to thee, ah,
and before the piercing look which glances from beneath
thy bays.

Except thee, all men appear to me one and the same ; I
do not distinguish between them ; I do not long after the
great, wide-spread ocean of event. The stream of life
bears thee, thou me ; in thy arms I traverse it ; thou wilt
bear me to the end, wilt thou not ? And if there were still
thousand-fold existences, I cannot take wing to them ; with
thee I am at home : ah, be thou, too, at home with me : or
dost thou know of something better than me and thyself in
the magic circle of life ?

Not long ago, we had a little festival at home, on account
of Savigny's birthday. Your mother came at twelve
o'clock, at noon, and remained till one o'clock, in the night,

112 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

and found herself quite well after it, the next day. During
dinner there was splendid music, verses were also sung in
Savigny's praise, in which jour mother joined so heartily,
that one could hear her through the whole chorus. When
we drank your and her healths, at which all the drums and
trumpets gave a crash, she was solemnly delighted. After
dinner, she related a little fable on the company ; all were
gathered round her in solemn stiUness. At first she was
prolix, perhaps the great audience might make her a Httle
uneasy ; but soon all the capable dramatis personcB, most
fantastically adorned, were dancmg away in their grotesque
fashion, upon th§ great show-box of her memory ; after this,
all sorts of little scenes were performed ; and then a young
Spanish dancing-girl made her appearance, who danced
very prettily with castanets. This graceful child gives per-
formances here at the theatre ; I have not yet told you of
her, that for weeks she has maintained me in a state of
silent enthusiasm, and that I often think, whether God wills
otherwise than that virtue should transform itself into pure
art ; namely, that, according to the laws of a heavenly har-
mony, one should, with quiet enthusiasm, move the limbs of
the spirit, and thus express virtue by graceful gestures, as
she does the time and sense of music. After supper came
dancing ; I sat, rather sleepy, by your mother's side ; her
arm was round my neck, and she loved me, as weU as Jo-
seph ; I, too, had a many-colored gown. It was unani-
mously resolved, that no family festival should be given
without your mother, so much had they perceived her good
influence; I have wondered how she can win hearts so
quickly ; only because she enjoys heartily, and thereby
wakes the hearts of all around her, also, to jo}'.

Yours I greet heartily ; I have not forgotten what I
promised for your wife : everything Avill soon be ready, only
I unluckily neglect Mad. de S. about her shawl ! Well,
what 's to be done ? Methinks, my minister has here a
])retty negotiation. Don't I abuse your patience? Good,
best of men, whom my heart eternally serves !

March 9th.

My brother George has boudit a little villa at Eodel-
heim ; you must remember it, since you drew the plan, and

WITH A CHILD. 113

with Basset, who now lives in America, managed the con-
struction. I am much dehghted with its beautiful propor-
tions ; I fancy, that your cliaracter, your form, and your
gestures, are there reflected. We ride out nearly every
day : yesterday I mounted on the roof; the sun shone so
warm, it was so clear, one could distinctly see the hills lying
in the lap of the valleys. O, sorrow, that I can't fly ! — to
what purpose that I love thee so well ? — young, and strong,
and proud am I in thee ; — I might not expound it, for the
world will still crowd feeling into its once-for-all formed
register ; — thou art good above all, that thou sufferest my
love, in which I am overjoyed. My mind is like the ocean,
without shore ; its waves bear all that can swim ; but tliee
I have forcibly di'awn into the deepest mysteries of my life,
and foaming with joy, roll over the certainty of thy posses-
sion.

When I formerly looked at myself in the glass, and my
eyes gazed so ardently upon themselves, and I felt that at
this moment they must have pierced, and I had no one to
whom I would have granted a look, then I was sorry that
my whole youth should be lost ; but now I tliink on thee.

Bettine.

TO GOETHE.

March SOtli.

Little unexpected tours into different parts of the
neighborhood, to see winter once more before his departure
in all his splendor, have prevented me from earlier compli-
ance with the wish of my only and dearest friend in the
world. Therewith I send all that is up to the present
come out, except a Magazine, which the Jews publish under
the name Sulamith. It is very diffuse : if you wish for it,
I will send it, since the Jews honor me with it, as their pro-
tector and little friend in need. It contains the most oppo-
site things, all mixed together; the odes on the primate,
particularly, distinguish themselves ; a great poem, which
they brought him on New-Year's day, he sent to me, and
wrote : " I do not understand Hebrew, or I would write an
acknowledgment ; but since, for the little friend of the
Hebrews, nothing is too perverted or un-German, I beg her
in my name to write a poem in answer." The malicious

8

114 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

primate ! — but I have piinislied him ; and yesterday, at the
concert, he said to me : " It is well that the Jews are not so
much men of war as men of wares, or I should hardly be
secure from a blockade in my house of Taxis."

During this time, I have been at Odenwald, and have
clambered about Gotz of Berlichen's old castle, quite to the
toj) of the walls, where human foot can scarcely find support
any more ; over breaches, which yet made me sometimes
giddy, ever thinking on thee, on thy youth, on thy life till
now, which foams on like Uving water. Dost thou know ?
— it does so good, when the heart is completely seized.
Wherever I turn, my mind reflects what I have in reserve,
and what follows me like a bhssful dream, and that is —
thou.

Yonder it was very beautiful ! An enormous tower, on
Avhich, in times past, watchmen sat to announce by sound of
trumpet the arrival of the Frank ships at the little Milde-
berg-town. Firs and mllows grow about, which reach half
up the tower.

The vineyards were still partially covered with snow : I
sat upon a broken window-bar and froze, and yet warm love
to thee penetrated me ; and I trembled with anxiety, lest I
should fall down, and yet climbed higher, because I fancied
I would dare it out of love to thee. Thus thou often mak-
est me bold; it is lucky that the wild Odin-forest wolves
did not pass by ; I must have struggled with them, had I
just then thought of thy honor : this seems nonsense, but so
it is. Midnight, the evil hour of spirits, wakes me; I lay
myself in the cold winter-wind at the window ; all Frank-
fort is dead, the wicks of the street-lamps are expiring, the
old rusty weathercocks creak to me, and then I think, is
that to be the eternal tune ? And then I feel that this life
is a prison, where every one has only a mournful view of
liberty : this is the own soul. So, it rages within me ! I
Avould fain soar above the old gabled roofs, which cut off
the sky from me ; I leave my chamber, speed through the
Avide passages of our house, search out a way over the old
garrets, and behind the rafters I fancy ghosts, but take no
heed of them ; then I seek the staircase to the little turret :
when I am at last there, I look throufrh the turret-window
at the broad heaven, and am not all cold ; and then it is as
if I must unlade my gathered tears, and then the next day

WITH A CHILD. 115'

I am so merry and new-born, and seek with cunning for
some fun to execute ; and canst thou beUeve it? all this is

— thou.

Bettine.

Your mother often comes to us ; we get up masquerades
and all sorts of delight for her ; she has taken our whole
family under protection, and is fresh and in health.

TO BETTINE.

The documents of philanthropic Christendom and Jewry
are safely arrived, and thou, dear little friend, shalt receive
my best thanks for them. It is indeed strange, that, exactly
at the time when so many men are slain, one should seek to
adorn the rest after the best and most elegant fashion.
Continue to give me, as protectress of these wholesome
institutions, information from time to time concerning them.
It well becomes the Brunswick Messiah of the Jews, to
look upon his folk as they should be, and become : but the
royal primate is not to be blamed, if he handle this race as
it is, and as it will for a while continue. Draw me a por-
trait of Mr. Molitor. If the man acts as reasonably as he
writes, he must do much good. But to thy own philan-
thropical plan of education I recommend the bearer of this,
a black-eyed, brown-haired youth. Let his paternal town
become to him his native town, so that he may believe him-
self to be in the midst of those who belong to him. Intro-
duce him to thy dear brothers, sisters, and relations, and
think of me when thou receivest him kindly. Thy stories
of hill and town, clambering and viewing, carry me with
them to a beautiful, joyful country, and I will not answer
for it, that, at a seasonable opportunity, thou mayest not see
a fantastic reflection of them in a fata morgana.

Since I have taken leave of Augustus, I am preparing
also to take leave of home and this part of the country, and,
as soon as possible, to wander to the Carlsbad mountains.

To-day, at eleven o'clock, " Confirma hoc Deus " will be
sung, which goes already very well, and finds great ap-
plause.

G.

Weimar, April 3d, 1808.

IIG GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

TO GOETHE.

We have a wet-cold April ; I observe it bj your letter ;
it is like a sreneral rain, the whole clouded from beixinninor
to end. It is true, you possess the art of showing your
feelmg in little forms and lines, and, in what you leave un-
expressed, the assurance steals to the heart, that one is not
indifferent to you : yes, believe that I am dear to you, spite
of your cold letter ! but if all your beautiful moderation
were suddenly sent to the deuce, and you remained without
art, and without fine feelings of propriety in your heart,
exactly as God made you, I should not fear you as I now
do, Avhen so cool a letter arrives, and I must consider what
in the world I have done !

But, notwithstanding to-day I write with confidence, be-
cause I can tell you how well and happy your only son finds
himself here ; he gives me every evening a rendezvous in
our box at the theatre ; early in the morning he takes a
Avalk over tower and steej)le, that he may view at leisure
the surrounding country of his paternal town. I have
driven him out a few times, to show him the vegetable-
gardens, because exactly now the first wonderful jDrepara-
tions are in hand, when the place for every j^lant is meas-
ured by the line, and when these industrious gardeners
assign with so much care to every little plant its sustenance.
I have also led him to the Stalburg fountain, to the Pfingst-
meadow, and the Schneidewall ; then behind the haunted
wall, where your youthful plaj'-place was ; then through the
Mainz portal. He was also much at Offenbach with me
and your mother, and at evening-time we returned by water
in the moonlight to town ; then, on our return, your mother
talked away about all your adventures and pleasure-parties,
and at niglit I laid myself to bed with heated imagination,
which brought me a dream, the remembrance of which will
for a time be my food. It was as if I ran through the park
at Weimar, in which a heavy rain was falling ; everything
was just in its earliest green, the sun shone through the
rain. As I came to your door, I heard your voice already
from afar ; I called, — you heard me not, — then I saw you
sitting on the same bench, behind which last year, though
late, the broad, beautiful mallow was growing ; — opposite

WITH A CHILD. 117

lay the cat, as then, and as I came up to you, you too said
again : " Seat thyself there, by the cat, on account of thy
eyes ; I would not have them so near me." Here I waked,
but as the dream was so dear to me, I could not give it up :
I dreamed on, played all sorts of games with you, and
thought at the time of your kindness, which could allow of
such familiarity. Thou ! who embracest in thyself a world
of life, from which we have already drank thy confidence
in such mighty draughts, I often fear to express to thee,
even in thought, that love which rises so quickly in my
heart ; but a dream like this bursts like a swollen stream
through its dams. It may be that one resolves with diffi-
culty to make a journey to the sun, because the knowledge
that one cannot arrive there keeps one back ; — but at such
moments, knowledge goes for nothing with me, and then it
appears to me as if to reach thy heart, in its full splendor,
were nothing impossible.

Molitor was yesterday with me ; I read to him the parts
of your letter about him, they delighted him much : this
noble man is of the opinion, that since he has a body to
offer up for the Jews, and a spirit to devote to them, both
are well employed: otherwise his circumstances are not
very good, except in his trust in God : at the same time he
nevertheless believes, that the world can only be brought
again to a balance by means of the black art. He has
great confidence in me, that I am endowed with the art of
divination ; he is an honest man, and wishes earnestly the
right, therefore takes no care about the world, or his own
advance ; is well contented with a chair, a bed, and five
books, Avhich form his property.

Adieu : I hasten to my toilette, that I may drive with
your mother and son to the primate's, who gives a great
festival to-day in honor of them ; — there I shall again have
to struggle hard against sleep ; these many lights, the
dressed-out people, the painted cheeks, the humming talk,
have an irresistible narcotic effect upon me.

Bettine.

118 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

TO MAD. YON GOETHE.

April 7th.

Do you still remember the evening which we spent at
Mad. von S., and a bet was laid that I could n't use a
needle ? The accompanying gown is a proof that I did not
then tell a story ; I have made it so prettily, that my talent
for female handwork cannot, without injustice, be any more
brought into question. Nevertheless, look upon it with
indulgence, for I must in secret acknowledge to you, that I
have almost trusted too much in my genius. Only recog-
nize in it, that I would wiUingly do you as much pleasure
as hes in my power.

August seems pleased with his visit here ; the festival
which the royal primate gave to the grandmother and
grandson, sufficiently proves how much he honors the son.
I will not, however, forestall the Frau Rath, who wiU paint
it to you in the brightest colors. August wanders about
the whole surrounding country ; everywhere are early
friends of his father, who, from the heights here and
there, point down and relate what hapjiy hours they have
passed with him in such beautiful spots ; and thus it con-
tinues in triumph from the town into the country, and from
there back again to the town. In Offenbach, the prettiest
and cleanest village in the world, Uned with a blue silken
sky, garnished with silver waves, and worked Avith bloom-
ing fields of hyacinths and daisies, the tales of remem-
brance of those happy times found no end.

The accompanying garnets I have received from Sals-
burg ; wear them for my sake.

Bettes^e.

Enclosed books for Goethe.

TO bettine.

Weimar, April 20tli, 1808.

Yesterday again, my darling, a rich present was yielded
to us from thy horn of plenty, and that exactly at the right
season and hour, for the women were in deep consideration,
what should be worn at a certain festival. Nothing was
quite riglit, when the beautiful gown arrived, which it was
immediately resolved not to spare.

WITH A CHILD. 119

As amongst all the blessings of which my wife can boast,
that of writing is perhaps the least, you will pardon her if
she does not herself express the pleasure which you have
given her. How empty all here looks ; this strikes me
then, when I look round, and would fain send thee some
token of friendship. I will, therefore, make no further
scruple about it, and thank thee for the printed pamphlets,
as well as for much more, of which I do not yet know how
I shall make myself worthy. We will therefore pass it
over m modest silence, and rather turn again to the Jews,
who now stand, in the deciding moment, between door and
post, and already unfold their wings, even before the gate of
freedom is opened wide enough.

I was much pleased to see that this financial, Jacobinical
son of Israel has been sent about his business. Can you
give me the name of the author of the little pamphlet?
there are some excellent passages in it, which might well
have found place even in a plaidoyer of Beaumarchais.
Pity, that the whole is not written with suificient quickness,
boldness, and satire (as it should have been) to make that
humanity-quack, once for all, ridiculous in the eyes of the
whole world. Now, that I may not discontinue my prayers
and entreaties, I beg for the laws of the Jewish citizenship.

What you intend to write about Molitor will give me
much pleasure ; even by what you have already sent of
him, he is become remarkable to me, particularly by what
he says of the Pestalozzi system.

Farewell ; receive a thousand thanks for thy kind recep-
tion of the son, and continue thy favor to the father.

G.

TO GOETHE.

The ordination for the citizenship and privileges of the
Jews is here accompanied by something of noble appear-
ance; not alone to give you pleasure, but because the jjic-
ture is dear to me, have I taken it from the wall by my bed,
where it has hung for three days, and trusted its beauty to
the mail-coach. You shall only see what can charm me.
Hang this picture before thee, — look into those beautiful
eyes, in which the madness of youth lies already overcome.

120 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

— then it will surely strike tliee, tvhat raises longing. This
which cannot be recalled, which cannot long bear the clay-
light and quickly disappears, because it is too splendid for
abuse. But from this it has not disappeared, — it is only
sunk deeper into the soul, for from between the lips is again
breathed forth that Avhich dare no more be seen in the en-
lightened eye. "When one gazes on the whole countenance,
it becomes so dear, one would fam have been with liim, to
bear all pain with him, to make all good to him by a thou-
sand-fold love : — and when one sees the broad, full laurel,
then all wishes for him seem fulfilled. His whole being, —
the book which he holds, makes him so dear : had I then
lived, I would not have left him.

August is gone : I sung to him, " It is not these, but
others dear, who weep when I'm away. Dearest treasure,
think on me." And then he wandered forth from the por-
tals of our republican house ! I embraced him from my
heart, as remembrance /o?- me of you ; but since you appear
to have forgotten me, and write to me for ever only of the
people which is accursed, and are pleased when Jacobson is
sent home about his business, but not when I feel at home
with you, therefore I write this as a remembrance for you
of me, who onust ever love you, spite of your coldness, be-
cause — I must.

I take good care not to impart your opinions about the
Jews to the primate, for I cannot agree with you, and have,
too, my reasons. I don't deny, either, that the Jews are a
sharp-set, impudent people ; if one reaches them the finger,
they tear one so by the hand, that one is ready to tumble
down ; and this conies from their having been so long op-
pressed ; their species is, however, human, and will at one
time or other be fit for freedom ; one will absolutely make
Christians of them, and yet will not let them out of the con-
fined purgatory of the crowded Jew-street.* It cost no tri-
fling victory over prejudice for the Christians at last to
resolve to send their children to one school with the poor
Jewish children ; but it was a highly ingenious and happy
thought of my friend Molitor, to bring, for the first. Chris-
tian and Jewish children together in one school, for they
could try it together, and set the parents a good example.

* The street set apart for the Jews in Frankfort.

WITH A CHILD. 121

The Jews are really full of transgression, that cannot be
denied ; but I cannot at all see what there is in the Chris-
tians which can be spoiled ; and yet, if all men must become
Christians, why then let them into the heavenly paradise ! —
there they may convert themselves, if they please.

You see, love does not make me blind ; it would be too
great a disadvantage for me ; for, with seeing eyes, I have
come to the perception of all that is beautiful.

Adieu, cold man, who always passes beyond me, over to
the Jew-pamphlets. I beg you fasten the picture to the
wall with four pins, but in your own room, where I was that
once, and not again.

Bettine.

TO BETTINE.

Thou art angry with me ; so I must at once submit, and
allow thee to be in the right, that thou pleadest against my
cold, short letters ; for thy dear letters, thy dear being, in
short, all which proceeds from thee, ought to be rewarded
with the fairest acknowledgments. I am ever near thee,
believe it firmly, and that I am the happier, the more cer-
tain I grow of thy love. Yesterday I sent my mother a
little paper for thee ; take it as a bare equivalent for that
which I have not the talent otherwise to express ; see how
thou canst appropriate it to thyself. Farewell ; write soon
to me, all that thou wilt.

Goethe.

The flying traveller, I hope, remained dear to thee to the
last. Receive my thanks for the friendship and kindness
which thou hast showed him. When I am quietly settled
at Carlsbad, thou shalt hear from me. Thy letters travel
with me. Write to me as much as possible, of thy journeys,
gypsy-parties, old and new possessions. I like so to read of
such things.

Weimar, May 4th, 1808.

122 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

SONNET, ENCLOSED IN A LETTER TO GOETHE's MOTHER.

As, good and happy child, o'er mead and field,
Thou sport'dst Avith me so many a morn of Spring;
" For such a daughter, blessings murmuring,
How fain would I, as father, houses build."

And when, before thine eye, the world arose,
Thy highest joy was careful housewifery:
" \Vith such a sister, — mine security;
What trust in her, how she in me repose ! "

And now, can naught repress thy gi-owing beauty;
. I feel, Avithin my heart, love's mounting blaze;
Shall I embrace '? — and bar my pains' advance ?

Yet now, alas ! as princess must I view thee,

So stately rising 'fore my wondered gaze;

I quail beneath thy look, — thy shghtest glance.

TO GOETHE.

If it be a pleasure to you to see me in deep confusion,
and ashamed at your feet, then look down upon me now ;
thus it is with the poor shepherd maiden, upon whom the
king places a crown ; even if her heart is proud in loving
him, still is the crown too heavy ; her little head staggers
beneath its burden, and she is, besides, intoxicated with the
honor and homage which her beloved pays to her.

Ah ! I will take good care not to complain any further,
or to j)ray for Jine weather^ for I cannot endure the dazzling
sunbeams. No, rather sigh in darkness, still, silent, than be
led by thy Muse into the broad daylight, ashamed and
crowned ; it bursts my heart. Ah ! do not gaze on me so
long ; take the crown from off my head, gather me in thy
arms to thy heart, and teach me to forget, in thee, that thou
returnest me, thus glorified, to myself.

Bettine.

TO GOETHE.

May 20th.

I HAVE already been a week in the loveliest country of
the Rhine, and could not, for idleness, which the dear sun

WITH A CHILD. 123

burned into me, find a moment to give an answer to your
friendly letter. How can one write, here ? The almighti-
ness of God looks in upon me through each window, grace-
fully inclining to my inspired gaze.

I am, withal, endowed with a wonderful second-sight,
which takes possession of my thoughts. If I see a wood,
my mind becomes at once aware of all the hares and deer,
which gambol therein ; and when I hear the niijhtino-ale,
I know, directly, what the cold moon has committed against
her.

Late yesterday evening I went on the Rhine ; I ventured
on a small mole, which leads into the middle of the stream,
from whose end protrude points of rock, washed by the
waves ; with a few hazardous jumps, I reached the further-
most one, which afforded exactly so much space, that one
can stand dry -foot upon it. The vapors danced around me ;
armies of ravens flew above me ; they wheeled about in
circles, as if they would swoop down from their airy height ;
I armed myself against them with a handkerchief, which I
waved above my head, but I dared not look up, for fear of
falling into the water. When I wanted to turn back, I was
in a fine dilemma ; I could hardly conceive how I was come
there ; a little crazy shallop sailed by, I beckoned to take
me in. The boatman would not trust to the white figure,
which he saw standing, dry-foot, in the midst of the river,
and which the ravens marked as their prey ; at last he man-
aged to understand how I had come there, and took me on
board his cockle-shell. There I lay upon a small board,
heaven and the stars above me : we sailed on for half an
hour, to where his nets hung upon the shore ; we could see,
from afar, how the peoj)le boiled their tar by a bright fire,
and tarred their boats.

How passionless one becomes, when one finds one's self
so free, so alone, as I did in that boat ; how rest is jjoured
upon every limb, it drowns one in itself, it bears the soul as
still and softly as the Rhine my little bark, beneath which,
also, not a wave was heard to splash. I did not, then, as
usual, long to express my thoughts to thee, so that they, like
the waves, break on the surge, and roll on, fuller of life ; I
did not sigh after that internal excitement, of which I well
know that it wakes up mysteries, and opens laboratories and
temples, to the glowing mind of youth. My boatman, with

\

124 GOETHE'S COREESPONDENCE

red cap, in shirt-sleeves, had hghted his short pipe ; I said,
" Mr. Captain, you look as if the sun would have turned
you into a suit armor." " Yes," said he, " now I sit in the
cool ; but I have now, four years long, rowed all passengers
at Biniren over the Rhine, and there is n't one who has
been so far as I. I was in India ; then I looked quite an-
other thing, there my hair grew so long. And I was in
Spain ; there the heat is n't so pleasant, and I have had my
share of troubles ; there my hair fell off, and I got a black,
curly head. And here, on the Rhine, it changes again ; my
head here gets gray. In strange countries, I underwent
such want and labor that a man can hardly endure, and
when I had time, I could sleep (it might rain and lighten)
twenty-four hours together, in the open air. Here, I don't
sleep one hour in the night ; he who has once known what
it is to be on the open sea, can't be well pleased with setting
all the Poles and red-haired Dutchmen over the gutter;
and even if I should have to sail down the whole Rhine in
my crazy ribs, I must get out of a place where there 's
nothing to laugh or to sigh at." " Why, where would you
go to ? " " There, where I endured most ; that was Spain,
there I should like to be again, if it went twice as hardly
with me." " What made you, then, so happy there ? " He
laughed, and was silent. We landed : I ordered him to
come to me for drink-money, as I had nothing about me ;
but he would take nothing. In going home, I considered
how entirely my happiness proceeds from you ; if you were
not in tedious Germany, I would also sail, on my thin ribs,
down the endless Rhine. My grandmother has often re-
lated to us such lofty stories of the great spirits of Ger-
many, but you were not by, or I should have taken care of
myself, and you w^ould have been deprived of my inspira-
tion. In falling asleep, I always felt myself rocked in
sweet and careless reveries, and I felt as if I had great
matters to impart to you, of which I believed that my will
alone was required, for the lips of my thought to utter them.
But now, after having slept out my life of dream, I know
nothing but to join myself, inmostly, to thy memory and thy
friendly love ; for if thou wert not, I know not what I
should be'; but of this I am certain, unsteadily and restlessly
I should seek that which now I seek no more.

Thy Child.

WITH A CHILD. 125

How is it with me, dear, only friend? How giddy I
am ! Wliat wilt thou say to me ? — thou treasure ? —
precious one ! from whom I learn all deep in the breast ;
who takest off from me all chains that oppress, and beckon-
est me aloft into liberty.

Thou hast taught me, that all which is a fetter to my
mind is nothing but oppressing ignorance : where I have
fear, where I do not trust my own powers, it is only igno-
rance.

Knowing is the walk of heaven ; the highest knowing is
almighty, is the element of bliss ; as long as we are not in
it, we are unborn. To be blessed, is to be free, to have a
free, independent life, whose loftiness and divinity is not
relying on its formation ; for this life is in itself divine,
because it consists of nothing but the pure instinct of devel-
opment, an eternal blooming into light, and nothing else.

Love is the instinct of development into divine freedom.
This heart, which would be felt by thee, would fain become
free ; it would fain escape from prison into thy conscious-
ness. Thou art the realm, the star, which it will conquer
for its freedom. Love will by and by overcome eternity,
which, as thou knowest, will never end.

This longing yonder, it is the breath which heaves the
breast, and love the air which we drink.

Through thee, I shall get into immortal life; he who
loves, gets through the beloved into the divine, into bliss.
Love is to overflow into bliss.

To tell thee all, is my whole existence with thee ; thought
is the gate, which lets the mind pass ; there it rushes on and
lifts itself up to the soul, which it loves, and there sinks
again and kisses the beloved ; and that is — ecstasy, to be
sensible of the thought which love kindles.

May this sweet harmony with thee, in which our spirits
meet, be preserved to me ; this bold heroism, which rises far
above the level of distress and care, ascending upwards by
heavenly steps, to meet such beautiful thoughts, of which I
know they proceed from thee.

126 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

GOETHE TO BETTINE.

June 7th.

Only a few moments before my departure for Carlsbad,
thy dear letter came to me from the Rheingau ; on each
page appears so much that is splendid and weighty, that I
beforehand lay an embargo upon every prophetic inspira-
tion of thy love. Thy letters go with me, which I unravel
like a worked cord of many colors, to set in order the splen-
did wealth which they contain. Continue with this attrac-
tive, fairy -like dance to rejoice my contemplative hfe, and to
lead relative adventures : it is all familiar to me, through
my own youthful recollections, as the distant home, which
one feels distinctly enough, although it has been long left.
Inquire the history of thy hard-burned sailor's life, if thou
meetest him again ; it would be indeed interesting to learn
how the Indian seaman came at last to the Rhine, to scare
away, in the perilous hour, the birds of prey from my dear
child. Adieu ! the oak forest and the cool valleys, which
wait for me, are not unfavorable to the state of mind,
which thou understandest so irresistibly how to call forth :
preach also thy Nature-evangelies, always in the happy
assurance that thou hast a pious believer in me.

My excellent mother has written very sorrowfully to me,
that she must pass the summer without thee ; thy rich love
will also providingly care for this want, and thou wilt not
forget one in the other.

Pray, as opportunity offers, express my thanks, my rev-
erence, to our excellent prince primate, that he has honored
my son so above all expectation, and made so rare a festival
for his good grandmother. I should, indeed, myself return
thanks, but I feel persuaded thou wilt dehver that which I
have to say, better and more gracefully, if not more heartily.

Thy letters will be the most welcome visit to me at the
Three Moors, at Carlsbad, and that, too, from which I prom-
ise myself the most good. Relate to me as much as pos-
sible of thy journeys, gypsy-parties, new and old possessions,
and keep me in continual hvely remembrance.

Goethe.

WITH A CHILD. 127

TO GOETHE.

June 16th.

Here are still a thousand splendid paths, all leading to
celebrated parts of the Rhine; on the other side lies the
Johannisberg, up whose steep we daily see processions
clambering, who invoke blessings on the vineyards ; yonder,
the departing sun streams in his purple over the rich land,
and the evening breeze solemnly bears up in the air the
flags of the tutelary saints, and swells out the wide-folded,
white surplices of the clergy, who, at dusk, wind, like an
obscure cloud-picture, down the mountain. As they ap-
proach nearer, the singing may be heard; the children's
voices sound the most distinctly : the bass pushes only at
intervals the melodies into the right joints, that the little
school crowd may not carry them too high, and then jDauses
at the foot of the hill, where the vineyards discontinue. As
soon as the chaplain has sprinkled the last vine from the
holy-water vessel, the whole procession are scattered like
chaff; the clerk takes flags, water-vessel, and sprinkler,
stole and surplice, all under his arm, and carries them has-
tily away ; and, as if the boundaries of the vineyards were
also those of God's audience, worldly life directly follows ;
their throats are mastered by roguish songs, and a merry
allegro of fun drives away the song of penitence : all sorts
of mischief go forward ; the boys wrestle, and fly their
kites on the banks in moonlight ; the girls spread out their
linen, which lies upon the bleach ; and the lads bombard
them with chestnuts : there the herdsman drives the cows
through the uproar, the ox foremost, to make way ; the
pretty daughters of the landlord stand under the vine foli-
age, clapping with the cover of the wine-can ; there the
canons call in, and pass judgment upon the vintages and
cellars ; the matin-preacher says to the chaplain, after the
procession is done : " Now we have represented to God
what the vines need ; still a Aveek's dry weather, then early
in the morning rain, and at noon warm sunshine, and so
on through July and August; if then there be no good
vintage, it is not our fault."

Yesterday I wandered past the procession, up to the
monastery, from which it came down. I often made halt,
still to hear the echoing songs. There, above, it was very

128 GOETHE'S CORRESPOXDENCE

lonely ; after the howling of the dogs, who made an obh-
gato accompaniment to the psalmodj, had died away, I lis-
tened to the distance ; there I heard the dull, sinking hum
of the departing day ; I remained sitting in thought, —
there came from out the far wood of Vollraz somethino;
white ; it was a rider, upon a white horse ; the animal
looked like a spirit, his soft canter sounded to me predict-
ingly ; the limber figure of the rider bent so flexibly with
the motions of the horse, which arched its neck so softly and
easily. He soon approached with slower step ; I placed
myself on the road ; in the dark lie might have taken me
for a boy ; in brown cloak and black cap, I did not look
exactly like a girl. He asked if the road here were not too
steep to ride up, and how far it was to Rudesheim. I
guided him down the hill ; the horse breathed upon me, and
I patted its soft neck. The rider's black hair, his lofty
brow and nose, were plainly to discern in the clear night-
sky. The field-watchman passed by, and greeted us ; I
pulled off my cap ; my heart beat near my dubious com-
panion ; we gave que another room for closer observation ;
whatever he might please to think of me, did not seem to
make any great impression upon him; but! discovered in
his features, in his dress and movements, one charming pe-
culiarity after the other. Careless, unconscious, and unaf-
fected, he sat upon his horse, which divided mastership with
him. Yonder he flew, swimming in vapor, which but too
soon concealed him from me ; but I remained standing alone
by the last vine, Avhere the procession had separated in fun
and mirth. I felt myself much humbled ; it did not only
seem to me, I was convinced, that this rider, full of ardent
life, who even now had passed by me, most* in differently,
strived, with all the power of his five senses, to what is
most precious and elevated in life.

Solitude gives consciousness to the spirit, the sweet-
scented vine-hills soothed me aijain to contentment.

And now, undisguised, I intrust thee with my rider, my
wounded vanity, my longing after the living secret in the
human breast. If in thee I shall become alive, if I shall
enjoy, breathe, and repose, all in the feeling of success, with
thee, I must, without detriment to thy loftier nature, ac-
knowledge all that I want, all that I see, hear, and forebode ;
receive me, direct me aright, and grant me the secret pleas-
ure of our deepest intelligence.

WITH A CHILD. 129

Tlie soul is born for the service of Gocl, when one spirit
kindles in another, feels itself in it, and learns to understand
it : — this is my service .of God, — the more inly, the more
pure and lively.

When I lie on the grassy ground, shone upon by sun and
moon, there thou sanctifiest me.

Bettine.

Jmie 25th.

Thou, surely, wilt visit once again the Rhine, the garden
of thy native country, which becomes as a home to the wan-
derer, where Nature shows herself so friendly great : —
how, with sympathizing spirit, has she animated anew the
mighty ruins ; how does she clamber up and down the
gloomy walls, and accompany the deserted places with flat-
tering verdure, training the wild roses up the old watch-
towers ; and the service-berries, which laugh from out the
^veather-beaten loopholes. Yes, come and wander through
the mighty mountain-forest, from the temple down to the
rock-nest, which looks down over the foaming Bingerloch,
the pinnacles crowned with young oaks ; where the limber
skulls, like sly lizards, shoot by the Mausethurm, through
the rapid stream. Tliere thou standest, and seest how the
clear sky, above blooming vine-hills, laughs from out the
water-mirror, and thyself painted there in the midst, upon
thy bold, capricious, basaltic Ehrenfels, {rock of honor, ^ out-
lined in solemn, awful, embracing precipices and obstinate
projections ; there contemplate the opening of the valleys,
how, with their peaceful convents, between undulating fields,
they bloom forth from out the blue distance, and the hunt-
ing-chases and hanging gardens, which fly from castle to
castle, and the jewelry of towns and villages, which adorn
the banks.

Ah, Weimar, ah, Carlsbad, resign to me the friend !
Lock up your desk and come here, rather than to go to
Carlsbad ; it is but a trifle to say to the postilion, " to the
left," instead of " to the right " ; I know what you want ; I
will put your room in order, near mine, — the corner room,
with one window looking down the Rhine, the other over it ;
a table, a chair, a bed, and a dark curtain, that the sun may
not shine in upon you too early. Must one for ever hum-

9

130 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

drum along the way to the Temple of Fame, where one so
often feels exhausted ?

I just now discovered the letter-carrier; I sprang to-
wards liim ; he showed me, from afar, your letter ; he re-
joiced Avith me, and, not without reason, he said : '' The
letter is certainly from the SAveetheart you like best."
" Yes," said I, " for ca- er," — tliis he took as an exclamation
of melancholy.

To-day your mother Avrote to me ; she giA'es me hearty
assurance of her good Avill ; of your son I sometimes hear
through others, but he, himself, sends no ncAA^s.

And now, farewell ; may your stay at Carlsbad be bene-
ficial ; I giAC my blessings on your health ; if you Avere ill,
and in j^ain, I should also suffer ; I liaA^e already been
obliged to feel much, AA'hich you long since endured, even
before I kncAV you.

The Three Moors shall be your watchmen, to take heed
that no stranger guest intrudes upon you, and that you
make to yourself no graA^en image, to worship it. Let the
Three Moors Avitness, that I beg your serious constancy ;
preserA^e it for me, among the elegant, languishing, bathing
nymphs, aa'Iio dance around you ; Avear on your breast the
pin Avith the Gordian knot ; consider that you ought, out of
the fulness of my love, to make no wilderness of sorroAv,
nor to cut the knot in tAvain.

I have Avritten to the primate by your commission ; he is
at Aschaffenburg ; he has invited me to come there, Avith
the Avhole family ; then I can impart CA'^erything to him once
more. I Avill give intelligence of it.

NoAV, for the last time, I kiss thy hand and lips, that I
may begin a ncAV letter to-morroAv.

Bettixe.

TO GOETHE.

July 5th.

If I were to describe to thee, dearest master, all the ex-
cursions Avhich Ave make from our Rhine-residence, not a
minute Avould remain to me to sisrh and lang-uish. I should
be glad, if it were so ; for Avhen my heart is full, I Avould
fain let it stream over before thee ; but that Avill not do.
Has one ascended hill over hill, the Avhole day, beneath the

WITH A CHILD. 131

burning sun ; drank in with haste all the splendors of Na-
ture, as cool wine in the heat ; then at evening he would
rather clasp the friend on his heart, and tell him of loving
him, than make a long description of way and path. What,
indeed, can I do before thee, except gaze inliest upon thee !
What can I chatter of to thee ? What can my silly prattle
be to thee ?

He who languishes after beautiful Nature, will best de-
scribe her ; nothing will be forgotten : no sunbeam, Avhich
steals through the rocky cleft ; no storm-bird, which skims
the waves ; no weed, no insect, no flower on lowly spot : —
but he who is in the midst of all this, and with glowing
temples and cheeks arrives above, loves to fall asleep like
me on the green lawn, and thinks but little further ; often-
times the heart gets a push, then I look round and seek to
whom I may confide.

What are all the mountains, stretching into the blue dis-
tance, to me ; the swelling sails on the Rhine, the foaming
eddies ? — it only oppresses one, after all, and, — no answer,
— never ! let one ask ever so imploringly !

jui}^ rth.

Thus sounds the heavy sigh at evening, — in the morn-
ing it sounds otherwise ; I am roused before sunrise, and
impelled forth, as if to meet a long-expected messenger.
I can already manage the boat alone ; my dearest matin is,
to loose it cunningly and by stealth from the chain, and to
study out my passage to the opposite shore. I must each
time learn anew ; it is a hardihood begun in wantonness,
but most devoutly concluded ; for I thank God when I am
safely landed. Then, without choice, I traverse one of the
many diverging paths, which open here in every direction.
Each time expectation is listening within my heart, each
time is it set free : now by the all-embracing space viewed
from some height, then by the sun, which so suddenly wakes
all to life : I clamber down the walls of rock : pure moss,
elegant lichen-braids, clothe the stone, — little grottos, for
resting, as if cast in a mould : in them I stop for breath ;
yonder, between dark rocks, shines a brighter green :
blooming in strength, spotless, amidst the wilderness, I
find the flower on a neat hearth, — simple housekeeping of

132 GOETHE'S COREESPONDENCE

God ! in the midst of bloomy walls, the altar,* surrounded
by waving sacerdotal nymphs,t who pour out their libations
from flowery cups,! and scatter incense, and, like the Indian
maidens, cast gold-dust in the air. Then I see a flash in
the sand : I must go down, and then up again, — it might
be a diamond, which chance has brought to light : — were it
one, I would give it you, and imagine your wonder at the
treasure of our Rhenish rocks. There I he, on some un-
shaded spot, with burning cheeks, and gather courage, to
climb once more over to the sweet-scented linden. On the
cross-way, at the poor's-box of St. Peter, who, with the
great key of heaven, stands imprisoned in the barred niche,
I rest myself on the soft grass, and seek in vain, O heaven !
on thy blue vault, the hole into which the key might fit ; for
I would forth out of the dungeon of ignorance and uncon-
sciousness ; where is the door which opens to light and
freedom ? Somethin«: flutters and twitters in the foliao:e,
close to me ; there, beneath the low bough, the little finch-
mother sits, and looks at me complainingly.

There are the pretty little adventures and fatigues of the
day ! Homewards, I made acquaintance with the little gos-
sard-girl ; she beamed upon me from afar, with her inch-
long black eyelashes ; the other children laughed at her,
and said every one mocked at her, because she had such
long eyelashes. She stood there ashamed, and at last began
to cry. I comforted her, and said : " Since God has placed
you as guardian over the pretty white geese, and you are
always upon the open meadow, where the sun dazzles so,
he has also given you these long eye-shades." The geese
crowded round their weeping protectress, and hissed at me
and the laughing children : could I paint, that were mdeed
a picture.

AYell is it, that I do not know much of what passes in
the world, and understand nothing of arts and sciences ; I
should be easily tempted to speak to you about them, and
my imagination would presume upon knowing everytliing ;
now, my mind feeds on inspiration. I hear many tilings
named, applied, compared, that I do not understand ; what
hinders me from asking about them ? what makes me so
indifferent to them ? or why do I avoid learning anything
new?

* Style. t Stamina. J Apices.

WITH A CHILD. 133

Early in the morning.

A host of clouds drown my early walk this morning ;
over yonder, the banks are swinging and wavering, like
shadows of the nether world ; the spires of the fog-buried
towns and villages scarcely push through ; the beautiful
green meadows are vanished. It is still quite early ; I
know it can scarcely be four o'clock ; the cocks are crowing
from place to place, from neighbor to neighbor, in the round
to Mittelheim ; none robs the other of the honor of the long
echo ; and thus it continues along the distance how far !
(the morning stillness between,) like the watchmen on the
mosques, who call to morning prayer.

Morning hours bring golden showers ; I already see
glancing and flashing on the water ; the rays break through
and sow stars on the hastening stream, which, with two days
of continual pouring, has become swelled.

There ! heaven has torn its veil asunder ! now it is cer-
tain that we shall have fine weather to-day ; I remain at
home ; and will count all the sails which pass by, and give
room to all contemplations, which the wide and gradually
brightening prospect brings. You know well enough the
stream of life ; and know where the sand-banks and reefs
are, and the whirlpools, which drag us down to the deep ;
and how far the exulting sailor, with spread sails and a
fresh wind, will come, and what awaits him on shore.

If you please to think for a moment on the capriciousness
of my affection, and excitability of my mind, it may perhaps
be perceptible to you, what will happen to me, inexj)eri-
enced navigator. O tell me, that I must hoj^e nothing from
the air-castles, which even now the clouds are piling up, on
the saifron and purple field of the rising sun ; tell me, this
loving, this flame-rising, this daring silence, between me and
the world is nausrht !

Ah ! the rainbow, even now placmg its diamond foot
upon the Ingelheimer land, and rising over the house to
rest on the Johannisberg, may be just hke the blissful illu-
sion I entertain of thee and me. And the Rhine, spreading
forth his net to receive the picture of his paradise-banks, is
like this flame of life, which is nourished by reflections from
the unreachable. Let it gain, then, nothing more from
reality than this illusion ; it will give to me, also, the pecu-
liar mind and the character which expresses my own self,

134 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

even as the picture does to the river, on which it is re-
flected.

Evening.

This morning I sailed with the humorous Rhine-inspired
Nicholas Yogt to the Ingelheim meadows ; his enthusiastic
relations were quite interwoven with the " ohs " and " ahs "
of past beautiful times. He began quite at the beginning,
even by wondering if Adam did not live here in paradise ;
and then he told of the origin of the Rhine, and of its wind-
ings through wild ravines, and narrowing passes of rock,
and how it flows north, and is again turned back on the left
to the west, where it forms the Bodensee, and then throws
itself so powerfully over the opposing rocks ; yes, said the
good Vogt, at once slyly and merrily, one can compare the
river in all points with Goethe. Only pay attention ; the
three little brooks, which from the height of the tremendous
primeval rock, (composed of such various and varying
parts,) precipitate themselves and foitn the Rhme, first bub-
bling like a sj)rightly lad, are the three Muses : namely.
Science, Art, and Poetry ; and, as there are still other splen-
did rivers, the Tessin, the Ada, and Inn, among which the
Rhine is the most magnificent and famous, so is Goethe also
the most magnificent and famous among Herder, Scliiller,
and Wieland ; and there where the Rhine forms the Boden-
see, that is Goethe's amiable universality, where his spirit
is equally pervaded by the three sources ; there where it
falls headlong over the opposing rocks, — that is his daring
victory over prejudice, his paganish nature, which foams up
mightily, and is tumultuously inspired. There come his
Xenite and Epigrams, his Views of Nature, which strike in
the faces of the old Philistines ; and his Philosophical and
Religious aims, which bubble and roar between the narrow
crags of contradiction and prejudice, and then gradually
subside ; but now comes the best comparison. The rivers
which he receives : the Limmat, the Thur, the Reuss, the
111, the Lauter, the Queicli, all female streams, these are his
amours, and so it continues to the last turn. The Selz, the
Nahe, the Saar, the Mosel, the Nette, the Ahr, — (now
they come running to him from the black forest and from
the rough Alps ; — all maiden rivers ;) the Elz, the Trei-
sam, the Kinzig, the Murg, the Kraich, then the Reus, and

WITH A CHILD. 135

the Jaxt : from Odin's wood and Meliborus down, a pair of
lovely streams are on their feet, — the Wesnitz and the
Schwarzbach ; — they are in such a hurry ; here away ?
"vvhere away ? Then the Maine silently conducts to him the
Nid and the Kriiftel ; these he quietly swallows, and re-
mains always himself; and our great German poet does
even the same as our great German river ; where he goes
and stays, where he has been, or comes, there is always
somethmg to be loved, rising on the stream of his inspira-
tion.

I was surprised at this numerous company : Vogt was of
opinion, that they were by no means all : there was no end
of comparison. History and fable, fire and water, all that
is above or beneath the earth, he understood how to apply :
a rhinoceros-skeleton and petrified palms, which were found
in the Rhine, he took as an allegory of thy most interesting
studies in natural history. Thus he instructed me, and
prophesied, that thou, like the Rhine, wouldst endure to the
end ; and that thou, like the river, after having satisfied and
enjoyed all, would softly and gently heave on to the ocean
of eternity. He wrote me down a ^^Ifin of all the rivers,
and compared me to the Nidda, ah ! how sorry I am, that
after this should still come the Lahn, the Sayn, the Sieg,
the Roer, the Lippe, and the Ruhr !

Adieu! I call this letter "The Epistle of Walks"; if
they don't please you, remember that the Nidda contains no
gold-grains in its bed, like the Rhine, only a bit of quick-
silver.

Receive my greetings at " The Three Moors."

Bettine.

TO BETTINE.

July 15th.

Two letters from thee, dear Bettine, so rich with life,
have followed close one upon another, — the first as I was
about to take the air. We took it with us, and mastered its
contents, at an appropriate, convenient place of repose,
where nature and disposition, in unison with thy sensible,
but joyful narrations and remarks, did not fail to make a
highly pleasant impression, which shall continue to show
itself throughout the " Gordian knot." May the gods in-

13G GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

eliiie to its magic folds, and no mischievous spirit of evil
gnaw them ! I will not fail to preserve thy offensive and
defensive privileges against nymphs and wood-demons.

Thy description of the Rhine-procession and fleeting
shape of the rider gave me much pleasure ; they show how
thou perceivest and wilt be felt ; let not such visions escape
thee, and do not neglect to take such passing excitement by
the forelock ; then it remains in your power to conjure up
again the vanished, in ideal form. Thou hast also my
thanks for the nature-inspirations, in which thou hast so
gracefully arrested my picture ; one cannot check such
pretty compliments.

This morning thy second epistle came to hand, which
supplied to me the place of fine weather. I read it through
at leisure, and therewith studied the drift of the clouds. I
willingly confess to thee, that thy rich pages give me the
highest joy ; greet, in my name, thy humorous friend, who
is already known to me by reputation, and thank him for
his generous comparison ; although, by this, I become en-
dued with extraordinary privileges, I will not abuse them to
the disadvantage of thy kind disposition ; continue thus to
love me, and I will willingly let the Lalin and the Sayn go
their way.

"Write to my mother, and let her write to thee ; love one
another: much, mdeed, is gained, when one takes posses-
sion of the other, through love; and Avhen thou writest
again, thou couldst, at the same time, do me a favor, if
always, at the end, thou wouldst make a free and open
acknowledgment of the date ; for, besides many advantages,
which time first will show, it is, also, particularly delightful
to know, at once, in how short a time all this has passed
from heart to heart. The feeling of freshness has a kindly,
space-dimmishuig effect, from which we may both draw
advantage.

G.

TO GOETHE.

July 18th.

Were you ever on the Rochus mountain ? it has, in the
distance, something very alluring ; how shall I describe it
to you ? — as if one would so like to feel and stroke it, it is

WITH A CHILD. 137

SO smooth and velvety. When the chapel on its height is
illuminated by the evening siin, and one looks into the rich,
green, round dales, which lie so closely locked together, it
seems yearningly encamped over the tjanks of the Rhine,
with its soft slope to the country around, and with the
smooth furrows, as if it would awake all Nature to joy. It
is, to me, the dearest spot in the Rheingau ; it lies an hour's
walk from our house. I have already visited it, at morning
and evening, in mist, in rain, and in sunshine. The chapel
has been ruined, a few years ago ; half the roof is fallen in ;
only the wreck of the nave-arches still remains, where the
gledes, which have built a great nest in the roof, ever fly in
and out with their young, keeping up wild screaming, which
reminds, incessantly, of the water's neighboring. Half the
great altar is yet standing ; upon it a high cross, on the
under part of which the tumbled body of the Christ is
bound fast. I chmbed up the altar, to do the fragments a
last honor ; I was about to stick a large bunch of flowers,
which I had gathered on my way, in a crack in the Christ's
head ; to my great terror, it fell before my feet ; the gledes
and sparrows, and all that had nested there, flew up at the
noise, and the quiet loneliness of the spot was for minutes
disturbed. Through the openings of the doors, the furthest
mountains look in ; on one side, the Altkonig, on the
other, the Hundsriick, as far as Kreuznach, limited by the
Donnersberg ; beliind, you may overlook as much land as
you please. Like a broad, festival garment, the Rhine
drags it training after him, whom you see adorned with all
its green islands, as with emeralds ; the Rudesheimberg,
the Scharlach- and Johannis-berg ; and, however all those
noble rocks may be called, where the best vine grows, lie on
either side, and catch, like glittering jewels, the hot sun-
beam ; one can there clearly discern each effect of Nature
upon the energy of the wine ; how the vapors roll them-
selves up in balls, and glide down the mountain-walls ; how
the soil greedily swallows them, and how the hot winds
skim over it. Nothing more beautiful than evening-purple
overtaking such a vapor-drunken vine-hill ; it is as if God
himself had reanimated the old creation, — ay, as if it were
the vine-hill's own inebriated spirit, by wliicli it is enva-
j)ored. And Avhen at last the clear night rises, giving rest
to all, and to me also, who before, perhaps, had stretched

138 GOETHE'S COREESPONDENCE

forth my arms and could not reach ; who has thought on
thee, had thy name a hundred thnes on my hps, yet did not
utter it ! — shoukl not I have feU pain, liad I once ventured
thy name, and, — no answer ? — all still ? Yes, Nature ! —
but to be so closely mtimate witli her, that in her bliss one
had enough ! — but not so is it with me. Dear, dear friend,
allow me now to kiss both thy hands, and do not draw them
back, as thou Avert wont to do.

Where was I last night ? If they only knew that I did
not sleep at home all night, and yet rested so sweetly ! To
you I Avill tell it ; you are far off ; even if you should scold,
the thunder of your words will sound away before it reaches
here.

Yesterday evening I went alone up the Rochus mountain,
and wrote to you, thus far ; then I dreamed a little, and, as
I came to myself, and believed the sun was about to set, lo,
it was the rising moon ! I was surprised, and should have
been afraid, but the stars did not suffer it ; — these hundred
thousands and I together in that night ! — Yes, who am I,
that I should tremble ? am I numbered M^tli them ? I did
not dare to descend ; I should have found no boat to ferry
over ; besides, the nights are now not at all long ; then I
turned on my side, said good night to the stars, and soon fell
asleep. Now and then flitting breezes waked me, and then
I thought on thee ; as often as I awoke, I called thee to me ;
I always said, in my heart, " Goethe, be with me, that I
may not fear ! " Then I dreamed that I was saihng along
tiie sedgy shores of the Rhine, when, there where it was
deepest, between black chasms of rock, thy ring slipped
from my finger ; I saw it sink deeper and deeper, till it
touched the bottom ! I was about to call for help, when I
awoke to the morning-purple, and Avas thrice hapjjy that the
ring Avas still upon my finger. O prophet, interjDret to me
this dream ; step in before fate ; let not danger come too
near our loA^e, after this beauteous night, Avhen, midst fear
and joy, in council of the stars, I thought of thy future.*
I had long yearned after tliis SAveet adventure, noAV it has
stolen so softly over me, and everything is as it Avas before.
No one knoAvs Avhere I Avas, and if they did, could they con-
jecture Avhy ? Yonder, thou earnest, through the rustling

* See Appendix.

WITH A CHILD. 139

forest, encompassed by mild twilight; nnd when thou wert
quite near, the tired senses could not endure it ; the theme
was so powerful, then I fell asleep, it was so beautiful, all
bloom and sweet scents. And the far, boundless hosts of
stars, and the flickering silver of the moon, which, from dis-
tance to distance, danced upon the stream ; the vast stillness
of Nature, in which one hears all that stirs ; ah, here I feel
my soul planted in this night-shiver ; here germ future
thoughts ; these cold dew-pearls, which weigh on grass and
weed, from these the spirit grows ; it hastens, it will blos-
som for thee, Goethe ; it will expand its gay colors before
thee ; it is love to thee, that I think that I wrestle after
things not yet expressed. Thou lookest upon me in spirit,
and thy gaze draws thoughts from me ; then I must often
say what I do not understand, — what I only see.

The spirit has only senses : as there is much which we
only hear, or only see, or only feel ; so there are thoughts,
which the spirit also perceives with but one of these senses ;
I often only see what I think, often feel it : and when I hear
it, lo ! it makes me tremble. I know not how I come to
this knowledge, which is not produced from my own reflec-
tion ; I look around me for the author of these tones ; and
then I believe that all is produced from the fire of love.
There is warmth in the spirit, we feel it : the cheeks glow
from thought, and shiverings come over us, which fan inspi-
ration into a new glow. Yes, dear friend ! this morning, as
I waked, I felt as if I had attained to the experience of
something great ; as if the vows of my heart had wings,
and soared over vale and mountain, into the pure, joyous,
light-filled sky. No oath, no conditions ; all nothing but
appropriate motion, pure striving after the heavenly. This
is my vow : freedom from all ties, and that I will only be-
lieve in the spirit, which reveals the beautiful, which proph-
esies bliss.

The night-dew had washed me ; the sharp morning
breeze dried me again : I felt a slight shiver, but warmed
myself in descending my dear velvet Rochus. The butter-
flies were already flying around the flowers ; I drove them
all together before me, and where I saw one on the road,
chased it to my flock ; below I had at least thirty together.
O, how I should have liked to have driven them with me
across the Rhine ! but there they all twirled away from one
another.

140 GOETHE'S COERESPONDEXCE

A cargo of Frankfort visitors has just arrived, — Chris-
tian Schlosser brings me a letter from your mother and you.
I conckide, that I may read them.

Thy Child.

Dear Goethe ! thou art content with me, and art pleased
with all that I write, and wilt wear my gold breastpin : —
yes ! do so, and let it be a talisman for this joyous season.
To-day is the twenty -first.

TO GOETHE.

Caub.

I wmTE to you in crystal midnight ; black basaltic coun-
try, dipped in moonlight ! The town forms a complete cat's
back, with its ducking houses, and is quite furred with bris-
thng points of rock and mountain ruins ; and there, oppo-
site, it shines and flickers in the shade, as when one rubs
the cat's back.

I lay already in bed beneath a strange damask coverlid,
which was quite stiff with worked escutcheons and initials,
and faded roses, and jasmine-sprigs ; but under this, I had
rolled myself up in the silver bear-skin, of which you know.
I lay quite easy and pleasant, and considered of all that
Christian Schlosser had spun to me on the way ; he said
you understood nothing of music, and did not like to hear
death spoken of. I asked how he knew all this : — he said,
he had given himself the trouble of instructing you in
music, but had not succeeded, — but about death he had
never commenced speaking, for fear of displeasing you.
And just as I was thinking of this, in the lonely marriage-
bed, ornamented with great plumes, I heard a song in a
strange language, singing without: so much melodv, so
much pause ! — I spring in my silver bear-skin to the win-
dow, and peep out, — there sat my Spanish sailor in the
fresh moonlight, and singing. I knew him directly by the
golden tassel on his cap ; I said, " Good evening, Captain ;
I thought you had swum down the Rhine into the open sea
a week ago. He reco":nized me immediatelv, and answered,
that he Avaited to know if I would not accompany him. I
let him sing the lay once more ; it sounded very solemnly :
at the pauses one could hear the echo from the little sharp-

WITH A CHILD. 141

cornered Pfalz, wliicli, with its ivory turrets and silver
battlements, was quite melted in moonlight.

I do not know, dear Goethe, what demonstrations in
music Schlosser made to you with his leathery voice, — but
had you listened last night with me to the foreign mariner ;
how the tones solemnly danced around together, how they
rolled over to the shore, breathed upon the rocks ; and the
soft echo, so sweetly waked in the deep night, dreamingly
prolonged the sound ; the mariner ! how languishing in a
jjause he dolefully heaves a sigh, complains in high tones ;
then, worked up to despair, calls resoundingly upon the
impossible ; and then, with renewed passion, yields his song
to memory ; in pearly rows of soft tones pours forth the
whole treasure of his happiness, — breathes oh ! and ah ! —
listens, — rebounding calls, — again listens, — and without
an answer at last gathers the flock, — in forgetfulness num-
bers the httle lambs, — one, — two, — three, — and then
forsakes the desolate strand of his life, the poor shepherd !
Ah ! wonderful mediation of the ineffable, which oppresses
the bosom ! ah, music !

Yes ! hadst thou heard it too, thou wouldst have partici-
pated in these destinies ; thou wouldst have sighed for them,
wept for them, and inspiration would have pervaded thee
and me, dear Goethe, — who was there deeply moved ; me
consolation would have overtaken in thine arms.

The sailor bid me good night ; I sj)rang into my great
bed under the damask cover: it creaked so in my ears, I
could not sleep ; I wanted to lie still ; then I heard, in the
twisted bed-posts, the death-watch ticking: one after the
other went to work like busy workmen in an armory.

I must blush to own it to you, but I am sometimes afraid,
when I am so alone at night, and look into darkness ; there
is nothing, but I cannot arm myself against it ; at such
times I Avould not be alone ; and only on that account I
often think, I must marry, that I may have a protector
against this confused, perplexing phantom-world. Ah !
Goethe, do you think this unkindly ? Yes ! when day
breaks, then I am myself thoroughly vexed at such silly
cowardice. I can go at night into the open air and into the
forest, where each bush, each branch, presents a different
countenance ; my strange, danger-defying wantonness con-
quers alarm. Besides, out of doors it is quite another thing,

142 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

there they are not so intrusive ; one feels the life of Nature
as an eternal and divine effect, streaming through all and
one's self, — who can be afraid then ? The night before
last upon the Rochus, as I was quite alone, I heard the
wind coming up from a great distance ; the nearer it came,
the more speedily it increased ; and then, exactly at my
feet, it softly sunk its wings, without even touching my
cloak, nay, scarcely breathed upon me : must I not believe
that it was sent but to bring me a greeting ? You know
well, Goethe, sighs are messengers. You sit alone at the
open window, late in the evening, and think and feel the
last inspiration for the last loved one, rolling in your veins,
— then, involuntarily, you heave a sigh, — this is in a mo-
ment chasing on its way, — you cannot call it back.

Wandering sighs are called those which rise from an
unquiet breast, from perj)lexed thought and desire ; but
such a sigh from a mighty bosom, where the thoughts in
beauteous turns entwining themselves, move their buskined,
dew-bathed feet in a holy measure, led on by the flight of
the muse, — such a sigh, which unbars thy breast to thy
songs, — it soars a herald before them ! and my sighs, dear
friend, — by thousands they surround this one.

Nov/ to-night I have been most cruelly afraid, — I looked
at the window, where it was clear, — how fain would I have
been yonder ! I lay \x\)0\\ the fatal hereditary bed of the
last century, in which knight and prelate, perhaps, have
breathed their last spirits, and a dozen little gentlemen
(death-watch) all fixed to the spot, industriously knocked
and ticked away. Ah ! how I longed for the cool night-air.
Can one be so foolish ? Suddenly I conquered myself, and
stood in the middle of the room. Once upon my feet, I am
a heroine, let me see who dare offend me ; ah, how my
heart and temples beat ! the fourteen friends in need (whom
I, from old convent-habit, summoned to my assistance) are
also no company to make one laugh, since one carries under
his arm his head, the other his entrails, and so on, — I let
them all out of the window. And thou, magic mirror, in
Avhich all that I see and hear is so enchantingly reflected,
what was it which made me blessed ? Nothing ! Deep
consciousness, breathing peace : thus I stood at the window,
and awaited the breaking day.

Bettine.

WITPI A CHILD. 143

July 24th.

I cannot leave you at peace about music. You shall
acknowledge Avhether . you love me, you shall say whether
you are penetrated by music. Schlosser has studied thor-
ough-bass, in order to exj^lain it to you, and you have, as he
says, made resistance to the flat seventh, and have said :
" Get away Avith your flat seventh ; if you cannot arrange
it in form and order, if it do not fall into the so conclusively
settled laws of harmony, if it have not its sensible natural
origin, as well as the other tones, away!" — and have chased
the disconcerted missionary out of thy heathen temple,
keeping, in the mean time, to your Lydian measure, which
has no flat seventh. But, heathen, thou must become a
Christian ! The flat seventh does not harmonize, certainly,
and is without sensible basis ; it is the divine leader, — the
mediator between sensual and heavenly nature ; it is ele-
vated above sense, it leads on to the spirit-world ; it has
assumed flesh and bone, to free the spirit from flesh ; it has
become tone, to give sj^irit to tone, and if it were not, all
tones would remain in limbo. You are not to imagine,
that the fundamental chords have in them more effectual
wisdom than the Church-Fathers, before the Redemption,
before the Ascension. He came and carried them with him
to heaven, and now that they are redeemed, they can them-
selves redeem, — they can satisfy constant yearning. As it
is with Christians, so is it with sounds : every Christian
feels the Redeemer within himself, each tone can elevate
itself to mediator, or . seventh,' and thus perfect the eternal
work of redemption from the sensual to the heavenly ; as
only through Christ we enter the kingdom of spirit, so only
through the seventh, the benumbed kingdom of tone is de-
livered and becomes music. Siiirit, in eternal motion,
which is, properly speaking, heaven : as soon as they come
in contact, new spirits, new notions are produced : their
dance, their groups, become divine revelations ; music is the
medium of spirit, through which the sensual becomes spirit-
ual ; and as redemption extends itself to all, who, embraced
by the living spirit of the Godhead, long after eternal life,
so the flat seventh, by its solution, leads all tones which
pray to it for delivery, in a thousand different ways, to their
source, — divine spirit. And we poor creatures should be
satisfied, that we feel ; our whole present existence is a

144 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

qualification to comprehend bliss ; we are not to wait for a
well-cusliioned, dressed-out heaven, like your mother ; who
believes that all which has delighted us on earth will be
found yonder in greater splendor : she does not go as far to
maintain, that her faded wedding gown of j)ale green silk,
damasked with gold and silver leaves, with crimson velvet
robe, will yonder form her heavenly garment ; and that the
jewelled bouquet, which a cruel thief j^urloined from her, is
already imbibing the light of the stars, to glitter upon her
forehead as diadem among the heavenly crowns. She says :
'"' Why was this countenance made mine, and wherefore
from oiit my eyes should the spirit accost this or that one, if
it were not of heaven, and in attendance upon heaven ? All
that is dead makes no impression, but all that which im-
presses is of eternal hfe." When I relate anvthino- to her
of my invention, she says, they are all things Avhich will be
essentialized in heaven. Often I describe to her my imag-
inary works of art. She says: "They are tapestries of
the fancy, with which the walls of the heavenly dwellings
are adorned." She was lately at a concert, and was much
delighted by a violoncello ; I made use of the opportunity,
and said : " Take care, Frau Rath, that the angels don't
beat your head about with the fiddle-bow, till you perceive
that music is heaven." She wg^s quite struck, and, after a
long pause, said : " Girl ! you may be right."

25th.

What am I doing, Goethe ? I j)ass half my nights in
writing to you ; yesterday morning early I fell asleep in
the boat, (we sailed to St. Goar,) and dreamed about music,
and that which I yesterday evening, half weary, half pos-
sessed, wrote for jou, is scarcely the shadow of that which
spoke within me ; but truth lies therein. There is, indeed,
a great difference between that which the spirit imparts to
us sleeping, and that which, wakmg, we are able to main-
tain upon it. I tell you, I hope in future to be more col-
lected, when I write to you ; I will moderate myself, and
collect all Httle lines and features, without effort, to see if
they arise from one intuition, if they form one system. I
should myseh' like to know what music is ; I seek it as man
seeks eternal wisdom. Do not believe that I am not in ear-
nest about what I have written ; I believe it exactly because

WITH A CHILD. 145

I have thought it, ahhough it does want heavenly genius ;
and one perceives, at once, how happy I was to take refuge
from my demon (angry that I understood him so ill) behind
your mother's golden hoop-petticoat. Adieu ! Late yester-
day evening I walked by moonHght, in the beautiful, bloom-
ing Linden- walk, on the banks of the Rhine ; there I heard
a clapping, and soft singing. Before her cottage, beneath
the blooming Linden-tree, sat the mother of twins ; one she
had upon her breast, and the other she rocked with her
foot, in measure to the song she was singing ; thus already,
in the very germ, where scarce is to be found the first trace
of life, music is the nurse of the spirit ; a humming in the
ear, and then the child sleeps ; tones are the companions of
its dreams ; they are its world ; it has nothing, — the child,
even though the mother rock it ; it is alone in spirit ; but
the tones penetrate it and bind it to themselves, as the earth
binds to itself the life of plants ; and if music did not sup-
port its life, it would become cold ; and so music broods on,
from the time when the spirit first moves itself, till it be-
comes fledged and ripe, and impatiently strives after heaven,
-T— there we shall also learn, that music was the mother-
warmth, which called the spirit forth from its earthly shell.
Amen.

26th.

This secret delight, to sleep upon thy breast ! for to write
to you, after having passed through the business of the day,
is a real dreaming upon thy heart, encompassed by thy
arms : I always rejoice, when we put up at the little inns,
and the cry is, " We will go early to bed, for we must turn
out betimes." Frank always chases me the first to bed,
and, indeed, I am always so tired that I can scarcely wait
the time ; I throw off my clothes in haste, and sink, for
weariness, as in a deep well : then the forest, through which
we have travelled in the day, surrounds me ; the hght of
dreams flashes through the dim vaults of sleep. Dreams
are but bubbles, one says ; I have made another remark, —
may it perhaps be true ? the country, the neighborhood, in
which I find myself during my dreams, is always significant
of the disposition of the passive state of my mind. For
instance, I always dream now of something concealed,
secret ; now, caverns of soft moss, by cool streams, closed

10

146 GOETHE'S COREESPOXDEXCE

by blossoming branches ; then, dim forest-recesses, where, it
is certain, no one finds or seeks us. There, in dream, I
wait for thee, — I am still, and look around for thee : I
wander along narrow overgrown paths, then hasten back,
bacause I believe that now thou art there : then, will sud-
denly breaks through ; I struggle within myself to possess
thee, and that is — my waking. Then the east is already
pamted ; I pull the table to the window, twilight veils the
Jirst lines ; but, before I have written to the end of the
page, the sun shines. Ah ! what do I then write to thee ?
I can myself form no judgment, but am always curious to
know what will come next. Let others enrich their destiny
by pilgrimage to the promised land ; let them write their
journal of learned and other things, if they even bring you
an elephant's foot, or a petrified snail, — all this I will mas-
ter, if only in their dreams they do not, Hke me, sink down
in thee. Leave to me the stilly night, take no cares with
thee to bed, repose in the beauteous peace which I prepare
for thee, — I am also so happy in thee ! It is certainly, as
you say, beautiful to wander with the friend of one's soul,
through the labyrinth of spiritual treasures ; but dare I not
petition for the child, who is dumb with love ? For, to say
the truth, this written chat is nothing but a help at need, —
the deepest love in me is dumb ; it is as a midge, buzzing
about }'our ears in sleep, and, if you will not wake and be
aware of me, then it will sting you. Tell me ! is this pas-
sion which I here rehearse before thee ? O, tell me, if it
were but true ! if I were born to burn away with passion ;
if I were the lofty cedar upon the Avorld-topping Lebanon,
fired as a sacrifice to thy genius, and could exhale in fra-
grance, so that, through me, each might drink in thy spirit ;
if it Avere thus, my friend, that passion could give birth to
the spirit of the beloved, even as fire gives birth to vapor I
— and thus it really is ! thy spirit dwells in me and inflames
me, and I am consumed in flame, and exhale, and all that
the flying sparks reach burns too ; — thus, music is now
crackling and flimmering within me ; it must, also, submit
to become a joyful burnt-offering, only it will not burn quite
clear, and makes a great deal of smoke. Here, I think of
you and Schiller; the world views you as two brothers
upon one throne ; he has as many followers as you ; — they
do not know that they are touched by one through the

WITH A CHILD. 147

Other ; but I am certain of it. I, too, was once unjust to
Schiller, and believed that, because I love you, I dare not
reverence him : but, after I had seen you, and after that his
ashes remained as a last holy relic, as bequeathment to his
friends, then I considered within myself, I felt assured that
the cry of the ravens over this holy corpse was like the
unjust sentence. Do you know what you said to me, as we
saw one another for the first time ? I will insert it here, as
a memorial stone of thy inmost conscience. You said, " I
still think of Schiller " ; in the mean time, you looked upon
me, and sighed deeply ; and then I interrupted, and was
telling you that I was no admirer of his ; but you said : " I
would that he were now here ; you would feel otherwise ;
no one could withstand his goodness ; if he was not so
richly and abundantly respected, it was because his spirit
streamed through the whole Hfe of his time, and because
each was nourished and supported by him, and every want
supplied. This he was to others, this he was of all the most
to me, and his loss cannot be replaced." At that time I
wrote down your words, not to impart them to others as
your remarkable judgment, no, because I felt ashamed.
These words have been beneficial to me ; they have made
me wise ; and often, when I have been about to pronounce
sentence of death upon some one, it occurred to me, how
you, at that time, in your mild justice, pronounced sentence
upon my presumption, I was obliged, in excitement of jeal-
ousy, to acknowledge that I was nothing. " Nothing is
touched in vain," you answered. " This connection of
many years, this earnest, deep conviction, is become part of
myself; and, when I now go into the theatre, and look
towards his place, and am forced to believe that he is no
more in this world, that those eyes no longer seek me, then
am I tired of life, and I also wish that I were no longer
here."

Dear Goethe, you placed me very high, when you at that
time expressed to me such costly feelings and sentiments.
It was the- first time that any one had opened before me his
inmost heart, and you were that one ! yes, without hesita-
tion, you surrendered yourself to these after-throes in my
presence ; and certainly Schiller has had a favorable influ-
ence on me, for he made you tender and yielding, so that
you remained long leaning upon me, and at last pressed me
fast to your bosom.

148 GOETHE'S COREESPONDENCE

I am tired : I have written from half past two till nearly
five : to-day it seems inclined never to grow hglit, thick
rain-clouds are hanging over the sky ; we must certamly
wait till noon before we can j)roceed further. You should
only see the tumult of vapor upon the Rhine, and what
hangs from the single pomts of rock ! If we remain here,
I will write to you in the afternoon again, for I wished to
speak to you of music, and of Schiller and yourself, how
you are both connected with it, — it has bothered my brain
a long time abeady.

I am weary, dear Goethe ; I must go sleep.

Evening.

I am very tired, dear friend, and would not write to you,
but that I see these pages of this strange zigzag journey
will form themselves into somethmg entire ; and therefore I
w^ill not neglect, if it be only in a few Imes, to preserve the
portrait of each day ; nothing but storm and tempest ; for a
change, one single sunbeam. All remained in St. Goars-
hausen and mounted the Rheinfels ; my hands are torn by
thorns, and my knees still tremble from exertion, for I went
before, and chose the shortest and steepest way. Here
above, it looks so dark and solemn ; a row of naked rocks
push forward, crowding one behind the other, crowned with
vineyards, woods, and old castle-ruins ; and thus they boldly
tread into the river-bed to meet the course of the Rhine,
which, from out the deep, still sea, sweeps about the en-
chanted Lurelei, rushes up over the even rocks ; foams,
bellows, swells, shoots against the ridge, and then, hke a real
reveller, swallows up in itself the overboiling rage of the
foaming floods.

From above, I viewed at my ease, under the protecting
wall of the Rheinfels, the after-comers, with red and green
umbrellas, clambering weai'ily up the slippery path ; and as
just then the sun's last beam of hope vanished, and a heavy
shower put an end to the prayer for fine weather, the
nature-loving company turned faint-hearted back almost
from their goal, and I remained alone beneath the crowned
heads. How shall I describe this moment to you with one
word — strikingly ? scarcely could I fetch breath, — so
touching, so powerful ! Ah ! I am happy ! the whole world
is beautiful, and I see and hear all for thee !

WITH A CHILD.

149

I looked, still and lonely, into the roaring flood ; the giant
. faces of the rocks intimidated me ; I hardly trusted to raise
my look, — many are too bold, — hanging over with the
dark bush, which protrudes from out the burst side, the
naked roots scarcely held by the stone, the hanging branches
waving in the torrent, it became so dark, I thought day
would never break. Just as I was considering whether the
wolves would devour me to-night, the sun came forth, and,
striving with clouds, surrounded the heights with a ring
of fire. The forest-crowns flamed, the glens and ravines
breathed forth an awful deep blue on the river, — there a
thousand reflections play upon the petrified Landgraves, and
a shadow-world danced around them in fleeting change upon
the moving flood : everything wavered, — I was obliged to
turn away my eyes. I tore down the ivy from the wall, and
made garlands, and slung them with my crook, by which I
had ascended, far into the flood. Ah ! I scarcely saw them,
and they were gone ! Good night.

s

is:

O!

good

night !

*—J^ . ^

12=^

m

O!

good night, my dearest

one!

27th.

Goethe, good morning ! I was at four o'clock this morn-
ing with the salmon-fishers, and helped to keep watch, for
they are also of opinion, that " in troubled waters is good
fishing " ; but it was of no use, none were taken. I ran-
somed a carp, and set him free in the stream again, to the
honor of God and thee.

The weather will not clear up ; we are just putting over
to the left shore in order to return by thf^^^ carriage ; how
much I should have liked to have cruised ^Qout here a few
days more !

150 GOETHE'S CORKESPONDENCE

TO BETTINE.

August 3d, 1808.

I MUST, dear Bettine, renounce all attempt at answering
you ; you let a complete picture-book of splendid and lovely
scenes run, as it were, through your fingers ; one recognizes
the treasures in skimming, and knows what one possesses,
before one can master the contents. My best hours I use
in becoming more nearly acquainted with them, and I en-
courage myself to endure the electric shocks of your inspi-
rations. At this moment, I have scarcely read the first half
of your letter, and am too much moved to continue it. Re-
ceive, in the mean time, thanks for all ; proclaim, from the
heights of the Rhine, thy evangelies and articles of belief,
undisturbed and unconcerned, and let thy psalms stream
down to me and the fish ; but do not wonder that I, Hke
them, am mute. One thing I beg : do not cease loving to
write to me ; I shall never cease to read you with delight.

What Schlosser imparted to you about me, induces you
to highly interesting excursions out of Nature's field, into
the domain of art. That music is still a mysterious subject,
of difficult research to me, I do not deny ; whether I must
rest satisfied with the hard decision of the missionary (as
you call him) will then first be proved, when my love for
her, who now moves me to really abstract studies, shall no
more continue. It is true, you have placed amidst the dark-
ness fiaming torches, and fire-basins ; but at present, they
dazzle more than they illuminate ; yet at the same time, I
expect from the entire illumination a splendid " total eff*ect,"
therefore continue sparkling on all sides.

As I have to-day reached the Amen of your rich, sub-
stantial letter, I would fain express to you, in conclusion, in
one word, the enjoyment which has grown out of it for me,
and beg you by no means to let slip the theme upon music ;
but, on the contrary, to vary it in every possible way and
manner. And so I bid you a hearty farewell : continue to
love me, till happy stars bring us once more together.

Goethe.
/^

TO GOETHE.

Eochusberg.

"We have been five days upon the road, and during that
time it rained incessantly. The whole house full of guests,

WITH A CHILD. 151

no little corner, where one could enjoj solitude and write to
you.

As long as I have anything to tell you, so long I firmly
believe thy spirit is fixed upon me, as upon so many enig-
mas of Nature ; thus, I believe each being to be such an
enigma, and that it is the office of love between friends to
solve the enigma ; so that each one may become acquainted
with his more secret nature, through and in his friend. Yes,
dearest, this makes me happy, that my life gradually devel-
ops itself through thee ; therefore would I not be counter-
feit ; rather suffer all my faults and weaknesses to be known
to thee, than give thee a wrong notion of myself; because
then thy love would not be busy with me, but with a false
image, which I had inserted mstead of my own. Thus I
am often warned by a feeling, to avoid this or that, out of
love to thee, because I should, nevertheless, deny it before
thee.

Deafest Goethe! I must impart to you things of the
deepest moment ; they belong, properly speaking, to all men,
but you alone listen to me, and believe me, and acknowl-
edge in silence that I am right. I have often reflected, that
the spirit cannot effect what it will ; that a secret longing
lies concealed in it, which it cannot satisfy ; for instance,
that I have a great longing to be with you, and nevertheless,
however much I may think of you, I cannot make it sensible
to you. I believe it is because the spirit does not really live
in the realm of truth, and thus cannot make known its prop-
er existence, till it has completely gone over from falsehood
to the realm of revelation, (for truth is nothing else than
revelation,) and theii first can one spirit reveal itself to the
other. I would fain tell you other things, but it is difficult ;
unquiet falls upon me, and I do not know which way to turn.
In the first moment, indeed, all is rich, but will I embrace it
with words, — all is vanished ; even as in a fable, where one
finds a precious treasure, in which one can recognize all
jewels ; will we touch it, it sinks away : and this also proves
to me, that the spirit, here upon earth, only dreams of the
beautiful, and is not yet its master, or else it could fly, as
easily as think that it would like to fly. Ah ! we are so far
from each other ! Whatever door I open, and see people
together, thou art not amongst them ; I know it well before
I open, and yet I must first convince myself, and I feel the

152 GOETHE'S COERESPOXDEXCE

pains of one disappointed. Should I now, too, still conceal
my soul from thee ? or cover with a garment that which I
have to say, because I am ashamed of my desponding fore-
bodings ? Shall I not put that confidence in you, that you
love life, even though yet helpless, it requires Avatching, till
it can impart its sf)irit ? I have taken great pams to collect
myself, and to express to you myself. I have hid myself
from the sun's light, and in the dim night, when no star was
shining, and the winds rushed, I went forth in the darkness,
and stole ou to the shore, — there it was not lonely enough ;
the waves disturbed me, and the rustling in the grass ; and
v.hen I stared into the close darkness, and the clouds broke,
so that the stars showed themselves, then I muffled myself
in my mantle and laid my face upon the earth, to be quite,
quite alone. This strengthened me, so that I became more
free ; then I was excited to observe that, which perhaps
none had observed ; then I considered, whether I really
sf)eak icith thee, or if I only let myself be heard before thee ?
Ah, Goethe ! Music, yes, music ! (here we again come to
the holy chapter,) there we also hsten, but we do not enter
into converse, but we hear how they, the spirits of music,
commune with one another, and we hear and perceive that
they agree in speech. Therefore, true converse is a harmony,
uniting in itself all, without separation ; when I say the truth
to you, then your soul must flow over into mine, — that I
believe.

Wlience do they come, these spirits of music ? From out
the human breast ! He beholds himself, the master ; this is
the power which cites the spirit. It rises up from the endless
depths of the internal, and they look keenly at one another,
(the master and the spirit,) this is inspiration ; so the divine
spirit looks upon Nature, — through this she blossoms. Out
of the spirit, blossom spirits ; they entwine with one another,
they stream forth, they drink in one another, they bear one
another ; their dance is image, form : we do not see them ;
we perceive them, and subject ourselves to their heavenly
power, and in so doing we submit to an influence which
heals us. This is music !

O believe, that real music is surely superhuman. The
master requires impossibility from the spirits subjected to
his power, — and lo ! it is possible, — they perform it. One
cannot doubt upon magic ; only one must believe, that the

. WITH A CHILD. 153

super-miglity will be performed in the dominion of super-
might, and that the sublime depends upon presentiment,
upon the endeavors of him, before whom the spirits bow
themselves. Who wishes for the divine, — for him they will
effect what is divine. But what is the divine ? The eter-
nal sacrifice of the human heart to divinity ; — this sacrifice
takes place here after a spiritual manner ; and even if the
master deny it, or do not perceive it, it is nevertheless true.
Does he conceive a melody, so at once he preconceives its
perfection, and the heart subjects itself to a severe trial ; it
allows itself to be pleased with all, in order to approach
nearer the divine ; the higher it soars, the more blessed ;
and this is the merit of the master for giving himself up,
that the spirits press in upon him, take to him, annihilate
his whole conception, so that he obeys them, seeking the
sublime amid the continual pains of inspiration. Where I
have heard all this, and only what I have heard, was music.
As I came out of the convent to Offenbach, there I lay in
the garden upon the lawn, and heard Salieri, and Winter,
and Mozart, and Cherubini, and Haydn, and Beethoven.
All this swarmed around me : I conceived it neither by my
ear nor my understanding, but yet I felt it, while all else in
life I did not feel : that is, the loftier, inward man felt it ;
and already at that time I asked myseff. Who is that, who
is fed and nourished by music, and what is that, which there
grows, and nourishes, and supports itself, and through music
becomes itself active ? for I felt an incitement to action, but
did not know what I should seize upon. Often I thought, I
must with flying standard head the people ; I would lead
them to the heights, above the enemy, and then, at my bid-
ding, at my signal, they must rush down into the vale, and
spread themselves forth in conquest. Then I saw the red
and white colors flying, and the powder-smoke in the sun-
dazzled fields ; there I saw them, the messengers of victory,
spring forward in gallop, surround me with exulting shouts ;
then I saw and felt, how the spirit frees itself in insjDiration,
and soars up to heaven ; the heroes bleeding with wounds,
crushed, happy, crying, out in death ; yes, and I myself have
passed through all this with them, — for I felt myself also
wounded, and felt how the sj)irit took leave, — would fain
have lingered awhile beneath the palm of Victory's goddess,
and yet, while she raised it up, would also fain soar with

154 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

lier. Yes, this have I felt, and more ; where I found myself
alone, looked into deep and wild ravines, not deep, — depth-
less ; endless hills above me, foreboding the presence of
spirits. Yes, I collected myself and said : " But come, ye
spirits, come but on ; because ye are divine and loftier than
I, I will not resist ye." Then I heard, from out the unutter-
able murmur of voices, the spirits setting themselves free,
— they yielded from one another, — I saw them from afar,
approaching me in glancing flight ; tln^ough the heavenly
blue atmosphere they exhaled their silvery wisdom, and
they inclined themselves down into the rocky amphitheatre,
and caused light to stream over the black precipices, so that
all was visible. There the waves sprang up in flowers,
and danced around them, and their approach, their whole
speech, was an intrusion of their beauty uj^on me, that
my eyes could scarcely, with all assistance of the spirit,
receive it, — and that was the entire effect they made
upon me.

O Goethe ! I could impart to you still many visions ; yes,
I believe, that Orj^heus saw himself surrounded by wild
beasts, who in sweet sadness groaned in unison with the
sighs of his song : I believe, that the trees and rocks ap-
proached and formed new groups and woods, for I also have
seen it : I saw pillars rise up, bearing wonderful rafters,
upon which beautiful youths balanced themselves ; I saw
halls, in which lofty, divine images were erected ; marvel-
lous edifices, whose splendor broke the ray of the proud
eye ; whose galleries were temples, in which j^riestesses,
with golden instruments of sacrifice, were wandermg, and
adorning the columns with flowers ; whose pinnacles were
encircled with eagles and swans. I saw these huge piles of
architecture wed with the night, the ivory turrets with their
diamond tints melt in evening's jjurple, and protruding be-
yond the stars, Avhich in the cold blue of night, hke gathered
armies, flew along, and, dancing in time of music, and swing-
ing round the spirits, formed circles. Then I heard, in the
far woods, the groans of the beasts for dehverance ; and
what besides swarmed before my view and in my fancy.
What did I believe that I must and could do ? what vows
have I expressed to the spirits ? all that they required, I
vowed for ever and ever. Ah ! Goethe, all this have I seen
and felt in the green, gold-flowered grass. There I lay during

WITH A CHILD. 155

♦

the play-hour, and had spread over me the fine hnen, which
was bleacliing tliere ; I heard, or rather felt, myself borne
up and surrounded by these unutterable symphonies, which
none can interpret : they came and watered the linen, and I
remained lying there, and felt the glow pleasingly cooled.
You will surely have experienced things similar ; these
fever-fits, to ascend into the paradise of the imagination,
have, in some way, penetrated you, too ; they glow through-
out all Nature, which again was cooled, — has become some-
thing else, — is made fit for something else. On thee the
spirits have laid hands, held thee in immortal fire ; — and
that was music ; whether you understand or perceive it ;
whether restlessness or quiet fall upon you ; whether you
exult or deeply mourn ; whether your spirit breathes free-
dom or perceives its chains ; — it is always the spiritual
basis of the superhuman in thee. If neither the " third "
nor the " fifth " offer light to you ; if they be not so gracious
as to allow themselves to be viewed and felt by you, it is
only because you have already passed through its holy
sphere; — because thy senses, matured in its light, again
yield to seed the golden fruit-kernels. Yes, thy songs are
the sweet fruits filled with its balsam. Balsam streams
forth from the voluptuousness of the dithyrambic ! — they
are no more tones, — they are entire kinds in your poems,
which bear and spread their power. Yes, that I surely be-
lieve, that music forms each genuine apjDcarance of art, and
rejoices to be reborn so purely in thee. Take no care for
the empty eggshells, out of which the fledged spirits have
escaped, — for the " third " and the " fifth," and the whole
kith and kin between sharp and flat, — to you they are
related ; you are in the midst of them.

The child does not ask, amongst his relations, " Who are
these, and how do they come together ? " it feels the eternal
law of love, which binds it to all. And I must also tell you,
yet one thing : composers are no masons, who bake one stone
upon the other, and forget not the chimney, nor the stair-
case, nor the ridge-lead, nor the door, through which they
may again slip out, and believe they have built a house.
They are no composers, for me, who cut a garment to your
songs which shall be long enough before and behind. O,
thy songs, which break through the heart with their melody !
as I sat ten days ago, above, on the Rheinfels, and the wind

156 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

bowed tlie strong oaks till they cracked, and they roared
and blustered in the storm ; and their foliage, borne upon
the wind, danced above the waves. Then I ventured to
sing ; there was no music-mode, — there was no transition,
— there was no painting of the feelings or thoughts, which
accorded so powerfully with Nature, it was an impulse to
become one with her. Then I well perceived, how music
inhabits thy Genius ! He showed himself to me floating
upon the waters, and inculcated within me, that I love thee !
Ah, Goethe, let no songs be lisped to thee, and do not be-
lieve it necessary to learn to understand and dignify them ;
surrender at discretion ; suffer, in God's name, shipwreck of
thy notions, — why will you ordain and understand all 'vvhich
is divine, whence it cometh and whither it goeth ? See, thus
I write when I am reinless, and do not inquire whether rea-
son permit it. I do not know if it be truth, any more than
that which I first prove ; but I would rather write thus,
without fearing that you, like others, should command me
to be silent. What could I not write to you, if I would not
deliberate ? soon I should become master, and nothing should
conceal itself from me, which I minded to hold fast with the
spirit, — and if you agreed, and bowed to my will, as the
chord of the seventh presses forward to meet solution, then
it would be as love will have it.

Eochtisberg.

Often, I cannot, for joy that the blessed, lonely hour is at
hand, fix myself to writing. Here, above, 'midst golden
summer, think on the golden future, — for that is my future,
to see thee again ; from that very moment when you reached
me your hand, at parting, and gave me to understand that it
was enough for tenderness, — do I turn, in thought, again to
thee. Therefore do I laugh with one eye, while I weep
with the other.

How blissful, then, to tliinh thee 1 how talkative becomes
my soul in each little event, from which it hopes to call forth
the treasure !

My first way was here above, where I wrote you the last
letter, before we departed. I wanted to see whether my
inkstand were still there, and my little case, with paper.
All still in place and order. Ah, Goethe, thy letters are so
dear to me, I have wrapped them in a silken envelope.

WITH A CHILD. 157

worked with variegated flowers and golden ornaments. The
last day before our Rhine journey, I did not know where to
carry them ; take them with me, I would not, as we had but
one portmanteau between us ; in my chamber, which I could
not lock up because it was wanted, I was not willing to leave
them, either ; I thought the boat might sink, and I drown,
and then these letters, of which one after the other had lain
upon my heart, might fall into strange hands. At first, I
would give them the Nuns of VoUraths to keep, — (they are
St. Bernhard nuns, who, driven from their convent, now
dwell there,) — afterwards, I resolved otherwise. The last
time I was upon the mountain, I found a spot, beneath the
confessional chair of the E.ochus chapel, (which still re-
mains,) in which, also, I always keep my writing apparatus ;
I dug a little hole and lined it with muscle-shells, from the
Rhine, and beautiful little flints, wliich I found upon the
mountain ; there I deposited them, in their silken wrapper,
and planted a thistle before the spot, whose root, with earth
and all, I had carefully scooped out. Upon the way I often,
became anxious ; what a shock, if I had not found them
again ! — my heart stands still. For seven days after our
return it was bad weather, it was not possible to pass over ;
the Rhine is risen three feet, and quite deserted by boats ;
ah, how I did wish I had never carried them there, above !
I would not tell it to any one, but my impatience to get
over ! I had fever, from very anxiety about my letters ; I
might well expect that the rain could have penetrated some-
where, and destroyed them ; ah, they had suffered a little
inundatory distress, but only a very little ; I was so happy
when I saw from afar my thistle blooming ; then I dug them
out and laid them in the sun, — they were dry directly, and
I took them with me. The thistle I planted again as a
lasting memorial. Now I must relate to you what new ar-
rangement I found here, above, namely, a board, fastened on
the upper part of the confessional-chair, and a little four-
cornered beehive placed upon it. The bees were quite lan-
guid, and sat upon the board and on the hive. Now I must
relate to you sometliing out of my convent. There was a
nun, whom one called " 3£ere celatrice " ; she had so accus-
tomed me to her, that I assisted her in all her concerns.
Had we attended to the wine in the cellar, why, we looked
to the bees, for she was bee-mistress, and that was a very

158 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

important business. In winter tliej were fed by her ; the
bees sucked sweet beer out of her hand ; in summer, they
hung upon her veil, when she walked in the garden, and she
maintained that she was kno\\Ti and loved bv them. At
that time I had a great affection for these httle animals.
The Mere celatrice said, before all things, one must subdue
fear, and when they were about to sting, one must not start,
and then they would never sting much. This cost me much
self-command ; after I had taken the firm resolution of re-
maining quiet amidst the swarming bees, fear came upon
me ; I ran, and the whole swarm after me. But, at last, I
have learned ; it has given me endless pleasure ; often have
I paid them a visit, and held a sweet-scented nosegay to
them, upon which they seated themselves. The little bee-
garden I tended, and planted in it particularly the dark and
spicy pinks. The old nun did me the pleasure, also, to main-
tain, that one could taste, in the honey, all the flowers which
I planted. She also taught me how to bring the bees, which
were numbed, back to life. She rubbed her hands with
nettles, and a strong-scented weed, which one calls cannock,
opened the large j)anel of the hive and put in her hand.
Then they all seated themselves upon the hand and warmed
themselves ; this I have often done with her ; there the little
hand and the Grreat hand stuck in the hive. Now I wished
to put it again, but I had no longer the courage ; lo, thus
one loses one's innocence throuEch it.

I soon became acquainted with the owner of the hive :
as I lay on tlie side of the hill, to loiter a little in the shade,
I heard, in dreaming-slumber, a tramj^ling : this was the
Binger flock, with dog and shepherd ; he looked immediately
to his beeliive ; he told me, that he should pasture there
awhile : and, as the full-blooming th}Tne and the warm sun-
ny spot pleased him so much, he had planted the swarm
of young bees here, that they should be quite comfortable ;
and if, when he came again after a year, they should then
have increased, and taken up the whole grated confessional,
he Avould be much pleased at it.

The shepherd is an old man ; he has long mustaches; he
had been a soldier, and related to me different scenes of war
and of former times, therewith whistling to his dog, which
governed his flock. Of different castle-spectres he told me
also, that he did not believe in them, but upon the Ingel-

WITH A CHILD. 159

heim height, where ruins of the great imperial saloon were
yet standing, there it Avas not quite secure from being
haunted. He had himself met a man by moonlight upon
the heath, all clad in steel, who was followed by a lion ; and,
as the lion scented man, he roared fearfully ; that thereupon
the knight turned to him, threatened him Avith his finger,
and cried, " Be still, mischievous dog " ; the lion then was
silenced, and licked the man's feet. The shepherd related
this to me with peculiar horror ; and I, for my pleasure,
shuddered also : I said, " I can easily believe, that a pious
shepherd must fear the protector of a lion." " AYhat ! " said
he, " I was then no shepherd, but a soldier, and not particu-
larly pious, either ; I courted a sweetheart, and had come
over to Ingelheim at midnight, to force bolt and bar ; but
that night I went no further ; I turned back." " Well," said
I, " and your sweetheart waited for you in vain ? " " Yes,"
says he, " but where ghosts are busy, there man must not
meddle." I thought, when one loves, he need not fear
spirits, and may just then consider them as equals ; for
though night be not the friend of man, it is surely the
friend of lovers.

I asked the shepherd, how, in this solitary business, he
passed his time during the long days. He ascended the
mountain, the whole flock at his heels, passed over me ; he
came again, the flock took as before no roundabout way ; he
showed me a beautiful pipe, so he called a hautboy with
silver keys, and neatly inlaid with ivory : he said, " This a
Frenchman gave me ; I can blow upon it, so that it is to be
heard a mile off; when I pasture here upon the heights,
and see yonder a little ship with a jovial people, then I
play ; at a distance, the pipe sounds beautifully ; particular-
ly, when the water is so still and sunny as it is to-day ;
playing is dearer to me than meat and drink." He applied
it to his lips, turned himself towards the valley, to let the
echo be heard ; soon he played the song of the soothsaying
temple-boy, out of Axur of Ormus, with variations of his
own fancy : the solemn stillness, which breaks forth out of
these tones, and expands itself in the midst of vacant space,
surely proves, that spirits occupy a place also in the sensual
world ; at least, all seemed changed, — air and mountain,
forest and distance, and the onward stream witli its gliding
barks were subdued by the melody, and breathed forth their

IGO GOETHE'S COERESPOXDEXCE

proj^lietic spirit : — the flocks had laid themselves to rest,
the dog was stretched at the shepherd's feet, who stood at a
distance from me on the height, and felt the inspii-atiou of a
vii'tuoso, who surpassed himself, because he perceives he is
thoroughly understood and enjoyed. He made echo plav a
very delicate character therein ; here and there he allowed
it to melt into some pause ; then he repeated the last flourish
more tenderly and penetratingly — echo again ! — he be-
came still more fiery and languishing ; and thus he taught
echo how high he could reach, and then he ended with a
briUiant fermate, which made every vale and ravine of the
Donnersberg and Hundsriick resound. Playing, he went
round the mountain with his flock. I packed up my writ-
ing, since here above soHtude is disturbed, and wandered
yet awhile in the overpowering splendor of sunset, taken uj)
by wise sayings, with the shepherd, walking behind the
white flock ; he left me with the comphmeut, that I was
cleverer than all the people he knew ; to me this was some-
thing quite new ; for till now I have heard from clever
people that I was quite foolish ; nevertheless, I caimot deny
the shepherd to be right ; I am clever, and have sharp
senses.

Bettixe.

Winkel, August 7th.

Yesterday, I closed mv letter and sent it off", but had
not concluded it. If you knew what disquietude and pain
fall upon me during these simple descriptions ! all appears
to you to be written just as seen and heard. Yes ! but I
see so much and think it, and yet cannot express it ; and
one thought crosses the other, and one takes flight before
the other, and then again it is as solitary in the mind as
in the world. The shepherd beUeved that music protects
against evil spirits and tediousness ; there he is right, for
the melancholy of tediousness is produced only because we
long after the future. In music we have a presentiment of
this future ; since it can only be spirit, and nothing else ;
and without spirit there is no future ; who will not bloom in
the spirit, how will he live and breathe ? But I intend to
tell you of two powerful thoughts in music, — for because I
know that its truth is still not to be expressed by earthly

WITH A CHILD. 161

tongue, so much I repress from fear you may not approve
of it; or rather, because I beheve that prejudices bhnd you,
inculcated by God knows what trivial sort of people. I
have no power over you : you believe that you must apply
to learned people, and what they may tell you, stands only
in the way of the higher want. O Goethe ! I am afraid
before you and the paper, I am afraid to write down what
I think for you.

Yes ! Christian Schlosser said, that you understand noth-
ing of music, that you fear death, and have no religion ;
Avhat shall I say to this ? I am as stupid as I am mute,
when I am so sensibly hurt. Ah ! Goethe, if one had no
shelter, which could protect in bad weather, the cold, love-
less wind might harm one ; but I know you to be sheltered
within yourself ; but these three riddles are a problem to me.
I would fain explain to you music in all its bearings, and
yet I myself feel, that it is beyond sense, and not understood
by me ; nevertheless, I cannot retire from this indissoluble,
and I pray to it ; not that I may conceive it ; no, the incon-
ceivable is ever — God; and there is no medium world, in
which other secrets can be hidden. Since music is incon-
ceivable, so is it surely God ; this I must say, and you will,
with your notion of the " terz " and the quint, laugh at me !
'No, you are too good, you will not laugh ; and then you are
also too wise ; you will surely willingly give up your studies
and your conquered ideas, for such an all-hallowing mystery
of the divine spirit in music. What could repay the jjains
of inquiry, if it were not this ? After what could we inquire,
which moves us, except the divine ojily ? And what can
others, the well-studied, say better or higher upon it ; — and
if one of them should bring something forward against it,
must he not be ashamed ? If one should say, " Music is
there, only that the human spirit may perfect itself therein."
Well, yes ! we should perfect ourselves in God ! If one
say, it is only the connecting hnk with the divine, but not
God himself! No, ye false voices, your vain song is not
divinely imbued ! Ah ! divinity itself teaches us to under-
stand the signs, that like it, by our own power, we may learn
to govern in the realm of divinity. All learning in art, is
only that we may lay the foundation of self-dependence
within us, and that it may remain our conquest. Some one
has said of Christ, that he knew nothmg of music : to this

11

162 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

I could answer nothing ; in the first place, I am not nearly
enough acquainted with his course of life ; and then what
struck me at the time, I can say only to you, although I do
not know what you may answer to it. Christ says : " Your
body also shall be glorified." Is not music now the glorify-
ing of sensual nature ? Does not music so touch our senses,
that we feel them melted into the harmony of the tones,
which you choose to reckon by terz and quint ? Only learn
to understand ! you will wonder so much the more at the
inconceivable. The senses flow on the stream of inspira-
tion, and that exalts them. All which spiritually lays claim
on man, here goes over to the senses ; therefore is it that
through them he feels himself moved to all thino;s. Love
and friendship and warlike courage, and longing after the
divinity, all boil in the blood ; the blood is hallowed ; it in-
flames the body, that it becomes of one instinct with the
spirit. This is the effect of music on the senses, this is the
glorifying of the body ; the senses of Clmst were dissolved
in the divine sj)irit ; they were of one instinct with him ;
he said : " AYhat ye touch with the spirit, as with the senses,
must be divine, for then your body becomes also spirit."
Look ! this I myself almost felt and thought, when it was
said that Christ knew nothing about music.

Pardon me, that I thus speak with you, nearly without
substantial ground, for I am giddy, and I scarcely perceive
that which I would say, and forget aU so easily again ; but
if I could not have confidence in you, to confess that which
occurs to me, to whom should I impart it ?

This winter I hacj^ a spider in my room ; when I played
upon the guitar, it descended hastily mto a web, which it
had spun lower down. I placed myself before it and drew
my fingers across the string ; it was clearly seen how it
vibrated through its little limbs ; when I changed the chord,
it changed its movements, — they were involuntary ; by
each different arpeggio, the rhythm in its motions was also
changed ; it cannot be otherwise, — this little being was
joy-penetrated or spirit-imbued, as long as my music lasted
when that stopped, it retired. Another little playfellow
was a mouse ; but he was more taken by vocal music : he
chiefly made his appearance when I sung the gamut ; the
fuller I swelled the tones, the nearer it came ; in the middle
of the room it remained sitting ; my master was much de-

WITH A CHILD. 163

lighted with the little animal ; we took great care not to
disturb him. When I sung songs and varying melodies, he
seemed to be afraid ; he could not endure it, and ran hastily
away. Thus, then, the gamut seemed fitted for this little
creature, prevailed over it, (and who can doubt ?) prepared
the way for something loftier within it ; these tones, given
with the utmost purity, — beautiful in themselves, touched
these organs. This swelhng and sinking to silence, raised
the little creature into another element. Ah, Goethe ! what
shall I say ? everything touches me so nearly, — I am so
sensitive to-day, I could weep : who can dwell in the temple,
upon pure and serene heights, ought he to wish to go forth
into a den of thieves ? These two little animals resigned
themselves up to music ; it was their temple, in which they
felt their existence, elevated by the touch of the divine ; and
thou, who feelest thyself touched by the eternal pulsation of
the divine within thee, thou hast no religion ? Thou, whose
words, whose thoughts are ever directed to the muse, thou
not to live in the element of exaltation, in connection with
God ? O yes ! the ascending from out unconscious life into
revelation, — that is music !

Good night I

Carlsbad, July 28tli, 1808.

Is it true, what the enamored poets say, that there is no
sweeter joy than to adorn the loved one, you have deserved
the best from me. A box full of the most beautiful love-
apples has come to me through my mother, neatly strung on
a gold chain ; they had almost become apples of discord
here in my circle. I see concealed under this present, and
its accompanying uijunctions, a feint, which I cannot help
denouncing ; for since "you are cunning enough to lead me
in the midst of a hot summer upon the ice,* I would fain
show you my wit, how, unprepared and unexpectedly, I
venture to withstand with skill this winter-pleasure. I
will not say to thee, that I should like to adorn none so
much as thee ; for unadorned thou first surprisedst me, and
unadorned thou wilt for ever charm me. I hung the pearl-
rows of Chinese fruit between the open window folds, and,

* To lead on ice : — a German proverb ; meaning to tempt one.

164 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

as the sun just then slione upon them, I had an opportunity
of observing its effect ujDon these balsam-hke productions.
There where the rays struck, the burning red changed now
to a dark purple, then to green and to decided blue ; all
heightened by the genuine gold of the hght. I have not
for a long time observed a more graceful play of colors, and
who knows through what by-paths all tliis may lead me ; at
least the swan's neck (of which the to you obedient writing-
fingers of my mother make mention) would scarcely have
led me to such decided observations and reflections : and
thus then I have found it quite suited to thy will, hercAvith
so to delight and instruct myself; and I guard my treasure
too carefully from every longing eye, to make it the subject
of choice. Herewith I think of thee, and all the honey-
fruits of the sunbright land ; and fain would I pour out be-
fore thee the gathered treasures of the Orient, if it were
only to see how thou wouldst des^Dise them, because thou
feelst thy happiness to be founded in other things.

Thy friendly letter, thy rich pages, found me here at a
time when I would fain have received and accepted thyself.
It was a time of impatience with me ; for several post-days
I had always seen the friendly post-boy, who is yet of
roguish age, holding up, with pointed fingers, thy well-
stuffed packet. Then I sent hastily down to fetch it, and
found that my hopes were not cheated ; I had nourislunent
from one post-day to the other ; but now they had been
twice expected, and in vain. Do not lay too much to my
account, that I was impatient ; habit is indeed too sweet a
thing. My dear mother had, besides, from a very praise-
worthy economy, collected thy letters and packed them up
in the little box, and now all streams around me, another
country, another sky ; hills, over which I also have wan-
dered ; valleys, in which I also have passed my most beau-
tiful days, and have drunk costly wine ; and the Rhine,
down which I too have sailed, in a httle leaky boat. Thus
I have a double right to thy remembrance ; first I was
there, and then I am with thee ; and, w4th delighting aston-
ishment, I receive the lessons of thy wisdom, as also the
pleasant events ; for in all it is thou who givest them beauty
by thy presence.

Here still a little well-meant remark, with thanks for the
enclosed, which you according to opportunity impart to

WITH A CHILD. 1G5

whomsoever it may concern. Although I do not love the

Nifelheim-heaven, under which is pleased to live ;

yet I well know, that certain climates and atmospheres are
necessary, that different plants, which we cannot do without,
may be brought to light. Thus, we are healed by the rein-
deer moss, which grows in places where we would not hke
to dwell ; and, to use a more respectable comparison, the
mists of England are necessary, to bring forth its beautiful
green meadows.

Certain offshoots of this Flora were pleasant enough also
to me. If it were at all times possible for the reviewer to
pick out things of the same kind, that the deep should never
become hollow, and the plain never plat, then nothing could
be said against an undertaking, to which one must in more
than one sense wish success. Convey my best remembrances
to this friend, and make my excuses, that I do not write
myself.

How long will you still remain in the Rhine-country ? —
what will you do at the time of the vintage ? — your pages
will find me here for several months at least, among the old
rocks, near the hot springs, which are this time also very
beneficial to me. I hope you will not let me wait in vain,
for to soothe my impatience to learn all that takes place in
thy little head, — to that these springs are not qualified.

Till now my son Augustus does well at Heidelberg. My
wife visits the theatre and ball-room in Lauchstiidt. Many
distant friends have already visited me here by letter ; with
others I have met personally quite unexpectedly.

I have delayed so long, that I will unmediately send off
this letter and enclose it to my mother. Say all that to thy-
self, to which space is not granted me, and let me soon hear
from thee.

G.

August 8th.

Wherever it is well with us, there we must leave too
soon ; — thus indeed I was with thee, therefore I was obliged
to leave thee so soon.

A good pleasant place of residence is to me, what a fruit-
ful country is to the sailor, who has an uncertain voyage
before him ; he will collect as much provision as time and

1G6 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

means allow. All ! when he is upon the sohtaiy, wide sea,
when the fruits disappear, the sweet water ! he sees no goal
before him, — how desiring become his thoughts of land !
Thus is it now with me : in two days I must leave the
Rhine, to meet with the whole family-train at Schlangenbad.
In the mean time I have not been continually here, or an
epistle from me would have long ago reached you ; many
excursions have hindered me, — the journey to the Wetterau,
of which I hereby send you a fragment. I visited the pri-
mate at Aschaffenburg ; he is still of opinion, that I have
not yet worn out my child's shoes, and salutes me, at the
same time stroking my cheeks and giving me a hearty kiss.
This time he said, " My good, dear little treasure, how well
you look, and how you are grown ! " Now such a manner
has a magic effect u^Don me ; I felt myself to be exactly as
he took me to be, and behaved myself too as if I were only
twelve years old ; I allowed every sort of joke, and a com-
plete deficiency of respect ; under these dubious circum-
stances I imparted to him your messages. But be not
frightened ; I know your dignified conduct to great people,
and have forfeited nothing as your messenger : I had made
a written extract from the letter to your mother, and laid it
before him : and the lines, in which you wrote, " Bettine
must take all pains to draw this in the prettiest manner
from the primate," I kept covered with my hand. Now he
wanted exactly to see what was concealed there ; I pre-
viously made my conditions, he promised me the little In-
dian Herbarium ; it is in Paris, and he would write about
it the same day. With respect to the papers of Provost
D'umee, he has very interesting literary matters, all of which

he promises you ; the correspondence with he does not

give out ; I am only to say, " You have not deserved it, and
he intends preserving the letters as an important heirloom,
and as a specimen of fiery expression, with the highest rev-
erence."

I do not know Avhat came upon me, at this discourse : I
felt that I blushed ; then he lifted up my chin and said,
" Why, what 's the matter with you, my child ; do you
write, also, to Goethe ? " " Yes," said I, " under the wing
of his mother." " Indeed, indeed, very good ! and can his
mother read?" Then I was obliged to laugh tremendously;
I said, " Really, your Highness has guessed ; I must read

WITH A crnLD. 167

everything to liis mother, and what she is not to know, I
skip over." He made all sorts of jests, and asked, if I
called you " thou," and what I wrote to you ? I said, " For
the sake of the rhythm I called you ' thou,' and that I was
just about to obtain his dispensation to confess in writing,
for I should so like to confess to you." He laughed, he
jumped up, (for he is very lively, and often makes great
leaps,) and said, " Wit, like lightning ! yes, I give dispensa-
tion to you and him, — write to him, — I give him power
to impart perfect forgiveness, and now you will be surely
satisfied with me ? " I had a great desire to say to him,
that I was no longer twelve years old, but had already some
time entered the hlooming age of sensihility ; but something
prevented me. With his merry leaps, the little clerical,
violet-colored velvet cap fell from his head ; I picked it up,
and, because I thought it would become me well, put it on.
He looked at me awhile and said : " A most lovely little
bishojD ; the whole clergy would follow at his heels " ; and
now I was no longer inclined to undeceive him about my
not being so young, for it occurred to me, that what might
delight him in a child, could appear to him, for a reasonable
young lady, as I ought to have been, highly improper. I,
therefore, left it so, and took the sin upon myself of having
imposed upon him, at the same time relying upon the power
of remission, which he made over to you.

Ah, fain would I write to you of other things, but your
mother, to whom I must relate all, torments me, and says,
such things give you pleasure, and that you lay much stress
upon knowing them minutely. I fetched from her, too, a
dear letter from you, which had already awaited me, yon-
der, for a fortnight, and yet I should like to chide you about
it. You are a coquettish, elegant writer, but you are a
cruel man : the whole beautiful Nature, the splendid coun-
try, the warm summer-days of remembrance, — all this does
not touch thee. Friendly as thou art, thou art, also, as cold.
When I saw the great fold of paper, written on all four
sides, I thought that here and there, at least, it would shine
through, — that thou lovest me ; it does, too, shine, but only
by gleams, not with a slow, blessing fire. O, what a mighty
difference there will be between that correspondence, which
the primate will not give up, and ours ! that comes from my
loving you too much, and that I also acknowledge it to

168 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

you ; there is a silly peculiarity of men, of becoming cold,
when one loves them too clearly.

Your mother is now always so pleased and friendly, when
I return from my excursions ; she listens, with joy, to all
little adventures ; for not seldom I make large out of small,
and tills once I was richly provided ; for not only persons,
but oxen, asses, and horses played remarkable parts therein.
You cannot think how happy it makes me, when she laughs
with all her heart. My misfortune took me to Frankfort,
exactly as Madame de Stael passed through ; I had already
enjoyed her society a whole evening, at Mayence, but your
mother was well pleased to have my assistance ; for she was
already informed, that Madame de Stael would bring her
a letter from you, and she wished me to play the "inter-
mezzos," if she should need relief during this great catas-
trophe. Your mother has commanded me to describe all to
you, with the utmost minuteness : — the interview took place
at Betlmiann-Schaaf, in the apartments of Maurice Beth-
mann. Your mother, either through irony or fun, had dec-
orated herself wonderfully, but with German humor, and
not in French taste. I must tell you, that when I looked at
your mother, with three feathers upon her head, which
nodded on three different sides, — one red, one white, and
one blue, the French national colors, — rising from out a
field of sunflowers, my heart beat with joy and expectation.
She was deeply rouged, her great black eyes fired a burst
of artillery ; round her neck she wore the celebrated gold
ornaments, given her by the Queen of Prussia. Lace, of
ancient fashion and great splendor, (a complete heirloom,)
covered her bosom, and thus she stood, with white kid
gloves ; in one hand, a curiously wrought fan, with which
she set the air in motion, the other hand, which was bared,
quite covered with sparkling stones, taking from time to
time a pinch out of a golden snuff-box, in which was set a
miniature of you ; where, with powdered ringlets, you are
thoughtfully leaning your head upon your hand. The party
of distinguished elder ladies formed a semicircle in Maurice
Bethmann's bed-chamber ; on the purple-colored carpet, in
the centre of which was a white field with a leopard, — the
company looked so stately, that they might well be imposing.
On the walls were ranged beautiful Indian plants, and the
apartment was lighted by shaded glass globes ; opposite

WITH A CHILD. 169

the semicircle stood the bed, upon a dais of two steps, also
covered with a purple tapestry, on each side a candelabra.
I said to your mother, " Madame de Stael will think she is
cited before the court of love, for the bed yonder looks like
the covered throne of Venus." It was thought, tliat then
she mio-ht have much to answer for. At last the lono;-
expected one came through a suite of lighted apartments,
accompanied by Benjamin Constant. She was dressed as
Corinne ; a turban of aurora and orange-colored silk, a dress
of the same, with an orange tunic, girded so high as to leave
little room for her heart ; her black brows and lashes glit-
tered, as also her lips, with a mysterious red ; her long
gloves were drawn down, covering only her hand, in Avhich
she held the well-known laurel-sprig. As the apartment
where she was expected lies much lower, she was obliged to
descend four steps. Unfortunately, she held up her dress
before instead of behind ; this gave the solemnity of her
reception a terrible blow; it looked very odd, as, clad in
complete Oriental style, she marched down towards the
stiff dames of the virtue-enrolled Frankfort society. Your
mother darted a few daring glances at me, whilst they were
presented to each other. I had stationed myself apart to
observe the whole scene. I perceived Madame de Stael's
astonishment at the remarkable decorations and dress of
your mother, who displayed an immense pride. She spread
out her robe Avith her left hand, — with her right she saluted,
playing with her fan, and bowing her head several times
with great condescension, and said, with an elevated voice,
" Je SKIS la mere de Goethe J^ " A/i, je suis charmee^^ an-
swered the authoress, and then followed a solemn stillness.
Then ensued the presentation of her distinguished suite,*
also curious to become acquainted with Goethe's mother.
Your mother answered their civilities with a new-year's
wish in French, which, with solemn courtesies, she kept
murmuring between her teeth ; — in short, I think the audi-
ence was perfect, and gave a fine specimen of the German
grandezza. Soon your mother beckoned me to her ; I was
forced to play the interpreter between both : then the con-
versation turned only upon you and your youth ; the portrait
upon the snuft'-box was examined ; it was painted at Leip-

* Willielm Schlegel, Sismondi, Benjamin Constant.

170 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

zig, before you were so ill, but already very thin ; one can
nevertheless recognize all your present grandeur in those
gracious features, and above all the author of Werther.
Madame de Stael spoke about your letters, and that she
should like to read what you wrote to your mother, and
your mother promised them to her ; I thought, she should
surely get none of your letters to read from me, for I bear
her a grudge ; as often as your name dropped from her not
well-formed lips, an inward wrath fell upon me : she told
me, that in your letters you call her " amie " / ah ! she
surely remarked in me, that this calne quite unexpectedly
to me ; ah ! she said even more. But now my patience
was lost ; how can you be friendly with so unpleasant a
countenance ? Ah ! there one may see, that you are vain,
— or perhaps she told me untruths ? Were I with thee, I
would not suffer it. As fays, with fiery dragons, I Avould
guard my treasure with looks. Now I sit far removed
from thee, do not know what thou art doing, and am only
happy when no thoughts torment me.

I could write a volume upon all that I have heard, done,
and seen during a week, with your mother. She could
hardly expect me to come and recapitulate everything to
her. Then came reproaches ; I was peevish, that she set
so high a value upon her acquaintance with Madame de
Stael ; she called me childish and silly, and conceited ; and
said, that one must not deny respect to what was really
worthy, and that one could not pass over such a woman,
like a kennel, and continue one's way ; that it must always
be considered as a remarkable honor in one's fate, to come
together with an important and celebrated personage. I
managed it so, that your mother at last showed me your
letter, in which you felicitate her about coming into contact
Avith this meteor, and there all her reported wisdom showed
itself in your letter. I had mercy upon you, and said,
" Vain, indeed, is the godlike youth ; he gives proof of his
eternity." Your mother would not understand the jest ; she
was of opinion I was too presumptuous, and that I must not
imagine you took any other interest in me, than what one
takes in children, who still play with their dolls ; that with
Madame de Staiil you could make world-wisdom, with me
you could only trifie. If your mother were right, if my
new-found thoughts, which I believed alone to possess, were

WITH A CHILD. 171

notliing, liow, in these few months, which I have passed on
the Rhine, have I thought on thee, and thee only ? Each
cloud I have called to my counsel ; from each tree, each
weed, have I claimed wisdom, and from each dissipation
have I turned myself away, that I might converse deeply
with thee. 0 bad, cruel man, Avhat stories are these ? How
often have I prayed to my guardian angel, that he would
speak to thee for me, and then have I restrained myself, and
let my pen run on. All Nature showed me, in a mirror,
what I should say to thee ; truly I believed that all was so
ordained by God, that love should conduct a correspondence
between us. But you place more confidence in the cele-
brated woman, who has written the great work, " Sur les
Passions," about which passions I know nothing. Ah, be-
lieve me, you have chosen badly. Love alone makes wise.

About music, too, I had still much to say to you ; all was
already so nicely arranged ; first you must understand how
much you are already indebted to it. You are not fire-
jDroof. Music does not cause you to glow, because you
might melt away.

I am not so foolish as to believe that music has no influ-
ence upon you. Since I nevertheless believe in the firma-
ment within thy mind ; since sun and moon, together with
all the stars, shine within thee, shall I then doubt that this,
the highest planet above all, which pours forth light, which
is the ruler of our senses, streams through thee ? Thinkst
thou, to have become what thou art, if music were not within
thee ? thou, — to fear death, when it is music which frees the
mind from death ? thou, — to have no religion, when it is
music which plants devotion within thee ?

Hearken within thyself, there wilt thou hear music in thy
soul, which is love to God ; this eternal exulting and striving
towards eternity, which is spirit alone.

I could tell thee things, which I myself fear to express,
although an inward voice tells me they are true. If thou
remainest mine, I shall learn much ; if thou remainest not
mine, I shall rest like the seed beneath the earth, till the
time come for me to blossom again in thee.

My head glows ; whilst I wrote, I struggled Avith thoughts,
which I could not master. Truth lies with all its infinity
within the spirit, but to embrace it in simplest form, that is
so difficult, ah, nothing can be lost. Truth eternally nour-

172 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

ishes the spirit, wliich bears as fruit all that is beautiful,
and since it is beautiful that we love one another, do not
think to dissemble the truth any longer.

I will rather relate to you something of the gypsy life
which we are leading here upon the Rhine, that we must
leave so soon ; and who knows, if I shall see it asain.
" Here, Avhere the breeze of balsamic spring breathes
around, let us wander forth alone, naught shall part thee
from me," not even Madame de Stael.

Our housekeeping is delightfully arranged ; we are eight
ladies ; not one gentleman is in the house. Since it is now
very hot, we contrive to be as comfortable as possible ; for
instance, we are clad very lightly ; one chemise, and then
one more in the Grecian drapery style. The doors of the
sleeping-rooms stand open at night ; nay, according to our
hking, we make our sleeping-place upon the balcony, or any
other cool place. I have already, for my pleasure, spent
nights in the garden, upon the beautiful wall, covered with
broad stone slabs, under the plantains opposite the Rhine, to
await the rising of the sun ; I have fallen asleep upon my
narrow bed ; I might have fallen down in sleep, particularly
when I dream I spring forward to meet thee. The garden
is elevated, and the wall on the other side declines steeply ;
I might easily have met with a misfortune ; therefore, I beg,
when thou thinkst of me in dreams, hold forth to me thy
protecting arms, that I may at once sink into them, '' For
all is hut a dreamt * By day, we are all in great darkness ;
all the shutters throughout the whole house are closed, all
the curtains drawn ; at first, I took long walks in the morn-
ing ; but, in this heat, it is no longer possible ; the sun does
calefy the vine-hills, and all Nature sighs under the brooding
warmth. Nevertheless, I go out every morning, between
four and five o'clock, with a pruning-knife, and fetch fresh
cool sprigs, that I plant about in my room. Eight weeks
ago, I had birch and poplar, which shone like gold and
silver, and between them, thick fragrant bunches of May-
lily. A very sanctuary is the saloon, to which all the little
sleeping-rooms enter ; there they He, still in bed when I
come home, and wait till I have done ; also the lime and
chestnuts here have done blossoming, and lofty reeds, bend-

* Song of Goethe.

WITH A CHILD. 173

ing themselves along the ceiHng, curled about with blooming
bind-weed ; and the field-flowers are charming, the little
thrift, the milfoil, the daisies, water-lilies, which I, with some
risk, had fished to shore, and the ever-beautiful forget-me-
not. To-day, I have set up oaks, lofty branches, which I
got from their highest tops. I climb like a cat ; the leaves
are quite purple, and grow in such elegant tufts, as if,
dancing, they had divided themselves into groups.

I should be shy of speaking to you about flowers ; once,
already, you have laughed at me, and yet the charm is so
great; the many sleeping blossoms, which only wake in
death ; the dreaming family of saintain ; the lady-slipper ;
the primrose, with its soft, friendly scent, — this is the least
of all flowers. When I was scarcely six years old, and the
milk-woman had promised to bring me a bunch of primroses,
expectation brought me with the first morning beam from
my slumbers, in my little shift, to the window ; how fresh
were the flowers ! how they breathed in my hand ! Once,
she brought me dark pinks ; planted them in a flower-pot, —
what riches ! how was I surprised at this generosity ! These
flowers in the earth, — they appeared to me eternally bound
to life ; they were more than I could count ; I kept always
beginning anew ; I would not pass by a single bud ; how sweet-
ly they scented ! how was I humbled before the spirit which
streamed forth from them ! I knew then but little of " wood
and plain," and the first meadow, by evening-light, an end-
less plain to infant eyes, sowed with golden stars. Ah, how
has Nature tried in love to imitate the spirit of God. And
how he loves her! How does he incline to her for this
tenderness, in blossoming up to him ! How have I rooted
amongst the grass, and seen one blade force itself against
the other. Many I had perhaps overlooked, where there
were so many ; but its beautiful name made me familiar
with it, and whoever has named them, must have loved and
understood them. The little shepherd's-purse, for instance,
— I had not perceived it, but as I heard its name, I found
it out amongst many ; I opened such a purse, and found it
filled with seed-pearls. Ah, each form contains spirit and
life, that it may lay claim to eternity. Do not the flowers
dance ? do they not sing ? do they not write spirit in the air ?
do they not themselves paint their inmost being in their
form ? All flowers I have loved, each in its kind, as I

174 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

became acquainted with them, one after the other (and I
have been untrue to none), and as I discovered the strength
of their httle muscles : for instance, the hon's mouth, when,
for the first time, as I pressed it too violently, it stretched
its tongue from out its velvet throat towards me. I will not
name all with which I became so intimately acquainted, as
they now rise to remembrance ; only of a single one I would
remember, a myrtle-tree, which a young nun there cher-
ished. She kept it, winter and summer, in her cell ; she ac-
commodated herself, in everything, to its wants ; day and
night she gave it air, and in winter, only as much warmth
as was necessary for it. How did she feel herself rewarded,
when it was covered with buds ! She showed them to me,
when they were scarcely set ; I helped to cherish it ; every
morning I filled the cruse at St. Magdalen's well ; the buds
grew and became red ; at last they opened ; on the fourth
day it stood there in full blossom ; each blossom, a white
cell, with a thousand rayed arrows in the midst, each of
which bore a pearl upon its point. It stood at the open
window ; the bees greeted it. Now I first know, that this
tree is consecrated to love ; then I did not know it, and now
I understand it. Tell me, can love be more sweetly cher-
ished than this tree ? and can tender care be more sweetly
rewarded, than through so full a bloom ? Ah, the dear
nun, with half-faded roses on her cheeks, enveloped in white,
and the black-crape veil, which floated around her quick,
elegant gait, as, from out the wide sleeves of the black
woollen garment, she stretched her beautiful hand, to water
the flowers ! Once she placed a little black bean in the
earth ; she gave it me, and said I should cherish it, and I
should have a delightful surprise. It soon began to shoot,
and showed leaves like trefoil ; it twined up a little stalk,
like the vetch, with little ringed hooks ; then it produced
scanty yellow buds ; out of these grew, as big as a hazel-nut,
a little green egg, with brown rings. The nun broke it off,
pulled it out by the stalk into a chain of elegantly arranged
thorns, between which the seed, consisting of little beans,
was become ripe. She plaited a crown of it, laid it at the
feet of her ivory Christ, on the crucifix, and told me, this
plant was called " Corona Christi."

We beheve in God and in Christ, that he was God, who
let himself be nailed to the cross ; we sing Litanies to him,

WITH A CHILD. 175

and scatter for liira the incense ; we promise to become
holy, and pray, and feel it not. But when we see how Na-
ture plays, and in this play, infant-like, utters the language
of wisdom ; Avhen she paints sighs upon the leaves of flowers,
an oh, an ah ; when the little insects have the cross painted
on the covers of their wings, and even this little plant, so
imperceptibly bears a carefully traced perfect crown of
thorns ; when we see caterpillars and butterflies marked
with the mystery of the Trinity, then we tremble ; and we
feel, that the Godhead itself takes eternal part in these mys-
teries ; then I always believe, that religion has brought forth
all ; nay, that it is the very instinct of life in each produc-
tion, and each animal. To acknowledge and rejoice at
beauty in all which is created, that is wisdom and piety;
we both were pious, I and the nun ; it must be ten years
since I was in the convent. Last year I paid a visit in trav-
elling by it. The nun was become prioress ; she conducted
me into her garden, — she was forced to use a crutch, she
had become lame, — her myrtle-tree stood in full bloom.
She asked me if I still knew it ; it was much grown ;
round about stood fig-trees with ripe fruit, and also large
pinks ; she broke off what was in bloom and what was ripe,
and gave me all, only the myrtle she spared ; — that I knew
beforehand. The nosegay I secured in the travelling-chaise ;
I was again so happy I prayed, as I was wont to pray in the
convent ; — yes, to be happy is to pray.

Do you see that was a roundabout way and something of
my Avisdom ; it can certainly not make itself conceivable to
the world-wisdom, which exists between you and your
" amie " Stael ; — but this I can tell you : I have seen many
great works of tough contents in boar-skin covers ; I have
heard learned men growling, and I always thought one
single flower must shame the whole, and that a single May-
fly, with a slap it could give a philosopher on the nose, might
tumble down his whole system.

Pax tecum ! we will pardon one another ; I, that you
have formed a heart and soul alliance with Madame de
Stael, at which, according to the 2Droj)hecy of your mother,
all Germany and France will stare with open eyes, for
nothing will come of it at last ; and you, that I am so con-
ceited as to think I know everything better than others, and
to wish to be more than all others to you, — for that pleases
you.

176 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

To-daj I once more ascend the Rochiisberg ; I will see
how the bees in the confessional chair are going on ; I take
all sorts of plants with me, set in pots, and also a vine-slip ;
these I shall plant above ; the vine shall grow up the cross,
under whose protection I slept through so beautiful a night ;
by the chair I will plant imperial lilies and honeysuckle in
honor of your mother ; — perhaps if I be heavy at heart,
I shall confess to you there above, (since I shall be there
for the last time,) if it were only to bring into use the re-
mission of the primate ; but I do believe I have nothing
more secret within me ; you see into me, and besides that,
there is nothing to be found in me.

The day of yesterday we will paint here in conclusion,
for it was beautiful. We went with a misleading guide,
through a ravine by the side of a river, which is called
" The Whisper," probably on account of the rushing of the
water, which winds over a number of flat rock-stones, foam-
ing and whispering in the crevices. On both sides are lofty
rocks, on which stand ruined castles, surrounded with old
oaks. The valley becomes at last so narrow that one must
go in the river. There one cannot do better, than, barefoot
and with garments tucked up, spring from stone to stone ;
now here, now there, to chmb along the bank. It becomes
narrower and narrower far above us ; the rocks and moun-
tains at last embrace one another ; the sun can but still en-
lio-hten one half of the mountains : the dark-thrown shadows
of the overhanging rocks cut through its beams ; from out
the Whisper, — which is no mean river, it rushes rather
with force, — high platforms of rocks stand forth, like hard,
cold saint's beds. I laid myself upon one, to take a little
rest ; I lay with my glowing face on the cold stone ; the
falhng water shed a fine rain upon me, the sunbeams came,
without rhyme or reason, askant through the rock's crev-
ices, to gild me and my bed ; above me was darkness ; my
straAv hat, which I hacl already long before filled with the
" wonders of Nature," I let swim, to moisten the roots of the
plants ; — as we went further, the mountains crowded nest-
ling together, separated only now and then by rugged rocks.
I should fain have climbed up to see where we were ; it
was too steep, the time did not allow of it ; all sorts of
anxieties were painted upon the face of the wise guide ; he
assured us, nevertheless, that he had none at heart ; it be-

WITH A CHILD. 177

came cool in our narrow ravine ! as cool as I was internally ;
we kept tripping on.

The end of our journey was a sour-sipring beyond Weis-
senthurm, which lies in a desert wilderness. We had made
all the windings of the Whisper ; the clever guide thought,
if we did not leave the river, we must at last reach our
point, because the Whisper ran past the spring, and thus he
had led us by a path which is seldom trod by man. As we
at last arrived there, he. lightened his breast by a host of
sighs. I believe he not only feared the Devil, but God and
all the saints, that they would bring him to an account,
because he had plunged us into destruction ; — we were
scarcely arrived, when the cuckoo-clock struck in the soH-
tary hut by the spring side, and reminded us of returning.
It was eight o'clock ! there was nothing to eat, not even
bread, only salad with salt, without vinegar and oil. A
woman with two children lived there ; I asked what she
lived upon ; she pointed out to me in the distance an oven,
which stood in full glow in an open place b.etween four
majestic oaks. Her little son was just dragging behind him
a bundle of brushwood ; his httle shirt had still sleeves, the
back-part and the button of the collar-band, with which it
was fastened ; in front, it was all torn away : his sister-
Psyche was balancmg herself upon a long baker's peel
across a block ; upon which, as balancing weight, lay the
loaves about to be baked ; her dress also consisted of a shift
and an apron, which she had fastened round her head, to
preserve her hair from burning, when she peeped into the
oven and laid on the sticks. We gave the woman a piece
of money ; she asked how much it was ; then we saw that
it was not in our power to recompense her, for she was con-
tent, and did not know that one could use more than he
wants.

Then I turned back again on the same way, without
taking rest, and arrived at home at one o'clock at night ;
in all I had been twelve hours upon the way, and was not
in the least tired. I got into a bath, which was prepared for
me, put a bottle of Rhenish to my lips, and let it bubble
down, till I saw the bottom. The waiting-maid cried out,
and thought it might do me harm in the hot bath, but I
would not be withstood ; she was obliged to carry me to
bed ; I slept softly, till I was waked in the morning by a

12

178 GOETHE'S CORKESPONDENCE

well-known crowing, and imitation of a whole lien-yard,
before my door.

You write, my letters transport you to a familiar land, in
which you feel yourself at home ; do they also transport
you to me ? do you see me in thought, how, with long crook,
I clamber up the mountains ; -and do you look into my heart,
where you may see yourself face to face ? — this land, in-
deed, I would fain make the most perceptible of all to you.

Eiofht weeks lonofer I shall ramble about in all sorts of
scenes, in October with Savigny, first a few months at Mu-
nich, and then go to Landshut, if Heaven do not ordain it
otherwise.

I beg you, if you should compassionate me with your
pen, whether it be " to punish or reward," address to me
immediately at Schlangenbad, through Wiesbaden ; I shall
remain there three weeks. If you send the letter to your
mother, then she will wait for an opportunity ; and I would
rather have a letter without date, than be obliged to recog-
nize in the date, that it has been detained from me a fortnight.

To your mother I write all that is incredible ; although
she knows what she is to think of it, yet it receives her
approbation, and she demands of me always to impart more
of this sort to her ; she calls this " giving my fancy vent."

Bettine.

TO BETTINE.

Carlsbad, Augiist 21st.

It is still a question, dearest Bettine, whether one can
with better reason call you odd, or wonderfid ; neither dare
one reflect ; one considers at last only, how to insure himself
safely against the rapid flood of thy thoughts : be therefore
content, if I do not minutely soothe, satisfy, answer, and
evade thy complaints, thy demands, thy questions, and thy
accusations ; but in all heartily thank thee, that thou hast
again so richly endowed me.

With the primate you have conducted your aifair wisely
and well. I possess a letter from his own hand, in which
he assures me all, for which you so gracefully went a beg-
ging to him ; he hints to me, that I have to thank you alone
for all, and writes to me still prettier things of you, which
you in your detailed report seem to have forgotten.

WITH A CHILD. 179

Therefore, if we would carry on war with one another,
we should have equal forces ; you, the celebrated woman,
and I the amiable prince, full of goodness to me and you.
To neither will we refuse the honor and thanks, which they
so richly deserve from us ; but to both will we refuse en-
trance where they have no right, and would only disturb ;
namely, between the most delightful confiding of thy love,
and my warm reception of it. If in nothing more than an
accidental correspondence I name thy antagonist, in " world-
wisdom," amie ; I nevertheless in no wise violate the rights
which thou, with conquering despotism, hast assumed for
thyself. At the same time I confess, that it is the same
with me as with the primate : thou art to me a dear friendly
child, whom I would never lose, and through whom a great
part of the most salutary blessing flows to me. Thou art to
me a friendly light, which comfortably cheers the evening of
my life, and so I give you (to come to an end with all com-
plaints) in conclusion the following enigma, with which you
may guess yourself contented.

Goethe.

CHARADE.

Two words there are, easy and quick to say,

Which from our lips so gently oft resound,

Yet never clearly may the things be found,

Of which they properly the shades display.

It is so sweet on cheerful closing day

One in the other boldly to burn,

And join we both in one expression's turn,

Then we do mind of ease the blissful sway.

But now to please them ardently I aim,

And pray, that with themselves I might be blessed,

Silent I hope, yet hope to gain the grace.

To lisp them, as of my beloved one's name,

Both in one image to behold expressed,

Both in one being raptured to embrace.

There is still room, and also still time, to undertake here
the defence of my good mother. You should not take it
ill of her, that she brings to light the interest I take in a
child, Avhich still plays with her doll, since you can really
still so prettily do it, that you even seduced my mother
herself, who feels a real delight in informing me by letter
of the celebration of marriage between your doll and the
little Frankfort senator, who, with his long periwig, buckle-

180 GOETHE'S COEKESPONDENCE

slioes, and chain of fine pearls, in his little plush chair, is
still fresh in my memory. He was the very delight of our
infant years, and we dared not touch him but with hallowed
hands. Preserve carefully all that my mother upon such
occasions imparts to you of mine and my sister's childhood ;
it may in time become important to me.

Your chapter upon flowers would hardly find entrance
with the worldly wise, as with me, for although thy musical
gospel is by this means something diminished (which, by
the by, I beg you not to neglect in your next soon expected
letter), yet I am compensated by the lovely manner in which
my earliest years of childhood are there reflected ; for the
secrets of Flora appeared also to me as an impossible en-
chantment.

The story of the myrtle-tree and the nun raises warm
sympathy : may it be preserved from frost and harm !
With full conviction I agree with you, that love cannot be
more sweetly fostered than this tree, and no tender care
more richly rewarded, than by such a blossoming.

Your pilgrimage, also, in the rapid river, together with
the lovely vignette of the two children, gives a delicious
picture, and your Rhine adventures form a graceful, well-
rounded conclusion.

Pray keep on your course, and do not wander too much
at random. I am so afraid, that the amusements of a fre-
quented watering-place may expel the ideal suggestions
upon the lonely Rochus ; I must prepare m^'self (as also
for many other things) for all which may haunt thy little
head and heart.

A little more arrangement in your views might be useful
to us both. Thus are your thoughts, like costly i^earls, not
all equally polished, strung upon a loose thread, which
easily breaks, and then they may roll to all comers, and
many might be lost.

Nevertheless I offer you my thanks, — so to the dear
Rhine, of which you have imjiarted to me so much that
is beautiful, my hearty farewell. Be well assured, that I
willingly take what you offer to me, and that thus the tie
between us will not easily be loosened.

Goethe.

WITH A CHILD. 181

Rochusberg.

- I HAD resolved once more to ascend here, where I have
lived in thought so many happy hours with you, and to
take leave of the Rhine, which enters into all my sensations,
and which is greater, more fiery, bolder and merrier, and
elevated above all : — I arrive here above at five o'clock in
the afternoon ; find all in peaceful sunlight, the bees settled,
protected on the north side by a wall ; confessional and altar
face the east. My plants I have all set with the help of the
sailor-boy, who assisted me to carry them up ; the vine,
which was in a pot, is already nearly six feet high, and full
of grapes ; I have planted it by the altar, between the
broken pavement ; the pot I broke in pieces, and took the
fragments carefully away, that the earth might remain nice-
ly about the roots ; it is a kind of muscatel, which has very
fine leaves : then I made it fast to the cross on the altar ;
the bunches hang just over the body of the Christ ; — if it
grows well and succeeds, the people who come up here will
wonder, — the shepherd's bees in the confessional, with the
honeysuckle Avhich entwines it, and the crucifix with grapes.
Ah ! so many have great palaces and splendid gardens ; —
I should like to have only this lonely Rochus-chaj^el, and
that all would grow up as nicely as I have planted it ; —
with the fragments of the flower-pot, I dug away the earth
from the hill and laid it about the vine, and twice I filled
my cruet down by the Rhine, in order to water it : — it will
be perhaps the last time that it drinks Rhine-water. Now,
after my finished labors, I sit here in the confessional, and
write to you ; the bees all come one after the other home ;
they are already quite at their ease ; — could I with each
thought enter thy heart, so sensibly, so sweetly humming as
these bees, laden with honey and dust of flowers, which I
gather from all fields and bring all home to thee, would that
not please you ?

August 13th.

" Everything has its time," say I with the sages ; I have
seen the vines unfold their leaves ; their blossoms' scent
makes me intoxicated ; now, they have foliage and fruits.
I must leave thee, thou still, still Rhine ! Yesterday even-
ing all was yet so splendid ; from out the dark midnight
stepped a great world before me. As I rose from my bed,

182 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

and stood in the cool night-air at the window, the moon was
ah'eady risen half an hour, and had driven all the clouds
beneath her ; she cast a fruitful light over the vine-hills ; —
I took in ray arms the rich foliage of the vine, which grew
up my window, and took leave of it ; to no mortal would I
have vouchsafed that moment of love : had I been with
thee, I would have flattered, begged, and kissed.

Scblangenbad, August 17th.

May that only be granted to me ! and ah, it will not be
easy for me to express what I wish, Avhen my breath often
oppresses me so, that I would fain cry aloud.

In these narrow-bounded regions, where the hills clamber
one over the other and bear the mist, and in the deep, cool
vales hold the solitude prisoner, an exulting comes over me,
which passes like lightning through me. Well, yes ! may
that be granted me: that I may then unite myself to a
friend, — be he ever so far away, — that he may kindly lay
his hand upon my beating heart, and remember the days of
Ms youth. O, happy me, that I have seen thee ! now, I
know, when I seek and find no place sufficient for my rest,
where I am at home, and to whom I belong.

Something you do not yet know, which, to me, is a dear
remembrance, although it appears strange. When I had
not yet seen you, and longing drove me to your mother, to
find out all about you, — God ! how often upon my footstool
behind her, have I struck my breast to damp my impatience.
Well, when I then came home, often in the midst of a play
with humor and wit, so I was lost in myself ; saw my image
standing before thine, saw thee approach me, and how thou
wert so friendly in different ways, and so kind, till my eyes
ran over with joyful pain.

I have so felt thee, that the still consciousness of an in-
ward happipess has, perhaps, in many a storm of mind,
sustained me over the waves. At this time, this conscious-
ness often waked me out of deep sleep ; then I luxuriated
a few hours with self-creating dreams, and had, at last, spent
what one calls an unquiet night ; I became pale and thin ;
impatient, yes, even unkind, when one of my brothers or
sisters at an unfit time wanted to induce me to take amuse-
ment ; often thought I, that if I should ever see thee thy-
self (which appeared impossible to me), I should perhaps

WITH A CHILD. 183

have many quite sleepless nights. As the certainty at last
was before me, I felt an unquietness, which was nearly in-
supportable. In Berlin, where I for the first time heard an
Opera of Gluck's, (otherwise, music chains me so, that I can
abstract myself from all else,) when the drums beat, (don't
laugh,) my heart beat rapidly, also ; I felt thee approach-
ing in triumph ; I was joyful, as a people who go forth to
meet their beloved prince ; and I thought, " In a few days,
all which affects me so from without, will be awakened in
me myself! " But when, at last, I was with thee, — dream !
even now, wonderful dream ! — then my head rested upon
thy shoulder ; there I slept a few minutes, for the first time
after four or five sleepless nights.

See ! only see ! — I should beware of love ; yet never
before was I happy with rest : but then, — in thy arms came
the long, frighted sleep, and I had no other want ; all else
to which I had clung, and which I thought to love, this it
was not ; but none should beware or trouble himself about
his destiny, if he loves what relates to him ; his mind is
satisfied ; what signifies all else ?

18th.

If even I wished to come to you, should I find the right
path, since so many lie close together ? Thus I always
think, when I go past a sign-post, and often stop and am
sad, that it does not point to thee ; and then I hasten home
and think that I have much to write to you. Ah, ye deep,
deep thoughts, which would fain hold converse with him,
come forth from out my breast ! but I feel it in all my veins,
that I would only allure thee ; I will, I must but see thee.

When one goes forth at night, and has the eventide before
him, he sees still, at the furthest end of the gloomy sky, the
last bright garment of a splendid day, slowly moving down-
wards, — thus is it with me in my remembrance of thee.
Be the time ever so gloomy and mournful, I still know
where my day has set.

20th.

I have seldom had a time in my life so filled up, that I
could say it had passed insensibly ; I do not feel like others,
who are amused if their time flies quickly : on the contrary,
that day is hateful to me, which has passed from me, I know

184 GOETHE'S CORKESPONDENCE

not how. May every moment leave me a remembrance, be
it deep or superficial, pleasing or painful ; I contend against
nothing so much, as against nothing ! — against that nothing,
which nearly everywhere suffocates one !

22d.

The day before yesterday was a splendid evening and
night ; with all the bright, fresh enamel of the lively colors
and events, as they are painted only in romance ; so undis-
turbed ! the heavens were sown with innumerable stars,
which sparkled like glittering diamonds through the thick
foliage of the blooming lime-trees ; the terraces, which are
built upwards the hill, have something very solemn and
tranquil in the regularity of their hedges, which on each
terrace surround a clump of lime and nut trees, at the foot
of which the great bathing-houses lie (the only ones in this
narrow vale) : the many springs and wells, which are heard
rushing beneath, make it indeed quite charming. All the
windows were illuminated, the houses looked wonderfully
cheerful, beneath the dark, lonely forest of the rising moun-
tain. The young princess of Baden sat with company upon
the lowest terrace, drinking tea ; now we heard hunting-
horns in the distance ; we scarcely believed it, so soft, —
then they were answered near at hand ; again the}' brayed
above us on the summit ; they seemed to allure one another,
approached, and in the distance appeared to unfold their
wings as though they would soar heavenwards, and always
sunk down again to the dear earth, — the chatter of the
Frenchmen became mute, I heard a few times uttered " de-
licieux," somewhere near me. I turned towards the voice :
— a handsome man of noble figure and expressive counte-
nance, no longer young, with stars and ribbons in profu-
sion;— he entered into conversation with me, and placed
himself near me on the bench. I am already accustomed
to be looked upon as a child, and therefore was not sur-
prised, that the Frenchman called me " chere enfant " ; he
took my hand and asked me from whom I had the ring ? I
said, " From Goethe." " Comment de Goethe ? Je le con-
nais " .* and now he related to me, that after the battle of
Jena he had spent several days with you, and that you had
cut off a button from his uniform, in order to preserve it as
a keepsake among your collection of coins : and I said you

WITH A CHILD. 185

had given me the rmg to remind me not to forget you. " Et
cela vous a remue le cceur ? " " Aiissi tendrement et aussi
passionement que les sons, qui se font entendre la haut."
Then he asked, " Et vous n\ivez reellement que treize ans f "
You will know who it is ; I did not ask his name.

They blew so nobly in the wood, and at the same time
drove all earthly thoughts out of my head : I stole softly
up, as near as possible, and let it thrill through my breast
with all force. The intonation of the sounds was so soft, it
became by degrees so mighty, that it was an irresistible de-
light to abandon one's self to it. Then I had all sorts of
strange thoughts, which would hardly have agreed with
sense ; it was as if the secret of creation lay uj^on my
tongue. The sound which I felt full of life within me, gave
me the sensation, how God by the power of his voice had
called everything forth, and how music repeats in each
breast this eternal will of love and wisdom. And I was
mastered by feelings, which were borne, penetrated, con-
nected, changed, intermingled, and exalted by music ; I was
at last so sunk within myself, that even the late night did
not move me from my place. The princely train and the
many lights, from the reflection of which the trees burned
in green flames, I saw vanish from beneath me ; at last all
was gone ; no hglit longer burned in any house ; I was alone
in the cool heavenly quiet of the night ; I thought of thee !
Ah ! had we but sat together under those trees, and chatted
with one another, amid the whispering and plashing of the
waters !

August 24th.

I have still something to relate to you ; the last evening I
spent on the Rhine, I went with company, at a late hour, to
the next village : as I wandered along the Rhine, I saw in
the distance something flaming swim* towards me ; it was
a large ship with torches, which sometimes cast a dazzling
hght upon the shore ; often the flames disappeared, for
minutes together all was dark ; it gave a magic effect to
the rive^, which impressed me deeply as the conclusion of
all which I had seen and heard there.

It was midnight, — the moon rose dim ; the ship, whose
shadow sailed along with it, like a monster, upon the illu-
minated Rhine, cast a dazzling fire upon the woody meadows

186 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

of Ingelheim, towards which she steered ; behind her the
moon, so mildly sober, bore herself forth, enwrapped by and
by in thin mist-clouds, as in a veil. When calmly and
musing one contemplates Nature, it always lays hold on the
heart. What could have more intimately turned my senses
to God ? what more easily have freed me from those trifling
things which oppress me ? I am not ashamed to confess
to thee, that thy image then vehemently flamed in my soul.
True is it : thou beamest into me as the sun into the crystal
of the grape, and like the sun, thou maturest me more ar-
dently, but also more purely.

I now heard the people on board speaking clearly and
calling to work ; they anchored off the island, extinguished
the torches ; — now all was still, except the dog which
barked, and the flags which flaj^ped in the fresh night-
breeze. Now I also went home to sleep, and if thou allow-
est it, I laid myself down at thy feet, and my dream re-
warded me with thy caresses, — if they were not a falsehood.

Who would not believe in apparitions ? The remem-
brance of this dream blesses me even to-day ! Yes, tell me ;
what does reality lose? O, I am j)roud that I dream of
thee ; a good spirit ministers to my soul ; he leads thee on,
because my soul calls thee ; and drinks thy features, while
I thirst after them ; yes, there are prayers and demands,
which are heard.

Now, defend yourself against my love ; of what use can
it be to you ? If I have only spirit enough, — to the spirit,
spirits minister.

Bettine.

August 30th.

I BREAK the seal again, to tell you, that I have had your
letter of the 10th since yesterday evening, and have studied
it busily. O Goethe, you say, indeed, you will carry on no
war, and demand peace ; and yet you lay about you with
the primate, as with a Hercules-club. Do not dress up the
primate to me ! — if I were to tell him, he would jump as
high as the ceiling, and fall in love with me ; but you are
not jealous, you are nothing but kind, and full of indulgeqce.

Drunk with sleep, I laid thy charade upon my heart, but
have not guessed it, — where should I have recovered my

WITH A CHILD. 187

senses. Let it be what it will, it makes me liappy : — a
circle of loving words ! — one does not distinguish caresses,
he enjoys them, and knows that they are the blossoms of
love. Ah, I should like to know what it is :

^ " Silent I hope, y^ hope to gam the grace

To lisp them, as of my beloved one's name."

What do you hope ? — tell me, how shall she be named to
you ? — what signification has the name, that only in delight
you could lisp it ?

" Both iu one image to behold expressed.
Both in one being raptured to embrace."

Who are the both ? who is my rival ? in what image am I
reflected ? — and Avith whom shall I mingle in thy arms ? —
ah, how many riddles lie hidden under one, and how my
head burns ! No, I cannot guess it ; I cannot succeed in
tearing myself away from thy heart and speculating.

" It is so sweet, on cheerful closing day,
One in the other heartily to bum,
And join we both in one expression's turn.
Then do we mind of ease the blissful sway."

This delights thee, that I waste away on cheerful closing
days, when I spend the evening by thy side ; me, too, does
it deliffht.

o

" And are M;e joined in one expression's turn.
Then do we show of ease the blissful way."

You see, my friend, how you allow me to guess into eter-
nity ; but the earthly word, which is the key to all, — that
I cannot find.

But your point you have attained, — " that I should guess
to satisfy myself." I divine in it my rights, my acknowl-
edgment, my reward, and the strengthening of the tie be-
tween us, and shall, each day, divine thy love anew, —
consume myself, — if thou, at the same time, wilt embrace
and give lustre to my spirit, and willingly be named in union
with me.

When your mother writes to you, she always turns the
matter to her own advantage. The story was as follows :
she fetched out of the great clothes-press a- gaudy frock,
worked with stripes and flowers, and a white crape cap,

188 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

adorned with silver-sprigs, and showed them to me as your
first dress, in which you were carried to the church, and to
your godfathers and godmothers. On this occasion, I heard
the minate account of your birth, which I directly wrote -
down. There was also the little Frankfort senator-doll, with
the long j)eriwig ! your mother was much rejoiced at tliis
discovery, and related to me that it was given to her when
her father became syndic. The buckles on the shoes are
of gold, also the sword ; and the pearl tassels, on the neck-
lace, are real ; how I should have liked to have had the
little senator ! She said, it must be preserved for your
heirs, and thus it happened that we j^layed a little corned}'
with it. Therewith she related to me much of her own
youth, but nothing about you ; except one story which will
be eternally of moment to me, and, certainly, the most beau-
tiful she has in her power to tell.

You rejoice in the story of the myrtle-tree of the Frizlar
nun, — it is, indeed, the story of every ardent-loving heart.
Happiness not always nourishes love, and I have often won-
dered, that one should offer every sacrifice to hap^Diness, and
not to love itself, whereby alone it could bloom like that
myrtle-tree. It is better that one should renounce all, —
but the myrtle, which is once planted, that must not be
rooted up, — it must he cherished to the very last.

All that you desire, I hope still to tell you ; you presumed
rightly, that the amusements here would rob me of much,
but }'our will has power over me, and I hope it will strike
sparks from the spirit. The Duchess of Baden is gone, but
our family, with all friends and connections, is so large
that we quite overrun Schlangenbad. Adieu. I am ashamed
of my bulky letter, in which there may be much nonsense.
If you were not exempt from postage, I would not send it.

Of your mother I have the best accounts.

Bettixe.

' TO GOETHE.

When I wrote to you the last time, it was summer ; I
was on the Rhine, and, later, travelled with a merry com-
pany of friends and relations, by water, to Kohi ; when I
was returned, I spent the last days of your mother with

WITH A CHILD. 189

her, in which she was more friendly, more affixble, than ever.
The day before her death, I was with her, kissed her luind,
and received her " farewell " in thy name. For at no mo-
ment have I forgotten thee ; I well knew she had willingly
left me thy best love as inheritance.

She is now lead, before whom I spread forth the treas-
ures of my life she knew how and why I love you, she
made no wonder of it. When other people thought to
understand me, she let me do as I pleased, and gave my
manner of being no name. Still more closely could I then
have embraced your knees ; more firmly, more deeply have
fixed my eyes upon you, and have forgotten all the rest of
the world ; and yet tliis kej^t me from writing. Afterwards
you were so surrounded, that I could with difficulty have
approached you.

A year is now passed since I saw you One says you arc
grown handsomer, that Carlsbad has received you. With
me time goes haltingly ; I am obliged to let the days pass
so coldly by, without arresting a single spark, on which I
6an blow up a flame. But it shall not be long before I see
you, — then will I but once and for ever hold you fast in
my arms.

During all this time, I have passed nearly every evening
with Jacobi : I always account it a privilege that I am per-
mitted to see and speak with him, — but that point I have
not yet reached, of being sincere with him, and showing
him that love which one owes to his benevolence. His two
sisters palisade him round about ; it is provoking, to be kept
off from him by empty objections. He is patient even to
weakness, and has no will of his own, opposed to two beings
possessing the caprice and imperiousness of Semiramis.
The sovereignty of women pursues him even to the Presi-
dent's chair in the Academy ; they wake him, they dress
him, they button his underwaistcoat, they hand him medi-
cine. Does he wish to go out ? it is too raw. Will he stay
at home ? he must take exercise. Does he go to the Acad-
emy ? The Nymbus is trimmed, that it may show clearly.
They put him on a shirt of muslin, with clean jabot and
ruffs, and a fur coat lined with splendid sable, the foot-
warmer is borne before : when he returns from the sitting,
he must sleep a little, whether he will or no ; thus it con-
tinues till evening in continual opi^osition, when they pull
his night-cap over his ears, and put him to bed.

190 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

The spirit forms for itself, even unconsciously, an asylum
in which nothing hinders it from ruling according to its
rights ; what does not detract from these it willingly leaves
to the disposal of others. This your mother has often ex-
tolled in you, that your dignity flowed from your mind, and
that you have never strived after any other. Your mother
said : You are faithful to the genius, who leads you into the
paradise of wisdom ; you enjoy all the fruits which he offers
you ; therefore new ones are always blooming again for
you, while you are consuming the first. But Lotte and
Lehne,* forbid Jacobi contemplation as noxious, and he has
more confidence in them than in his genius : when the latter
presents him an apple, he asks the former whether there be
no worm in it.

No great wit is necessary, and I feel it founded in myself,
— in the spirit lies the unquenchable impulse to elevated
thought : like the object of a journey, the spirit has for its
object the most elevated thought ; it strides inquiringly
through the earthly world, on to the heavenly ; all which
assimilates to this, the spirit attracts to itself and enjoys it
with rapture, — therefore I believe love to be the flight to
heaven.

I wish for you, Goethe, and I believe it firmly too, that
all 3^our inquiry, your knowledge, and that which the Muse
teaches you, and lastly also thy love, may, united, form a
glorified body for thy spirit, that it may no longer be subject
to the earthly body, when it puts it off, but may already
have passed over into that spiritual body. Die you must
not, he only must die whose spirit does not find the outlet.
Thought wings the spirit, the winged spirit does not die, it
finds not back the way to death.

With your mother I could speak of everything ; she
understood my way of thought : she said, " First learn to
know every star ; to the very last then mayst thou doubt,
till then all is possible."

I have heard much from your mother which I shall not
forget ; the way in which she made me sensible of her
death, I have written down for you. People say you will-
ingly turn away from the mournful which cannot be
changed ; do not, in this sense, turn away from your moth-

* The two so-called careful sisters of the celebrated Jacobi.

WITH A CHILD. 191

er's parting moments ; learn how wise and loving she was
at her very last moment, and how mightily poetry ruled
within her.

To-day I tell you nothing more, for I long that this letter
may soon reach you : write me a word, — my quiet depends
upon it. At this moment my abode is in Landshut ; in a
few days I go to Munich, to study music with the Canon
"Winter.

]\Iuch one would rather say by mien and gesture, ah ! for
you particularly, I have no more important information than
merely to smile upon you.

Farewell ; continue propitious to me, write to me again
that you love me ; what I have seen and heard with you, is
for me a throne of blessed remembrance. Mankind j^ursue
different ways ; all to one end, namely, to be happy ; how
quickly am I satisfied, if you feel kindly to me, and will be
a faithful guardian of my love.

Remember me I beg to your wife ; as soon as I get to
Munich I will think of her.

The most devoutly promised

Bettine Brentano.

Landshut, December 18th, 1808.

Favd. by Baron Savigny.

TO MRS. GOETHE.

Willingly, according to the example of your good
mother, would I have sent my little keepsake at Christmas
to the proper moment ; but I must confess, that ill-humor,
and a thousand other faults of my heart, kept me a long
while from all friendly correspondence. The little chain
was intended for you immediately after the death of your
mother. I meant you should wear it during the mourning-
time, and always delayed sending it, partly because it was
really intolerable for me to touch merely with my pen upon
her loss, which has made Frankfort a desert to me. The
little neckerchief I worked at your mother's, and have fin-
ished here at leisure hours.

Continue friendly inclined to me, remind Goethe at happy
moments of me ; a thought from him of me, is a glittering
ornament for me, which adorns and dehghts me more than

192 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

the most precious jewels. Thus jou see what wealth you
may deal out to me, by opportunely assuring him of my
love and reverence. For him also I have something, but it
is so dear to me, that I unwilhngly abandon it to a danger-
ous journey. I am in hopes of seeing him in the first half
of this year, when I can bring it to him myself. Take
care for your health and spirits in this cold weather. My
'vveak ability to give you pleasure, treat, as you always have
done, with kind indulgence.

Bettine.
Munich, JauuaiT 8th, 1808.

TO GOETHE.-

Others were happier than I, who need not close the
year without having seen you. I have been told, how full
of love you welcomed your friends.

I have been several weeks in Munich, follow music, and
sine: a o-ood deal with the Canon Winter, who is a stran2:e
fish, but just suits me, for he says, '• Songstresses must have
their humors," and so I can exercise them all on him. I
spend much time by Ludwig Tieck's sick-bed : he suffers
from grout ; a sickness which o-ives audience to melancholv
and evil humors : I endure him as much from taste as hu-
manity : a sick-room is, in and for itself, through its great
quiet, an attractive spot ; a patient avIio, with tranquil cour-
age, meets his pams, makes it a sacred spot. You are a
great poet, Tieck a great endurer, and to me a phen5menon,
for I did not know before, that there were such great jjains :
he cannot make a single movement without groaning ; his
face drips with sweat of agony ; and his look often wanders
over the flood of pain, like a tired trembling swallow, which
seeks in vain a spot, where it can rest ; and I stand aston-
ished and ashamed before him, that I am so healthy ; there-
with also he composes Spring-sonnets, and rejoices at a
bunch of snow-drops which I brought him. As often as I
come, he first begs me to give the bunch fresh water ; then
I wipe, quite softly, the perspiration from his face ; one can
scarce do it without giving him pain ; and thus I perform
all sorts of trifling services for him, which shorten the time.
He will teach me English, too ; then he lets forth all the

WITH A CHILD.

193

anger and peevishness of disease upon me, that I am so
stupid, question so absurdly, and never understand the an-
swer ; I am astonished too, for I beheved with other people
that I was very clever, if not a genius ; and now I come to
such abysses, where no bottom is to be found, namely
that of learning ; I must with astonishment acknowledo-e'
that I have learned nothing my whole hfe. ° '

Before I knew of you, I knew nothing of myself; after-
wards, sense and feeling were turned to you ; and now the
rose blossoms, glows, and yields its scent, but it cannot of
Itself impart that Avliich it had learned in secret. You are
he who has bewitched me, that I am in low esteem with the
Phihstmes, who find a row of talents valuable in a woman
— but not the woman herself without these. '

Playing on the piano, singing airs, speaking foreio-n lan-
guages, history, natural philosophy, these form the amiable
character ; and I alas ! hehind all this, have first souo-ht
that which I could love. Yesterday Tieck had company :
1 stole unperceived behind a screen ; I should surely have
fallen asleep there, if my name had not been pronounced ;
tlien they described me so that I was afraid of myself- I
came suddenly forth and said, " No, I am too hoiTible,* I
should n t like to be any longer alone with myself." This
caused a slight consternation, and was good fun to me.
Ihe same thmg happened to me at Jacobi's, where Lotte
and Lehne hacl not remarked, that I was sitting behind the
great round table. I called out in the midst of their epistle,
I will improve." I don't at all know why my heart always
bounds with joy, when I hear myself abused, and why I
must always laugh when one begins to find fault with me •
they may heap upon me all the most out-of-the-way thino-s'
I must listen to all with pleasure, and acquiesce, — it is mv
luck : if I were to defend myself, I should get into an awk-
ward scrape ; if I were to dispute with them, I should be
more stupid than they. But the latter story brought me
good-fortune. Sailer * was there ; he was dehghted! that I
caught Lehne by the head, and gave her a hearty kiss upon
her evil mouth, to stop it. After Sailer was gone, Jacobi
said, Now Bettme has won Sailer's heart ' " " Who is the
man?" asked I. "What! you don't know Sailer? have

* Bishop Sailer, celebrated for his wisdom, piety, and benevolence.

194 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

never heard lilm spoken of, the all-celebrated, all-loved, the
philosopher of God, even as Plato is the divine philosopher ?"
These words from Jacobi pleased me ; I rejoice infinitely in
Sailer, he is professor at Landshut. During the Carnival
here, there is a stream of festivals, forming a complete
whirlpool ; they run so into one another : there are new
operas given every week, which gives my good old Winter
no time to breathe. To much I listen with great interest ;
if I should tell him what I learn in this manner, he would
not be able to conceive it. On the Rhine we wrote about
music, — I no longer know what. I have still more to say
to you that is new, for me astonishing, scarcely intelligible
to my weak mind, and yet I learn it through myself. Shall
not I then believe, that I have a guardian spirit, who teach-
es me ? Yes, everything depends upon this question ; the
deeper you inquire, the more mighty is the answer, the
genius is never at fault ; but we are shy of asking, and still
more so of receiving and comprehending the answer, for that
costs trouble and pains ; otherwise we can learn nothing,
where should we obtain it ? He who asks of God, to him
he gives the divine as answer.

At the festivals (which one calls here Academies), —
masquerades, and in the midst a little theatre, in which pan-
tomimic representations of Harlequin and Pantaloon are
given. I have become acquainted with the^Prince-Poyal ;
I talked awhile with him without knowing who he was ; he
has something attractive, friendly, and indeed original, about
him : true, his whole being seems more to strive after lib-
erty, than to be born with her. His voice, his speech and
gestures, have in them something forced ; like a man, who,
with great expenditure of strength, had helped himself up
a smooth face of rock, and has a trembling motion in his
yet unrested limbs. And who knows how his infant years,
his inclinations, were ojDpressed or j^rovoked by opposition ?
I look upon him as one who has had much to combat with,
and also from whom much that is good may spring ; I hke
him. So young a ruler, as it were in the vestibule of hell,
where he must suffer each tons-ue to wao; asrainst him. His
good i^eople of Munich, as he calls them, bear a grudge
against him. Well, only Avait till he is of age ; he will either
put you all to shame, or he will retahate finely.

WITH A CHILD. 195

January Slst.

I could not withstand the wonderful spring-weather ; the
warm, May-like sunbeam, Avhich quite melted the hard, icy
new-year, was ravishing ; it drove me out into the bald,
English gardens. I have clambered up all the temples of
friendshi}), Chinese towers, and national monuments, to get
a sight of the Tyrolese chain of mountains, which, thousand-
fold, rear their cleft tops to heaven. In my soul, too, you
may find such great mountain-masses, which are cleft deep
into tlie roots ; and, cold and bare, stretch their obstinate
crags into the clouds. I would take you by the hand and
lead you far away, that you might contemplate upon me, —
how I rose in your thoughts, as sometliing remarkable,
whose tracks you followed, for instance, like an intermaxil-
lary ho7ie, about which you maintained your right against
Soemering, in so sharj) a correspondence ; tell me, sincerely,
shall I ever become of so much importance as such a dead
bone ? That God has ordained everything well, who can
doubt ; but whether you have well fenced in jouv heart
with mine, — against this, rise too many mournful hours of
doubt, companioned by heavy sighs. On the Rhine, I wrote
you much, and lovingly ; yes, I was quite in your power,
and what I thought and felt, was because I beheld you in
the spirit. We have now made a pause of nearly four
months ; you have as yet returned no answer to two letters.

Nothing is of importance to me but this, that I be not
cheated of you ; that not a word, not a look of yours, be
stolen from me, I love you so. This is all ; nothing more
can find entrance into me, and nothing more Avill be found
in me ; and indeed, I think it is sufficient, in order to leave
my whole life, as an important document, to the Muses :
therefore is it, that so many seasons pass over me, severe
and cold, as this severe winter; therefore is it, that they
blossom again, and spring from every side again to life ;
therefore I often conceal my thoughts from you. All this
time I could not touch a book of yours, — no, I could not
read a line, it was so mournful to me that I could not be
with you. Alas ! I miss your mother, who composed me,
who strengthened me against myself; her clear, fiery eye
pierced through and through me ; I did not need to confess
to her, she knew all ; her fine ear heard, in the lowest tone
of my voice, how it was with me. 0, how many tales did

196 GOETHE'S CORRESPOXDEXCE

she tell me, to counteract my sensibility, without my im-
parting it to her ; how often has a joyful exclamation from
her dispelled all the clouds within me ; what friendly letters
did she write to me in the Rheino^au ! " Courasfe ! " she
cried to me, " have courage ; since they will not let you pass
for a genuine girl, and say one cannot fall in love with you,
therefore you have one plague less, — courteously to refuse
them ; be then a brave soldier, arm yourself against the
thought that you must always be with him, and hold him by
the hand ; arm yourself against your own melancholy, and
he is for ever, entirely and devotedly yours, and no one can
rob you of him."

Such lines made me infinitely happy ; indeed, I found
you again in her ; when I came to Frankfort, I flew to her ;
when I opened the door, we did not greet one another, it
was as if we were already in the midst of conversation.
We two were, perhaps, the only living people in all Frank-
fort, or anywhere else ; she often kissed me, and said that
in my being, I reminded her of you ; she was also obliged
to be your care-dispeller. She depended upon my heart.
One could not deceive her, by insinuating that I was false
to her : she said, " He is false, who wishes to destroy my
pleasure in her." I was proud of her love.

If you Avere only no longer in the world, ah, I would not
raise another hand. Ah, so many thousand hopes arise, and
yet come to nothing. If I could only sometimes sit half an
hour long by you, that, perhaps, would also come to noth-
ing ; my friend ! !

February 3d.

During the few weeks which I spent at Landshut, sj)ite
of snow and ice, I ascended mountains far and near ; the
whole country lay before my eyes, in the most dazzling
dress : all colors by winter slain, and buried under snow,
my cheeks only, the cold made red, like a lonely fire in the
wilderness, burns the single look, that lightens and perceives,
Avhile the whole world is sleeping ; I had so shortly before
left the summer, so richly laden w^itli fruit. Where was it,
by the by, that I ascended the last mountain on the Rhine ?
in Godesberg ? were you, too, often there ? It was almost
evening when we were mounted. You will still remember,
that on the top stands a single lofty tower, and round about

^Y1TH A CHILD. 197

upon the level, the old walls are still standing. The sun, in
great splendor, let fall a glowing purple upon the city of the
Saints, — the Cathedral of Koln, on whose thorny decora-
tions the fog, like a by-wandering flock of sheep, left its
flakes hanging, in which reflection and refraction so finely
played, I saw there for the last time ; all was melted in the
mighty burning, and the cool, quiet Rhine, which one sees
many miles distant, and the Siebenbergen, rising high in the
neighborhood of its banks.

In summer, in the passionate life and combination of aU
colors, when Nature arrests the senses, as the most touching
magic of its beauty, when man by sympathy becomes beauti-
ful himself ; then, too, is he himself often as a dream, which
flies like vapor before his own perception. The fire of life
within him consumes everything, — thought in thought, and
forms itself again in everything. When the eye can reach,
he attains, only that he may again entirely abandon himself
to it : and thus one feels one's self free and daring upon the
loftiest rock-pinnacles, in the boldest waterfall, — ay, with
the bird in the air, with which one visits the distance, and
soars aloft with it, the sooner to reach the place of longing.
In winter, it is otherwise : the senses then rest wath Nature ;
the thoughts only continue secretly to dig about within the
soul, like a workman in the mines. Upon this I also, dear
Goethe, build my hopes, (now that I feel how w^aste and de-
ficient it is within me,) that the time will come when I can
tell and ask you more. Some time or other, that which I
demand to know will break in upon me. That seems to me
to be the only communion w^ith God, namely, the demand
after that which is above earth : and this appears to me the
only greatness of man, — to perceive and enjoy this answer.
Love is surely also a questioning of God, and the enjoyment
in it is an answer from the loving God himself.

February 4th.

Here in the palace, which one calls the Residence, and
wdiich has seventeen courts, there is, in one of the outer
buildings, a small lonely court ; in the midst is a fountain, —
Perseus beheading the Medusa, in bronze, surrounded by a
grass-plat ; an alcove of granite pillars leads to it ; mer-
maids, formed of clay and muscle-shells, hold large basins,
into which they formerly spat water ; Moors' heads peep out

198 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

from the wall ; the top and sides are ornamented with pic-
tures, which, by the by, are partly fallen away ; amongst
others, Apollo, who, in his solar chariot, prances over the
clouds, and, downwards driving, greets his sister Luna; the
spot is very lonely ; seldom that a servant of the court goes
across ; one hears the sparrows crying, and I often watched
the little lizai'ds and water-mice, v/ho campaign about in the
ruined fountain ; it is close behind the royal chapel ; there,
too, sometimes I hear on Sunday high mass, or vespers, with
full orchestra ; but you will well know where your child is,
if it truly and diligently thinks on you. Adieu, fare thee
well : I verily believe, that I shall still come to you in this
year, and perhaf)s soon ; think on me ; when you have time,
write to me, — nothing but that I may continue thus to love
you : several of my letters must have been lost, for I have
written to you several times from the Rhine.

Your wife I beg you to greet from me heartily. I do not
know if a little box which I sent her, imder your address, be
not lost.

Bettine.

Mtmich, February 5th.

My address is Landshut, at Savigny's.

Esteemed Friend :

Receive my thanks for the beautiful presents which I
received from you ; they gave me infinite pleasure, because
I perceived in them, that you still preserve your kindly feel-
ings towards me, of which I have not yet had opportunity to
make myself deserving.

I have been eight weeks in Frankfort ; your relations all
showed me much kindness. I am well aware, that for this
I have to thank the great love and respect which is here
felt for our deceased mother. Still, I much missed your
presence ; you loved our mother well, and I had besides
several commissions from the Geheimerath for you, which
lie believed you would willingly undertake. I managed all
the matters myself, as well as it was jjossible at this mourn-
ful period. All Avhicli I found amongst our mother's papers
from your hand, I have conscientiously delivered up to your
friends ; I found all well arranged, tied u^) with yellow rib-
bon, and addi'cssed to you by her.

WITH A CHILD. 109

You give lis hope of a speedy visit : the Geheimerath and
I look forward with joy to these pleasant days ; we only
wish that it may soon find place, as the Geheimerath will
probably return to Carlsbad in the middle of May.

His health this winter is extraordinarily good, for which,
indeed, he has to thank the healing springs. On my return,
he appeared to me really younger ; and yesterday, as there
was a grand levee at our court, I saw him, for the first time,
decked with his orders and ribbons ; he looked quite splen-
did and stately ; I could not sufficiently admire him ; my
first wish was, that his good mother could only have so seen
him. He laughed at my great joy : w^e spoke much of you ;
lie commissioned me also to return thanks in his name, for
all the goodness and friendliness Avhich you show me : he
has determined to write himself, and to excuse my bad pen,
with which I cannot according to w^ish express how much
Avorth your remembrance is to me, and to which I heartily
recommend mysel£

C. V. Goethe.

Weimar, February 1st, 1809.

TO BETTINE.

You are very amiable, good Bettine, that you continue
to speak a living word to the silent friend ; to tell him some-
thing of your situation, and of the localities in which you
are wandering about. I conceive very readily how you
fare, and my imagination follows you with pleasure, as well
upon the mountain heights as in the narrow palace and con-
vent courts. Thmk of me, too, with the lizards and sala-
manders.

A thanksgiving from my wife will already have reached
you ; your unexpected consignment caused incredible joy ;
everything has been individually admired and highly valued.
I must now, too, fleetingly thank }'ou for the several letters
that you have written me, and which pleasantly surjDrised,
amused, and in part repeatedly employed me in my Carls-
bad loneliness ; thus your explosions about music Avere par-
ticularly interesting to me, — so I call these spiritual views
of your little brain, which at the same time have the excel-
lence of increasing the charm for the subject.

200 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

At that time I sent a line to you by my mother ; I do not
know if you received it. This excellence is now departed
from us, and I well conceive how Frankfort is thus become
a desert to you. All that you will impart concerning the
heart and mind of my mother, and the lo\e, Avith which you
understand to measure it, Avill be grateful to me. One may
perhaps call it the most rare, and therefore the most costly,
when such mutual apprehension and acquiescence always
bring forth their right effect, — always form something
which advantages the next step in life; since then, by a
fortunate concurrence of the moment, the future is most
sensibly affected : and thus I wilUngly believe you, when
you tell me how rich a fountain of life is dried up to you in
that existence, which freely surrendered itself to your pecu-
liarities. Thus stood she also to me ; in her survival of all
other Avitnesses of my youthful days, she proved that nature
required no other course than to foster and to love that
which destiny and affection had committed to her trust.
During the period since her death, I have read through
many of her letters, and wondered how her spirit, to the
A'ery latest epoch, had not lost its impress. Her last letter
was completely filled with the good wliich existed between
you, and that her latter years, as she herself writes, were
greenly entwined by your youth : therefore, in this resj^ect
too, as in everything else which your quickening heart al-
ready has bestowed upon me, do I owe you thanks.

William Humboldt * has related much to us about you, —
that is, often. He always began anew to talk about your
little person, without properly having anything further to
say ; from which we could conclude the existence of a pecu-
liar interest. There was lately a slender arcliitect from
Cassel here, upon whom you have probably also made an
impression.

Of such sins you have many to answer for, for which
you are condemned to wait upon, and nurse, the gouty and
lame.

But I hope this will be only a temporary expiation,
through which you may only so much the better and live-
lier enjoy life Avith the healthy.

* Baron W. Humboldt, just deceased, the first philologer and philoso-
pher of his age.

WITH A CHILD. 201

Now, with thy rich love, bring all again into the track of
a habit become so dear to me ; do not again let the time
pass in such gaps away ; let it be understood, that it always
has its kind and friendly effect, even though the echo of it
may not reach over to you : I do not though renounce, con-
veying to you proofs of its impression, by which you your-
self may compute whether the effect upon my imagination
answer the magic means of yours. My wife I hear has
invited you, this I do not do, and we are yet both in the
right. Farewell ; greet friendly the friendly, and continue
to be to me Bettine.

G.

Weimar, February 22d, 1809.

TO GOETHE.

If your imagination is ductile enough to accompany me
into all the lurking-holes of ruined walls, over cleft and
mountain, I will also further venture to introduce you at
mine : so come, I beg, — higher, higher, — three stories up,
— here in my chamber, set yourself on the blue settee at the
green table, opposite to me ; — I only wish to gaze on you,
and, — Goethe ! does your imagination still follow me ? —
then must you acknowledge the most changeless love in my
eyes ; must now, rich in love, draw me within your arms :
say, " So faithful a child is granted me, as reward, as
amends, for much. Valuable is this child to me, a treasure
it is, a jewel which I would not lose," — dost see ? — and
must kiss me, for that is what my imagination grants to
yours.

I lead you still further ; — step softly into my heart's
chamber, — here we are in the hall, — utter stillness ! no
Humboldt, — no architect, — no dog that barks. You are
not a stranger, — go on, knock, — it will be alone and call to
you, " Come in." You will find it on cool, quiet couch ;
a friendly light will shine at your approach ; everything Avill
be quiet and in order, and you welcome. What is that ? —
Heaven ! — the flames meeting beyond it ? Whence the
conflagration ? — Who saves here ? — poor heart ! — poor
perilled heart ! What can the understanding do here ? —
it knows everything best, and yet cannot assist, — it leaves
the poor one to sink !

202 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

Either thus cold and trifling proceeds Hfe, (this one calls
a healthy state,) or, if it only venture the single step deeper
into feeling, then passions burning seize upon it with force,
and thus it consumes itself within itself. My eyes I must
shut, and dare not gaze upon that which is dear to me.
Ah ! the slightest remembrance makes me chafe in pining
anger, and, therefore, I dare not always follow you in
thought, because I become angry and furious. When I
stretch forth my hands, it is but to the bare walls ; when I
speak, it is but in the wind, and when at last I write to you,
my own heart frets itself, that I do not fly over the light
bridge of thrice day and night, and, in sweetest (of love
eternally desired) calm, lay myself at thy feet.

Say! how are you so mild, so richly kind, in your dear
letter ? in the midst of hard-frozen winter, sunny days
Avhich warm my blood ! what would I more ? ah ! as long
as I am not with you, — no blessing.

O, I would fain, as often as I write to you, tell 3'ou again,
how, why, and everything ; I would fain lead you along the
lone way, which I alone will take, that it may be lone, and
I be alone, who so loves you, and is so acknowledged by
you.

Whether love be the greatest passion, and whether to be
overcome, I do not understand ; Avitli me it is Will, —
mighty, invincible.

The only difference between human and divine will is,
that ^ the latter does not yield, and always wills the same;
but our will each moment inquires, dare, or shall I ? The
difference is, that the divine will eternizes everything, and
the human wrecks upon earthly ground ; but this is the
great secret, that love is heavenly will, almightiness, to
which nothins: is refused.

Ah ! human wit hath no sound, but heavenly wit, — this
is music, laughing energy ; what is earthly is to it a thing of
jest ; it is the sj^lendid plumage with which the soul soars,
high above the 'abodes of earthly prejudices; from there
above each lot is to her the same. We say : " Fate rules
over us ? " We are our own fate, we break the threads
which bind us to happiness, and tie those which lay an un-
blessed burden upon the heart: an internal, sj)iritual form
will shape itself by means of the external and worldly one ;
this internal spirit rules itself over its own fate, according as
may be requisite to its higher organization.

WITH A CHILD. 203

You must not take it ill if I cannot make it clearer.
You know all and understand me, and know that I am in
the right, and rejoice at it.

Good night ! till to-morrow, good night ! All is still,
each in the house sleeping, hangs dreaming upon that
which, Avaking, he covets ; but I alone watch with you.
Without, upon the street, no sound more, — I would fain be
assured, that at this moment no soul more thinks on you, no
heart gives a throb more for you, and I alone in the wide
world sit at thy feet, my heart with full strokes goes up and
down : and while all are sleeping, I watch to clasp your knee
to my breast. And you ? — The world needs not know
that you love me.

Bettine.

TO GOETHE.

^liiiuch, March 8d.

The full day with its news breaks into my retirement, as
a heavily laden wagon breaks through a light bridge which
was only built for harmless walks. It does not signify ; one
must lay hold and help to set all again to rights : in every
alley one cries " war " ; the library servants run about, de-
manding the borrowed books and manuscripts, for all is to
be packed up. Hamberger, a second Hercules ; for as the
latter cleaned out the stables of the twenty thousand cattle,
so does he the library of eighty thousand books, and grieves
that all past labor has been in vain. The gallery, too, is to
be packed up ; in short, the fine arts are in the greatest con-
sternation. To operas and music " vale " is said ; the illus-
trious lover of the Prima Donna goes forth to the field ; the
academy hangs out mourning lamps, and covers her fore-
head till the storm be passed : and thus may all be in still,
Aveary waiting for the enemy, — who perhaps will not come
at all. I am in a ferment, too, and indeed a revolutionary
one. The Tyrolese, I am on their side, that you may think.
0, I am weary of hearing our neighbor's flute in the attic,
blowing its airs till late in the night, ■ — the drum and the
trumpet, they make the heart fresh.

" Ah, had I but doublet, and breeches, and hat," I would
run over to the straight-nosed, plain-hearted Tyrolese, and
make their fair, green standard liap in the wind.

204 GOETHE'S COERESPOXDEXCE

I have great talent for stratagem ; if I were once there,
I could certainly do them service. My money is all gone ;
a good fellow, a medical student, invented a scheme for con-
veying it to the Tyrolese prisoners, who are treated with
great severity. The prison grates look upon an empty
space by the river : the whole day long, mischievous boys
were gathered there, who incited them with mud : towards
evening we went there : while one of us, near the sentinel,
called out, '• 0 ! what smoke is that in the distance ? " and as
he looked round for the smoke, the other showed the pris-
oners the glittering coin, as he wrapped it up in paper, and
then made it up with mud mto a ball. " Have a care," he
cried, and threw it at the Tyrolese ; thus it succeeded, sev-
eral times ; the sentinel was rejoiced that the mischievous
younkers could aim so well.

You perhaps know, or remember having seen a Count
Stadion, prebendary and imperial ambassador, called by his
friends '' Black Fritz " ; he is my only friend here : the
evenings which he has unengaged he willingly spends with
me : then he reads the papers, writes despatches, listens to
me when I tell some story ; — we often talk, too, of you : a
man of prudent, unfettered views, and of noble manners.
He imparts to me remarkable passages out of the history of
his heart and Hfe ; he has made many sacrifices, but has not
thereby lost anything ; on the contrary, his character has
thus become freed from the stiffness, which always more or
less takes the place of natural grace, as soon as one stands
in a not unimportant connection with the world, where one
must partly devote one's self to the artificial : he is exactly
as simple as a child, and in my lonehness gives many a turn
to my humors. On Sundays he fetches me in his carriage,
and reads mass to me in the royal chapel ; the church is
generally quite empty, excef)t a few old j^eople. The silent,
lonely church is delightful to me ; and that the dear friend
of whom I know so much which is kept in his heart, should
raise for me the host and the chahce, — that too delights
me. Ah ! would that I knew that in any way he were com-
pensated for Avliat has been taken from him.

Ah ! that forbearance should counterbalance desire ! Yet
at last the spirit, which is purified by suffering, will dance
over this common-dav life on to heaven.

And what would wisdom be, if it did not exercise power,

WITH A CHILD. 205

to make itself alone of worth. " It will soothingly compen-
sate each forbearance, and it caressingly insinuates to you
all the advantages of its possession, while you weep for that
Avhich it denies."

And how can we attain the eternal, but when we venture
the temporal ?

I see everything, and would fain part with all wisdom to
the first indulgence-pedler I see, for absolution of all the
love-intrigues which I mean to have with you.

March 11th.

Ah ! if love did not make me clear-sighted, I should be
miserable ; I see the frost-flowers on the window-panes, and
the sunbeam, which by little and little melts them, and im-
agine to myself everything in your room ; how you walk up
and down, and thoughtfully observe these frost-landscapes
with their little pine forests, and these flower-pieces. Then
I perceive your features so clearly, and it becomes so true,
that I can see you ; in the mean time, the drum here is
beating under the windows, through all the streets, and call-
mg the troops together.

March loth.

State matters they do not not confide to me, but heart
matters. Yesterday evening the dear Catholic priest came ;
the conversation was a dreamy lisping of former times ; a
fine web, which a Soft breath waves in the still air. The
heart, too, has a summer, said he ; we cannot withhold it
from this hot season ; and God knows that the spirit must
ripen, like the golden wheat, before the sickle cuts it.

March 20th.

I am curious to hear love conversed about : the whole
world, though, speaks of it, and in novels enough has been
talked about it ; yet it is not that which I wish to hear. As
a proof of my sincerity, I acknowledge to you, that also in
" Wilhelm Meister " I feel the same ; most of the person-
ages therein trouble me, as if I had an evil conscience, —
then one does not feel secure within or without ; I would
say to AVilhelm Meister : " Come, fly with me beyond the
Alps, to the Tyrolese ; there will we whet our sword, and
forget the rag-tag of comedians ; and then all your dears

206 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

with their pretensions and lofty feehngs, must starve awhile.
When we return, the paint uj^on their cheeks will be faded,
and the gauze garments, and the fine sensibilities, will shud-
der before your sunburnt, Mars-like countenance. Yes, if
ever anything is to become of you, you must venture your
enthusiasm for the war ; believe me, Mignon would not
have fled from this beautiful world, in which she must leave
her dearest behind ; she would assuredly have borne with
3^ou all fatigues of war, and, upon meagre fare, have spent
the night U2:)0n the rough Alps, in the winter caverns ; the
fire of freedom would also have kindled in her bosom, and
borne fresh and more healthy blood through her veins. Ah,
wilt thou not, for love of this child, leave these people alto-
gether. Melancholy lays hold on you, because there is no
world in which you can act. If you were not afraid of
human blood, here among the Tyrolese, you may engage for
a right, wdiich has sprung out of as pure a nature as the
love in the heart of Mignon. You, Meister, are he who
stifles the o-erm of this tender life beneath all the weeds
which overgrow you. Tell me, what are they all, compared
with the seriousness of the time, when Truth shall rise up
in her pure, primeval form, and bid defiance to the destruc-
tion which falsehood has plotted ?

0, it is a heavenly kindness of God, — by which we
miijht all become sound, — such a revolution : aiijain and
again he lets the soul of freedom be new-born.

Lo ye, INIeister, if to-day, in the star-cfear, cold night, you
fetch your Mignon from out her little bed, in which she yes-
terday fell asleep, in tears, about you, say to her : " Be
quick and go with me, I will go alone with you to foreign
lands." 0, she will understand it, it will not appear incred-
ible to her ; jon do what she long since demanded of you,
and what you have inconceivably omitted. You will bestow
a happiness upon her, that she may take part in your severe
fatigues ; by night, on dangerous ways, where every step
deceives, there her quick eye, her confiding boldness, will
lead you over in safety to the war-hemmed people ; and,
when she sees you offer yotir breast to the arrows, she will
not shrink, (it will not vex her, like the arrows of the
smooth-tongued syrens,) she will soon grow ripe in the bold
confidence of joining in the harmony of freedom's enthusi-
asm. And if you must fall, too, in the van, what has she

WITH A CHILD. 207

lost ? wliat could equal for lier this beautiful death, — per-
haps at your side ? " Both locked arm in arm, ye lay
beneath the cool, wholesome earth, and mighty oaks shadow
your grave ! " Say, were not this better than that you
should soon be compelled to give her fine form into the ana-
tomical hands of the Abbe, that he might inject it with wax.

Ah, Goethe, I must lament over all the pains of former
time, which you have caused me ; I feel myself now as
helpless, as inexperienced, as Mignon then did. There is
an uproar without, to-day, and all about nothing ; they have
brought in some poor Tyrolese as prisoners, poor day-labor-
ers, who had hid themselves in the woods ; from above I
hear the mad tumult ; I have closed shutters and curtains ;
I cannot look at it ; the day, too, is departing ; I am alone ;
not a human being who feels like me, humanly. These
firm, sure in themselves, indigenous natures, which, with the
purer air of their mountains, inhale the spirit of truth and
freedom, must let themselves be dragged through the dirty
streets, by a beer-intoxicated mob, and no one offers them
restraint, no one opposes their maltreatment ; they are
allowed to commit sacrilege against the loftier feelings of
humanity ! Devil, were I ruler, I would here show them
that they are slaves ; none should dare to violate the image
of God.

I always believe that the Prince Royal must feel other-
wise, more humanly ; people will not praise him, they say
he is capricious and splenetic ; I have confidence in him ;
he still tends with care the garden which he had as a child ;
waters the flowers himself, which blossom in his chamber ;
makes verses, rugged, but full of inspiration ; all this speaks
well for him to me.

What is he thinking about ? who could realize each
thought ? a prince, whose spirit should illuminate the whole
land ? he must continue his life long in prayer, who is des-
tined to live and act in a thousand other beings.

Yes, may it be, that a king's son awakes within himself
the divine spirit, to rule instead of him ? Stadion sighs,
and says : " The best of all is, that, let the die fall as it
may, the way to heaven always remains open to king and
subject.'*

208 GOETHE'S COEEESPOXDEXCE

March 25th.

I have neither courage nor wit left ; ah, had I but a
friend who would accompany me by night over the hills !

The Tyrolese are lying, in this cold season, Avith wife and
child, amid the rocks, and their inspired breath warms the
whole atmosj^here. When I ask Stadion, whether Duke
Charles will certainly not forsake them, too, he clasps his
hands, and says, " I will not survive it."

:\Iarch 26th.

The paper must smart for it, my only contidant ! Yet
what capricious humors Cupid has, that, in this series of
love-letters, I should all at once be inflamed by Mars, —
(my portion of love's pains I have already ; I should be
ashamed, at such a moment, to wish them fully allowed,)
and if I could only do something, and the powers of fate
would not slight me ; that is the bitterest portion, when one
has no credit with them, when they purpose one to nothing.

Only think, that I am alone in this horrible Munich ; not
a countenance to be trusted in ; Savigny is at Landshut ;
the billows in this pohtical sea-storm meet above Stadion's
head ; I only see him for a moment at a time ; one is quite
suspicious of me on his account ; that 's exactly what I like :
when one is proud of their own folly, yet one should have
an idea that all and every are not cheated into it.

This morning I was out in the snow-covered park, and
mounted the Snail-shell tower, to look with the telescope
towards the Tyrolese hills ; did I know thy roof to be there,
I could not gaze more ardently.

To-day Winter held a rehearsal of a march, which he
composed for the campaign against Tyrol : I said the march
was bad, the Bavarians would all run away, and the dis-
grace fall to his share. AVinter tore the composition, and
was so angry, that his long silver hair waved to and fro like
a cornfield overtaken by a hail-storm.

Jacobi I have not seen for three weeks, although I have
written him a long letter upon his AYoldemar, which he gave
me to read here : I wanted to practise speaking the truth
without offence ; he was satisfied with the letter, and sent
me a tolerably long reply : were I not fallen into such a
violent heart-throbl)ing about the Tyrolese, I should perhaps
have fallen into a philosopliical correspondence, and must

WITH A CHILD. 209

certainly have stuck fast in it, — but not yonder U2)on the
hills : there, I should have fought out my cause.

Schelliug, too, I seldom see ; he has something about him
which discomforts me, and this something is his wife, who
wants to make me jealous of you ; she corresjoonds with a
certain Pauline G., of Jena : she is always telling me how
dear you hold her, what amiable letters you write to her, etc.
I listen, and become ill from it, and then I am provoked at
the lady. Ah ! it is all one ; I can't will that you love me
best, but no one shall dare to measure with me their rights
in love to you.

Bettine.

TO GOETHE.

April 10th.

The sun rises capriciously, shows me much that is hidden,
then dazzles me again ; varying with heavy clouds, it passes
over me, now stormy weather, then calm again.

By degrees it becomes level, and upon the even mirror,
bright and glowing, always rests again the form of the dear-
est, — does not waver ; why, before all others only thou ?
why, after all, ever thou again ? and yet am I of more
value to you, with all love within my bosom ? ... do I ask
you ? Ko ! for I well know that you will give no answer,
— even if I should say, dear, only loved one.

Ah ! what have I lived through at this time, which has
broken my heart ! I would fain hide my head in your
bosom, I would twine my arms around you, and sleep out
the evil time.

All that has hurt me ! nothino^ have I had in head and
heart, save the mighty fate alone, which is resting yonder
over the mountains.

But why should I weep for those who have breathed forth
their life Avith such joyful enthusiasm ? What makes me
thus lament ? here needs no pity but for me, who must so
strive to endure.

Will I write to you of everything ; I dream aAvay the
time, — time, which with glowing soles is wandering through
Tyrol ; such bitter sorrow has pierced me, that I do not ven-
ture to send you the sheets, written at such hours.

14

210 GOETHE'S COREESPO^DENCE

April 19.

I have the second sight, Goethe ! — I see the outpoured
blood of the Tyrolese, triumphantly streaming back into the
bosom of divinity ; the lofty, mighty oaks, the dwelhngs of
men, the green verdure, the happy flocks, the fondly cher-
ished wealth of this heroic people, who were victims to the
flames of sacrifice, all these I see, beautified, ascend with
them to heaven, — even to the faithful dog, that, protecting
his master, like him despised death.

The dog, which has no sense, only instinct, and content
with every lot, does what is right. Ah ! had but man only
so much sense as not to deny his own instinct !

April 20tli.

During all these days of inquiet, not one, believe me,
Goethe, passes, wliich I do not close with thought of thee ;
I am so accustomed to call on your name at night, before I
turn to sleep, to refer all my hopes to your heart, and all
requests and demands for the future.

Here they lie around me, the sheets, with the history of
the day and the dreams of the night ; nothing but confusion,
depression, longing, and fainting sighs ; at such a time,
which asks so much for itself, I would impart nothing to you
of my necessitous heart ; only a few little matters, Avhich
employ me, did I write down for you, that I may not deny
before you how a higher destiny beckoned also to me,
although I felt myself too infantine to follow it.

It was in March, Count Moni, in whose family I live here,
introduced to me a strange affair, which ended very prettily.
The tutor of his son denounced him to the police as inclined
to the Austrians, and that the health of the Emperor had
been drunk at his table ; he lays all the fault upon me, and
then begs me to agree in the story, as it might be very dis-
advantageous to him, but at the most could only occasion me
a slight reprimand : it was very Avelcome to me to be able
to do him a service ; I consented with pleasure. At a party,
the president of police is introduced to me, under pretence
of wishing to make my acquaintance : I was beforehand
Avitli him, and poured out my whole heart, my enthusiasm,
for the Tyrolese, and that, out of very longing, I ascend the
Snail-shell tower every day with a telescope ; but that on
that day a sentinel had been placed there, who would not let

WITH A CHILD. 211

me up : touched at my confidence in liim, lie kisses my
hand, and promises me to have the sentinel removed : —
this was no stratagem on my part, for I really should not
have known how to behave myself otherwise : in the mean
time, by thus behaving, my friend was whitewashed, and I
not made black.

A few days after, in passion-week, as I was sitting in my
chamber alone, in the twilight of evening, two Tyrolese en-
tered : I was astonished, but not afraid. One takes me by
the hand, and says : " We know that you are inclined for
the Tyrolese, and Avill beg a favor of you ; " this was to
deliver papers and verbal messages to Stadion : they said to
me, besides, that a time would surely come when I might
be able to serve them ; it was so strange to me, I believed
it might be a plot to come at my opinions, but I soon recov-
ered myself, and said : " You may betray me or not, I will
nevertheless do what you ask of me." The Tyrolese looked
at me and said : " I am the king's body-guard, no man sus-
pects me, and yet I have no thought but how I may assist
my countrymen ; and now I am in your hands, and you will
not fear that a Tyrolese could also be a traitor."

When the Tyrolese were gone, I was like one benumbed ;
my heart beat high Avith delight, that they had put such con-
fidence in me. The next day was Good Friday ; Stadion
fetched me away to read still mass to me. I gave him my
despatches, and told him everything, and declared to him,
full of shame, the great longing I had to go forth to the
Tyrolese. Stadion said, I might rely upon him ; he would
sling his carabine across his shoulders and go into the Tyrol,
and all that I wished he would execute for me, and that it
was the last mass he should read to me, for in a few days
his journey would commence. O dear ! my heart was
heavy, that I must so soon lose my dear friend.

After mass I went into the choir : Winter had the Lam-
entation sung ; I put on a chorister's gown and sung with
them ; in the mean time came the Prince Royal with his
brother : the crucifix lay upon the ground, which both
brothers kissed, afterwards they embraced; they had till
now been disunited, on account of a tutor, whom the Prince
Royal, thinking him incapable, had removed from about his
brother : thus they were reconciled here in the Church, and
to me it gave great pleasure to behold it. Bopp, an old

212 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

music-master of the Prince Royal, who also gives me in-
struction, accompanied me home : he showed me a sonnet
which the Prince had comj^osed that morning : that he
already feels this impulse of heart, under circumstances
nearly affecting him, to become poet, speaks for a deeper
soul : the rights of Nature must surely rule within him ;
then, too, he will not let the Tyrolese be misused : yes, I
have great confidence in him. Old Bopp told me all which
could still tend to increase my enthusiasm. On Easter
Monday he fetched me from the English gardens, to hear
the address of the Prince Ro}^al to his assembled troops,
with Avhom he is to make his first campaign. I could un-
derstand nothing connectedly, but what I did hear did not
please me : he spoke of their bravery, their perseverance,
and fidelity ; of the rebellious, traitorous Tyrolese ; and,
united with the former, he would bring back the latter to
obedience ; and that he considered his honor as pledged and
indissolubly connected Math theirs, etc. When I got home,
all this stirred within me : I see already, in my mind's eye,
the Prince Royal, left to his generals, doing all against
which his heart appeals, and then he is lost. Such a Bava-
rian General is a complete old rumbling double-bass, out of
him nothino; comes o-rumblin"; but Bavaria's ambition : that
is the rough, raw tone with which he drowns all better feel-
ings.

All this heaved within my breast, as I returned from the
public address ; and I thought, that no one in the world
speaks truth to a ruler : on the contrary, nothing but flatter-
ers, who always allow him to be in the right; and the
deeper such a one errs, the greater is the fear of the others,
lest he should doubt of their accordance ; they never have
the weal of mankind, but always the favor of the jDatron, in
their eye. I was therefore obliged to take a desperate step,
to allay the tumult of my own spirits, and I beg your for-
giveness beforehand, if you should not pronounce it good.

After first making way to the Prince Royal's heart, with
my love for him, my enthusiasm for his genius (God knows
with what flourishes), I confide in him my views of the
Tyrolese (who have won the hero's crown) ; my confidence,
that he would spread mildness and mercy there, where his
people are now sowing wild anger and revenge ; I demand
of him whether the name Duke of Tyrol sounds not more

WITH A CHILD. 213

splendid tlian the names of the four kings, who have united
their powers to strangle these heroes ? and, the issue might
be as it would, I hoped that he would deserve from them
the name of " the humane." This is about the contents of
a long letter of four pages, which, after having written it
under the most violent emotions (wherefore, I cannot an-
swer for all besides, that may have found its way into it), I
sealed it with the greatest sang-froid, and, quite relieved,
gave it into the music-master's hands, with the remark,
" that it contained significant matters about the Tyrolese,
and would be of the greatest importance to the Prince
Royal."

How one likes to make himself of importance ! My
Bopp almost strutted out of his boots for over-speed, to
deliver the interesting letter to the Prince ; and how
thoughtless am I, — I forgot all : I went to Winter to sing
psalms, to Tieck, to Jacobi, — no one is in accord with me ;
indeed all are afraid, and if they only knew what I have .
done, they would out of fear forbid me the house ; I look
ironically amongst them and think : " You may be Bavarian
and French, I and the Prince Royal are German and Ty-
rolese, or he will put me into prison : then I am at once free
and independent ; then my courage will increase, and when
I am again set free, then I will go over to the Tyrolese, and
meet the Prince in the field, and hector him out of that
which he would not grant me."

O Goethe ! if I should wander into Tyrol, and come at
the right moment to die the hero death ! it must be quite
another being, it must be a reward for such laurel-crowned
brows : splendid triumph in the moment of passing away, is
an all-sutficient witness that the enthusiasm which heroic
death inspires is only a reflection of heavenly glory. When
I die, (I already rejoice at the thought,) I dance forth from
the coffin of my body, and then I meet with you in this glo-
rious summer-season among the flowers. When a butterfly
shall prefer you to the flowers, and rather light upon your
forehead and your lips than upon the blooming roses around,
then be sure it is my spirit, which has been freed ui)on the
Tyrolese battle-field from earthly bonds, that it may follow
where love calls.

If only all were true, through which I have already lived
in fancy, — if all the splendid events of my internal, were

214 GOETHE'S COKRESPONDEXCE

also reflected in my external existence, then would you
already have learned great and mighty things from your
child ; I cannot tell you what, dreaming, I have already
done, how my blood rises within me ; so that I may well
say, I have a longing to sprinkle it out.

My old music-master came back, trembling and pale.
'"' What," said he, '' was in the papers which you commis-
sioned me to give the Prince ? I wish it may not have
ruined me for ever; the Prince seemed roused, indeed
enraged, as he read them, and, as soon as he observed me,
he commanded me to go, without giving me, as usual, even
a gracious word." I was obliged to laugh ; the pianist be-
came more and more anxious, I more and more merry : I
already rejoiced in my imprisonment, and how, in my soli-
tude, I should give way to my philosophical reveries ; then,
thought I to myself, my destiny will at last begin to have an
existence ; one time or other something must arise out of it ;
but it did not happen so : once only I saw the Prince in the
theatre ; he nodded friendly to me ; enough ; for a week I
had not seen Stadion ; on the 10th of April, as I received
the certain news that he had set off in the night, I was very
sad, that I should have seen him for the last time ; it gave
me a strange presentiment, that he had read his last mass on
Good Friday ; my many repressed and dissembled feelings
broke forth at last in tears. In solitude one learns to know
what he would have, and Avhat is denied him. I found
no resting-place for my laboring heart ; worn out with
weeping, I fell asleep, — have you ever fallen asleep, worn
out with weeping ? Men do not weep so, perhaps ? — You
have never so wept, that sighs oppress the breast, even in
sleep ! Thus sobbing in my dreams, I hear my name called ;
it was dark ; by the weak, struggling light of the lanterns
in the street, I observed a man standing by me in a soldier's
dress ; sabre, cartouche-box, black hair ; I almost believed
to see " Black Fritz." " Yes ! you are not deceived, it is
Black Fritz, who comes to take leave of you. My carriage
stands before the door. I am now going as a soldier to the
Austrian army, and what concerns your friends, the Tyrol-
ese, you shall have nothing to reproach me with, or you
never see me again ; for I give you my word of honor, I
will not survive their betrayal ; everything will assuredly be
Avell ; I was just now with the Prince Royal ; he drank

WITH A CHILD. 215

■with me the heahh of the Tyrolese, and perish Napoleon ;
he took me by the hand, and said : ' Remember, that in
April of the year nine, during the Tyrolese Revolution, the
Prince Royal of Bavaria bids defiance to Napoleon,' and
then he touched my glass with his, so fervently that the stem
broke." I said to Stadion: " Now am I alone, and have no
friend more ; " he smiled, and said : " You write to Goethe ;
write to him also of me, that the Catholic priest will earn
himself laurels upon the Tyrolese battle-field." " Now," said
I, " I shall not so soon hear another mass." " Nor shall I,"
answered he, " so soon read another." Then he struck his
musket on the ground, and reached me his hand as farewell.
Him I shall certainly never again behold. Scarcely was he
gone, Avhen there was another knock ; old Bopp comes in :
it was dark in the room ; I perceived by his voice that he
was rejoiced ; he solemnly hands me a broken glass, and
says : " This the Prince sends you, and says to you, by me,
that out of it he has drunk the health of those whom you
protect ; and here, too, he sends you his cockade, as gage
that he will keep his word, to curb every injustice, every
cruelty. I was glad, heartily glad, that I had not been too
prudish or shy to follow up that confidence with which the
Prince, and all, even the most contradictory things, that I
had heard of him, inspired me ; it was very kind of him,
that he sent me such a greeting, and that he did not repel
my forwardness ; I will not forget it, even should I hear
much that is wrong of him : for, amongst all who judge
him, not one, I am sure, has so good a heart as he, who
quietly submits. I also know, that he has a solemn rever-
ence for you, and does not, like other princes, come in con-
tact only in passing with such a master-spirit as yourself;
no, it will come from his heart, if he should ever see you,
and say, that he esteems it as his highest happiness.

I have still much upon my heart, for I have only you to
whom I can impart it. Every moment moves me anew ; it
is as if Fate held market just before my doors ; as soon as
I put out my head, it offers plunder, treason, and falsehood
for sale, the Tyrolese excepted, whose cry of victory sounds
through all the calumny and bitterness of their enemies, —
from whose freshly shed blood new spring-flowers are
already shooting ; and the youths, fresh every morning from
the fog-mantled crags, dance on to certain victory.

21 G GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

Adieu ! Adieu ! I enjoin you ray love, wliicli here in
these leaves, merely in passing by, shakes the j^owder of its
luxuriant blossoms from out their full cups.

Bj:ttine.

P. S. Frederick Tieck is at present employed on Schel-
ling's bust ; it will not be handsomer than he, — and there-
fore very ugly ; and yet it is a beautiful work.

As I entered Tieck's work-room, and saw how the great,
broad, splendid, square Schelling-head made its appearance
beneath his quick fingers, I thought to myself, he had re-
ceived instruction from God, how he made men, and that
he Avould immediately breathe into him the breath of life,
and the head would learn to say A, B, with which a pliilos-
oplier can say so much.

TO BETTIXE.

"With word>, as willingly as with thoughts, dearest Bet-
tine, one would meet thee ; but these times of war, which
exercise so great an influence upon reading, extends it not
less severely to writing : and, therefore, must one forbid
one's self the open expression of inclinations, similar to
your romantically enthusiastic tales. I must therefore wait
that which j^ou by a long series of letters gave me leave to
hope, namely, yourself, that I may answer you everything,
with thanks for your inexhaustible love.

It was only last week that I received your packet, which
the courier in my absence delivered to the Duke, who gave
it me himself. His curiosity was not a little on the stretch :
I was obliged, merely to pacify him, to impart to him your
successful political intrigues, which are, besides, so delight-
ful that it will be difficult to keep them for one's self alone.
The Duke is very sorry that you are in the interest of other
powers.

Here in Jena I have woven myself into a romance, that
I might be less burdened by all the evils of time ; I hope
the butterfly, which flies forth from it, will greet you still an
inhabitant of this earthly ball, and prove to you how the
Psyches, even upon apparently different courses, meet to-
gether.

WITH A CHILD. 217

Thy lyric challenges, too, upon an earlier period of the
author's life, have been in more senses than one pleasant to
me, and did not man grow rather out of the time than of
the soul, I would not again feel how painful it is to give no
ear to such requests.

Your interesting adventures with the high protector of
his own hostile opponents, makes me curious to know still
more of him, and also in another light : p. e. could you im-
part to me the essays and fragments of his poems, in pos-
session of which you are, I should, with pleasure, observe
him in unaffected play with his young Muse.

Opportunities of sending me your letters safely, do not
neglect, — they are at this poor time particularly welcome.
Impart also what each day brings with itself, of friends and
remarkable people, arts and philosophical appearances ;
since you are in a circle of manifold excited spirits, the
matter to such relations cannot be exhausted.

Would that the promised communications concerning the
last days of my mother, may not be forgotten in these all-
swallowing events : it is true, friends have told me much of
her ; how, with the greatest collectedness, she settled all her
earthly matters; but from you I expect something else;
that your sense of love will erect a memorial to her, in the
remembrance of her last moments.

I remain much in your debt, dear child, with these few
lines ; I can only repay you with thanks for all Avhich you
give me ; I would fain give you the best, if you had not
already irresistibly made it your own.

" Black Fritz " is, under this name, an intimate acquaint-
ance of mine, and the beautiful traits which you give of him
form a perfect whole with that which a friendly remem-
brance adds. You are right to say, that where the ground
is soaked with heroes' blood, it shoots forth anew in each
flower: on your hero I trust that Mars and Minerva may
bestow all happiness, since he seems to be torn from so
much that is beautiful on your side.

G.

May 17th, 1809.

218 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

TO GOETHE.

May 18th.

The Prince Royal of Bavaria is the most pleasant, un-
affected youth ; is of so noble a nature, that deceit does not
wound him, even as lance-thrusts could never wound the
horned Siegfried. He is a blossom upon which the morn-
ing dew is still resting ; he still hovers in his own atmos-
phere, that is, his best strength is still in him. If it would
only continue so, and that no evil powers should become
masters over him ! How favored Avere those knights, who
were provided by well-inclined fairies with talismans, when
they were sent forth to fetch the dancing water of life, or
golden love-apples from between fiery dragons and uncouth
giants ; and an enchanted princess in marble, as red as
blood, as white as snow, beautiful as the expanded heaven-
tent above the gardens of spring, was the reward of her
deUverance. Now the problem is otherwise ; the unwatched
apple-trees hang their fruit-laden branches over the Avay,
and the loved one listens behind the hedge, to catch the
knight herself; and all this he shaU forego, and dedicate his
heart to virtue, which hath no youth, but a horrible mask,
so that one might fain take to flight before it. " Beauty and
the beast," — the beast is virtue, and beauty is youth, who
must let herself be eaten up by it. It is then no wonder,
when youth takes flight before virtue, and one cannot with-
out secret, partial wishes be witness of the race. Poor
Prince Royal ! I like him, because, with so fair a will, he
goes over to my Tyrolese, and even if he does nothing but
curb cruelty, I depend upon him.

Yesterday, for the first time again, I went a short way
in the open air, with a capricious lover of the arts and
sciences, — a very good,"obedient child to his own humors ;
a warm, lively disposition, broad and narrow, just as you
please ; turns himself round over a precipice without giddi-
ness, ascends with delight the bald crags of the Al^^s, in
order to spit at pleasure into the ocean, or into the Medi-
terranean : besides all this, makes little noise. If you ever
see him, and recognize him by this descrij^tion, only call to
him, Rumolir, I fancy he will turn himseh' to look after you.
With this man did my unembarrassed youth venture to ac-
complish a four-mile journey ; the jDlace of our pilgrimage

WITH A CHILD. 219

is called Harlachingen, in French Harlequin. A liot after-
noon, just fit to set lire to melanclioly looks.

We leave the green meadow-carpet, step over a narrow
plank to the other side of the bank, wander on again amidst
meadows, mills, brooks : — how well a peasant looks there,
with red jacket, leaning against the lofty stem of the noble
populous alba ; whose line branches, with scarce unfolded
leaves, spin down a soft green veil, as it were a spring net,
in which the thousand chafers, and other insects, imprison
themselves, gambol, and charmingly keep house. Now !
and why not? (there under the tree is place sufficient to
give audience to his thoughts) the humorous lover of Na-
ture lays him down, the dolce farniente hums a cradle-song
in his ears, the eyelids sink, Rumohr sleeps. This pleases
him so well, dreaming, he sinks his head upon his breast ;
now Rumohr, I should like to ask you what I never dare
ask when you are awake. How comes it, that you are so
full of pity and so friendly with every beast, and yet do not
trouble yourself about the mighty fate of yonder hillfolk ?
A few weeks ago,^ as the ice broke up and the river was
swollen, you staked your all to save a cat from drowning.
The day before yesterday, you, with your own hands, made
a grave for a killed dog, which lay by the road, although
you were in silk-stockings and had an opera-hat under your
arm. This morning you complained, with tears, that the
neighbors had disturbed a swallow's nest, spite of your en-
treaties and persuasions. Why are you not content to sell
your ennui, your melancholy humor, for a rifle ? You are
as light and slender as a birch ; you could make hops over
precipices, from one rock to another, but lazy you are, and
dreadfully ill of neutrality. There I stand alone upon the
meadow, Rumohr snoring that the very flowers tremble, and
I think upon the alarum-bell, whose note sounds so fearfully
in the enemy's ear, and at whose call all come forth with
drums and pipes, let the storm rage or not, be it day or
night, — and Rumohr, under the shade of a young verdured
tree, lulled by playful zephyrs and singing midges, sleeps
soundly ! what signifies to the gentleman, the lot of those, to
whom no fatigue is too great, no march too long ; who only
ask, " where is the enemy ? " — then, on, on, for God, our
beloved emperor, and fatherland ! ! This I must tell you, if
I could ever love an emperor, a sovereign, it would be at

220 GOETHE'S COREESPOXDENCE

the moment, when such a people with enthusiasm shed their
blood for him : yes, then I too would ciy, " lie who will
take my liege from me, must first kill me ; " but now I say,
with the Apostle, " each is born to be a king and priest of
his own divine nature," like Rumohr.

The Isar is a strange river. Arrow-swift the young
sources precipitate themselves from the mountain clefts,
gathering themselves beneath in the rocky bed, into a rapid
torrent. Like a foaming dragon, with extended gorge, it
roars on this side and that, curling above protruding crags ;
its green and dark waves break thousandfold upon the
stones, and foamingly retire ; they sigh, they whisper, they
groan, they roar mightily. The mews fly by thousands
above the waterfall, and wet the points of their sharp
wings ; — and in so niggardly a country, dreadful to be-
hold, is a small foot bridge, of two planks, a quarter of a
mile long, slanting along the river. Well, we went over it,
presuming no danger, the waves broke in giddy haste upon
the fence-work under the tremblinsr brid^i-e. Kotwithstand-
ing the planks with my light weight swang to and fro, and
Rumohr's foot broke twice through, we were got tolerably
far, when a fat citizen with a merit-medal upon his breast,
came from the other side : neither had remarked the other, —
to pass was impossible ; one party must turn back. Rumohr
said, we must first learn for what he has received the medal,
upon that shall depend, who is to turn back. Really, I was
afraid, I was already giddy : had we been obliged to turn
back, I must go first, while the loose planks were swinging
beneath my foot. We inquired most respectfully after the
grounds of his desert : — he had taken a thief. Rumohr
said, " That desert I do not understand how to value, for I
am no thief, therefore I beg }'0U to turn back ; " the aston-
ished fat man allowed himself with Rumohr's assistance to
be turned round, and took the way back.

Under a chestnut-tree I laid myself down, dreamingly I
kept digging with a twig in the earth. Rumohr with stick
and hat chased the cock-chafers, which, like rifle-balls, whis-
tled about us, in going home at dusk. Near to the town,
upon a green space by the bank, stands the statue of Saint
John of Nepomuck, the water-god : four lanterns throw a
pious light upon him, the people kneel down there one be-
hind the other, perform their devotions, one not disturbing

WITH A CHILD. 221

the other, go and come ; tlie crescent moon was above : in
the distance we heard drums and trumpets, signal of joy
at the return of the king ; he was fled before a handful of
darino- Tyrolese, who wanted to take him prisoner ; why did
he not let himself be captured ? he would then have been in
the midst of heroes, — no better company for a king ; for
nought it would not have been, the rejoicing would not have
been trifling ; face to face, he w^ould perhaps have done bet-
ter ; he is good, the king, he too must join himself to the
iron destiny of a false policy. As we entered, the town was
illuminated, and my heart was with all that heavy, very
heavy ; fain would I have rolled with each rock-stone into
the abyss, because I am obliged to let everything happen as
it will. To-day we have the 18th of May, the trees are in
blossom; what will happen yet ere the fruit ripen? On
yesterday's eve the sky glowed above yonder Alps, not with
the fire of the descending sun. No ! with slaughter's flames.
There they were perishing in the flames, the mothers with
their babes ; here lay all in the still peace of night, and the
dew bathed the grass, and there the flames were cindering
the ground, bathed with heroes' blood !

I stood half the night upon the tower in the palace-garden,
and observed the red glow, an.d knew not what to think of
it, and could not pray ; for after all, it avails them not, and
a divine destiny is greater than all misery, and outweighs
all sorrow.

Ah ! if yearning sorrow be to pray, why did not heaven
hear my fervent prayer ? why did it not send me a guide,
who would have led me along the paths to yonder hills ?
True, I tremble with fear and horror at the cruelty, which
one could not imagine, had it not happened ; but the voice
from out my heart over to them, drowns all. The palace
of the blind Tannenberg has been traitorously burnt down ;
Schwatz consumed ! the grey-headed, children, sacred things !
ah ! what must I write to you ? what, would I myself had
never known ; and yet the Bavarians have even boasted of
this ! Such things one must learn to bear with cold blood,
and must think, that immortality is the eternal reward, which
outbids every fate.

Just as we entered the town, the king drove through the
illuminated streets, the people shouted, and tears of joy
rolled down the cheeks of the hard nation; I also kissed

222 GOETHE'S CORRESPOXDEXCE

my hand to liim, and do not grudge bis being beloved.
Adieu ; continue to love your constant child, send her
soon a few lines.

Bettixe.

• TO GOETHE.

May 22d.

This morning, to my surprise, I received your letter. I
was not at all prepared for it : the whole time I have writ-
ten my sheets like a despairing lover, who gives them a
prey to the tempest-wind ; if it, perhaps, Avill bear them to
the friend in whom my sick heart has confidence. So, then,
my good genius has not forsaken me ! he sweeps through
the air upon a lame post-hack, and, in the morning, after a
night full of weeping dreams, waking, I see the blue cover
upon my green table-cloth.

So, ye steep mountains, ye bare rocks, ye bold, vengeance-
glowing marksmen, ye desolated valleys and smoking dwell-
ings, step modestly into the background, and leave me to
the absolute joy of touching the electric chain, which con-
ducts the sparks from him to me ; and countless times do 1
receive it, shock after shock, — this spark of delight. A
great heart, raised high above the terror of the times, in-
clines itself to my heai't. As the silver M'ater-thread winds
down into the vale between green-sloping meadows and
blooming bushes, (for it is May,) and, below, gathers itself
together, and shows me my picture in its mirror ; so your
friendly words bring down to me the delightful conscious-
ness of being preserved in the sacredness of your memory,
of your feehngs ; thus I venture to believe, because this
beUef gives me peace.

O, my dear friend, while you turn away from the evil
of dark times, in lonely elevation form destinies, and with
sharp penetration sway them, that they may not evade their
happiness, — for, surely, this beautiful book, Avliich you are
composing as a consolation to you for all that is mourn-
ful, is a treasure of delightful enjoyment, where, in fine
organizations, and lofty dispositions of character, you intro-
duce moods and feelings which make blessed ; where, with
friendly breath, you awake the flowers of happiness, and
cause to bloom, in mysteriously glowing colors, that wliich

WITH A CHILD. 223

our spirit wants. Yes, Goethe, during this time, a change
has taken place within me. You must still remember, that
the region, the climate of my thoughts and perceptions, were
fair and bright — a happy play-place, where gay butterflies
fluttered in flocks over the flowers, and where your child
played among them, (as thoughtless as they,) and wantonly
shouted with joy around you, the only priestess of this beau-
tiful scene : sometimes, too, deeply moved, collecting within
herself all the charms of happy love, poured it forth with
inspiration at your feet. Now it is otherwise with me ; dark
halls, which inclose the prophetic monuments of miglity he-
roes, form the centre of my heavy presentiments ; the soft
moonbeam, the golden birch's scent, do not penetrate there ;
but dreams, which tear my heart, which burn within my
head, so that all my veins throb. I lie upon the ground in
a deserted spot, and am compelled to call out the names of
those heroes, whose dreadful fate wounds me ; I see their
heads, adorned with victory's laurels, proud and mighty,
rolling from beneath the axe, down upon the scaffold. My
God ! mj God ! how loud a cry of despair passes through
me, at these imaginative dreams. Why must I despond,
since nothing is yet lost ? I have fever, my head burns so.
Upon the tun-formed top of the Kofel, Speckbacher's airy,
who sleepless, not needing food, winged with better hope,
light as a bird, keeps hovering over the moment, when it
shall be time. Upon the Brenners, where Hofer's un-
changeable equanimity sways the fates, and arranges death's
victims to truth. On mount Ischel, where the Cai^uchin
monk, the white wand in his hand, divining and counteract-
ing all, advancing daringly before all, at the head of the
country people, conscious of victory, chases the foe over the
corn-seed down into the valley. Amongst these, too, I see
myself, waving the short green and white standard, far in
advance, upon the steepest pinnacle, and victory glows in
every limb ; and then comes the evil dream, and, with irre-
sistible axe, hews off my left hand, which falls, with the
banner, down into the abyss, and then all is so waste and
still, and darkness breaks in and everything is vanished,
only I, alone, upon the rock, without banner, without hand :
forgive me, that I rave, but so it is.

My last dream, this morning, there came to me, upon the
battle-field, one of gentle mien, of steadfast bearing, (as if it

224 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

were Hofer,) standing amidst the dead ; he said to me :
" They all died with great joy." At the same moment I
awoke, in tears ; there lay your letter upon my bed.

O, unite with me to remember those Avho fell there with-
out name ; childish hearts, without guile ; merrily adorned,
as if to a wedding, with golden flowers ; their caps set with
nodding feathers of the heath-cock and chamois-beards, the
sign of daring marksmen. Yes, remember them ; it is the
poet's glory to insure immortality to heroes.

June 6th.

Yesterday, as I wrote to you, the sun was setting ; but I
went forth to where one can see the Aljis ; what else should
I do ? It is my daily walk ; there I often meet one who
also gazes towards the Tyrolean Alps. In that late even-
ing, (I believe it was in the midst of May,) when Schwatz
was burned, he was with me upon the tower ; he could not
at all contain himself; he wrung his hands, and, in low
tones, lamented thus : " O, Schwatz ! O, beloved father-
land ! " Yesterday he was again there, and, with overflow-
ing joy, poured forth the whole treasure of his news before
me. If it be true, the Tyrolese, during the festival of the
Sacred Heart, (the date he did not know,) overjwwered the
foe and freed all Tyrol, for the second time. I cannot relate
all that he told me ; you would understand it as little as I
did ; Speckbacher's ingenuity, with a battery of trunks of
trees, as if they had been cannons, and imitating the report
Avith musket-barrels, bound together, deceived the enemy;
thereupon immediately stormed the bridge near Hall three
different times, and drove back the enemy, with all their
artillery ; the children, close at his heels, where the dust
eddied up, cut the cannon-balls out with their knives, and
brought them to the marksmen. The chief victory was on
Mount Isel, — the Capuchin had his beard burnt ofl". The
heroes of note are all complete in number. They have a
letter from the Emperor's own hand, with great promises,
from out the fulness of his heart. Even if it be not all
true, my Tyrolese is yet of opinion, that it was a day of joy
for his fatherland, which is worth every sacrifice.

I have no poem of the Prince Royal's ; a single one,
which he composed the day before his departure for the
war, upon " Home and the Loved One," the old, faithful

WITH A CHILD. 225

Pantaloon showed me ; he will not copy It upon any condi-
tion. A young Muse of the histrionic art possesses several
x»f them ; old Bopp, at my request, made inquiries of her ;
she searched amongst the theatrical rags, and could not find
them, else, said she, they were at my service ; the Prince
Royal would write some more for her.

Gold and pearls I have none; the only treasure upon
which alone I most certainly should seize in case of fire, are
your letters, your beautiful songs, which you wrote for me
with your own hand : they are preserved in the red-velvet
bag, which lies at night under my pillow ; in it is also the
bunch of violets which, at a party at Wieland's, you so
secretly gave me, when your look hovered round like a
hawk above all, that none dared to look up. The young
Muse gives up finding (amongst the wilderness of false
ornaments and spangled dresses) again the offering which
the Prince Royal, strung in poet's pearls, laid at her feet,
and yet they were composed amid the magic breathing of
moonlight nights by the song of the nightingale, strung to-
gether syllable for syllable, tone for tone. Who does not
love them syllable for syllable, does not yield himself pris-
oner to these toils ; knows, too, nothing of heavenly powers,
how tenderly they kiss from rhyme to rhyme.

Your mother I will not forf>:et, and should I sink in the
midst of war's tumult, I should most surely in my last
moments kiss the earth in memorial of her. The remark-
able things which I have yet to relate to you are written
down ; in the next letter you will find them ; this is already
too bulky, and I am ashamed that I have nothing of impor-
tance to write to you, and yet cannot break off" — chattering !
do I not know how it was at Weimar, there I said nothing
clever, either, and yet you willingly listened to me.

Of Stadion I know nothing at all; here I must make
short work, and brook it with patience : who knows if ever
I shall see him again ?

Jacobi is tender as a Psyche waked too early ; touching !
were it possible, one might learn something of him, but im-
possibility is a peculiar demon, which cunningly knows how
to baffle all to which one feels one's self entitled ; thus I
always think, when I see Jacobi surrounded by literati and
philosophers, it would be better for him to be alone with me.
I am persuaded my unaffected questions, in order to learn

15

226 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

of him, would cause more life-warmth within him than all
those who conceive it necessary to be something in his pres-
ence. Communication is his highest enjoyment : he appeals
in all to his spring-time ; each full-blown rose reminds him
forcibly of those which once bloomed for his enjoyment ; as
he softly wanders through the groves, he relates, how once
friends twined their arms in his amid delightful converse,
Avhich lasted till late in the warm summer night : and he
still remembers something of each tree of Pempelfort ; of
the arbor by the water, upon which the swans circled, on
which side the moon broke through upon the neat flints,
where the wagtails strutted : all this comes forth from him
like the tone of a solitary flute : it shows that the spirit still
abides here, but in its peaceful melodies the yearning after
the infinite is expressed. His remarkably noble figure is
fragile ; it is as if the case could easily be destroyed to set
the spirit at liberty. Lately I drove with him, his two sis-
ters, and Count Westenhold, to the Staremberger Lake.
"We took dinner in a pleasant garden ; all was sown over
with flowers and blooming plants ; and as I could not assist
in amusing the learned company, I gathered as many of
them as my straw hat would carry. Li the boat, in which
at approaching evening we were obliged to sail a good four
miles to reach the bank on the, other side, I made a garland.
The setting sun reddened the white points of the Alpine
chain, and Jacobi found pleasure in it ; he displayed all the
graces of his youth. You yourself once related to me, that
as a student he was not a little vain of his handsome leg ;
and that at Leipsic, having gone with you into a cloth-shop,
he laid his leg upon the counter, and tried the patterns of
trousers upon it, only for the purpose of showing his leg to
the very polite shop-woman ; — in this humor he appeared to
me to be. He had carelessly stretched out his leg, consid-
ered it Avith satisfaction, smoothed it with his hand, then
wliispering a few Avords about the delightful evening, he
bent liimself down to me, (for I sat at the bottom with my
lap full of flowers, from Avhich I picked out the best for my
garland,) and thus we conversed in mony syllables, but ele-
gantly and with enjoyment, in gestures and words, and I
knew how to make him comprehend that I think him amia-
ble ; Avhen, all at once. Aunt Lehne's precautious, malicious
care played the coquetry of our feelings a mischievous trick :

WITH A CHILD. 227

I am ashamed, even now, when I think of It : she drew a
white, long-knitted, woollen double cap from her apron-
pocket, pushed one end into the other, and pulled it far over
Jacobi's ears, because the evening air began to get raw ;
this was just at the moment that I said to him : " To-day I
understand well that you are handsome," and he, to thank
me, placed the rose I had given him in his bosom. Jacobi
struggled against the night-cap ; Aunt Lehne carried the
day ; I could not look up again, I Avas so ashamed. You
are quite a coquette, said Count Westerhold ; I braided my
wreath in silence, but as aunts Lehne and Lotte with one
accord gave me good advice, I jumped suddenly up and
made such a trampling that the boat rocked violently.
" For God's sake, we shall be overturned ! " they all cried.
" Yes, that you shall," cried I, " if you speak one word more
about what you don't understand." I went on rocking ;
" Be quiet, I am getting giddy." Westerhold wanted to
take hold of me, but I rocked so that he dared not stir from
his place : the boatman laughed and helped rock : I had
placed myself before Jacobi, that I might not see him in the
abominable cap : now that I had them all in my power, I
turned to him, took the cap by the tassel, and slung it far
away into the waves. " There," said I, " the wind ha-^
blown away the cap." I pressed my wreath on his head,
which really became him : Lehne would not suffer it, — the
fresh leaves might injure him. " O, let me have it," said
Jacobi mildly : I laid my hand over the wreath ; " Jacobi,"
said I, " your fine features glance in the broken light of
these beautiful leaves, like those of the glorified Plato.
You are beautiful, and there needs only a wreath (which
you so well deserve) to represent you as worthy immortal-
ity." I was angered into insj)iration, and Jacobi was de-
lighted : I seated myself near him on the ground, and held
his hand, which he let me take ; no one said anything ; they
all turned away to observe the view, and spoke among
themselvQS ; then I stole a smile at him. When we came
to shore, I took off the wreath and reached him his hat.
This is my little love-story of that beautiful day, without
which the day would not have been beautiful ; now the
wreath hangs faded on my mirror; since that I have not
called there, for I am afraid of Helen (Lehne), who was
quite dumb with offended dignity, and did not say adieu to

228 GOETHE'S COKRESPOXDEXCE

me. Thus, then, Jacobi may remember me kmclly, if I
should not see him again ; this j^arting can leave no un-
pleasant impression on his memory, and for me it is just
the thing, for I would not wish to possess sutficient art to
elude the many snares and mischievous constructions which
in all probability may now be at work. Adieu ; now I have
answered every article of your dear letter, and poured forth
my whole heart before you. Assurances of my love I do
not give you any more ; they are sufficiently attested in
each thought, in the need I have to refer all to your heart.

Bettixe.

June 7th.

TO GOETHE.

June 16th.

God grant me the single wish to see you once more, and
not delay it too long. I am just made aware that some one
of my acquaintance is going to Weimar. This blows the
ashes from the embers ; from here I can see the Tyrolean
mountains ; this detains me, — nothing else. I suffer every
day martyrdom, not to know what is taking place yonder.
I should appear to myself like a cowardly friend, if I could
withdraw myself from the influence which the neighborhood
of the hard-jDressed land has upon me : in truth, when at
evening I see, from my Snail-shell Tower, the sun setting
yonder, I must always go with it.

We have had for weeks bad weather. Fog and clouds,
wind and rain ; and painful intelligence is in the mean time
brightened by thoughts of you as by a sunbeam. For
nearly four weeks I have not Avritten, but I have the whole
time devoted myself to you Avith thought, Avord, and deed,
and now I Avill directly explain it to you. There is in the
Gallery here a picture of Albrecht Dlirer, in his 28th year,
painted by himself; it has the most graceful features of a
countenance, earnest, capable, full of wisdom ; from out the
mien speaks the spirit, Avhich tramples on the present mis-
erable world-faces. When I saw you for the first time, it
struck me, and immediately moved me to internal reverence,
to decided love, that in your countenance Avas expressed
what DaA'id says of men, " Each may be king over himself."
Thus I am of opinion, that the nature of the uiAvard man

WITH A CHILD. 229

obtains the upper hand of uncertainty, of the accidents of
the outward man : herefrom springs that noble harmony,
that bearing, which as much surpasses beauty as it bids
defiance to ugliness. So did you appear to me the spiritual
appearance of immortality, which becomes master over
earthly change. Now, although Dlirer's countenance is
quite of another sort, yet the language of his character
powerfully reminded me of yours ; I have got it copied.
I have had the picture the whole winter through in my
chamber, and was not alone. I have turned much in
thought to this man, have felt both sorrow and comfort from
him : now it was mournful for me to feel how much, upon
which one prides one's self, founders before such a one
whose will was his law. Then again I fled to this picture
as to a household god, when the living were tedious to me ;
and to say the truth, my heart was at many times so deejjly
touched by the pure, piercing look which beams from out
his noble eye, that he was more in intercourse with me than
the living. Now this picture, properly speaking, I had
copied for you ; I intended to send it to you as an adviser of
my heart's affairs, and thus week after week passed, always
with the firm resolution to send it off the next, without ever
being able to bring myself to part with it. My dear Goethe,
I have as yet seen but little in the world, works of art as
well as other matters, which could heartily interest me.
Thus my childish manner may well be excused. The pic-
ture I can now no more renounce, even as one can no more
renounce a friend ; but to you, my best beloved of all, I will
send it. Yet, whatever fate may ordain, it shall not fall into
other hands ; and should chance part it from you, it must
return again into my hands. All along I hoped to be abhe
to bring it myself ; nevertheless, there is no probability of it
at the present moment ; did I not steadfastly hope for the
future, I should despair of seeing you soon again ; ])ut that
after one future there always comes another, — this has
made many a man old. You are dear to me al)ove all,
in the past as in the future ; the spring which your
presence has created within me continues ; for two years
have already past, and as yet no storm has divided a leaf
from the bough, the rain has not yet disturbed a blossom ;
every evening they still breathe forth the sweet balm of
remembrance. Yes ! in truth, no evening has yet brought

230 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

the hour of slumber that I have not called on your name,
and thought of the time when you kissed me on the lips,
took me in your arms ; and I will steadfastly hope that the
time may return. Since I prefer nothing in the world to
you, I believe the same of you. Do you be as old and pru-
dent as I, let me be as young and wise as you, and thus we
might conveniently reach one another the hand, and be like
the two disciples who followed two different prophets in one
teacher.

Write to me how you think I may send the picture with-
out danger — but — soon. If you can offer me no oj^por-
tunity, I will find one myself. Love no one more than me.
You, Goethe, would be very unjust, if you were to prefer
others to me ; since nature has so masterly, so excellently
interwoven my feelings in you, that you must taste the salt
of your own spirit in me.

If no war, no storm, and especially no desolating news,
disturbed all-forming quiet in the breast, then a light wind,
which breathes through the grass-blades, the mist, as it sep-
arates itself from the earth, the moon-sickle, as it moves
over the hills, or any other lonely survey of nature, could
cause deep thoughts in one ; but now in this stirring time,
when all the ground-works fall into one cracking and dis-
ease, it will grant no time for thought ; but that in which a
friend has taken part : that one has leaned upon his arm,
has rested on his shoulder ; this alone burns each line of
circumstance deeply into the heart : thus I still know each
tree by which Ave passed in the park, and how you bent
down the bows of the sugar-plantain, and showed me the
ruddy down beneath the young leaves, and said that youth
was also downy, and then the round, green spring, for ever
murmuring, bul-bul, (and you said, it called to the nightin-
gale,) and the arbor with the stone bench, where a sphere is
lying on the wall ; there we sat down a moment, and you
said : " Come nearer, that the sphere may not lie in the
shade, for it is a sun-dial ; " and I was for a moment so
stupid as to believe the sun-dial might get out of repair if
the sun did not shine upon it : and then I wished to pass
only one spring with you ; you laughed at me, and I asked,
whether it were too long. " O no," said you ; " but yonder
comes one Avho will soon put an end to the fun ; " this was
the Duke, who was coming directly upon us ; I wanted

WITH A CHILD. 231

to hide myself ; you threw your great-coat over me ; I saw
throuf^h the long sleeve how the Duke always kept ap-
proaching : I saw by his face that he remarked something ;
he stopped by the arbor ; what he said I did not understand,
in such anxiety was I under your great-coat, so did my
heart throb. You held up your fmger to him, that I saw
through the coat-sleeve ; the Duke laughed and stood still ;
he took up little sandstones and threw them at me, and then
went on. Afterwards we chatted a long time together, what
was it? not much wisdom, for you compared me at that
time to the sagacious Grecian woman who instructed Soc-
rates about love, and you said : " Not a single talented word
do you produce, but your folly instructs better than her
wisdom," — and why were we both so deeply moved then ?
that you demanded of me, in simple words, " Love me for
ever," and I said, " Yes ! " And, some time afterwards,
you took a spider-web from the trellis of the arbor, and
hung it upon my face, and said : " Remain veiled before
every one, and show to none what you are to me." Ah,
Goethe, I gave you no oath of constancy with my lips,
which were then convulsed from violent emotion, and could
utter no words ; I do not at all remember that, with self-
consciousness, I promised you constancy ; all within me is
mightier than I myself; I cannot rule, I cannot will, I must
let all happen as it may. Two single hours were so full of
eternity ! at that time I only desired a single spring, and
now I seem as if I could hardly consume it in the whole
course of my life long : and even now my heart throbs so
with unquiet, when I think myself in the midst of that
spring. I am at the end of my page, and if it were not
kindled too, too much for you, I should like to begin a new
one, that I might still chatter on : I am lying here on the
sofii, and writing the letter on a cushion ; on that account it
is so uneven. Tliat they should all disappear when I wish
to speak with you, — these thoughts which, so uncalled,
dance up and down before me, of which Schelling says,
they are unconscious philosophy !

Farewell ! as the seed-down, borne by the wind, dances
upon the waves, so does my fancy play upon this mighty
stream of your entire being, and fears not to sink in it, —
would that it might ! what a blissful death !

Written on the 16th of June, at Munich, on a day of

232 GOETHE'S CORRESPOXDEXCE

rain, when, between sleeping and waking, the soul accom-
modated itself to wind and weather.

Bettine.

Continue to love her, write to her soon, and greet jour
friends.

TO BETTIXE.

In two of your letters, dear Bettme, you hare poured
over me a rich horn of plenty ; I am compelled to laugh
with you and weep with you, and can never be sated with
enjoyment. So let it suffice you, then, that distance does
not diminish your influence, since with irresistible power
you subject me to the manifold workings of your feelings,
and that I must dream with you your evil as well as your
good dreams. Above that which with right moves you now
so deeply you alone understand how to raise yourself again ;
upon this one is silent as one ought to be, and feel's one's self
blessed to be befriended by you, and to have part in your
constancy and kindness ; since one must learn to love you,
even if one would not.

You aj^pear, besides, to exercise your amiable despotic
power upon different satellites, who all dance around you,
their chosen planet. The humorous friend, who with you
reconnoitred the surrounding country, seems only to be
overcome by sleep through the atmosphere of the hot days
of June ; while dreaming, he reconnoitres the graceful
image of your little person, and it would not certainly occur
to him, that you in the mean time are fain to transport him
to where your heroical spirit itself abides.

"VYhat you relate to me of Jacobi has much delighted me ;
his youthful peculiarities are there most perfectly reflected :
it is now a considerable time since I have had personal
communion with him : the pretty description of your adven-
tures with him upon the voyage, which your petulance pro-
duced, have recalled to me similar auspicious days of our
own former intercourse. You are to be praised, that you
want no authorizing power to do homage to that which is
worthy of respect, without prejudice. Thus is Jacobi, most
surely, among all the strivmg and philosophizing spirits of

WITH A CHILD. 233

the time, the one who has least come into opposition with his
perceptions and his original nature, and thus preserved un-
injured his moral feeling, to which we cannot refuse our
respect as a predicate of loftier genius. If you would, in
your oft-tried graceful manner, give him to understand, how
we agree in the real reverence, which you conceal under
your pretty fairy tricks, it would be done quite according to
my feelings.

Your zeal to procure me the desired poems deserves
acknowledgment, although I must believe that it is as much
to come closer upon the track of your Generalissimo's senti-
ments as to fulfil my wishes ; in the mean time, let us be-
lieve the best of him till we hear more : and since you so
decidedly exalt the divinity of the creative poetical power, I
do not hold it unfit to have previously selected for you the
following little poem, from out a series, which at auspicious
moments is gradually increasing : if hereafter it should
meet your eye, acknowledge in it, that while you believe it
necessary to renew my memory of the delightful past, I in
the mean time endeavor to erect to the sweetest remem-
brance, in these insufficient rhymes, a memorial, whose most
proper destination it is, to awaken in all hearts the echo of
so sweet an affection.

To your delightful habit of writing and loving, from day
to day, remain constant.

Jena, July 7th, 1809.

G.

How I inmost like, 0 sonj^,
To perceive thy hidden sense ;
Charmingly thou seem'st to say,
That I ever am with him.

That he ever thinks of me,
With his love-delightful bliss,
Ever in distance overpours
Her, who vowed a life to him.

Yes ! my heart, it is the miiTor,
Friend, where thou thyself hast seen,
In this bosom, where thy kisses
Seal on seal have printed in.

Sweetest fiction, simple truth,
Chains me fast in sympathy's
Love-embodied purity.
In the garb of poetry.*-

* Divan, Book of Suleika.

234 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

TO GOETHE.

No tree's fresh verdure cools so much, no fountain so
quenches the thirst ; sunhght and moonhght and thousands
of stars do not so hght darkness as you hght my heart.
Ah, to be one moment near you has so much eternity in
itself, that such a moment dallies, as it were, with eternity ;
taking it j^risoner (only in play), lets it loose again, again to
capture it, and what joy should I not meet in eternity, since
your eternal spirit, your eternal kindness, receives me into
their glory ?

Written on the day I received your last letter.

The poem belongs to the world, not to me ; for, should I
call it mine, it would consume my heart.

I am timid in love, I doubt you each moment, else I
should already have been with you : I cannot conceive (be-
cause it is too great) that I am of sulFicient worth to you to
dare to be with you.

Because I knoAV you, I fear death. The Grecians would
not die without having seen Jupiter Olympus, how much less
can I be willing to leave this fair world, since it has been
l^rophesied me from your lips that you Avill yet receive me
with open arms.

Allow me, yea, demand it, that I breathe the same air
with you, that I daily see you before my eyes, that I search
out that look which banishes from me the god of death.

Goethe ! you are all : you give again what the world,
what the sad times steal : since you can, with tranquil look,
so richly give, Avhy should not I with confidence desire ?
This whole tune I have not been in the open air ; the moun-
tain-chain, the only view which one has from here, was
often red with the flames of war, and I have not dared any
more to turn my look there, where the devil is strangling a
lamb ; where the only liberty of an independent people
inflames itself, and consumes within itself These men who,
with cold blood and in security, stride over tremendous
chasms, who do not know giddiness, make all others, who
from theii' heights look down upon them, giddy. They are
a people who take no care for the morrow ; in whose liands
God, exactly at the hour of hunger, places food ; who, like
the eagles, rest upon the loftiest rock-pinnacles, above the

WITH A CHILD. 235

mist, and even so tlirone themselves above tlie mists of
time ; who rather sink in hght than seek an uncertain
beino- in darkness. O, enthusiasm of our own free will,
how irreat art thou ! for thou eoncentratest into one moment
all the enjoyment which is spread over a whole life ; thence,
for such a moment, may life well be ventured : but my own
will is to see you again ; and all the enthusiasm of love will
one such moment embrace within itself, and therefore be-
yond this I desire nothing more.

Of the Kuffsteiner siege I should like to tell you much,
which would surely give the Dux* much pleasure, and
which deserves to be immortalized ; but so much is a sin-
cere interest in genuine heroism abused by treason of all
kinds, that one rather turns a deaf ear than have one's
heart made heavy with lies. About the good, which the
Bavarians let pass for true, there is no doubt ; for if they
could, they would certainly deny the success of their ene-
mies. Speckbacher is a unique hero ; wit, sj^irit, cold blood,
severe earnest, unlimited goodness, transimrent, wantless
nature : danger is to him like the rising of the sun ; then it
becomes day to him ; then he sees clearly what is to be
done, and does all, while he masters his enthusiasm. He
thinks at once of his honor and his responsibility ; he fulfils
everything through himself alone ; the orders of the com-
manders, and his own well-laid plans, and also that which
the moment demands ; under the fire of the fortress cannons
he lays waste the mills, makes booty of the corn, and extin-
guishes the grenades witli his hat, — no dangerous plan
does he leave to another ; the little town of Kuffstein he
himself set on fire, in the midst of the enemy ; a bridge of
boats, of the Bavarians, he set afloat. In a stormy niglit he
remained up to his breast in water, with two comrades, till
morning, when he set the last boats afloat, under a shower
of bullets. Artifice is his divinest quality ; he takes off the
wild beard, which covers half his face, changes his clothes
and bearing, and so demands to speak with the commanders
of the fortress. He is let in ; he tells them some tale about
treachery, and in the mean time comes at all that he wants
to know ; in this great danger, with two other comrades, he
is not a moment at a loss ; he allows himself to be exam-

* The Duke of Weimar.

236 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

«

ined and searched, drinks with them, and at last, accomj^a-
nied by the commander to the little gate where they entered,
he takes hearty leave.

But all these fatigues and sacrifices are brought to noth-
ing by the treachery of Austria, which is just as if she
could not endure success, and feared at some time to be
obliged to answer for this victory to her great enemy ; and
so it will happen, too ; she will sue for pardon to the great
Napoleon, that they show him the honor of opposing to him
an heroic people : I break off ; I am too well assured that
upon earth everything great is badly rejjaid.

Three weeks ago a picture (a copy of Albrecht Diirer's
self-j)ainted portrait) was sent to 3'ou : I Avas just then upon
a journey of a few days, and therefore do not know whether
it was Avell packed, nor Avhether the opportunity by which it
went was a good one. It must, according to the time, soon
come to hand ; write to me about it : the picture is very
dear to me, and therefore must T give it you, because I
would fain give you myself, too.

Even in the cold Bavaria is everything gradually ripen-
ing, the corn is already yellow ; and if time breaks off no
roses here, the storm does, and faded leaves enough are
already flying upon the wet, sandy soil ; when, then, shall a
kind sun rij)en the fruits of my life-tree, that I may harvest
kiss on kiss.

One path I go every day ; each shrub, each blade is
known to me ; yes, the very stones upon the gravel-j)ath I
have already studied. This path does not lead to you, and
yet it daily becomes dearer to me : if any path were but
accustomed to lead me to you, how would flowers and weeds
then become friends with me, and my heart continually
throb till your threshold and all the charms of love would
hallow each step of the path.

Of the Prince Royal I know some good ; he has dined
with the prisoners, who were severely treated and left to
starve. The potatoes were counted out, and he took his
just portion with them : since this, they are better served,
and he keeps a sharp eye upon the matter. This I have
heard from his faithful Bopp, who accompanied the detailed
account with some tears of joy. His coolness in the midst
of danixer, his endurance of all fatigues and burdens, Avill be
heard of far and wide, and he is always therewith thought-

WITH A CHILD. 237

ful to avoid all useless cruelty : this was to be expected from
him ; but that he has not disgraced this expectation, for this
may he be praised and blessed.

The enclosed copperplate by Heinze you will recognize ;
I received it from Sommering, and at the same time the
commission to beg your opinion of it: he himself finds it
like, but not in the noblest features ; I say it has a great
resemblance to a goat, and this might be easily justified.

Tieck is still lying a patient upon his little sofa, a circle
of fashionable and beautiful ladies surrounds his couch ;
this suits too well, and pleases him too much, for him ever
to move from the spot.

Jacobi is very tolerable ; though Aunt Lehne says, that
his head is good for nothing, as it begins to ache as soon
as he begins to write anything philosopliical : but if his
head be good for nothing, yet his heart was set in lively
motion, as I read to him what you had written for him ; I
was obliged to copy it for him. He says, since he has with
you no such friendly mediation as you with him, he must
himself thank you in writing : in the mean time he sends
the accompanying essay upon reason and common sense.

Bettine.

Cologne,* where I was so happy a year ago : the humor-
ous Rumohr has scribbled it down ; he has such social inter-
course with ennui here, and mourns, with hearty sincerity,
the time which we spent together on the Rhine.

Here the wind already whisks many a yellow leaf from
the boughs and cold rain-drops into my face, when at an
early hour, (at which time no human being treads the
paths,) I wander through the damp alleys of the English
garden ; for the long shadows of the earhest morning are
better companions for me than all that I meet with through-
out the whole day.

Every morning I pay my old Winter a visit : in fine
weather he breakfasts in the garden-arbor Avith his wife ;
then I must always settle the dispute between them about
the cream upon the milk. Then he ascends his dove-cot,
big as he is ; he must stoop to the ground, a hundred pig-

* In this letter Avas a humorous design of Cologne, by Rumohr, a cele-
brated connoisseur of art.

238 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

eons flutter about him, alight upon his head, breast, body,
and legs : tenderly he squints at them, and for very friendli-
ness he cannot whistle, so he begs me, " O pray whistle,"
then hundreds more come tumbling in from without, with
whistlinsr winsfs, cooino; and flutterino; about him ; then he is
happy, and would like to compose music which should sound
exactly so. As Winter is a real Colossus, he forms a toler-
able picture of the Nile, round which a little race crawls,
and I cowering near him like the Sphinx, a great basket
full of vetches and peas upon my head. Then Marcello's
psalms are sung, music which at this moment harmonizes
with my feehngs ; its character is firm and commanding,
one cannot exalt it by expression ; it does not allow of man-
agement; one may be happy to have the strength, which
the spirit of this music demands. One feels one's seh' em-
ployed as the organ of a higher power, expressing figure
and tone, encircled and existing by harmony. Such is this
artful, powerful language of ideal perception, that the singer
is only the instrument, but feehng and enjoying it ; and then
the Recitative ! this ideal of asthetical sublimity,, where all,
be it pain or joy, becomes a raging element of voluptuous-
ness.

How long it is since we have said anything about music ;
there upon the Rhine, it was as if I must untie for you the
gordian knot, and yet I felt my insufficiency ; I knew noth-
ing of music, as one knows nothing of the beloved one, but
to be in love with him. And now I am thoroughly hemmed
in : I would express all, but to think in words what I think
in feeling, that is difficult, — yes, would you believe it, —
thoughts give me pain; and so timid am I, that I elude
them, and all that passes in the world, the fate of man and
its tragical solution, makes a musical impression upon me.
The events in the Tyrol take me up, like the full stream of
universal harmony. To join Avith them is exactly as in my
infant years, when I heard the s^Tuphonies in our neighbor's
garden, and felt that to find rest I must join in the harmony ;
and tlien, all that is desolating in those heroical events is as
animatinrr, as inspirinnf, as the strife and bearins-s of the dif-
ferent modulations, which all, even in their capricious ten-
dencies, involuntarily borne by a common feehng, close and
concentrate themselves the more in their own completion.
Thus do I conceive the symphony ; thus these heroic com-

WITH A CHILD. 239

bats seem to me also symphonies of the divine spirit, be-
come tones of a heavenly freedom within the bosom of man.
The joyful dying of these heroes is like the eternal sacrific-
ino- of tones to a lofty common end, which with divine
powers conquers itself; thus, too, every great action seems
to me a musical existence : thus the musical tendency of the
human race may gather itself as an orchestra and fight such
symphonies of combats, when the enjoying and sympathizing
world, new-created, freed from pettiness, becomes aware of
a loftier orsranization in itself.

I am tired of thought and sleepy ; when I take the pains
to follow out an idea, I become anxious ; yes, I could wring
my hands with anxiety over one thought which I cannot
comprehend. I would fain with one expression give over
matters to you, to which I do not reach, and then all knowl-
edge vanishes from before me, slowly^ as the setting sun ;
I know that it streams forth its hght, but it lights me no
more.

Thought is religion, at first a fire-worship ; we shall
hereafter go further, when we shall unite with the original
divine spirit, which became man and suffered, only to infuse
itself into our thought ; thus do I explain Christianity to
myself as a symbol of a loftier power of thought, as all that
is sensual is to me a symbol of the spirituak

Now, though the spirits mock at me, and will not let them-
selves be caught, yet it keeps me fresh and active ; and they
have strewed my way like a chosen knight of the Round
Table, with many an adventure upon jolting roads ; I have
become acquainted with the withered spirits of the time,
with monsters of various kinds, and strangely have these
possessed ones drawn me into their dreamy fate. But seen
have I not, as with thee, where from a holy lyre the fresh
green glanced towards me ; and heard have I not, as with
thee, to whom the path sounds silvery beneath thy feet, as
one who wanders along the paths of Apollo. Then with
closed eyes I think how I was used, smihng, to exchange
with you the heart's meanings, perceiving my own spirit in
my soul. Your mother often talked to me of the past time ;
then I would not listen to her, and bid her be silent, because
just then I imagined myself in your presence.

Francis Bader, who has gone to his glass-manufactory in
Bohemia, gave me at his departure the enclosed treatises for

240 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

you, and begged me, at the same time, to assure you of his
most profound resj)ect. Therewith he told me much of his
past hfe ; how, for instance, in Scotland, he made some dan-
gerous voyages in a rickety boat with your Egmont, tossed
about upon the sea amidst reefs and sand-banks ; how he
was obliged to fight with the seals ; how night and tempest
blew out all his hfe-spirits ; and he, in the midst of danger,
only sought to save your books. Behold ! thus does your
spirit move upon all paths, on land as well as on water ; and
goes from the fountain along with the stream to where it
pours itself forth, and thus move together with it the yet
strange shores ; and the blue distance sinks inclining at thy
approach, and the forests gaze after thee, and the gilding
sun adorns the mountain-heights to greet thee ; but in the
moon-glance thy memory is celebrated by the silver poplar
and the pine on the:\vay, which have heard the pure voice
of thy youth.

Yesterday I received your picture, a little medal of gyp-
sum, from Berlin ; it is resemblmg, what is that to me ? I
must long after you.

Another Egyptian monster has fallen in my way, here
upon the damp soil of Bavaria, and I do not wonder that its
dry, sandy nature should rot here ; it is Klotz : he, the per-
secuted and tormented of the spirits of color, at last submit-
ting to their power, finishes his work of twenty-five years.
I call him Egyptian, because, in the first place, his counte-
nance, worked as it were out of glowing rosin, at the same
time represents a tremendous pyramid, and secondly, be-
cause in twenty-five years, with the most extraordinary
efforts, he has not worked himself a foot forward. I have,
out of Christian charity, (and at the same time to do justice
to you, who, according to Klotz, need excuse,) heard his
whole manuscript through. Now certainly I cannot boast
much of what I learned from him ; I was netted round with
riddles, -which, by his discourse, became only the more en-
tangled ; and he was anxiously careful that I should not
snap up one of his secrets to convey it to you ; he would
like to speak with you upon the subject himself. He com-
plained the most of your having given him no answer to an
humble and sincere letter ; but he was comforted by my
telhns; him, that for a be2:":ino: and lovins; letter I had also
not received an answer, and there was an end of it. I can-

WITH A CHILD. 241

not make the poor man conceive that he has mixed the
pearls with the bran, and that probably both together will
be eaten up by the pigs. You could, however, certainly do
some good here, if you would engage yourself with him in
his discoveries. The enclosed tablet I have coaxed out of
him fbr you ; it pleases me so well, that I consider it a
beautiful picture.

Now I have a small question, but it is important to me,
for it is to obtain me an answer : have you received Albrecht
DUrer's picture, which went from here now six weeks ago ?
if not, I beg you will let inquiries be made among the car-
riers at Weimar.

There is a saying here among the people, that there will
soon be an apparition, which will be called " Elective Affini-
ties," and to proceed from you, in form of a novel. I once
went a bitter long journey of ten miles to a bitter-spring : it
lay so lonely between rocks, the mid-day could not come
down to it ; the sun broke its crown of rays in a thousand
beams on the stones ; old dry oaks and elms stood around
like heroes of death, and the abysses which one saw there
were not the abysses of wisdom, but dark, black night ; I
could not feel comfortable that heavenly nature should have
such humors ; my breath became thick, and I buried my
face in the grass. But if 1 knew these " Elective Affinities "
to be yonder at the spring, I would willingly traverse once
again the dreadful, dismal way, and that, too, with light step
and light heart ; for in the first place, to go to meet the be-
loved, wings the step ; and secondly, to return home with
the beloved, is the essence of all bliss.

Bettine.

September 9th, 1809.

TO BETTINE.

Your brother Clement, dear Bettine, had, in a friendly
visit, given me notice of Albrecht Diirer, as it was also men-
tioned in one of your former letters. And now I hoped for
it every day, because I thought to find much pleasure in
this excellent work, and if I would not have appropriated
it, I would yet willingly have taken it into keeping till you
had come to fetch it. Now I must beg you, if we are not

16

242 GOETHE'S COREESPONDENCE

to consider it as lost, to make close inquiries concerning the
means by which it went ; to find it out amongst the different
senders ; for, from your letters of to-day, I see that it has
been given over to carriers. Should it, in the mean time,
arrive, you will receive the account immediately.

The friend, who sketched the vignette of Cologne, knows
what he is about, and understands doing business with pen
and brush ; the little picture greeted me with a friendly
good evening.

You will give my best thanks to Francis Bader, for his
enclosure. Several of the treatises had already come singly
to hand. Whether I understand them I hardly know my-
self, but much that is contained in them I could call my
own. That you have excused my impoliteness to Klotz,
the painter, through a still greater one, which you have
pardoned me, is highly praiseworthy, and has, without
doubt, served as j^articular edification to the good man.
The tablet has arrived in good preservation : as pleasant
as the impression is, which it makes upon the eye, even so
difficult is it to form a judgment upon it ; if you, therefore,
can move him to lend the key to this color-enigma, I could,
perhaps, by an intelligible and well-founded answer, make
good my former neglect.

How much should I not have to say, if I should turn
back to your last dear letter. At present, only this from
me, that I am at Jena, and, with nothing but " affinities," do
not well know which I shall select.

When the little volume, of which you are apprised, comes
into your hands, receive it kindly. I myself cannot answer
for what it is.

From his own hand.

Do not take it amiss, that I write by a strange hand ;
mine was tired, and yet I would not leave thee without
news about the picture ; try to come upon its track ; con-
tinue to think of me, and to relate to me something of thy
strange life.; thy letters are read repeatedly with much
delight: whatever the pen could answer, it would still be
far removed from that direct impression to which one so
willingly resigns one's self, were it even illusion ; for who is
able, in waking sense, to believe in the riches of thy love.

WITH A CHILD. 243

Avliicb one does best to receive as a dream. What jou
beforehand say of the " Elective AfRnities," is a prophetic
view ; for, alas, yonder the sun is setting darkly enough.
Pray try to come upon Albrecht Durer's track.

Goethe.

Jena, September 11th, 1809.

To-day I once more beg pardon, dear Bettine, as I should
often before have done ; I have given you unnecessary
trouble about the picture ; it is really arrived at Weimar,
and only through chance and negligence together it was,
that the news did not reach me. It shall then, at my
return, kindly receive me, in your name, and become a
f^ood winter companion to me, and abide with me till you
come to me to fetch it. Let me soon know of you again.
The Duke sends you his best greetings ; this time I was
ao'ain obliged to impart to him some of the news from
out your beautiful fruit-garland. He inclines to you with
peculiar affection, and, particularly, w^ith reference to the
scenes of war ; he takes full part in your enthusiastic views
of it, and about it, but expects only a tragical end.

Augustus comes in the beginning of October, from Hei-
delberg, Avhere everything has gone well with him. He
has, also, made a journey up the Rhine, as far as Coblenz.
Live in memory of me.

G.
Jena, September 15th, 1809.

September 26th.

Like a sparrow, did your letter of 11th September come
flying on to my desk ; true, you have added at the end a
bulllinch's song, of particular interest, but I don't let myself
be imposed upon ; it was an imitation of the old barrel-
organ. If you loved me, it would be impossible for you to
allow your secretary to rattle me off a letter like a pater
noster : he is a Philistine, so to write, and makes one of
you, also ; I cannot at all imagine, either, how you manage
with him. Do you dictate to him the contents of your letter,
or do you give him your thoughts in a lump, so that he can
afterwards set them cut in a row, one after another ?

In love, you are, with the heroine of your new novel, and
this makes you so retiring and cold to me. God knows

244 GOETHE'S CORPvESPO^^DE^'CE

what model has served you here, for an ideal ; ah, you have
a unique taste in women ; ^Verther's Charlotte never editied
me ; had I then been at hand, "V\"erther would never have
shot himself, and Charlotte should have been piqued that I
could console him so well.

I feel the same in Wilhelm Meister ; there all the women
are disgusting to me ; I could " drive them all out of the
temple ; " and I had built, too, upon it, that you have loved
me as soon as you knew me, because I am better and more
amiable than the whole female assemblage in }'our novels ;
yes, (and really this is not saying much.) for you I am more
amiable, if you the poet will not find it out. For no other
am I bom ; am I not the bee which flies forth, bringing
home to you the nectar of each flower ? — and a kiss, — do
you tliink it is ripened like a cherry on the bough ? No, a
hovering about your spiritual nature, an onward striving to
your heart, a meditating upon }'our beauty, rush together in
love : and so is this kiss, a deep, inconceivable unison vnih
your nature, so infinitely differing from mine. O do not
AVTong me, and make to yourself a graven image, to worship
it, so long as the possibility is at hand of wearing a wonder-
ful tie of the spiritual world between you and myself.

When I drew up my net, so voluntarily woven, so boldly
cast into the territories of the undefined, I brought you the
spoil, and that, too, which I tendered you, — it was the
mirror of human goodness. Nature has also a spirit, and
in each human breast this spirit perceives the higher events
of happiness and unhappiness ; how should man for his own
sake be blessed, since bliss feels itself in evervthinsr and
knows no limit ? Thus Nature feels itself blessed in the
spirit of man, — this is my love to you, and so does the
human mind recognize this bliss, — this is your love to me.
Mysterious question and indispensable answer.

Enough ! let me not have knocked in vain ; receive me,
and fold me •^dthin your deeper consciousness.

Your second letter is also here, which informs me of the
fortunate arrest of the vagabondizing picture ; may it wel-
come you on your return home : it is a countenance (though
only a painted one) ; but amongst a thousand hving ones,
not one will meet you with so piercing a look : he has
looked into himself, has inquired of his inmost heart, and
painted it upon canvas, that it may give account of him to
future ages as the worthiest among the best.

WITH A CHILD. 245

Of the " theatre of the world," upon the rocks yonder, is
nothing to say, but that they balance well. On the 3d of
September, the birthday of your most gracious master and
friend, all Tyrol pealed with all its bells, and sung a Te
Deura : there is room enough for heroic deeds to be repre-
sented on all sides, which are as bold, as heaven-striving, as
the crags from which they proceed ; and will soon be as
deeply forgotten as the deep clefts in which they bury their
enemies. Decisive particulars one does not receive : what
is great is as much as possible slurred and concealed : dur-
ing; the last week, Stei^er has s1io\\ti himself also a universal
genius, who may consider himself as a gift of God to his
countrymen. Letters are come from your son of the Muses,
the Prince Royal. They say nothing of events ; he is in
health, and poetizes, in the midst of fate's tumult ; this
proves that he does not feel himself in a strange element ;
more I do not know. I did not get a sight of the poem ; I
would willingly have sent it to you as a sample, — one fears
that it might move me too violently, — strange ; I might
tattoo my whole heart, let initials and memorials be burned
into it, and yet therewith it would remain as sound and fresh
as a healthy working youth : thus it is when one has friends
who concern themselves for one ; they judge of one wrong,
and accordingly treat one ill ; this they call " taking part,"
and for this must one moreover thank them. I have now
foraied for myself a pleasure apart, and have procured for
myself a beautiful miniature of the young son of royalty ;
this I sometimes study, and pray before him in spirit, as to
what shall become of him : but, — but ! care is taken, that
trees shall not grow up to heaven, say I with you : there is
no fear of world-rulers not becoming aware of their power,
and masters of their own capabilities.

In the country round about, Typhus has broken out ; the
marching troops have brought it with them ; whole families
in the country die, after a single night's quartermg : it has
already swept away most of the hospital-surgeons ; yester-
day, I took leave of a young doctor, who has attached him-
self to me in a friendly manner ; his name is Janson : he
went to Augsburg to relieve there his old master, who has a
wife and children ; for this generous courage is necessary.
In Landshut, too, where the Savignys are, death is driving
his car in triumph through eveiy street ; and particularly

246 GOETHE'S COEEESPOXDEXCE

has lie snatched away several young people, distmguished
in heart and mind, who had taken upon themselves the care
of the sick ; they were faithful family-friends of Savigny ; I
shall soon go there to bear my part in the evil, as well as
the good, of the times. Then I bid all political events fare-
well ; what is the use of all inquiry when one is, neverthe-
less, deceived, and all excited feelings uselessly consume
themselves. Adieu ; I owe you a grudge, for letting your
secretary write to me. There need be but little between
us, but nothing of indifference, that destroys the volatile salt
of the mind, and makes love shy. "Write soon, and make
all good again.

Bettine.

TO BETTIXE.

Your reproach, dearest Bettine, is not to be eluded ;
nothing rests, but to acknowledge the fault, and to promise
amendment ; the more so, that you are content with the
small proofs* of love which I can give you: neither am I
able to write to you that of myself which might be the most
interesting to you ; while, on the other hand, your dear
letters bestow upon me so much that is delightful, that they
may justly precede all else : they grant me a succession of
holydays, whose return always delights me anew.

Willingly do I allow, that you are a far more amiable
child than all those whom one is tempted to place as sisters
by your side ; and exactly on that account do I expect of
you to make allowance for the superior advantages you
possess. Unite, then, with such fair qualities, that of always
knowing on what footing you stand with me ; write me all
that passes in your mind ; it will at all times be most heart-
ily received : your open-hearted chat is a genuine entertain-
ment for me, and your confiding acquiescence outweighs all
with me. Farewell ; be ever near me, and continue to
refresh me.

Goethe.

Jena, October 7tli.

WITH A CPIILD. 247

TO GOETHE.

Landshut, October 24th.

The kingdom of God stands in its strength at all times,
and in all places ; this I remarked to-daj in a hollow oak,
which stood there, in the host of wild, lofty forest-trees,
mighty and great, and counting its centuries, though quite
averted from the sunshine. Wolfstein is within three hours'
walk from here ; one must climb up many steps, ascending
by degrees between firs and willows, which drag their broad
boughs along the sand. Many hundreds of years ago, stood
there a hunting palace of Louis the Beautiful, Duke of Ba-
varia, Avhose singular joy it was, to stroll about in fog, and
evening-dusk ; once he had wandered away, and the dark-
ness had led him unconsciously to a mill ; the water he
heard rushing and the mill-wheel turning, all else was still ;
he called, to see if any one heard him ; the miller's Avife,
who was A^ery beautiful, awoke, lighted a pine torch, and
came out before the door ; the Duke fell directly in love
with her, being able to distinguish her by the light of the
flame, and went in with her and remained also till morning :
but he sought out a secret path by which he might come to
her aGrain. He did not forfjet her, but he did forojet the
March of Brandenburg, which he lost, because he regarded
nothing but love alone ; an alley of elms, which leads from
the palace to the mill, and which he planted himself, still
remains ; " here one can see that the trees grow old, but not
love," said one of our party, as we passed through the alley.

And the Duke was not wrong, tliat he gave the March of
Brandenburg for love, for the first is always still there, —
and stupid ; but in love one wanders as in spring, for it is a
rain of velvet blossom-leaves^ a cool breath on a hot day,
and it is beautiful even to the end. Would you, too, give
the March for love ? I should u't like it, if you loved Bran-
denburg better than me.

October 23d.

The moon is shining high above the hills, the clouds drive
over like herds. I have already stood awhile at the window,
and looked at the chasing and driving above. Dear Goethe,
good Goethe, I am alone, it has raised me out of myself, up
to thee ! like a new-born babe, must I nurse this love be-

248 GOETHE'S cop.respondp:nce

tween us ; beautiful butterflies balance themselves upon the
flowers, which I have ])lante(l about its cradle ; golden fables
adorn its dreams ; I joke and play with it, I try every strat-
agem in its favor. But you rule it without trouble, by the
noble harmony of your mind, — with you there is no need
of tender expressions or protestations. While I take care
of each moment of the present, a power of blessing goes
forth from you, which reaches beyond all sense and above
all the world.

October 22cl.

I like to begin to write at the top of the page, and to
finish low down, without leaving a place for " respects ; "
this reminds me, how familiar I dare be with jou ; I really
believe I have inherited it from my mother, for it seems to
me an old habit ; and as the shore is accustomed to the
beating of the waves, so is my heart to the warmer beating
of the blood at your name, at all which reminds me, that
you are living in tliis visible world.

Your mother related to me, that when I was new-born,
you first carried me to the light, and said, " the child has
brown eyes ; " and then was my mother anxious, lest you
should dazzle me, and now a stranger glance comes over me
from you.

October 21st.

One day passes after the other here and produces nothing,
this I don't like ; I long again for the anxiety which drove
me out of Munich ; I thirst after the tales of the Tyrol, I
would rather hear lies about it than nothing : I should at
least endure with them, and sorrow and pray for them.

The church-tower here has something strange in it ; as
often as a prebendary dies, one stone of the tower is white-
washed, and now it is daubed white from top to bottom.

In the mean time one takes long walks here on fine days,
with a delightful company, — which is as much refreshed
by Savigny's philanthropic nature as by his mind. Salvoti,
a young Italian, whom Savigny distinguishes highly, has
beautiful eyes, but I rather look at him as he goes before
me, than at his face ; for he wears a green cloak, to which
he gives a superb set of folds : beauty gives mind to every
motion : he sighs for home ; and although he every day, in

WITH A CHILD. 249

order to accustom himself, drinks the wines of his native
land, filtered through Bavarian river-sand, yet he becomes
daily paler, more slender, more interesting, and he will soon
have to seek his home, in order to confess there his secret
love : such strange vagaries has Nature ; she is tender, but
not everywhere the same to the same.

Ringseis, the physician, (who has dissected the intermax-
illary bone very nicely for me, in order to prove to me that
Goethe is riglit,) and many other friendly people, are our
companions ; we search out the steepest hills and most ditfi-
cult paths ; we exercise ourselves against the next spring,
when a journey through Switzerland and the Tyrol is in-
tended ; who knows how it will then look, then will the
poor Tyrolese have learned already to sigh.

Last night I dreamed of you ; what more delightful could
happen to me ? You were serious and much busied, and
said I must not disturb you ; this made me sad : then you
pressed my hand very kindly on my heart and said, " only
be quiet, I know you, and understand all ;" then I awoke:
your ring, which in sleep I had pressed hard, was imprinted
upon my bosom ; I set it again into the print and pressed it
still more strongly, because I could not clasp you to myself.
Is a dream, then, nothing ? — to me it is everything : I will
willingly give up the business of the day, if at night I can
be and speak with you. O ! be it willingly in dreams, —
this my happiness, — thou !

October 19th.

I have here, also, found out a way to set up a pleasure-
camp for musi-c ; I have formed for myself a choir of from
six to eight singers ; an old clergyman, Eixdorfer, (don't
forget his name, I have more to tell you of him,) a famous
bear-hunter, and yet bolder thorough-bass player, is choir-
master. On rainy days, the psalms of INIarcello are per-
formed in my little chamber : I will willingly have the best
copied, if you have n't them yourself; only write me a word
about it, for the music is singularly splendid, and not very
easy to obtain. The duets of Durante are also fine ; the
ear must be first accustomed, before it can tame itself to
their harmonious discords, a host of broken sighs and love-
plaints, wliich break off into the air like wandering echoes ;
therefore it is that they are so i:)Owerful when they arc well

250 GOETHE'S COERESPOXDEXCE

suno-, that one always lets one's self faint away anew in
these pains. In the mean time a barbarous judgment upon
these and upon Marcello had been formed. I was called
odd because twice a day, morning and eyening, I had only
this music sung:. By desrrees, as each singer learned to
maintain his post, he also gained more interest. To stride
on Apollo's high cothurns, to throw with Jupiter's lightning,
to wage battle with Mars, to break the chains of slayery,
and pour forth the shout of freedom, to rage out with bac-
chanalian rapture ; to driye the storm-adyancing choirs with
the shield of Minerya ; to protect, to order their eyolutions,
these are the indiyidual parts of this music on M'hich each
one can bring the power of his enthusiasm to bear. For
there is no resistance to be made ; the soul becomes through
music a feelinsi: body, each tone touches it ; music works
sensually upon the soul. TThoeyer is not as much excited
in playing as in composition, will not produce anything
witty ; besides, I see the hypocritical moral tendencies all
sroinsT to the deyil with their feiirned trash, for the senses
produce alone in art as they do alone in nature, and you
know that better than any one.

October 18th.

Of Klotz's color-martyrdom I haye yet to oriye you an
account ; there is nothinsr to be done with him. I haye in
part with tediousness, but still with interest, lent my ear to
his twenty-fiye-year manuscript, haye worked laboriously
tlirough it, and with surprise discoyered that, in most pro-
saic madness, he has made an appendix of himself to it.
Xothing I understood better than this, " I am I " ; and, ex-
amined closely, he has, by frequent meditation of it, changed
himself at last into three rough, filthy earth-colors. After
haying endured a real martyrdom with him, especially
through his dreaded face, I could neyer bring myself, after
the college was finished, to yisit him any more ; a strange
fear came oyer me when I scented him in the streets. In
sunlight and moonliiiht he hastens towards me ; I seek to
elude him, alas ! in yam ; anxiety lames my limbs, and I
become his prey. Xow he began to wedge his system into
my soul, that I might clearly conceiye the difference between
Goethe's yiews and his. He inyited me to hear him read
in French his '* Theory of Light " ; he is translating the

WITH A CHILD. 251

whole, in order to present it to the Institute in Paris. Now
as a demon within me works against all which pretends to
Reality^ ennobles no form, abjures all that is poetic, or with
the greatest indifference, overbuilds and crushes it ; I gave
respite for some time, by my lies, parodies, and heaps of
comparisons, to his life, which was about to be quite pet-
rified.

Methought, as I looked through his prism into the dark
streak, and saw all that he wished me to see, that Faith was
the birth and visible appearance of the mind, and a strength-
ening of its being ; for without it everything hovers and
gains no form, and escapes through a thousand outlets.
Thus also, when I doubt and believe not, your delightful
remembrance also takes flight, and leaves me nothinsi:.

October 17th.

I have a request you dare not refuse ; during life one
x^annot collect enough of those things which sweeten the
loneliness of the grave, such as bows, locks of the beloved
one's hair, etc. ; my love to you is so great that I would not
hurt a hair of your head, still less deprive you of one ; for
it belongs to you, whom my love has made its own, and I
will not miss a hair of you. Give me your book ; let it be
handsomely bound, in a friendly color, say red, (for that is a
color in which we have often met,) and then write with your
own hand on the fly-leaf, " Bettine, or my Treasure, etc. etc.
— this book I give to thee."

October 16th.

Two letters did I receive from you about Diirer's picture,
but you must also send me word, whether it arrived unin-
jured, and whether you like it ; tell me what you find praise-
worthy in it, that I may tell it again to the (very poor)
painter. I have, into the bargain, an accumulated corre-
spondence with young offshoots of the fine arts ; with a
young architect at Cologne, a musician of eighteen years of
age, who studied composition with Winter, rich in beautiful
melodies, like a silver swan, which sings in the clear blue
atmosphere with swelling wings. The swan has a con-
founded Bavarian name ; he is called Lindpaintner ; yet,
says Winter, he will bring the name to honor. A youn

or
O

252 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

engraver, who is studying with Hess at Munich. The en-
closed sketch is by him; it is the first impression, but
smeared and unneat ; the whole, too, is somewhat indistinct,
and according to the judgment of others, too old, notwith-
standing it seems to me not wholly without merit ; he etched
it directly after Nature, without a drawing. If it please
you, I will send you one cleaner, better, and packed with
more care, that you can stick upon the wall by your bedside.
Now to all these jDCople I speak comfort in different ways,
and it is a pleasant feeling of worthiness I have, to be con-
sulted by them as their little oracle. I only teach them to
understand their five senses ; how, as it were, being of all
things flies and creeps within them ; how perfume of the
breezes, force of the earth, impulse of the water, and color
of the fire, live and work within them ; how the real essence
of art lies in the clear mirror of the creation ; how hoar,
dew, and mist ; rainbow, wind, snow, hail ; thunder, and the
threatening comets, the northern hghts, etc., produce quite a
different spirit. God, who gives wings to the winds, will
also give them to your spirits.

October 15th.

Do you not remark that my date always goes backward
instead of forward ? I have planned a stratagem : since
time is always carrying me further on, and never to you,
so will I turn back till I come to that day when I was with
you, and there will I stop, and will have nothing more to do
with " in future," and " opportunity," and " soon," but will
turn my back upon them all ; I will put a lock upon the
door of futurity, and therewith shut up the Avay to you, so
that you can go nowhere but to me.

Write to me about the music, that I may send it, if- you
have not got it ; I like so to send anything ; and then I beg
you to give my most loving greeting to your wife ; of your
son I am not forgetful. But do you write to me on a clear
day ; I always imagine that I, amongst many things, am the
dearest to you. "When your mother still lived, I could talk
with her about such things ; she explained everything to me
in your few hasty lines. " I know Wolfgang," said she, " he
wrote that with a heaving heart, he holds thee as safe within
his arms as his best property." Then the hand which had
fostered your childhood stroked my head ; and she showed

WITH A CHILD. 253

me, sometimes, mucli of the former household furniture
which you had used. Those were charmmg things.

Bettine.

To-morrow I return to Munich; then I shall see the
amiable president. At the public sitting of the Academy
this year, a very beautiful treatise upon the history of the
old salt-works, at Reichenhall, was read. It had the pecu-
har lot of tiring every one ; if my letter should take part
in this lot, yet read it for the sake of the violence I have
done myself, in speaking of anything else but my eternal
love.

GOETHE TO BETTINE.

Weimar, November 3d, 1809.

How could I, dear Bettine, begin a contention with you ;
you excel friends in word and in deed, in kindness and
gifts, in love and amusement : with this, then, must one be
contented, and m return send you as much love as possible,
be it only in silence.

Your letters are very delightful to me ; if you could
only be a secret observer of me while I read them, you
would in no wise doubt of the power which they exert
over me ; they remind me of the time when I, perhaps,
was as foolish as you, but certainly happier and better than
now.

Your enclosed picture was immediately recognized by
your friends, and duly greeted. It is very natural and
artist-like, therewith earnest and lovely. Say something
friendly to the artist upon the matter, and, at the same time,
he should continue to exercise himself in sketching after
nature ; the Immediate feels itself directly ; that he there-
with always keep the maxims of his art in his eye, is of
course. Such a talent must even become lucrative, always
supposing that the artist lived in a great town, or travelled
about. In Paris they have already something similar. In-
duce him to take the portrait of some one else whom I
know, and write his name ; perhaps all may not succeed
with him like the interesting Bettine ; for really she sits so
truly and heartily there, that one must envy the somewhat

254 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

corpulent book (which, by the by, is in good keeping with
the picture) its place.

Albrecht Diirer would have arrived quite safe if the fatal
precaution had not been taken of packing fine paper upon
the top, which has in some places rubbed into the clothing,
which is now restored. The copy deserves all respect ; it is
perfected with great industry, and with a sincere and honest
view of rendering the original as near as possible. Give
the artist my thanks ; to you I give them daily, whenever I
look at the picture. I should like once at least to see a
portrait after nature from this pencil.

Since I am writing this word Nature once more, I feel
myself compelled to tell you, that you should make your
nature-gospel, which you preach to the artists, somewhat
conditional ; for who would not willingly allow himself to be
led into every error by so charming a Pythoness. Write to
me, whether the spirit inform what I mean. I am at the
end of my page, and take this as a pretext for being silent
upon what I have no pretext for saying. I only beg you,
that, by sending me the compositions of Durant and Mar-
cello, you would sweetly haunt my house anew.

A few days ago a friend announced herself ; I wished to
anticipate her, and really believed I was going to meet you,
as I mounted the stairs of the Elephant ; but quite another
countenance unfolded itself from out the travelling-hood ;
yet since then I am bewitched often to turn to the door,
thinking you were coming to rectify my error ; by a speedy,
longed-for surprise, I should hold myself assured of the gift
of prophecy, belonging of old to my family ; and one would
with contidence prepare one's self for so pleasing an event,
if the evil demon were not well exercised in playing the
heart, before all, his most spiteful tricks ; and, as the ten-
derest blossoms are often covered with snow, so too the
sweetest affections change to coldness : for such things one
must always hold one's self prepared ; and it is to me a
warning sign, that I had to thank the capricious April
(although at parting) for your first appearance.

Goethe.

WITH A CHILD. 255

TO GOETHE.

Munich, November 9th.

Api i it is so awful in many an hour to be alone ! Ah !
so many thoughts need comfort which yet can be told to
none ; so many frames of mind, which draw at once into
the vast and formless, must be overcome. Forth into the
cold, open air, upon the loftiest snow-Alps, in the midst of
night, where the storm-wind might blow upon one ; where
one hardily and boldly steps to meet the only narrow feel-
ing, fear ; there I imagine to myself one could become well.

When thy genius bears along the high blue heaven a
storm-cloud, and at last lets it dash down from the broad,
mighty wings in the full bloom of the rose-season, this does
not raise universal pity : many a one enjoys the magic of
the confusion, many a one loosens his own desires therein ;
a third (I also) sinks down by the rose, as it lies broken by
the storm, and pales with it and dies with it, and then he
rises again in fairer youth new-born, — through thy genius,
Goethe. This I say to you from the impression of that
book : " The Elective Affinities." *

A clear moon-night have I passed, in order to read your
book, which only a few days ago came to hand. You can
think that in this night a whole world crowded through my
soul. I feel that from you alone is to be had balsam for the
wounds which are given by you ; for when the next morn-
ing your letter came, with all marks of your goodness, I
knew well that you lived, and for me, too ; I felt my mind
more purified, to render me worthy of your love. This
book is a storm-excited sea, where the waves threateningly
beat upon my heart to crush me. Your letter is the lovely
shore, where I land, and look upon all danger with quiet,
nay, even with good comfort.

Thou art in love with her, Goethe ; I have already long
had the presentiment : yonder Venus has risen from the
foaming sea of your passion, and after sowing seeds of tear-
pearls, she vanishes again in more than earthly splendor.
You are powerful, you would have the whole world mourn
with you, and, weeping, it obeys your summons. But I, too,

* Die Wahlverwandschaften, by Goethe.

256 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

Goethe, have made a vow : you seem to give me up in your
grief. " Run," you say to me, " and seek for yourself flow-
ers ; " and then you lock yourself up in the inmost sadness
of your feeling : yes, this will I do, Goethe ! — this is my
vow ; I will seek flowers, gay garlands shall adorn your
gates, and when your foot stumbles, they are wreaths which
I have laid down upon the threshold ; and when you dream,
it is the balsam of magic blossoms which overcomes you :
flowers of a far, strange world, where I am not strange, as
here in this book, where a ravenous tiger swallows up the
fine structure of spiritual love : I do not understand it, this
cruel enigma : I cannot conceive why they all make them-
selves unhappy ; why they all serve a spiteful demon with
thorny sceptre : and, Charlotte, who daily, nay, hourly, scat-
ters incense before him, who with mathematical certainty
prepares unhappiness for all. Is not love free ? do not they
both stand in affinity ? why will she forbid them this inno-
cent fife with and near each other ? Twins they are ; en-
twined together, they ripen on to their birth into light ; and
she will sejiarate these germs, because she cannot believe in
innocence : the immense prejudice of sin she grafts ujDon
innocence : O, what unhappy precaution !

Do you know ! no one is thoroughly acquainted with ideal
love ; each one believes in common love ; and thus one
cherishes, one grants, no good fortune, which springs from
this loftier one, or which by it might reach the end. What-
ever I shall gain, may it be by this ideal love ; it bursts all
bars to new worlds of art, and divination, and poesy ; yes,
naturally, as it only feels itself satisfied in a more elevated
sense, so it can only live in a more lofty element.

Here your Mignon occurs to me : how, with banded eyes,
she dances in the midst of eggs. My love is skilful ; rely
entirely upon its instinct ; it will also dance bhndfold on-
ward, and make no false step.

You interest yourself in my pupils of art ; this gives me
and them much delight. The young man Avho etched my
miniature is of a family each single member of which hangs
with great attention upon your doings ; I often listened to
the two elder brothers, how they laid plans to see you once,
if only from afar : one had seen you return from the the-
atre, wrapped in a large gray cloak ; he was always telling
me of it. What a twofold enjoyment was that for me ! —

WITH A CHILD. 257

for I myself had been with you, that rainy day, in the the-
atre, and this cloak protected me from the eyes of the many,
as I was in your box, and you called me " mouseling," be-
cause, so secretly hid, I listened from out its wide folds : I
sat in darkness, but you in the light ; you must have been
sensible of my love ; I could clearly perceive your sweet
friendliness, which was blended in every feature, in every
motion : yes, I am rich ; the golden Pactolus flows through
my veins and deposits its treasures in my heart. Now see,
such sweet enjoyment from eternity to eternity, why is it not
allowed to the lovers in your novel ? or why does it not suf-
fice them ? Yes, it can be that another lot may yet step
between us : yes, it must be, for since all men will act, they
will not leave such a space unemployed ; let them have
their way, let them sow and reap, — that is not it ; — the
shiverings of love, the deeply felt, will once again rise to
the surface : the soul loves ; what is it, then, which in the
germing seed will be moistened ? The deep-closed, yet
unborn blossom ; this, its future, will be produced by such
shiverings : but the soul is the closed blossom of the body,
and when it bursts forth from it, then will those love-shiver-
ings, in heightened feeling, burst forth with it ; yes, this love
will be nothing else than the breath of that future heavenly
life ; therefore is it that our hearts beat, and the breath rules
the inconceivable delight. Now it draws with heavy sigh
from out the abyss of bliss ; now it can scarcely, with the
wind's rapidity, embrace all, which streams mightily through
it. Yes, thus it is, dear Goethe ; I perceive each moment
when I think of thee, that it oversteps the boundaries of
earthly life, and deep sighs change unseen with the quick
pulsation of enthusiasm ; yes, thus it is, these shiverings of
love are the breath of a higher existence, to which we shall
once belong, and which, in these earthly blessings, only
breathes softly upon us.

Now I will return to my young artist, who belongs to one
of the most amiable families, all whose highly gifted mem-
bers, although so young, rise far above their time. Louis
Grimm, the artist, already two years ago, when he had very
little practice, but much quiet, hidden sense, made a portrait
of me ; for me, it is of importance, it has truth, but no su-
perficial skill ; few people, therefore, find it like. No one,
either, has seen me fall asleep over the Bible, in a scarlet

ir

258 GOETHE'S CORKESPONDENCE

gown, in the little Gothic chapel, with gravestones and in-
scriptions round about ; I, fallen asleep over the wisdom of
Solomon ! Let it be framed for a screen, and think that,
while it changes jour " evening light " to quiet darkening, I,
dreaming, explore the brightness which hghted the most
ardently loving of kings.

The young artist's character, moreover, is such, that the
rest of the good which you say to him is not aj)plicable.
He is timid. I, with cunning only, have made him tame by
degrees. I won him by being pleased to be as much a child
as himself. We had a cat, about which we contended in
play ; in an unused kitchen, I myself cooked the supper ;
while all were standing by the fire, I sat upon a footstool
and read ; as chance would have it, I was dressed, reclining,
and in drapery. With great enthusiasm for the favorable
accident, he made sketches after nature, and would not suffer
me to alter even a fold ; thus we assembled an interesting
httle collection of how I walk, stand, and sit. He has made
tours into the neighboring country, where there are fair,
attractive faces ; he every time brought with him a treasure
of etched plates, imitated from the humorous with remark-
able truth. The simple gospel, which I preach to him, is
nothing else than what the warm west wind whispers to the
violet, — by this it cannot be led into error. The enclosed
etchings after nature will please you.

The musician is my favorite, and with him I might more
easily have driven my discourses upon art to excess, for
there I expatiate more, and here I cede nothing to you : I
will soon again take you to task ; you must accept, with
their mystic workings, the overpowering, unconceived pre-
sentiment of wonderful powers ; I will soon draw a deeper
breath, and express all before you. Very strange is it, an
architect, whom I formerly knew, appears indisputably in
your " Elective Affinities." He deserves it, for his former
enthusiastic love to you. He made at that time the model
of a very wonderful house for you, which stood upon a rock,
and was ornamented with many bronze figures, fountains,
and columns.

How much had I still to say to you upon a glorious word*
in your letter, but it will answer of itself, or I am not worth

* Foolish as you, etc. etc. (Goethe's Letter.)

• WITH A cmLD. 259

your lavishing so much condescension upon me. Often I
would fain look upon you, to carry happiness in your eyes,
and again to draw happiness from them, therefore do I now
leave off writing.

Bettine.

TO GOETHE.

The world often becomes too narrow for me. Wliat op-
presses me is the truce, the peace, with all the dreadful con-
sequences, with all the profligate treachery, of policy. The
geese, which with their cackling once saved the capitol,
allow not their right to be disputed ; they, alone, take the
lead.

But thou, friendly Goethe ! thou sunbeam ! which, even
in the midst of winter, lies upon the snowy heights, and
peeps in at my window. On the neighbor's roof, upon
which the sun shines in the morning, I have made a remem-
brance of thee.

Without you, I should perhaps have been as sad as one
born blind, who has no idea of the lights of heaven. Thou
clear fountain in which the moon mirrors itself, where the
stars are scooped up with hollowed hand to be drank ; thou
poet, freeman of nature, who, her image in thy bosom,
teaches us poor children of slavery to adore it !

That I write to you, is as strange as if one lip spoke to
the other ; listen, I have something to tell you ; yes, I am
too prolix, since all that I say is of course, and what should
the other lip answer to it? In the consciousness of my
love, my inmost relationship to you, you are silent. Ah !
how could Ottilie wish to die sooner ? O, I ask you, is it
not also an expiation to bear happiness, enjoy happiness ?
O, Goethe, could you not have created one who could have
saved her ? You are excellent, but cruel, that you let this
life destroy itself; after misfortune had once broken in, you
should have hidden, as the earth hides, and as it blooms
freshly above the graves ; so should loftier feelings and sen-
timents have bloomed from out the past, and not the unripe,
youthful man should have been thus rooted out and thrown
away ; what to me is all mind, all feeling, in Ottilie's diary ?
It is not maidenly for her to leave her lover, and not to wait

260 GOETHE'S COERESPOXDENCE

from him the unfolding of her fate ; it is not womanlj that
she does not consider his fate alone ; and it is not motherly
(since she must forefeel ail the young germs whose roots are
entwined with hers) that she has no care for them, but
brings all to destruction with herself.

There is a limit between a realm which springs from
necessity, and that loftier one which the free spirit culti-
vates ; into the realm of necessity we are born, we find our-
selves there at first ; but to that free one, we are elevated.
As wings carry through the air the bird which was before
compelled to lie unfledged in the nest, so does that spirit
carry our fortunes, proud and independent, into liberty;
close to this limit do you lead your loving ones ; no wonder !
all we Avho think and love, await at this limit our redemp-
tion ; nay, all the world appear to me as though assembled
on the shore, and waiting a passage through all prejudices,
evil desires, and vices, to the land where heavenly freedom
is cherished. We are wrong to believe for this the body
must be put off to come to heaven. Verily ! as all nature,
from eternity to eternity, frames itself, even so does heaven
frame itself, in itself; in the recognition of a germing spirit-
ual life, to which one devotes all his powers, till, of its own
power, it generates mto freedom. This is our task, our
spiritual organization ; it depends whether it is animated,
whether the spirit becomes nature, in order that again a
spirit, a prophetic one, unfold itself from this nature. The
poet (you, Goethe) must first unfold this new life ; he lifts
his wings, and rises above the desiring, and allures them,
and shows them how one may support one's self above the
soil of prejudice : but alas ! your Muse is a Sappho ; instead
of following her genius, she has j)recipitated herself down
from the rock.

November 29th.

Yesterday I wrote thus far ; then I went to bed from
mere fear, and as I do every evening, that, in thought on
you, I may fall asleep at your feet. I could not yesterday
succeed ; I was ashamed that I had talked away so arro-
gantly, and all is perhaps not as I mean it. After all, it is
jealousy which so excites me, that I seek a way Jiow I may
draw you to me again and make you forget her : now try
me, and, whatever I be, yet do not forget my love ; and

WITH A CHILD. 261

pardon me, too, for sending you my Diary ; I wrote it on
the Rhine. I have therein spread out before you the exist-
ence of the years of my childhood, and shown you how our
mutual " Elective Affinity " forced me, like a rivulet, to
sweep on, hastening over crags and rocks, among thorns and
mosses, till there where you, mighty stream, swallow me up.
Yes ; I wished to keep this book till I should at last be with
you again ; then I would in the morning see in your eyes
what you had read in it at evening : but now I am troubled
with the thought that you should lay my Diary in the place
of Ottilie's, and should love the living, who remains with
you, more than her who has gone away from you.

Do not burn my letters, do not tear them, or you might
even do harm to yourself; so firmly, so truly, am I bound
to you ; but show them to no one, hide them like a secret
beauty; my love gives you beauty, you are beautiful be-
cause you feel yourself loved.

Morning.

During the night often a good fortune blossoms, like the
Turkish bean, which, planted at evening, grew up till morn-
ing, and threw its tendrils round the moon's sickle ; but at
the first sunbeam all withers to the very root ; thus did my
dream last night, blooming, climb up to you ; and it was just
at the fairest you called me " your all " ; then broke the
morning, and the beautiful dream was withered like the
beanstalk, by which one at night so conveniently mounted to
Moon-land.

Ah ! write to me soon ; I am troubled about all which I
have dared in this letter, I close it to begin another ; true,
I might have kept back what I have said to you about the
'' Elective Afiinities " ; but would it have been right to con-
ceal from the friend what, in the labyrinth of the breast,

wanders in the nicjht ?

Bettine.

TO GOETHE.

December 13th, 1809.

Ah, I will abjure idolatry ! of you I do not speak, for
what prophet says, that you are no god ?

I speak of great and little, which leads the soul astray.

2G2 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

0, did you but know what is good for your salvation, now in
tlie days of your visitation ? Luke xix.

I had much to say to you, but it throbs within my heart,
and painful thoughts tower one above another.

Peace is confirmed. In the moment of the most glorious
victory, when the energy of this people had reached its
summit, Austria commands them to lay down their arms.
What right has she to this ? Has she not long already, ma-
liciously fearful, separated her cause from that of the Tyrol-
ese ? There stand the crowned heads around this jewel
Tyrol ; they look eagerly upon it, and are all dazzled by its
pure fire : but they throw a pall over it, — their crafty pol-
icy ! and now they decide in cold blood upon its fate.
Should I say, what deep wounds the story of this year has
inflicted upon me, who would commiserate me ? And who,
alas ! am I, that I should let my complaint, my curse, be
heard ? Each one has the right, in whose heart it so rages
as in mine, to espouse the highest destinies ; alas ! in noth-
ing more have I either pleasure or confidence ; the cold
wdnter-wind, Avhich storms to-day, with it I do not stand in
opposition ; it at least does not deceive me. Six weeks ago
there were a few fine days, we made a journey to the hills ;
as we approached the chain of the rocky Alps, this worked
mightily within me, the ashes fell from my heart, there
streamed the glow of spring into the languid ray of the
autumn-sun. It was splendid beneath the firs and pines
upon the high Alp, they bowed their tops in the wind-blast
to one another ; were I a kitten, in their shade, the Em-
peror's majesty would not have dazzled me. Here I lay
upon the steep precipice, and overlooked the narrow valley,
out of which, coupled with hills, hieroglyphic rock-walls
rise. I was alone upon the steep height, and oversaw num-
berless ravines ; the sympathizing preachers of ecstasy had
remained behind, — it was too steep for them. Had Ave
both been there together in summer, and, hand in hand,
carefully, slowly, alone, descended the dangerous path, —
these were my holy thoughts there above, — had you been
there, we should have reflected otherwise. A wreath cools,
and becomes well, the heated cheeks : — what would you ?
— firs sting, oaks will not bend phantly, elms, — the
branches are too high ; poplars do not adorn, and the tree
Avhich is yours, that is not here. This I often said : mine is
not here ; you are mine, but you are not here.

WITH A CHILD. 2G3

It might chance that, according to your prophetic vision,
in a short time my way may lead me to you ; I want this
remuneration for the evil time which I have lived without

you.

A distinguished class of men, amongst whom were excel-
lent people, are the physicians ; when disease broke forth so
terribly during the war, most of them became victims to
their activity : then it is that we first see what they are
worth, when they have ceased to live : death drives the
bud to an unseasonable blossom.

The enclosed drawing is the portrait of Tiedmann, a pro-
fessor of medicine here ; he interests himself so much for
fish, that he wrote a beautiful work upon their hearts, pro-
vided with very good plates : now since you, in your " Elec-
tive Affinities," have shown that you closely examine heart
and loins, fish-hearts will also be interesting to you, and per-
haps you may discover that your Charlotte has the heart of
a whiting : with my next (in which I shall send many other
things) I will forward it. Do not have a mean opinion of
the drawing ; only become acquainted with the man, and
you will see that he does honor to his mirror.

To come again to something bitter, Meline, with the
beautiful eyelashes, of whom you said she was like a rose,
which the dew above had just waked out of a deep sleep,
will marry a man who is generally known as an excellent
man. O, how sad is it to be the slave of excellence ; one
will there do no better than Charlotte did ; one frets one's
self and others to death with virtue. Excuse me only, that
I am always beginning anew about your book; I ought
rather to be silent, since I have not mind enough to compre-
hend it thoroughly.

Strange is it, that while reality so powerfully excites me,
even so powerfully does fiction cast me down. The black
eyes, which are large and somewhat wide open, but quite
filled with friendliness when they look on me ; the mouth,
from whose lips songs flow, which I can close with a seal,
which then sing more beautifully, murmur more sweetly,
warmer than before ; and the breast on which I can hide
myself, when I have prattled too much, such I shall never
misunderstand, such will never be strange to me, — here-
upon, good night !

The accompanying plates are by our friend Grimm ; the

201 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

two boys' lieads he did hastily upon a journey to the Sta-
remberger lake, the drawing of them is still better ; it is,
together with the scenery, the boys, the dark one sitting
upon a, bank in the sun, the fair one leaning against the
well-side, all delightfully true to nature. The girl is an
earlier attempt of his graving needle ; your praise has
given him great zeal ; his master is the engraver Hess,
whom I often watch with mute astonishment at his great
important works.

Marcello's psalms are here at Landshut too miserably
copied, it is old church-style ; I must have patience till I
find a copier.

Farewell ; greet heartily from me all that is thine.

My address is at Count Jouer's house, in Landshut.

Bettine.

TO GOETHE.

I HAVE bolted my door, and, not to be quite alone with
my ill-humor, I searched for your Eugenia : she had hidden
herself in the very hindmost corner of the book-case : I felt
assured of consolation, a heavenly thought would therein
breathe upon me ; I have drank it in like scent of flowers ;
beneath oppressive clouds I have calmly advanced, untired,
forwards to the lonely point, where no one willingly abides,
since there the four winds meet, and do not drive the poor
wayfarer about, but hold him fast in the midst of them ; yes,
when misfortune is in full storm, then one is not driven here
and there, but turned like Niobe to stone.

Now that the book is read, the thick earth-fog disperses,
and now I must speak with you. I am often unhappy, and
know not wherefore ; to-day, I think it was because I be-
lieved I took your letter from the post-boy, and it was
another ; my heart beat so violently, and, after all, it was
nothing. When I came in, all asked me why I looked so
pale, and I handed them my letter, and fell, quite exhausted,
upon a chair ; it was an old account of four florins, from
Robert, the old painter, at Cassel, of whom I learned noth-
ing ; they laughed at me, but I cannot laugh, for I have an
evil conscience ; I know but httle what suits mind ; soul
and heart plead with one another ; why then have I written

WITH A CHILD. 265

to you all sorts of things for wliicli I cannot answer? You
are not angry with me; how could my immature prattle
offend you ? but you do not answer, because, after all, I do
not understand what you might say, and thus has my pre-
sumption robbed me of my good fortune, and who knows
when you will be again in humor. Ah, fortune, thou lettest
not thyself be mastered, and not be formed ; where thou
appearest, there art thou ever peculiar in thy being, and
destroyest, by thy innocence, every plan, every calculation,
upon the future.

Misfortune is, perhaps, the organization of fortune ; a
fluid diamond, which congeals to crystal ; a disease of long-
ing, which becomes a pearl ! 0 WTite to me soon.

Bettine.

January 12tli, 1810.

GOETHE TO BETTINE.

That is a dear, graceful child, cunning as a little fox ;
you bounce into my house like a fortune-bomb, in which you
conceal your claims and just complaints. This so crushes
me down, that I do not even think of justifying myself.
The waistcoat, of soft velvet within, of smooth silk without, is
now my breastplate ; the more comfortable I feel under this
well-suited corselet, the more oppressed is my conscience ;
and as I, two days afterwards, dived into tlie pocket by
chance, and drew forth the register of my sins, I was then
immediately resolved to search no excuses for my long
silence. To you yourself, however, I propose it as a theme,
to interpret my silence on your so surj^rising communications
in a friendly manner, Avhich may, in a congenial way, an-
swer your undiminished love, your constancy to the past and
the present. Concerning the " Elective Affinities," only
this : the poet was, at the development of this sad fate,
deeply moved ; he has borne his share of pains ; chide him
not, therefore, that he calls upon his friends for sympathy.
Since so much which is sad dies, unmourned, the death of
oblivion, the poet has here proposed to himself, in this one-
fabled lot, as in a funeral urn, to collect the tears for much
that has been neglected. Your views, deep, and springing
out of spirit and truth, nevertheless, belong to the fairest

266 GOETHE'S COREESPONDENCE

offerings, whicli delight, but can never disturb me ; I ear-
nestly beg you, therefore, to commit, with conscientious
truth, such things to paper, and, at any rate, not to cast it to
the winds, as is easy to be feared with your spiritual rela-
tions and superfluity of thoughts. Farewell, and let me
hear from you soon again.

Goethe.

Weimar, February 5th, 1810.

My wife can write and tell you herself in what a dilem-
ma she has been about a masquerade dress, and how de-
lighted she was at the opening of the bandbox, — it made a
splendid effect. About dear Meline's marriage I say noth-
ing; it does one no good, when so beautiful a girl throws
herself away ; and the congratulation which one then offers
only weighs on the heart.

TO GOETHE.

Continue to be so rich in love to me ; do you yourself
pack together what you send me ; write yourself the address
on the j)arcel ; all this delights me, and your letter, which
makes good all damages, nay, so mildly supjDorts my own
weaknesses, gives me to myself again, because it takes my
part.

Now I am blown upon by all humors, I close my eyes
and grumble, that I may see and hear nothing ; no world,
no solitude, no friend, no foe, no God, and, at last, too, no
heaven.

Hofer they have taken prisoner in a cowherd's hut, upon
the Passeyrer mountams ; this whole time have I secretly
followed the hero with my prayers. Yesterday I received
a letter, with a printed Tyrolese lamentation : " The leader
of the hero-hand on lofty Alps, a captive made, finds many
tears within our hearts." Ah, he is not unwept by me, but
the age is iron, and turns every complaint to shame ; there-
fore, must one fear the worst, although it is impossible. No,
it is not possible that they should hurt a hair of this mild
hero's head, who, for all the sacrifices, which he and his
country made in vain, took no other revenge than to write,
in a letter to Speckbacher : " Thy glorious conquests are all

WITH A CHILD. 2G7

in vain ; Austria has made peace with France, and Tyrol
has been — forgotten."

In my stove, the wind whistles, and roars, and blows the
glow into a flame, and burns the old Bavarian pines down
into ashes ; herewith, then, I have my amusement, as it
cracks and rumbles ; and, at the same time, I study Mar-
purg's fugues : and therewith it is so well with me that the
" wherefore ? " never can be answered, that one must assume
the immediate rule of the leader (Dux) and that the com-
panion joins, — - ah, even as I fain would join you : thus
would I essentially be to you, without making much noise ;
all the ways of life should proceed from you and end in you
again ; and that would be a genuine, exact fugue, where no
demand of feeling remains unanswered, and hi which the
philosopher cannot meddle.

I will confess to you, will sincerely avow to you, all my
sins; first, those in which you are partly to blame, and
which you must, also, expiate with me ; then those Avhich
most oppress me ; and, lastly, those in which I even find
pleasure.

Firstly : I too often tell you that I love you, nay, I know
nothing else ; when I turn it here and there, nothing else
comes of it.

Secondly : I envy all your friends, the playmates of your
youth, and the sun which shines into your chamber, and
your servants, especially your gardener, Avho, under your
orders, lays asparagus beds.

Thirdly : I grant you no pleasure, because I am not
there ; when any one has seen you, speaks of your high
spirits and gracefulness, that is no great pleasure for me ;
but when he says that you are serious, cold, and reserved,
that 1 like well.

Fourthly : I neglect all people on your account ; no one
is anything to me, of their love I think nothing ; nay, who-
ever praises me displeases me, that is jealousy of myself and
of you, and no proof of a great heart ; and that nature has
a miserable disposition, which withers on one side when it
will blossom on the other.

Fifthly : I have a great inclination to despise the world,
particularly in the persons of those who so praise you ; all
the good which is said of you- 1 cannot listen to ; only a few
simple persons, those I can allow to speak about you, and

268 GOETHE'S COKEESPONDENCE

that need not exactly be praise ; no, one may make one's
self a little merry about you, and then I can tell you that
an unmerciful waggery rises within me, when I can throw
off the chains of slavery for a little.

Sixthly: I feel a deep displeasure in my soul, that it is
not you with whom I live under the same roof and breathe
the same air ; I fear the neighborhood of strange people ;
at church, I seek a place on the beggars' bench, because it is
the most neutral, — the finer the people the stronger is my
dishke ; to be touched, makes me angry, ill, and unhappy :
thus in company and at balls I cannot remain long ; dancing
I might like, if I could dance alone upon an open spot,
w^here the breath which comes from out strange bosoms
does not reach me. What influence might not that have
upon the soul, only to live near one's friend, — so much the
more painful the struggle" against that which, spiritually and
bodily, must for ever remain strange.

Seventhly : In company, when I am to hear something
read aloud, I seat myself in a corner and secretly stop my
ears, or I entirely lose myself in thought upon the first word
that offers : then, when some one does not understand, I
wake up out of another world, and I presume to give an ex-
planation upon it, and what others take for madness is to
me intelligible, and is comiected with an internal knowledge,
which I cannot express. Of yours, I cannot possibly hear
anything read aloud, nor read it aloud myself, — I must be
alone with myself and with thee.

Eighthly : I cannot appear strange or high to any one ;
when I put myself to the least inconvenience, I become
quite stupid, for it seems tremendously stupid to impose
upon one another ; also, that respect should express itself
more in something attained than in something felt ; I think
that reverence must spring only from a feeling of intrinsic
worth. Herewith occurs to me, that near Munich lies a vil-
lage which is called Culture's-seat. In a walk to it they
explained it to me, that this name of Culture's-seat arose
from the intention of giving the peasantry a higher cultiva-
tion ; all, however, stands upon the old footing, and these
good peasants, who were to set the whole country a good
example, sit at the beer-can, and vie with each other in
drinking. The schoolhouse is very large, and has no round,
but all square window-panes ; yet the schoolmaster loves

WITH A CHILD. 269

the twilight : he sat behind the stove, had a blue handker-
chief hanging over his head, to protect himself against the
flies ; the long pipe had fallen from his hand, and he slept
and snored till it echoed again : the writing-books lay all
heaped up before him, that he might set copies of orna-
mental writing. I drew a stork, standmg upon its nest, and
wrote underneath : —

Ye children, learn to make your nest, with your own
hands, as suits the best. The proud fir in the wood which
teems, fell for your rafters and your beams. And then,
when all the walls do stand, see you to have an oak at hand,
of which you may carve table and dish, to dine upon it meat
and fish. The best wood take to cradle and bed, for child
and wife that you will get, and profit of God's bliss and
power, by sunshine and by raining shower. From your
retreat look then about, as from your roof the stork so stout,
which every year will be your guest, to lead the fate on to
your best. Still, under just cause, learn to write your
father's name, and now sleep quiet. This is the very Cul-
ture's seat on which this pretty rhyme will fit.

I fluttered every moment out of the door, for fear the
schoolmaster should awake ; I made my rhymes without,
and stole back again upon tiptoe, to write them down with a
one-nibbed pen, which had probably been made with the
bread-knife ; at last I took the blue riband from my straw-
hat, and made it into a handsome bow round the book, that
he might at all events see it ; else the pretty poem might
easily have been lost in the M^lderness of writing-books.
Before the door sat Rumohr, my conductor, having in the
mean time eaten a basin of curds ; I would not eat any-
thing, nor indeed stop any longer, for fear the schoolmaster
should awake. Upon the road, Rumolir spoke very finely
upon the peasantry, upon their wants, and how the good of
the state depended upon theirs ; and that one must not force
any knowledge upon them which they cannot use immedi-
ately in their calling ; and that one must form them to be
free men, that is, people who themselves procure all that
they want. Then, too, he spoke about their religion, and
upon this he said some very beautiful things ; he was of
opinion, that each rank must let that pass for religion which
is their chief calling. The calling of the peasant is to pro-
tect the whole country from famine ; herein must his impor-

270 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

tance and obligations to the state be made intelligible to him.
It must be put to his heart, how great an influence he has
upon the well-being of the whole ; and thus, too, must he be
treated with respect, from which will spring self-respect,
which, essentially, is of more value to every man than, any
other advantage ; and thus would the sacrifices which fate
demands be made uncompelled. Like the mother, who
nourishes her own child, and for it offers up her all with joy,
so would the direct feeling of being essential to the good of
the whole surely bring forth each sacrifice, in order to pre-
serve this dignity. No revolutions would then take place,
for self-taught policy would, in all, anticipate each just de-
mand ; and that would be a rehgion which each could com-
prehend, and where the whole day's work would be a con-
tinual prayer : for all which passes not in this feeling is sin.
He said this much more beautiful and true : only I am not
yet capable of this wisdom, and cannot render it so again.

Thus have I at once sprung off from my confession ; I
wished to say still much which one might perhaps find sin-
ful ; how that I love your garment better than my fellow-
creatures ; that I would fain kiss the steps upon which your
feet go up and down, etc. This one might call idolatry ; or
is it so, that the divinity who animates you floats along every
wall of your house ? — that when he plays in your mouth
and eyes, he also glides beneath your feet, and pleases him-
self even in the folds of your garment ; that when in the
masquerade he changes himself into every gay form, he may
well be concealed in the paper in which you j)ack the " mas-
querade " ? Therefore, when I kiss the paper, it is that
which is loved in you, which for love of me, lets itself be
sent by post.

Adieu ! continue to love your child in dark as well as in
clear days, for I am eternally and wholly yours.

Bettine.

You have received my Diary, do you also read in it, and
how does it please you ?

Februaiy 29 th.

WITH A CHILD. 271

TO BETTINE.

Dear Bettine, I have again been guilty of an oversight,
in not mentioning to you the receipt of your Diary. You
must believe that I am not worthy of so fair a gift ; and yet
I cannot paint in words what I am indebted to you for it.
You are an unparalleled child, whom I joyfully thank for
every enjoyment, for every bright glance into a spiritual life,
which without you I should perhaps never again have ex-
perienced. The Diary is treasured by me in a place where
I have all your dear letters at hand, that contain so much
which is beautiful, and for wliich I can never enough thank
you ; only this I do say to you, that I let not a day pass
without turning over their pages. At my window, well
attended to, grow a selection of graceful foreign plants :
each new flower and bud, which greet me at early morning,
is gathered, and, according to Indian custom, strewed as a
flower-offering in your dear book. All that you write is a
spring of health to me, whose crystal drops impart to me a
well-being. Continue to me this refreshment, upon which I
place my dependence.

Goethe.

Weimar, March 1st, 1810.

TO GOETHE.

Ah, dear Goethe ! your lines came to me at the right
time, just as I did not know what to do for very despair.
For the first time have I followed the events of the world
with great constancy, to the heroes who fought for their
sanctuary. Hofer I had pursued at every track ; how often
has he, after the burden and heat of the day, concealed him-
self in the late night among the lonely mountains, and taken
counsel with his pure conscience ; and this man, whose soul,
free from evil defects, was open to all, as an example of in-
nocence and heroism, has now at last, on 20th February,
suffered death, as the consummation of his lofty destiny.
How could it have been otherwise? should he, too, have
suffered disgrace ? — that could not be : God has so ordained
it best, that, after a short pause from this glorifying patriotic

272 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

inspiration, witli great strength and self-consciousness, and
not complaining of liis fate, he should be torn for ever
from his miserable fatherland. For a fortnight he lay a
captive in the dungeon at Porta Melina, with many other
Tyrolese. His sentence he received calmly and unshaken.
They would not let him take leave of his beloved country-
men ; the drums drowned the lamentations and cries of the
imprisoned Tyrolese. He sent them, by the hands of the
priest, his last piece of money, and requested they might
be told he went consoled to death, and looked for their
prayers to accompany him on the way. As he passed by
their dungeon-doors, they all fell upon their knees, prayed,
and wept ; at the place of execution, he said : " He stood
before him who had created him ; and, standing, he would
yield up his spirit to him." A coin which had been issued
during his administration he delivered to the corporal, with
the charge to bear witness, that in Ms last hour he felt him-
self hound, hy every tie of constancy, to his poor fatherland.
Then he cried, " Firer They tired badly, twice, one after
the other ; only at the third time was it, that the corporal,
who conducted the execution, put an end to his life with the
thirteenth bullet.

I must close my letter. What more could I write to you ?
the whole world has lost its color for me. A great man is
Napoleon : so say the people here ; — yes, externally, but to
this outward greatness he sacrifices all which crosses his
unplanetary career. Hofer, inwardly great, a sacred Ger-
man character, — if Napoleon had protected him, then I too
would call liim great. And the Emperor, could not he say,
" Give me my Tyrolese hero, then I will give you my
daughter " ? then had history called that great which she
must now call little.

Adieu ! That you elevate my Diary to be the temple of
an Indian divinity, is predestination. Of those light forests
of ether, of sun-habitations, of many-shaped darkness, and
a formless brightness, in which the soul lives and breathes,
have I often dreamed.

I could not give your greeting to Rumohr ; I do not
know to what quarter he has been blown off by the wind.

Landshut, March lOtli, 1810.

WITH A CHILD. 273

TO BETTINE.

Dear Bettine, I feel an irresistible want to speak a few
words of sympathy to your patriotic sorrow, and to acknowl-
ed<^e to you how much I feel myself drawn into your feel-
ings : only let not this life, with its capricious changes,
become painful to you. To struggle through such events is
certainly difficult, is certainly a heavy task, particularly for
a character which has so many claims and hopes for an ideal
existence as yours. In laying your last letter to the others,
I find that with it an interesting period is closed. Through
a lovely labyrinth, amidst philosophical, historical, and musi^
cal prospects, have you led me to the temple of Mars, and
everywhere does your sound energy maintain itself; for this
receive my most hearty thanks, and let me still further be
the initiated of your interior world, and be certain that the
truth and love, wliich thus become due to you, will be paid
you in secret.

GOETIIE.

March 19th, 1810.

TO GOETHE.

Dear Goethe, many thousand thanks for your ten lines,
in which you so consolingly bend to me ; thus, then, let this
period be closed : this year of 1809 has much disturbed
me ; now we are on the point of changing ; in a few days
we leave Landslmt, and pass by aiid tln-ough many places,
which I do not know how to name to you. The students
are just packing up Savigny's library ; they place numbers
^nd tickets on the books, lay them in order in chests, let
them down by a pulley through the window, where they are
received underneath, with a loud " halt," by the students ;
all is joy and life, although tliey are much distressed at
parting with their beloved teacher. However learned Sa-
vigny may be, yet his affable, befriending disposition sur-
passes his most brilliant qualities. All the students swarm
about him ; there is not one who does not feel the conviction,
that in the great teacher he also loses his benefactor : most
of the professors, too, love him, particularly the theological

IS

274 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

ones. Sailer is certainly his best friend. Peoj^le meet here
daily, and, indeed, more than once ; in the evening, the land-
lord of the house, with a burning taper, easily accompanies
his guests each to his own house-door ; very often have I
made the round with them ; to-day I was wdtli Sailer upon
a mountain, on which the Trausnitz stands, a castle of the
olden time : trust not. The trees are ojDening their blos-
soms ; Spring ! the sparrows were flying about us in flocks ;
of Sailer I have told you but little, and yet he was the
dearest of all to me. In the hard winter we often went
over the snow-covering of the meadows and arable lands,
and climbed together over the hedges, from one enclosure to
another, and in what I imparted to him he willingly took
interest : and many thoughts which arose out of conversa-
tion with him I have written down ; although they find no
place in any letters, yet they are for you ; for I never think
anything beautiful without rejoicing in the thought of tell-
ing it to you.

I cannot come to myself while I am writing : the swarm
of students leaves no more the house, now that Savigny's
departure is fixed for a few days hence : they are just gone
past my door with wine and a great ham, to be consumed
at the packing up ; I had presented them my little library,
wdiich they were just going to pack up, also ; for this they
gave me three cheers. In the evening they often make a
serenade of guitars and flutes, and this often lasts till after
midnight ; therewith they dance round a large fountain,
which pla3"s before our house, in the market-place. Yes,
youth can find enjoyment in everything ; the general con-
sternation at Savigny's departure has soon changed into a
festival; for it has been determined to accompany us on
horseback and in carria<2:es throuirh the neighborhood of
Salzburg ; they who can procure no horse, go before, on.
foot ; and now they are all rejoicing so at the pleasure of
these last days, travelling in awakening spring, through a
splendid country, with their beloved teacher : I, too, expect
for myself fair and happy days, — ah, I believe I am near
the goal where my life will be the fairest and most splendid.
Free from care, full of the sweet fire of spring, in delicious
expectation, thus sound the tones of hope within my breast ;
if this be verified, then must this, too, be certainly verified,
that I shall soon meet you ; yes, after so much which I have

WITH A CHILD. 275

passed tlirougli and faithfully imparted to you, how can it be
otherwise ? — the meeting again must create a new world
within me. When all joyful hopes burst forth into realities,
Avhen the present chases the darkness of the past by its
light ; ah, and with one word, Avhen feeling and look era-
brace and hold thee, then I Avell know that my happiness
heightens itself beyond measure ; and, ah, I am borne upon
the wings of the wind to those blissful moments, though the
sweetest enjoyments soon fade away ; yet that which must
be united, will once more return to indiss'^luble ties.

Bettine.
Landshut, March 31st, 1810.

If you sliould favor me with a line concerning your abode
during this summer, I beg you to address me at Sailer's, in
Landshut ; he maintains a corresj^ondence with Savigny,
and will take the best care to send the treasures of your
lines after me.

TO BETTINE.

For a long time, dear Bettine, I have heard nqthing of
you, and it is impossible for me to commence my journey to
Carlsbad without greeting you once more, and begging you
to send me there a " sign of life " : may some good genius
lay this request on your heart ; — as I do not know where
you are, I must take my refuge in higher poAvers. Your
letters journey with me ; yonder they shall supply the pres-
ence of your friendly, loving image. More I do not say,
for, properly speaking, one can give you nothing, because
you either procure or take all for yourself. Farewell, and
think of me.

Goethe.

Jena, May 10th, 1810.

Vienna, May 15th.

An immense bunch of ]\Iay-flowers perfumes my little
room ; I am much pleased with the old tower, from whence
I overlook the whole Prater : trees on trees, of majestic ap-
pearance, delightful green lawns. Here I live in the house

276 • GOETHE'S COKRESPONDENCE

of the deceased Birkenstock, in the midst of two thousand
engravings, as many drawings, as many hundred antique
urns, and Etrurian lamps, marble vases, antique remains of
hands and feet, pictures, Chinese dresses, coins, collections
of minerals, sea-insects, telescopes, countless maps, plans of
ancient buried kingdoms and cities, skilfully carved sticks,
valuable documents, and lastly, the sword of the Emperor
Carolus. All these surround us in gay confusion, and are
just about being brought into order ; so there is nothing to
be touched or understood ; and with the chestnut-alley in
full blossom, and the rushing Danube, which bears us over
on his back, there is no enduring the gallery of art. This
morning at six o'clock we breakfasted in the Prater ; round
about beneath mighty oaks lay Turks and Greeks ; how
magnificently do these graceful, gay-colored groups of hand-
some men contrast with the green plain ! Avhat influence,
too, may not dress have, which, with easy energy, here in
the freshness of spring, raises to superiority the peculiarity
of these foreign people, and puts the natives, in their color-
less dresses, to shame. Youth, infancy, are still ever re-
flected in the mature forms and motions of these southern
people : they are bold and enterprising, like boys quick and
cunning, and yet good-natured. As we passed by them, I
could not help trailing a short way, with my foot, the slipper
of a reclining Turk, which had fallen off; at last I slid it
into the grass and left it lying there : we sat down and
breakfasted ; it was not long before the Turks began to
seek the lost slipj)er. Goethe, what secret pleasure did not
this raise within me ! how delighted I was to see them won-
dering at the miracle of the vanished slipper ! Our com-
pany, too, interested themselves about where the slipper
could be : to be sure, I was now afraid I might be scolded,
but the triumph of conjuring up the slipper again was too
beautiful ; I raised it suddenly to general view upon a small
twig, which I had torn from a tree ; and now the handsome
men came up to us, and laughed and exulted, so I could
look at them quite near. My brother Francis was for a
moment ashamed of me, but was obliged to laugh, and so
everything went off well.

May 27th.

It is not pleasure-parties which liinder me from writing

WITH A CHILD. 277

to you, but a cliild of my brother, sick of the scarlet fever,
with wliom I am day and niglit, and it is now the third
week. Of Vienna I did not see much, and of society still
less, because such an illness demands discretion, on account
of contagion. Count Herberstein, who has lost in my sister
Sophia a beloved bride, has visited me several times, and
has taken walks with me, and led me through all the paths
where he had wandered with Sophia ; he related to me
beautiful touching things of her : he takes pleasure in trac-
ing my resemblance to her ; he immediately called me
thou,* because he had called Soj)liia so, too ; often, when I
laughed, he became pale, because my resemblance to Sopliia
distressed him. How amiable must this sister have been, to
leave still such deep traces of sadness in the hearts of
friends. Ribands, cups, locks of hair, flowers, gloves, the
, prettiest letters, all these tokens lie strewed about in a little
cabinet: he likes to touch them, and often reads the letters,
which are certainly more beautiful than any I have ever
seen ; without violent passion, each expression speaks of
inward friendliness ; nothing escapes her ; each charm of
nature is subject to her mind. O, what a wonderful artist is
mind ! were I only able to give you an idea of this beloved
sister ; nay, were I myself only able to conceive her amia-
bility ! Every one whom I see here speaks of her to me as
if they had lost her but a short while ago ; and Herberstein
says, she is his last and first, only true love : all this moves
me, gives me a disposition for the past and future, damps my
fire of expectation. Tlien I think of the Rhine, at Bingen ;
how suddenly there its clear, majestic expanse narrows itself,
boilinjx and roarino; between frowninfz; rocks, winds throuorh
chasms, and the banks never become so tranquil again, so
infant-like beautiful, as they were before they met the Bin-
gen shoals : before such shallows, then, do we stand, where
the spirit of life must also wind through dreadful chasms.
Courage ! the world is round, we return with increased
j30wers and redoubled attraction. Longing sows, even at
parting, the seeds of return ; so have I never parted from
you, without thinking at the same time with enthusiasm on
the future, which shall again receive me in your arms, and
thus may all regrets for the parted be well considered as a

* Mark of the greatest intimacy.

278 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

modest type of joy at a future reunion ; surely ! else no
such longing sensations would penetrate the heart.

May 20th.

I believe it was at the end of March, when I wrote to
you for the last time from Landshut : yes, I have been long
silent, nearly two months ; to-day I received, through Sailer,
your dear letter of May 10th, in which, with flattering words,
you press me to your heart ; now for the first time occurs to
me all that I have to retrieve ; for each path, each glance
into Nature, is after all connected with you. Landshut was
to me a beneficial abode ; in every respect I must praise it ;
homely the town, friendly the country, confiding the people,
and the manners harmless and easy: shortly after Easter
we took our departure, the whole University was collected
in and before the house ; many came in carriages and on
horses ; they could not so soon part from their excellent
friend and teacher; wine was given out, and, amidst con-
tinued cheers, we passed through the gates. The horsemen
accompanied the carriage up a hill, where spring was just
opening its eyes ; the professors and grave personages took
solemn leave, the others went one stage further ; every
quarter of an hour we met upon the road parties who had
gone on before, that they might see Savigny for the last
time : I had seen already for some time the tempest-clouds
gathering ; at the post-house one after the other turned to-
Avards the window to conceal his tears. A young Suabian,
of the name of Nussbaumer, the imbodied of popular ro-
mance, had gone far before, in order to meet the carriage
once again ; I shall never forget how he stood in the field
and waved his little handkerchief in the wind, while his
tears prevented him from looking up, as the carriage rolled
past him : — I love the Suabians.

Several of the most beloved pupils of Savigny accom-
panied us till Salzburg ; the first and oldest, Nepomuck
Ivingseis, a faitliful friend of the family, has a countenance
as if cast in steel ; a j)hysiognomy of a knight of old ; small,
sharp mouth, black moustache ; eyes, out of which the
sparks flash ; his breast labors as in a smithy, bursting with
enthusiasm ; and, as he is an ardent Christian, he would fain
haul Jupiter out of the lumber-room of the ancient divinities,
to baptize and convert him.

WITH A CHILD. 279

The second, a Mr. Schenk, has far higher cuUivation ;
has become acquainted Avith actors ; declaims in pubhc ;
was quite glowingly in love (or is so still) ; was obliged to
let his feelings stream forth in poetry, all sonnets ; laughs at
himself about his gallantry ; auburn curly hair ; rather a
strongly marked nose ; pleasant ; extremely distinguished
in study. The third, the Italian Salvotti, handsome, in full
green cloak, which throws the noblest drapery around his
fine figure ; imperturbable, quiet in his actions ; ardent ex-
citement in expression, does n't let one speak a connected
word with him, so deeply is he sunk in learning. The
fourth. Baron Gumpenberg, of infantme nature, noble heart,
quiet to bashfulness, so much the more does his openness
surprise, when he first feels confidence, in which he then
finds himself immeasurably happy ; is not handsome, has
uncommonly sweet eyes ; an inseparable friend of the fifth,
Freiberg, twenty years of age ; lofty, manly figure, as if he
were already older ; a countenance like an Italian cameo ;
of mysterious disposition, concealed pride, love and good
will to all ; not familiar, endures the severest fatigues ;
sleeps little, looks out of the window at night upon the stars ;
exercises a magic power upon his friends ; is not inclined to
maintain his ground with them, either by wit or a resolute
will, but all have an unshaken confidence in him ; what
Freiberg wills, that must be. The sixth was the young
painter, Louis Grimm (by whom were my portrait, and the
prettily etched studies after Nature, which I sent you).
lie is so merry and naive, that, with him, one soon becomes
a child in the cradle, which laughs at nothing ; he took part
with me on the coachman's box, from w^liich we greeted the
scenes beneath with jest and joke. Why I so exactly de-
scribe all these to you ? because there is not one of them
who will not, in purity and truth, shine out in the world ;
and because they may serve you in your world as bases for
beautiful characters ; all these celebrate your memory with
true hearts ; you are like the Emperor, wherever he comes,
there the subjects exult at his approach.

We had two days' journey to Salzburg ; on the first we
got as far as Old-Oettingen, where the wonder-working
figure of Madonna, in a gloomy chapel, allures pilgrims
from all sides. The whole place about, and the outer walls,
are covered with votive tablets : it makes a very uncomfort-

280 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

able impression, these witnesses of dreadful destinies and
thousandfold misery, crowded close together ; and besides
this, a continual streaming of the pilgrims to and fro, with
pressing vows and prayers to be heard, every day of the
year, from sunrise to sunset. At four o'clock in the morn-
ing service commences, with music, and continues till night.
The inside of the chapel is entirely hned with black velvet
(even the vaulted roof itself), and more indebted to lighted
tapers than day ; the altars are of silver ; on the walls hang
bones and members of silver, and many a silver heart with
golden flames or fiery wounds. How strange, Goethe, is
man ! he brings his pains as offerings to the Godhead ; and,
let these pains have arisen how they will, in God all be-
comes divine. Max, of Bavaria, as large as life (al?o of
silver), is kneeling upon the black steps of the altar, before
the raven-black figure of the Madonna, which is entirely
clothed in diamonds. Two men's voices, accompanied by
the dull organ, are singing hymns to her ; the quiet reading
of the mass ; the people, who with tears kiss the stei:>s of the
altar ; many thousand sighs from all corners, this makes the
strange impression. Where all are praying, I too should
pray, thought I ; but never, my heart kept continually beat-
ino;. I had bous-ht of a be^firar at the door a violet-wreath :
there stood a little child before the altar, with auburn locks ;
it looked at me so kindly and longed for the wreath, I gave
it ; it threw it upon the altar, for it was too small to reach
up to it ; the wreath fell exactly at the feet of the Madonna ;
it was a fortunate cast ; it made my heart light. The stream
of pilgrims carried me along out of the opposite door. I
Avaited a long time for the child, I should have liked so to
kiss it, and wished to give it a little golden chain, which I
wore round my neck, because it had given me so good a
sign of you ; for, exactly at the moment when it took the
wreath from me, I thought of you ; but the child did not
come out ; the carriage stood before the door, I swung my-
self up to my coachman's seat. At each stage I had a
different companion, who took part of the box with me, and
at the same time imparted his heart's matters to me ; they
always began so timidly, that I got anxious, but wide of the
mark ; it was always another ; not once was it I.

Our journey led through a forest of blossoms ; the wind
scattered them down like rain ; the bees flew after the

WITH A CHILD. 281

flowers which I had stuck behind my ear: wasn't that
pleasant ?

May 26th.

About Salzburg I have yet to tell you. The last stage
before Laufen, Freiberg sat with me upon the box. Smiling-
ly he opened his lips to extol the scene, but with him a word
is like the bed of a mine, one layer leads to the other. It
turned to a joyful evening ; the valleys spread themselves
right and left, as if they were the true kingdom, the ever-
promised land. Slowly as spirits, rose here and there a
mountain, and gradually sank down again in its sparkling
mantle of snow. We arrived with the night at Salzburg ;
it was awful to see towering to the sky above the houses
the smooth-blasted rocks, which, like a sky of earth, floated
above the town in starlight, — and the lanterns, which, with
the little people, were all flasliing through the streets ; and
lastly, the four trumpets, which, crashing, jjlayed the vesper
from the church-tower ; then all the rocks sounded and re-
turned the hymn in manifold echoes. Night in this strange
region had thrown its magic mantle over us ; we did not
know how it was that all was tossing and waving ; the entire
firmament appeared to breathe ; I was delighted with every-
thing. You know what it is to step, as it were, out of one's
self, where one has so long toiled and spun, at once into the
open air.

Now can I tell you of the richness, which was the next
day spread before us ? where the curtain gradually parted
from before God's splendor, and one could only wonder
that everything waS so simple in its grandeur. Not one,
but a hundred mountains are seen, quite naked from foot to
top, not covered by a single object : there above is eternal
triumph and exulting ; the tempests hover like birds of prey
between the clefts, darkening for a moment the sun with
their broad wings ; this passes so rapidly, and yet so sol-
emnly, everybody too was in ecstasy. Our high spirits ex-
pressed themselves in the boldest leaps from the mountains
down to the lakes ; a thousand jokes were bawled out
among the rock-heaps ; and thus, like the priesthood of
Ceres, we passed a few delightful days on bread, milk, and
honey; and lastly, to their memory, a garnet necklace of
mine was broken asunder, each one took a stone and the

282 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

name of a mountain, which could be seen from where we
stood, and called themselves the Knights of the Garnet
order, installed upon the Watzmann, near Salzburg.

From here the journey continued to Vienna, the guests
there left us ; at sunrise we passed over the Salza ; behind
the bridge is a large powder-magazine ; there they all stood,
to give Savigny a last cheer ; each one shouted forth one
more assurance of love and gratitude to him. Freiberg,
who accompanied us to the next stage, said, " If they would
only all so cry, that the magazine should burst, for our
hearts already are burst " ; and now he told me, what a new
life had blossomed forth through Savigny's means ; how all
coldness and hostility among the professors had subsided, or
was at least much assuaged ; but that his influence had
been chiefly salutary for the students, who through him had
attained to far more freedom and self-dependence. Neither
can I sufficiently describe to you how great is Savigny's
talent in managing young people ; jBrst and foremost, he
feels a real enthusiasm for their efforts, their application :
when any theme which he proposes to them, is well-handled,
it makes him thoroughly happy ; he would fain impai't to
each his inmost feelings ; he considers their future fate, their
destinies, and a bright eagerness of kindness illumines their
path : in this respect, one may well say of him, that the
innocence of his youth is also the guardian angel of his
present time : and this is properly his character ; love to
those whom he serves, with the best powers of his mind and
soul. Yes, this is truly amiable, and must not amiability
alone confirm greatness? — this simple goodness, with which
he places himself upon a level with all in his sesthetical eru-
dition, makes him doubly great. Ah ! dear Lirndshut, with
thy whitened gable-roofs and daubed steeple ; with thy
fountains, out of whose rusty pipes the water runs but spar-
ingly, around which the students, at nightly hours, leaped
and danced, softly accompanying with flute and guitar, and
letting; their " sood-nisrht son<T " sound from the distant
streets ! how beautiful was it in Avinter, upon the light
snow-carj:>et, when I went walking with the octogenarian
Canon P^ixdorfer, my master of thorough-bass, and an
excelling bear-hunter : there he showed me the tracks of
otters upon the snow, and then I was often quite hai^py and
rejoiced to think of the morrow, when he should certainly

WITH A CHILD. 283

search for one of these animals for me ; and then when I
came the next day, and when, according to his promise, he
should have accompanied me upon an otter-hunt, he made
excuses ; " To-day the otters were certainly not at home " ^
when I took leave of him, he gave me a strange blessing :
he said, " May a good demon accompany you, and always
at the right moment give you small coin for the gold and
jewels which you possess, with which you can alone obtain
that which you want." Besides this, he promised to catch
otters enough for a fur lining ; I should come the next year
and fetch it. Ah, I shall never go again to dear Landshut,
where we rejoiced when the snow fell and the night-wind
stormed, as much as when the sun shone gloriously out.
Where we were all so happy together ; where the students
gave concerts, and made devilish music in the church, and
were not at all offended, when we ran away from them.

And now I have nothing more remarkable to tell of our
journey to Vienna, except that on the next morning I saw
the sun rise with a rainbow above it, and in the midst a
peacock spreading his tail.

Vienna, 'Ma.y 2Sth.

When I saw him of whom I will now speak to you, I
forgot the whole M^orld. Thus, too, the world vanishes
when remembrance seizes me ; yes ! it vanishes. My ho-
rizon begins at my feet, vauhs itself above me, and I stand
in the ocean of light, which goes forth from thee ; and in all
stillness, I float in calm flight over mountain and dale to
thee. Ah ! let all be as it may, shut thy beloved eyes, live
in me for a moment, forget what lies between us, the far
miles and the long time. From that point where I saw
thee for the last time, look upon me, — did I but stand be-
fore thee ! — could I but make it clear to thee ! — the deep
shudder which shakes me, when for a short time I gazed
upon the world, when I then look behind me into the soli-
tude, and feel how strange all is to me. How is it, that
I nevertheless flourish and blossom in this wilderness ?
Whence comes to me the dew, the sap, the warmth, the
blessing ? — from this love between us, in which I feel my-
self so lovely. If I were with thee, I would return thee
much for all. It is Beethoven, of whom I will now speak
to you, and with whom I have forgotten the world and you :

284 GOETHE'S COREESPONDENCE

true, I am not ripe for speaking, but I am nevertheless
not mistaken when I say, (what no one understands and
beheves,) that he far surpasses all in mind, and Avhether Ave
shall ever overtake Inm ? — I doubt it ! may he only live
till that mighty and sublime enigma, which lies Avithin his
spirit, be matured to its highest perfection ! Yes, may he
reach his highest aim, then will he surely lea\"e a key to
heavenly knowledge in our hands Avhich will bring us one
step nearer to true happiness.

To you I may confess, that I believe in a divine magic,
which is the element of mental nature ; this magic does
Beethoven exercise in his art ; all relating to it Avhich he
can teach you, is pure magic ; each combination is the
organization of a higher existence ; and thus, too, does
BeethoA^en feel himself to be the founder of a new sensual
basis in spiritual life. You AA'ill understand Avhat I mean
to say by this, and what is true. AYho could replace this
spirit ? from AA^hom could Ave expect an equivalent ? The
Avhole business of mankind passes to and fro before him like
clock-AVork ; he alone produces freely from out himself the
unforeseen, the uncreated. What is intercourse with the
world to him aa'Iio, ere the sunrise is already at his sacred
work, and Avho after sunset, scarcely looks around him, —
who forgets to nourish his body, and is borne in his flight
on the, stream of inspiration, far beyond the shores of flat
CA^ery-day life ? He says himself, " When I open my eyes,
I cannot but sigh, for Avhat I see is against my religion, and
I am compelled to despise the Avorld, Avhich has no presenti-
ment that music is a higher revelation than all their Avisdom
and philosophy. Music is the Avine which inspires ncAv
creations ; and I am the Bacchus who presses out this noble
wine for mankind and makes them spirit-drunk ; and then,
when they are sober again, Avhat have they not fished up to
bring Avith them to dry land ? I have no friend ; I must
live Avith myself alone ; but I Avell knoAv that God is nearer
to me in my art than to others. I commune AA^ith him Avith-
out dread ; I haA^e ever acknoAvledged and understood him ;
neither have I any fear for my music ; it can meet no
evil fate. He to AA^hom it makes itself intelligible, must
become freed from all the wretchedness Avhich others drag
about Avitli them." All this did Beethoven say to me the
first time I saAV him. A feehng of reverence penetrated

WITH A CHILD. 285

me, as, with such friendly openness, he uttered his mind to
me, who could have been only very unimportant to him.
I was surprised, too, because I had been told he was very
shy, and conversed with no one.

They were afraid to introduce me to him, and I was
forced to find him out alone. He has three dwellings, in
which he alternately secretes himself; one in the country,
one in the town, and the third upon the bulwarks. Here I
found him upon the third floor ; unannounced, I entered, —
he was seated at the piano : I mentioned my name ; he was
very friendly and asked if I would hear a song that he had
just composed ; then he sung, shrill and piercing, so that
the plaintiveness reacted upon the hearer, " Know'st thou
the land." " It 's beautiful, is it not," ' said he, inspired,
" most beautiful ! I will sing it again." He was dehghted
at my cheerful praise. " Most men," said he, " are touched
by sometliing good, but they are no artist-natures ; artists
are ardent, they do not weep." Then he sung another of
your songs, to which he had a few days ago composed
music, " Dry not the tears of eternal love." He accom-
panied me home, and it was upon the way that he said so
many beautiful things upon art ; withal he spoke so loud,
stood still so often upon the street, that some courage was
necessary to listen : he spoke passionately and much too
startlingly, for me not also to forget that we were in the
street. They were much surprised to see me enter, with
him, in a large company assembled to dine with us. After
dinner, he placed himself, unasked, at the instrument, and
played long and wonderfully : his pride and genius were
both in ferment ; under such excitement his spirit creates
the inconceivable, and his fingers perform the impossible.
Since this he comes every day, or I go to him. For this
I neglect parties, picture-galleries, theatres, and even St.
Stephen's tower itself. Beethoven says, " Ah ! what should
you see there ? I will fetch you, and towards evening
we will go through the Schonbrunn alley." Yesterday, I
walked with him in a splendid garden, in full blossom, all
the hot-houses open ; the scent was overpowering. Beetho-
ven stood still in the burning sun, and said, " Goethe's
poems maintain a powerful sway over me, not only by their
matter, but also their rhythm ; I am disposed and excited
to compose by this language, Avhich ever forms itself, as

286 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

tlirough spirits, to more exalted order, already carrying
witliin itself the mystery of harmonies. Then, from the
focus of inspiration, I feel myself compelled to let the
melod} stream forth on all sides. I follow it, — passion-
ately overtake it again ; I see it escape me, vanish amidst
the crowd of varied excitements, — soon I seize upon it
again with renewed passion ; I cannot part from it, — with
quick rapture I multiply it, in every form of modulation, —
and at the last moment, I triumph over the first musical
thought, — see now, — that's a symi)hony ; — yes, music is
indeed the mediator between the spiritual and sensual life.
I should like to speak with Goethe upon this, if he would
understand me. Melody is the sensual life of poetry. Do
not the spiritual contents of a poem become sensual feeling
through melody ? Do we not, in Mignon's song, perceive
its entire sensual frame of mind through melody ? and
does not this perception excite again to new productions ?
There, the spirit extends itself to unbounded universality,
where all in all forms itself into a bed for the stream of
feelings, which take their rise in the simple musical thought,
and which else would die unperceived away : this is har-
mony, this is expressed in my symphonies ; the blending of
various forms rolls on as in a bed to its goal. Then one
feels that an Eternal, an Infinite, never quite to be em-
braced, lies in all that is spiritual ; and although in my
works I have always a feeling of success, yet I have an
eternal hunijer, — that what seemed exhausted with the
last stroke of the drum with which I drive my enjoyment,
my musical convictions, into the hearers, — to begin again
like a child. Speak to Goethe of me, tell him he should
hear my symphonies ; he would then allow me to be right
in saying, that music is the only unembodied entrance into
a higher sphere of knowledge which possesses man, but he
will never be able to possess it. One must have rhythm in
the mind, to comprehend music in its essential being ; music
gives presentiment, inspiration of heavenly knowledge ; and
that which the spirit feels sensual in it, is the embodying of
spiritual knowledge. Although the spirits live U230n music,
as one lives upon air, yet it is something else spiritually
to understand it ; but the more the soul draws out of it its
sensual nourishment, the more ripe does the spirit become
for a happy intelligence with it. But few attain to this ;

^YlTK A CHILD. 287

for, as thousands engage themselves for love's sake, and
amonof these tliousands love does not once reveal itself,
although they all occupy themselves of love, in like manner
do thousands hold communion with music, and do not pos-
sess its revelation : signs of an elevated moral sense form,
too, the groundwork of music, as of every art. All genuine
invention is a moral progress. To subject one's self to
music's unsearchable laws ; by virtue of these laws to curb
and guide the spirit, so that it pours forth tliese revela-
tions, this is the isolating principle of art ; to be dissolved
in its revelations, this is abandonment to genius, which tran-
quilly exercises its authority over the delirium of unbridled
powers ; and thus grants to fancy the highest efficacy.
Thus does art ever represent divinity, and that which stands
in human relation to it is religion ; what we acquire through
art is from God, a divine suggestion, which sets up a goal
for human capacities, which the spirit attains.

" We do not know what grants us knowledge ; the firmly
enclosed seed needs the moist, warm, electric soil to grow,
think, express itself. Music is the electric soil in which the
spirit lives, thinks, invents. Philosophy is the precipitation
of its electric spirit ; and its necessity, which will ground
every thing upon a first principle, is supplied by music ;
and although the spirit be not master of that which it
creates through music, yet is it blessed in this creation ;
in this manner, too, is every creation of art independent,
mightier than the artist himself, and returns by its appear-
ance back to the divine ; and is only connected with men,
in so much as it bears witness to the divine mediation
in him.

" Music gives to the spirit relation to harmony. A
thought abstracted, has still the feeling of communion, of
affinity, in the spirit : thus each thought in music is in the
most intimate, inseparable affinity with the communion of
harmony, which is unity.

" The electric excites the spirit to musical, fluent, stream-
ing production.

" I am of electric nature. I must break off with my
unwitnessed wisdom, else I shall miss the rehearsal ; write
to Goethe about me, if you understand me ; but I can
answer nothing, and I will willingly let myself be instructed
by him." I promised him to write to you all, as well as I

288 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

could understand it. He took me to a grand rehearsal,
with full orchestra, — there I sat in the wide, unlighted
space, in a box quite alone ; single gleams stole through the
crevices and knot-holes, in which a stream of bright sparks
were dancing, like so many streets of light, peopled by
happy spirits.

There, then, I saw this mighty spirit exercise his rule.
O Goethe ! no emperor and no king feels such entire con-
sciousness of his power, and that all power proceeds from
him, as this Beethoven, who just now, in the garden, in vain
sought out the source from which he receives it all • did I
understand him as I feel him, then I should know every
thing. There he stood so firmly resolved, • — his gestures,
his countenance, expressed the completion of his creation ;
he prevented each error, each misconception ; not a breath
was voluntary ; all, by the genial presence of his spirit, set
in the most regulated activity. One could prophesy that
such a spirit, in its later perfection, would step forth again
as ruler of the earth.

Yesterday evening I wrote every thing down, this morn-
ing I read it to him. He asked, " Did I say that ? — well,
then, I have had a rapture." He read it once more atten-
tively, and made the erasures, writing between the lines,
for he is interested that you should understand him.

Give me the delight of a speedy answer, which shall
prove to Beethoven that you reverence him. It was
always our plan to talk upon music, and I would have done
so, but now I perceive, tlirough Beethoven, that I am not
capable.

Bettine.

My address is Erdberg Street, in Berkenstock's house ;
for a fortnight yet your letter may find me here.

TO BETTINE.

Your letter, dearly beloved child, came to me in a happy
hour. You have collected yourself bravely, in order to
place before me, in its accomplishments as well as its en-
deavors, in its wants as well as the superfluity of its gifts, a
great and beautiful mind : it has given me high pleasure, to

WITH A CHIJ.D. 289

receive into myself as it were the reflection of a truly genial
spirit. Without wishing to classify him, a master-piece of
psychological calculation is nevertheless necessary, to come
at the real product of accordance : in the mean time I feel
nothing contradictory to that which I could understand from
your sudden " explosions " : on the contrary, I may warrant
you an internal connection of my nature, with what can be
understood by these manifold and genial expressions ; the
common human understanding would perhaps find contra-
dictions therein, but what such a demon-possessed person
utters, a layman must respect, and it must be the same to
speak from feeling or from knowledge ; for here the gods
dispose and scatter seeds of a further intelligence, which it
is desirable may come to undisturbed perfection, until in the
mean time it will become general ; the fogs must separate
before the human mind. Remember me cordially to Beetho-
ven, and say that I would do much to make his personal
acquaintance, as then an exchange of thoughts and feelings
Avould surely bring the best advantage ; perhaps you may so
far prevail with him as to engage him to meet me at Carls-
bad, where I go almost every year ; and there I should have
the best leisure of hearing and learning from him. To ad-
vise him would, even by more intelligent people than myself,
be mischievous, as his genius inspires him, and gives him
often, as if by lightning, a brightness ; whilst we remain in
the dark, and scarcely guess from which side daylight will
break.

It would give me great pleasure to have the two songs
which Beethoven has set to music, but they must be written
clearly ; I am very curious to have them. These are my
best enjoyments, for which I am ever grateful, when such a
song of earlier emotions, will be rendered anew sensual in
my mind, by melody, as Beethoven justly maintains.

I give thee the best thanks for thy communications, and
in the manner in which you give me such pleasure. As all
succeeds to thee, as all becomes to thee instructive enjoy-
ment, what wishes for you should be added, but that it may
be so everlastingly, — everlasting also for me, who do not
mistake the advantage of being numbered among thy friends ?
Remain, therefore, what till now you have been, faithfully,
although you have so frequently changed abode, and the ob-
jects around you have changed and become embellished.

19

290 GOETHE'^ CORRESPONDENCE

The Duke also greets, and wishes you not to forget him.
I hope to have a letter from you, at my residence at Carls-
bad, at the sign of The Three Moors.

G.

Jmxe 6th, 1810.

TO GOETHE.

Dearest Friend ! As far as it concerned him, I have
imparted your beautiful letter to Beethoven ; he was full of
delight, and exclaimed, " If any one can give him an under-
standing of music, it is I." The idea of searching for you
at Carlsbad he seizes with enthusiasm ; he struck his head
and said, " Could not I have done that before ? but I have
already thought of it ; I have only desisted through timidity,
which often mocks my purposes, as if I were no real man,
but now I am no longer afraid of Goethe." You may, there-
fore, reckon upon seeing him next year.

And now I shall only answer the last words of your letter,
from which I " gather honey." All things around me change,
it is true, but do not grow in beauty ; the most beautiful is,
still, that I know of you, and nothing would delight me, if
you were not, to whom I may impart it ; and, if you doubt
it, then you will take care of it ; and I, too, am happier than
all numbered and unnumbered friends could make me. My
Wolfgang ! you do not number among these friends, rather
would I number none.

Greet the Duke, — lay me at his feet, tell him that I have
not forgotten him, nor one moment that I passed there with
him. That he allowed me to sit upon the stool, upon which
his foot had rested ; that he let me light his cigar ; that he
set my hair-braids free from the claws of the mischievous
monkev, and did not lauwh at all, althouo;h it was very fun-
ny, — no, I shall never forget how beggingly he spoke to
the monkey ; then, too, that evening, at supper, when he
held a peach to the earwig, that it might creep in, and, as
another threw the little animal off the stalk, in order to
crush it to death, he turned to me and said : " You are not
so ill-natured, you would not have done so ! " I collected
myself, in this ticklish matter, and said, one must not suffer
earwigs to be with princes ? He asked, " Must one avoid

WITH A CHILD. 291

those, too, who are cunning ones ? for, in that case, I must
take care of you." Then there was my promenade witli
him, to count the young brood of ducks, and you came up
and had already woodered at our patience, long before we
had finished, — and thus could I call up before you, each
moment, feature for feature, which was granted me, in his
presence. Whoever can come near him must be happy, for
he lets each have his way, and yet one feels that he is there ;
o-ranting the most dehghtful liberty, and not disinclined to
the " dominion of mind ; " while, at the same time, he is sure
to sway by his generous blandness. This can extend to
great and general matters, as I have experienced it in small
and individual ones. He is great, the Duke, and yet ever
o-rowing . he is always the same, and gives every proof that
he can surpass himself. Such is the man who has a lofty
genius, he is conformable to it ; he increases till he becomes
one with it.

Thank him, in my name, that he thinks on me ; describe
to him my tender reverence. When it shall be again granted
me to see him, I will take the utmost possible advantage of
his graciousness.

To-morrow we pack up and go amongst nothing but Bo-
hemian villages. How often has your mother said, when I
made all sorts of projects, " they are but Bohemian vil-
la"-es," * and now 1 am curious to see such a one. Both
the songs of Beethoven accompany this, the other two are
by me ; Beethoven has seen them, and paid me many com-
pliments about them ; as that, if I had devoted myself to
this art, I might have built high hopes upon it , but I only
touch it in flight, for my art is laughing and sighing in a
breath, and beyond this I have none.

Adieu ; I have still much to expect in the Bohemian pal-
ace of Bukowan.

Bettine.

TO GOETHE.

Bukowan, Prague District. July.
How comfortable is it, how lovely, to think on you, be-

^ Proverb.

292 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

neath this roof of pines and birches, which keep the hot
mid-day at respectful distance ! Tlie heavy fir-apples shine
and sparkle with their resin, like a thousand httle day-stars,
but make it above only the hotter, and, here below, the
cooler. The blue heaven covers my lofty narrow house ; I
measure its distance, as it appears so unreachable, yet many
have borne heaven in their breast ; I, too, feel as if I had
held it fast for a moment, this wide-extended heaven above
me, stretching over mount and dale ; over all streams and
bridges, through all rocks and caverns, over vale and plain,
till your heart, there it sinks do ami together with me.

Does it only lie in youth, that it so fervently wills what
it will ? is it not so with you ? do you not long after me ?
would you not sometimes fain be with me ? Lon^ino; is,
after all, the right track ; it wakes a more exalted life, gives
clear intimation of yet unknown truths, destroys all doubt,
and is the surest prophet of good fortune.

To you all realms are opened, Nature, science ; from all
these, divine truths stream forth to answer the questions of
your longing. What have I ? — You ! I answer to me a
thousand questions !

Here, in the deep ravine, I am thinking all sorts of things ;
I have ventured down a break-neck path, how shall I again
ascend these smooth walls of rock, on which I in vain seek
a trace of my descent ? Self-reliance is reliance on God ;
he will not leave me here alone. I lie here beneath fresh,
tall herbs, which cool my hot bosom ; a thousand little in-
sects and spiders, crawl over me, all is busily swarming
about me. The lizards slide out of their moist holes, and
lift their little heads and look astonished at me, with their
knowing eyes, and then slip hastily back ; they tell one an-
other that I am there, — and the favorite of the poet, — new
ones continually come and peep.

Ah, beautiful summer noon, I need not think ; the spirit
looks leisurely out into the crystal air. No wit, no virtue ;
naked and bare is the soul in which God recoornizes his

o

image.

The whole time has been rainy, to-day the sun is burning
again. Now I am lying here amidst stones, upon the soft
moss of many past springs ; the young firs exude their w^arm
resin, and touch my head with their branches. I must look
at every little frog, defend myself against grasshoppers and

WITH A CHILD. 293

humble-bees, therewith I am so idle, — what shall I prattle
to you here, where a breath stirs the foliage, through which
the sun plays upon my closed lids ? Good master, hear, in
these whispers, how you bless my solitude ; you, who know
all, and feel all, and know how little words obey the inward
sense. When shall I see you again ? When ? That I
may just lean a little upon you and rest myself, idle child
that I am.

Bettine.

As I yesterday recovered from my indolence and came to
myself, the shadows were already grown long ; I was obliged
to lift myself out of my abyss by help of the young birch-
trees, which grew out of the fissures of the rock : the castle
of Bukowan, with its red roofs and beautiful turrets, I could
discern now here. I knew not into which path to strike,
and resolved to follow some goats, which brought me to
some people with whom they dwelt in the same hut. I
made them understand that I wished to go to Bukowan ;
they accompanied me ; the day went to sleep, the moon
arose, I sung because I could not converse with them ; after-
wards they sang too, and thus late in the evening I arrived ;
once or twice I felt afraid that the people might lead me
astray, and was happy enough when I was sitting in my
little turret chamber.

I am not without employment, lonely as it is. One morn-
ing I made several hundred little bricks, — building is my
delight. My brother Christian is a real genius, he can do
everything; the model of a small smithy is just finished,
which is now to be executed upon a large scale. My broth-
er's gift of invention is an inexhaustible spring, and I am
his best workman, as far as my powers permit: several
fancy buildings stand around us in small models, in the great
saloon, and there are so many problems which I have to
solve, that I am often quite tired out at evening : yet it does
not prevent me from awaiting the sunrise upon the Pe-
teetsch, a mountain which is as round as an oven, and from
this circumstance derives its name (for Peteetsch, in Bohe-
mian, means oven) ; it is somewhat elevated above a hun-
dred of the mountains which surround it, like a large
encampment of tents. Then I see again and again the
world awake to light ; alone and solitary as I am, there is

294 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

strife in my soul ; were I forced to remain longer here,
beautiful as it is, I could not bear it. A short time ago I
was in the great Yienna-town ; a bustle and life amongst the
people, as if it would never cease. Here the luxuriant days
of spring were passed in company ; in fine clothes we went
socially about. Each day brought new joy, and each de-
light was a source of interesting communications. Above
all this Beethoven was prominent ; the great superspiritual
one, who introduced us into an invisible world, and our
impulse to the powers of life, so that one felt the confined
" self " widened to an universe of spirits. Pity that he is
not here in this solitude ; that in his voice I might forget the
eternal chirping of yon cricket, which does not cease to re-
mind me, that nothing but its cry breaks the solitude. To-
day I have exercised myself a whole hour in trying, with a
stick, to sling a garland of roses upon a high stone crucifix,
Avhich stands upon the road ; it Avas in vain, the garland
Avas unleaved. I sat doAvn, fatigued, upon a bench till even-
ing came, and then I Avent home. Can you believe that it
made me very sad to go so lonely home, and that I felt as if
I Avere connected Avith nothmg in the Avorld ; and that, on
my Avay, I thought on your mother ; hoAv in the summer,
when I came in from a long Avalk, through the Eschenheim
gate, I ran up stairs to her, threAv flowers and herbs, all that
I had gathered, into the middle of the room, and seated my-
self close by her side, laying my Avearied head upon her lap.
She said : " Have you brought the floAvers so far, and noAV
do you throAV them all away ? " Then Lizzy was obliged to
bring her a glass, and she herself arranged the bouquet ; upon
each single floAver she made her remarks, and said much
which Avas as delightful to me as if a dear hand caressed
me ; she was pleased that I brought all sorts : corn-ears and
grass-seeds, and berries on the branch, tall umbels, beauti-
fully formed leaves, chafers, moss, pods, gay pebbles ; she
called it a pattern-card of nature, and ahvays preserved it
for several days. Sometimes I brought her chosen fruits,
and forbade her to eat them, because they Avere so beautiful.
She directly broke a prettily striped peach, and said : " One
must give everything its Avay ; noAV this peach Avon't leave
me in peace till it 's eaten." In everything Avhich she did, I
belicAed I could recognize you ; her peculiarities, her views,
were to me dear enigmas, in Avhicli I guessed at you.

AVITH A CHILD. 295

If I still had your mother, I should know where to be at
home ; I would jDrefer communion with her to all others.
She made me sure in thought and deed ; she often forbade
me something, but if I nevertheless listened to my caprice,
she defended me against all ; and then, in her enthusiasm,
she collected strength, like the smith who has the glowing
iron u2)on his anvil ; she said : " He who listens to the voice
within his breast will not fail his destiny ; a tree shoots out
of his soul on which every virtue, every power blossoms,
and which yields the fairest qualities, like delicious apj^les ;
and religion does not stand in his way, but is adapted to his
nature ; but he who does not hear this voice is blind and
deaf, and must let himself be led by others, to where their
prejudices have already banished them." " What ? " said
she, " I would rather come to shame before the world, than
let myself be assisted by a Philistine over a dangerous stile :
after all, there is nothing dangerous but fear itself, this
defrauds one of all." During the last year of her life she
was just the most lively, and spoke about everything with
equal interest : from the most simple conversations were
developed the most solemn and noble truths, which might
have served as a talisman for one's entire life. She said :
" Man must choose for himself the best place, and this he
must maintain during his whole life, and must risk all his
powers upon it; then alone is he noble and truly great. I
do not mean an outward, but an inward place of honor, to
which this inward voice always points ; could we only gov-
ern ourselves as Napoleon governs the world, the world
would renew itself in every generation, and soar above it-
self. Thus it always goes on in the old way, because none
carries it further in himself than he who was before him,
and one is already tired at the very beginning. Yes, it
must be felt directly, although one sees it for the first time,
that wisdom is old and threadbare stuff."

The French soldiers quartered upon her were obliged
to relate to her much about Napoleon, and she felt with
them all the shudder of enthusiasm. She said : " He is the
right one, who finds echo with delight in all hearts ; there is
nothing more exalted than for man to make himself felt in
his fellow-men ; and so does bliss ascend through men and
spirits as through an electric chain, to pass at last, like a
spark, into the heavenly realm. Poesy is to save the sub-

29 G GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

lime, the simple, the great from the claws of the Philistines ;
everything is originally poesy, and the poet is there to call
this forth again, because everything eternizes itself by poesy
alone." Your mother's way of thinking impressed itself
deeply into me. I can answer everything to myself in her
way ; she was so decided that general opinion had not the
least influence upon her, foi* all sprung from such deep feel-
ing : she often said to me, that her joreference for me arose
only from the perverted opinions of other people ; she
directly felt as if she should understand me better. Now I
will call everything to mind, for my memory will not be less
true to me than my heart. On Whitsuntide, in her last
year, I came from the Rheingau to visit her ; she was pleas-
antly surprised ; we drove together into the cherry -grove ;
it was pleasant weather, the blossoms whirled down upon us
like snow. I told her of a similar beautiful holiday, when
I was thirteen years old ; then in the afternoon I sat down
alone upon a grass-seat, and a kitten laid itself upon my lap
in the sun and fell asleep ; and that I might not disturb it,
I kept my seat till the sun went down, then the kitten
jumped away. Your mother laughed, and said : " At that
time you knew nothing of Wolfgang ; then you were pleased
to play with the cat."

Yes ! had I but your mother still ! With her one needed
no great events ; a sunbeam, a snow-storm, the sound of a
post-horn, awakened feelings, remembrances, and thoughts.
I must blush that I am so timid before you. Do you not
love me, and receive me as a good gift ? — and can one
receive a gift without abandoning one's self to the gift ? and
is thus a gift which is not given entirely and for ever ?
Does a step also move forwards, which does not lead into a
new life ? Does one go back, who is not fallen away from
eternal life ? Look, now, this is a very simple problem, that
one should not be timid, because what is eternal has no limit.
Who will set bounds to love ? Who can set bounds to the
spirit ? Who has ever loved that has reserved anything for
himself? Reservation is self-love. Earthly life is a prison,
the key to liberty is love, it leads us out of earthly into heav-
enly life. Who can be set free from himself without love ?
the flames devour what is earthly, in order to win a bound-
less space for its spirit, which soars into ether ; the sigh
which dissolves in divinity has no limit. The spirit alone

WITH A CHILD. 297

ha^s eternal efficacy, eternal life ; all else dies. Good night,
good niglit ; it is near the hour of spirits.

Your child, who clings close to you, through
fear of her own thoughts.

TO BETTINE.

Since you, in the fulness of interesting events and
amusements of the most populous city, have not neglected
sending me such rich communication, it would be unjust if I
did not send over to your hidden retreats a sign of my liv-
ing and love. Where are you hidden ? It cannot be far
off: the lavender flowers strewed in your letter without date
were not yet faded when I received it ; they import that we
are nearer each other than we could have conjectured. Do
not neglect in your universal doings and strange attempts to
erect a temple of your own bricks to the goddess Opportu-
nity, and think that one must boldly grasp her three golden
locks, to assure one's self her favor. I have you already
with me, in your letters, in your memorials and lovely melo-
dies, and above all in your Diary, with which I daily busy
myself, in order more and more to master your rich, exalted
fancy ; yet would I fain tell you with my own lips how dear
you are to me.

Your clear views upon men and things, upon past and
future, are dear and useful, to me, and I deserve, too, that
you grant me the best. Remembrance, true and full of
love, has perhaps a better influence upon destiny and the
mind than the favor of the stars themselves, for which we
do not yet know whether we have not to thank the fair ori-
sons of love.

Write down everything about my mother, it is important
for me ; she had head and heart for action as well as feeling.

All that you have seen and heard upon your journey
write to me ; let no solitude attack you maliciously ; you
have the power to make the best of her.

It would be delightful if the dear Bohemian mountain
procured your dear presence. Farewell, dearest child, con-
tinue to live with me, and do not let me miss your dear and
ample letters.

Goethe.

298 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

TO GOETHE.

Your letter was quickly here, I believed I could catch
your breath in it ; for wliich I had set a trap, even before I
had read the letter : I had also been at the map. If I were
to depart from here to-day, to-morrow I should lay at your
feet ; and as I recognize in the soft, natural tone of your
writing, you would not let me pine there long, you would
soon draw me to your heart, and in stormy joy (like cymbals
and drums, with quick roll), a finale, jiiercing through every
nerve, would precede the sweet repose, which blesses me in
your presence. To whom discover it ? The little journey
to you ? Ah no, I will not tell it ; no one will understand
how blessed it could make me ; and then, it is so usual to
condemn the joy of enthusiasm, — they call it madness and
nonsense. Believe me not that I dare to sav how I love
you ; what one does not conceive, one easily finds mad :
I must be silent. But to the magnificent goddess, who
makes the Philistines her playthings, I have already (at
your hint, and to bound my own impatience) with bricks of
my own manufacture laid the foundation of a small temj)le.
Here I draw you the ground-j^lan : a square hall ; in the
middle of it four walls, doors small and narrow ; inside this
hall a second one, raised upon steps, which has also a door
in the middle of each wall ; this latter space stands however
obliquely, so that the corners are turned towards the four
doors of the outer hall : within this a third square space,
which is also elevated upon steps, has but one door, and
standing parallel with the outermost hall ; the three corners,
which are cut off by the inmost space from the second, and
join them by large openings, while the fourth corner forms
the entrance to the door, represent the gardens of the Hes-
perides ; in the midst, upon a soft-cushioned throne the god-
dess : carelessly reclining, she shoots at random, in play
only, at the golden apples of the Hesperides, who looked on
with sorrow, as the apples, pierced by the chance arrows,
fly over the guarded limits. O Goethe ! who outside chooses
the right door, and without long pondering makes way
through the hall of the innemiost temple, boldly seizing the
apple upon the flying arrow, how happy is he !

Your mother said, "AU fair inventions of the human
mind, even if they be not practicable on earth, yet wiU not

WITH A CHILD. 299

be lost in heaven, where everything exists without body,
only in the spirit." God has said, " Let there be," and
therewith created he the whole beautiful world ; even so is
this power born in man ; what he invents in spirit will, by
this power, be created in heaven. For man builds his
heaven himself, and his noble inventions adorn the eternal,
unending " yonder." In this sense, then, do I erect the fair
temple to our goddess. I decorate its walls with lovely
colors and marble statues ; I lay out the floor with varie-
gated stones, I adorn it with flowers ; and, wandering
through the halls, I fill them with the fragrance of incense ;
but upon the pinnacles I prepare for the fortune-bringing
stork a convenient nest ; and thus I pass my impatient time,
which throws me from one excitement into another. Ah !
I dare not listen to the distance as I used to do, when, in
wood-rustling solitude, I hearkened to the twitter of the
birds, that I might discover their nests. Now at midday I
sit alone in the garden, and would fain only feel, not think,
what you are to me ; then comes the wind so softly, as if it
came from thee ; lays itself so freshly on my heart, — plays
with the dust at my feet, and gives chase to the dancing
midges, — it caresses my burning cheeks, flatteringly keeps
off the heat of the sun ; on the untrimmed vine-trellis it
lifts the tendrils, and whispers among the leaves, then in
haste sweeps along the fields over the bending fiowers. Did
it bring a message ? have I rightly understood it ? Is it
certain ? — was it to give me a thousand greetings from my
friend, who, not far from here, waits on me to bid me a
thousand times welcome ? Ah, could I but ask it once, —
it is gone ! — let it go to others, who also pine ; I turn to
him who alone holds my heart, renews my life with his
spirit, — with the breath of his words.

Monday.

Don't inquire about the date, I have no almanac ; and I
must confess to you, it is as if it would not agree with my
love, to trouble myself about the time. Ah, Goethe ! I like
neither to look behind nor before me. Of the heavenly
moment, time is the executioner ; the sharp sword which he
waves over it, I see, with shy foreboding, ghtter : no, I will
not inquire about time, when I feel that eternity would not
extend my enjoyment beyond the limits of the moment ; but

300 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

yet, if you will know, in a year hence, perhaps, — or in a
later time, when it was, that the sun burned me brown and
I did not perceive it, in deeply musing on thee, — then
mark, that it is just when the gooseberries are ripe. The
speculating mind of my brother will try its skill in an excel-
ling " gooseberry-wine," I help to press. Yesterday even-
ing we held vintage by moonlight, numberless night-moths
were flying round my head ; with this nocturnal harvest we
roused up a whole world of dreamy creatures, they were
quite confused. As I entered my chamber I found thou-
sands, which fluttered around the light ; I was sorry for
them ; I Avanted to help them out again. I held a light a
long while before the window, and spent half the night in
this way ; I spared myself no trouble. Do you too, Goethe,
have patience with me, when I flutter around you and will
not part from the beams of your splendor, — perhaps you
would also fain " light me home." *

Bettine.

Tuesday.
This morning Christian, who also studies medicine, has
cured a tame quail, which runs about my room, and had
become ill ; he tried to give it a drop of opium ; unawares
he trod upon it, so that it lay there quite flat and dead. He
picked it quickly up, and rubbed it again round with both
hands, then away it hopped as if nothing had happened, and
its illness is also past ; it sits no more huddled up ; it picks
drinks, bathes, and sings ; all are astonished at the quail.

^^?

Wednesday.

To-day we went into the fields to see the effect of a
machine, with which Christian, in time of great drought,
will water the corn ; a wide-extending shower of pearls
played in the sun and gave us much delight. With this
brother of mine I like to walk ; he saunters on before me,
and finds everywhere something remarkable. He knows
the small insects, their manner of life, their dwellings, and
how they support themselves and multiply : he can name
every i:)lant, and knows its origin and properties ; oftentimes
lie lies all day on one spot, musing, — who knows all that

* German proverb.

WITH A CHILD. 301

then passes througli his mind ? — In no city would there be
so much to be done, as his ingenuity hatches every moment ;
now I am with the blacksmith, then with the carpenter, or
mason, transacting subtile matters for him ; with one I blow
the bellows, with the other I hold line and level. With the
needle and scissors, too, I must be at work. He has in-
vented a travelling cap, the point of which unfolds itself into
a parasol ; and a travelling carriage, round as a drum, lined
with lamb-skin, which moves alone. He makes poems, too :
he has written a comedy, at which one laughs with heart
and soul ; he plays on the flute, at dead of night, beautiful
brilliant variations, of his own composition, which sound
throu2:h the whole district of Prague. He teaches me to
ride, and manage my horse like a man ; he makes me ride
without saddle, and wonders that I keep my seat in a gallop.
The pony will not let me fall, he bites my foot in play to
give me courage ; he is perhaps an enchanted prince, whom
I please. Christian teaches me also to fence, with the left
as well as ris-ht hand, and to shoot at a mark — a large sun-
flower ; all this I learn with zeal, that my life may not be
too stupid when war breaks out again. This evening we
went shooting, and shot some butterflies ; I brought down
two at one shot.

Thus the day passes quickly ; at first, I was afraid by too
long leisure I should write too long letters, or molest you
with speculative thoughts upon God and religion, having at
Landshut read much in the Bible, and in Luther's works.
Now all is for me as round as the globe, where there is
nothing to fear, because we can nowhere fall off; your
songs, I sing in my walks through the fields ; the melodies
come unsought, and I give them the right rhythm ; in the
wilderness I make great steps, that is to say, bold leaps,
from one crag to another. I have discovered a little trysting-
place of squirrels ; beneath a tree lay a great heap of three-
cornered nuts ; upon the tree were sitting at least a dozen
squirrels, which threw the shells upon my head ; I kept still,
and saw through the boughs their ballet-capers and mimic
dance ; what one sees consumed with such delight, gives one
also an irresistible appetite. I gathered a handkerchief
full of these nuts, which one calls beech-nuts, and nibbled
away at them the whole night, like the squirrels. Plow
prettily do the animals of the wood feed, how graceful are

302 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

their motions, and how is the nature of their food described
m their movements ! One sees directly that the goat hkes
sour herbs, for it smacks its hps. I don't hke to see men
eat, I feel ashamed. The smell of the kitchen, where all
sorts of dishes are prepared, vexes me ; there is stewing,
roasting, and larding, — perhajDS you don't know how this
is ? It is an enormously large needle, threaded with bacon,
and with this the meat is sewed ; then the noble and the
learned, who govern the state, seat themselves at table and
chew in comjDany. At Vienna, when they made out the
pardon of the Tyrolese for the revolution (which they them-
selves had plotted), and sold Hofer to the French, every-
thino; was settled at dinner ; with drunken courage all was
arranged, without any particular stings of conscience.

The diplomatists have the cunning of the devil, but the
devil makes them his butt ; that one can see in their fool-
ish faces, upon which the devil paints all their intrigues.
Wherein, then, does the highest dignity lie, but in serving
mankind ? What a splendid theme for the sovereign, that
all children come and pray to him, " Give us our daily
bread ! " — and that he can say, " There it is ! take all, for
my need is only that ye are cared for." Yes, verily ! what
could one wish to have, except to hold it for others ; this
would be the best sinking fund : but they have not paid the
debts of the poor Tyrolese. Ah, what is all this to me ; the
postman sets off, and I have written nothing of all that I had
to say to you ; ah ! if it might only be that we soon meet, it
surely will happen, — yes it must. Then we will let all
worldly matters rest, and conscientiously dispose of each
minute.*

Bettine.

TO BETTINE.

Teplitz.

Your letters, lovely Bettine, are of that kind, that one
always believes the last to be the most interesting. So it
was with the pages which you brought with you, and which,
on the morning of your departure, I read and read again, —
but then came your last, which surpasses all the others.f If

* Here occurs a breach in the correspondence.
t Both letters and pages are wanthig. ■

WITH A CHILD. 303

you can thus continue to surpass yourself, do so. You have
taken so much away with you, that it is just you send some-
thing from out your far home. FarewelL

GOETPIE.

Your next letter I must By Captain Lost,

beg you to send according at

to this direction ; how om- Dresden,

inous ! Woe 's me ! what
will it contain ?

TO GOETHE.

October 17th.

Do not accuse me of having taken so much away with
me ; for truly, I feel myself so impoverished, that I look
around on every side for something to which I may cling :
give me something to do for which I need no daylight, no
communion with men, and which will give me courage to be
alone. This place does not please me : here are no heights,
from which one could look into the distance.

October 18th.

I once ascended a mountain. Ah ! what weighs upon
my heart ? — trifles, says the world. Write connectedly ?
I could not for my life bring out the truth : since we sat
together at Teplitz, how should I write at length of what
the day brings with it ? life is only beautiful when I am
with you. No, I can tell you nothing connected ; spell your
way through it, as you used to do through my prattle. Do
I not always write what I have already said a hundred
thousand times ? Some, who come from Dresden, told me
much of your incomings and outgoings, exactly as if they
would say, " Your tutelary saint was a guest at other peo-
ple's hearths, and found a home." Zelter has received your
picture, and has laid it against his iron-gray cheeks. I look
into the world, and, in this varying fools' mirror, I often see
your picture fondled by fools ; you may easily suppose that
this does not please me. You and Schiller were friends,
and your friendship was based in the realm of the mind :
but, Goethe ! these after-ties seem to me exactly like the
mourning train of a lofty past, trailed through all the dirt of
common Ufe.

304 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

When I prepare myself to M^rite to you, and turn my
thouofhts into mvself, then ever occur to me the different
momenis of my life, which echoed so tranquilly and intelli-
gibly within my soul. Even as to a painter appears similar
moments in Nature, which he has once painted with delight,
so do I now think of the twilight evening in the hot month
of August ; how you sat at the window, and I stood before
you ; and how we exchanged thoughts. I had gazed, sharp
as an arrow, into your eye, and there I clung, piercing my
way deeper and deeper ; and we were both silent, and you
drew your fingers through my loosened hair. Ah, Goethe,
then you asked me, if I would think of you, in future, by
the light of the stars, and I promised you ; and now we are
in the middle of October, and I have already often looked at
the stars and have thought of you, and a cold shudder runs
over me ; and you, who have banished my gaze to the ^ars,
think how often I must gaze above, then write daily anew
in the stars, " How you love me ; " that I do not despair,
but that comfort may shine down from the stars, now that
we are not together. A year ago, at this season, I took
a lono; walk and remained sittinsf on a hill ; there above I
played with the glittering sand, upon Avliich the sun was
shining, and jerked the seed out of the dried pods ; by even-
ing' red, strugglino; with the mists, I went and overlooked
whole countries. I was free at heart, for my love to you
makes me free. I feel sometimes so anxious, that whilst
the refreshing air made me once so strong, I might almost
say clever, I do not always walk, always wander, beneath
the free sky, and converse with Nature. A storm-blast em-
braces, with the greatest speed, whole valleys ; it touches
all, moves all, and who perceives it is seized with enthu-
siasm. Mighty Nature leaves no space and needs no space ;
what she surrounds with her magic circle is fixed by en-
chantment. O, Goethe, you are also fixed there ; in no
word, in no breath of your poems, does she set you free.
And again I must kneel down before this incarnation of
Nature in thee, and must love and desire you, as I do all
Nature.

I would have said much to you, but was called away, and,
to-day, October 29th, I return once more to my writing. It
is everywhere tranquil, or rather void. That truth exist, no
one is requisite, but that truth be verified in them, all man-

WITH A CHILD. 305

kind is requisite. Man, whose frame is so penetrated by
the beauty of your soul, how dare 1 thus love body and soul
together ! often do I think to myself, I would fain be better
and greater, that I might justify my claims upon you ; but
can I ? Then must I think on you, see you before me, and
be nothing, if love may not be accounted to me as desert ! —
such love is not unfruitful. And yet I dare not think ; it
would be my death ! would it matter ? Yes, indeed ! I
have a cradle in thy heart, and who steals me out of it, be
it death or life, robs thee of a child. I would fain have one
pillow with you, but a hard one ; tell no one, that I should
like to lie near you, in profoundest tranquillity, by your side.
There are many outlets and passages in the world, lonely
woods and caverns without end, but none is so fitted for
sleep, for well-being, as the lap of God ; I imagine it to my-
self broad and comfortable, and that one rests his head upon
the other's breast, and that a warm breath sweeps over the
heart, — Hke what I should so wish to feel, — your breath.

Bettine.
[Breach in the correspondence.]

TO BETTINE.

I am now once more, dear Bettine, settled in Weimar,
and would long ago have thanked you for your dear pages,
(which have all arrived by degrees,) particularly for your
remembrance of August 27th. Instead, therefore, of telling
you how I am, concerning which there is not much to say,
I make you a friendly request. Since you will not cease
from liking to write to me, and I shall not cease from liking
to read, you might besides that do me a kindness. I will
confess to you, that I am about to write my " Confessions,"
whether in form of a novel or a poem cannot be determined
beforehand ; but, in either case, I need your assistance.
My good mother has departed, and so have many others
who could have called up the past, which I have almost
forgotten. Now you have lived a fair time with my dear
mother, have repeatedly heard her fables and anecdotes,
and bear and cherish all in a fresh creative memory.
Therefore set down directly and commit to writing all that
refers to me and mine, and you wull thus greatly delight

20

306 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

and oblige me. Send something from time to time, and
therewith speak of yourself and neighborhood. Love me
till we meet again.

G.

Weimar, October 25th, 1810.

TO GOETHE.

November 4th.

You have always a cause for writing to me, but I have
retained nothing, nothing noticed, save the end : " Love me
till w^e meet again." Had you not added these last words,
I should, perhaps, have taken notice of the preceding ones ;
this solitary sign of friendliness has overwhelmed me, has
held me captive to a thousand sweet thoughts, from yester-
day evening to this evening. From all this you may con-
clude that your letter, about twenty-four hours ago, brought
fresh air into my chamber ; but ever since I have been like
a dormouse, for w^hich the w^inter-world is too bad, and have
buried myself in the w^arm soil of my own thoughts. "What
you request has always tliis w^orth for me, that I consider
it worthy to be granted. I Avillingly, therefore, deliver
into your custody the nourishment, the life, of two stirring
years ; it is little in respect of much, but infinite, because
unique. You yourself might, perhaps, wonder that I bore
things into the temple, and consecrated my existence by
them, though one finds them in all places, — on every
hedge one may gather blossoms in spring ; but what, dear
friend, wdien, imperceptible as the blossom may be, it con-
tinue after years to scent and bloom ? Your mother bore
you in her seventeenth year, and in her seventy-seventh
she could still live over again all that had occurred in your
earliest years ; and she sow^ed the young field (wliich had
a good soil, but no flowers) with these eternal blossoms :
and thus I may well be pleasant to you, since I am as
it were a sweet-scenting garden of these remembrances,
among which your mother's tenderness is the fairest blos-
som, and — dare I say it ? — my constancy the most power-
ful one. I feared already, long since, that what had taken
such dee]:) root with your mother and blossomed in me,
w^ould at last let fall its sweet fruit from the lofty stem upon
the earth. Now listen ! In Munich I became acquainted

WITH A CHILD. • 307

with a young physician ; his face tanned and disfigured by
the smallpox ; poor as Job, strange to all ; of lofty extended
nature, but on that very account close and reserved ; could
not conceive the devil as an absolute evil, but yet as a
fellow with two horns and cloven foot (naturally, one can
lay hold of the horns, if one has courage). The road of
his enthusiasm did not lead by a heaven's ladder, but a
hen's ladder, to his chamber, where, at his own cost, he
hungered with the poor, the sick ; joyfully divided his mite
with them, caused his young enthusiastic art to prosper
upon them. He had been dumb from disease till his fourth
year ; a clap of thunder loosed his tongue. At fifteen
he was to have served as a soldier ; having tamed the
general's wild horse, he was exempted ; for having cured
a madman, he received a small, inconvenient place at
Munich : in this situation I became acquainted with him ;
he soon frequented our house. This good spirit, — rich in
nobleness, who, except that, had nothing but his solitude,
after the oppressive burden of the day, often late at even-
ing, out of benevolent passion, walked miles to meet the
Tyrolese prisoners and convey money to them ; or he
accompanied me to the snail-tower, from whence one can
see the distant Alps ; there, when we observed mist and a
ruddy glow in the sky, we considered together Avhether it
might not be a fire. Often, too, did I impart to him plans
for going over to the Tyrolese ; we studied out a road upon
the map, and I saw it written upon his features that he only
waited my commands.

Thus matters stood when the infectious Lazarets at
Augsburg began to fill, and in a short time swept away
both physicians and patients. My young " ice-breaker "
wandered there on foot, to relieve his old master (who was
father of a family) of the fatigue and danger. He departed
with heavy foreboding ; I gave him at parting a handker-
chief, some old wine, and a promise to write. Then came
reflection and thought of all the good which had occurred
during this short acquaintance ; and I thought that my
words concerning you, my loving knowledge of you and
your mother, were a sacred treasure, which should not be
lost ; that, within the external shell of poverty such a jewel
would be most sacredly preserved ; and thus it was that my
letters to liim were filled with isolated anecdotes of your

308 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

childhood, each one of which came hke spirits at the right
moment to banish ill-humor and vexation. Chance (to us
the consecrated) bears too, on her thousandfold laden wings,
these letters ; and it may be, perhaps, that when plenty and
luxuriancy once again cover this much abused land of fruits,
she may also shake down this golden fruit for the common
weal.

During that time I pointed at much in a few words, more
conversing with you upon it, as I did not yet know you, had
not seen you, or I was too deeply sunk with the fathom-line
in my own weal and woe. Do you understand me ? since
you love me ?

Do you wish me to speak to you of time past, where,
soon as your spirit appeared to me, I became master of my
own spirit, that I might embrace and love yours ? And
why should I not grow dizzy with enthusiasm ? is a possi-
ble fall, then, so fearful ? As the precious stone, touched
by a single ray, plays forth a thousand colors, so too will
your beauty, lighted alone by the ray of enthusiasm, be a
thousandfold enriched.

It is only when all is conceived, that the something can
prove its real worth : and with this you conceive me, when
I tell you that the bed in which your mother brought you
into the world had blue chequered hangings. She was
then seventeen years old, and one year married ; hereupon
she remarked you would always remain young, and your
heart would never become old, since }^ou had the youth of
your mother into the bargain. Three days did you con-
sider about it, before you entered the world, and caused
your mother heavy hours. Through anger, that necessity
had driven you from your nature-home, and through the ill-
treatment of the midwife, you appeared quite black and
without sign of life. They laid you in a butcher's tray, and
bathed the pit of your heart with wine, quite despairing of
your existence. Your grandmother stood behind the bed ;
when you first opened your eyes, she exclaimed, " Daughter^
he lives I " " Then awoke my maternal heart, and lived
since then in continual enthusiasm to this very hour," said
your mother to me, in her seventy-seventh year. Your
grandfather, who was an admirable citizen, and at that time
Syndic, ever turned both good and evil chance to the. weal
of the city, and thus your difficult birth was the inciting

WITH A CHILD. 309

cause of the appointment of an acconclieur for the poor.
" Even in the cradle," said your mother, " he was a bless-
ing to mankind." She gave you the breast, but you could
not be brought to suck, and so a wet-nurse was procured.
" From her he drank with a most comfortable appetite,"
said she ; " and since it was now found that I had no milk,
we soon perceived that he was wiser than all of us, as- he
would not drink from my breast."

See, now, you are born at last, and now I may pause a
little : now you are in the world, each moment is dear
enough for me to remain ; I do not wish to call up the
second, that it may not drive me away from the first.
" AYliere you are is love and goodness ; where you are is
nature, too." I shall now wait till you write to me : " Come,
tell me some more." Then I shall first ask : " Well, where
did we leave off?" and then I shall tell you of your fore-
fathers, of your dreams, beauty, pride, love, etc. Amen.

" Daughter, he lives ! " these words always pierced me
through and through, as often as your mother, with raised
voice of joy, recited them.

" The sword of danger
Oft hangs by a hah',
But the bliss of eternity
Lies often in a glance of grace,"

may one say of your birth.

P. S.

Write soon, dear cliild, and then you will soon grow,
enter into the sweetest years, when your wantonness made
you dangerous to all, and lifted you above all danger. Shall
I acknowledge to you, that this Avriting the anecdotes of
your hfe causes me j^ain ; and that the thousand thoughts
surround me, as if they would make me eternally captive ?

Zelter chimes and tolls away your songs to me, like a
bell which is tolled by a lazy clerk, — it always goes "bim,"
and too late " bam." They all attack one another ; Zelter
falls upon Reichard, he upon Hummel, he upon Righini,
and he again upon Zelter : each one might beat himself, and
then he would do the other a greater favor than inviting
him to his concert. They must only let the dead rest, and
Beethoven, who, at his very birth, renounced all claims on
their inheritance. But all tliis is of no use. Dear friend !

310 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

he who loves you like me, sings you in the deepest heart ;
but one Avho has such broad bones and such a long waist-
coat cajmot do this.

Write soon, write directly ; if you only knew how one
word of yours often dissolves a heavy dream, — call to me
only : " Child, I am with you," — then all is well. Do it !

Would it not interest you to get again the letters which
you have written to the friends of your youth ? Write to
me upon this ; they might bring back the past to you in
more lively colors, and to obtain possession of them would
not be impossible ; answer me, dear friend ; in the mean
time I will not let a day pass by, without working at your
request.

TO BETTINE.

Here are the Duets ! At this moment I have no more
recollection nor quiet than enables me to say to you, con-
tinue to be so lovely and graceful. Let me soon be chris-
tened ! Adieu.

G.

November 12tli, 1810.

TO GOETHB.

My dearest Friexd :

I do not know you ! no, I do not know you ! I misunder-
stand your words? I, troubled about you, who have ex-
emption from all slavery, whose countenance was never
shadowed by ill-fortune ? I feel fear, with the noblest guest
of fortune ? — true love has no solicitude. I have often de-
termined to keep you far too holy to have petty anxiety
about you, and so that you should only raise comfort and
joy within me. Be it as it may, even if I have you not,
yet I have you still, and — in my letters you feel (do you
not?) that I speak the truth? There you have me, and I?
divining, I trace the marks of your pen, — the hand which
is good to me has guided it, the eye which wishes me well
has overlooked it, and the spirit, which embraces so much
and so various matter, has for a minute devoted itself ex-

WITH A CHILD. 311

clusively to mc, — here I have you. Shall I add a com-
mentary to this ? One moment has a fitter period for a
divine apparition, than half an hour, — the moment which
you give me, makes me more blessed than my whole life.

To-day (the 24th) I received the duets, with the few
accompanying lines from you, which had almost led me
astray : I felt as if you might be ill, or — I don't know all
that I thought, but I did not think that in that moment, only
because your heart was so full, you could have expressed so
much in so few words ; and lastly, on your account there is
nothiniz: to fear, nor to tremble at. But even then ! Woe 's
me, if I could not joyfully follow you, if my love should
not find that path which is always near to you, even as my
heart is and was to yours.

Bettine.

Herewith I send you sheets filled with all sorts of stories
and memoranda, out of your life and that of your mother.
The question is, Avhether you can use it ; write to me if
more is requisite for you ; in such case, it would be necessary
to return me the memorandum-book, which I here enclose :
but I certainly think you will find more and better things in
it than I could add. Pardon all that is superfluous, to which
belong the blots and erasures.

TO GOETHE.

The heavens expand so widely before me ; all the moun-
tains, which I ever measured with silent look, rise so un-
measurably ; the plains, which were limited by the glowing
disk of the rising sun, these have no longer limits. On into
eternity ! Will his life, then, have so much space ?

Of his childhood : when in his ninth week he had already
had troubled dreams ; when grandmother, grandfather, and
mother and father, and nurse, had stood around his cradle,
and listened, what violent movements showed themselves in
his mien, and upon awaking, changing to a most afflicting cry,
— often, too, shrieking so violently, that he lost his breath,
and his parents feared for his life ; — then they procured a
bell. When they observed that he became restless in his
slumber, they rung and rattled violently, that, upon waking,

312 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

he might immediately forget his dreams. His father once
had him on his arm and let him look at the moon, when he
shrmik hack as if inwardly shaken, and became so convulsed
that his father was obliged to blow into his nostrils, lest
he should suffocate. " These trifling matters," said your
mother, " I should have forgotten in the course of sixty
years, if his life had not continually made all sacred to me ;
for shall I not humble myself before Providence when I
think that a life which has now fixed itself in a thousand
hearts then hung upon a breath ? And to me it is my all,
for you may well conceive, Bettine, that the events of this
world do not much entice me ; that society does not satisfy
me here in my solitude, where I count one day after the
other, and not one passes by without thinking of my son,
and all is to me as gold."

He did not like playing with little children, — unless they
were very pretty. Once he began suddenly to cry and
shriek : " The black child shall get out, I can't bear it ; "
neither did he cease crying till he got home, when his
mother asked him how he could be so naughty ; he could
not console himself for the child's ugliness. He was then
three years old. Bettine, who sat upon a footstool at the
feet of his mother, here made her own glossary, and pressed
the mother's knee to her heart.

For his little sister Cornelia, while she was yet in the
cradle, he had the strongest affection ; he brought her every-
thing, and wanted to feed and nurse her alone ; and was
jealous when any one took her out of the cradle, in which
he was her ruler ; his anger then knew no bounds, and
indeed he was much easier brought to anger than to tears.

The kitchen of the house led into the street : one Sunday
morning, when every one was at church, little Wolfgang got
in and threw all the crockery-ware, one piece after the other,
out of the window, because the clatter pleased him ; and the
neighbors, whom it delighted, encouraged him. His mother,
who was returning from church, was sorely astonished at
seeing all the dishes fly out ; he had just finished, and
laughed so heartily with the people in the street, that his
mother laughed too.

He often looked at the stars, which one told him were
propitious at his birth ; here the imagination-powers of his
mother were often called upon to perform the impossible, in

WITH A CHILD. 313

order to satisfy his inquiries, and thus he soon learned that
Jupiter and Venus would be the rulers and patrons of his
destiny. No plaything could engage him more than the
counting-board of his father, upon which he laid down, with
counters, the position of the stars as he had seen them : he
placed this board by his bedside, and so believed that the
influence of his favorable stars approached nearer to him.
Often, too, full of care, he said to his mother : " The stars
will not forget me, and wiU keep the promise they made
over my cradle, won't they ? " Then said his mother :
" Why will you have absolutely the assistance of the stars,
when we others must do without them ? " Then he an-
swered, quite proudly : " I cannot do with that which suf-
fices for other people ; " — at this time he was seven.

It seemed strange to his mother, that at the death of his
younger brother Jacob, who was his playmate, he did not
shed a tear ; he rather seemed to feel a sort of irritation at
the complaints of his parents, brother, and sisters. When
his mother, some time after, asked him if he did not love
his brother, he ran into his bedroom, brought out a quantity
of papers from under the bed, which were filled with exer-
cises and little stories ; he told her that he had w^'itten all
that to teach his brother.

Your mother thought, too, that she might ascribe to her-
self some share in his descriptive powers ; " For at one
time," said she, " I could not become weary of relating, any
more than he could of listening : air, fire, water, and earth I
represented to him as beautiful princesses, and all that hap-
pened in the whole of nature received a signification in
which I soon believed myself more firmly than my auditor.
And when we had ima^-ined to ourselves streets between the
constellations, and that we should once inhabit stars, and
what great spirits we should meet there above, then there
was no one so eager for the hour of narration with the chil-
dren as I was. Nay, I was curious, in the highest degree,
about the further progress of our little imaginative tales;
and an invitation which robbed me of such an evening Avas
always vexatious to me. There I sat, and there he soon
devoured me with his great black eyes ; and when the fate
of any favorite did not tui'n out exactly according to his
notion, I saw how the passionate veins swelled upon his
forehead, and how he choked his tears. lie often caught

314 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

me up, and said, before I had taken the turn in mj tale :
' Mother, the princess won't marry the nasty tailor, even if
he does slay the giant, will she ? ' When I made a stop,
and put off the catastrophe to the next evening, I might be
sure that, during that time, he had put everytlung in good
order ; and so my imagination, when it could reach no fur-
ther, Avas often supplied by his ; and when, the next evening,
guiding the reins of fate according to his design, I said :
' You have guessed it, so it has happened,' he became all
fire and flame, and one could hear his little heart beat under
his collar. To his grandmother (who lived in the back part
of the house, and whose pet he was) he always confided his
views, as to how the story would go on ; and from her I
learned how I should continue my text according to his
wishes, and thus there was a secret diplomatic correspond-
ence between us, which neither betrayed to the other. Thus
I had the satisfaction of relating my fairy-tales to the de-
light and astonishment of my audience, and Wolfgang, with-
out ever recognizing himself as the author of all the
remarkable events, looked forward with glowing eyes to
the fulfilment of his boldly laid plans, and greeted the exe-
cution of them with enthusiastic applause. These dehght-
ful evenings (through which the glory of my art in tale-
telhng was soon spread abroad, so that at last both old and
young soon took part in them) are to me a very refreshing
remembrance. The theatre of the world was not so abun-
dant, although it was a source of ever new inventions.
That which, by its awful reahty, surpassing all fable, made
the first breach in the fairy-world, was the earthquake at
Lisbon : all newspapers were filled with it, everybody argued
upon it, in strange confusion ; in short, it was an event
which shook all hearts, even to the most distant lands : little
Wolfgang, who was seven years old, could rest no more.
The foamino; sea, which in a trice swallowed down all the
ships, and then mounted the shore to swallow up the enor-
mous royal palace, — the lofty towers, which were at the
very first buried beneath the rubbish of smaller houses, —
the flames, which bursting from every part of the ruins,
joined at last, and spread forth, a vast fiery sea, while a host
of devils rise out of the earth to practise all sorts of mali-
cious mischief upon the unfortunate, — the remnant of the
many thousands destroyed, — all this made a tremendous

WITH A CHILD. 315

impression upon him. The papers contained every evening
new fables, more minute details ; in the churches expiatory
sermons were preached, the Poj)e ordained a general fast ;
in the Catholic chapels requiems were sung for those swal-
lowed up by the earthquake. Remarks of all kinds were
made on every side in presence of the children : the Bible
was consulted, reasons maintained, pro and con ; all this
busied Wolfgang more deeply than one could suppose, and
he made at last a conclusion which surpassed all in wisdom.

" After having returned with his grandfather from a ser-
mon, in which the wisdom of the Creator towards the
afflicted people was defended, and his father asked him how
he had understood the discourse ; he answered : ' After all,
everything may be much simpler than the clergyman thinks ;
God will well know that the immortal soul can receive no
injury from evil fate.' " From this time you were again in
spirits ; yet your mother thought, that your revolutionary
excitement at this earthquake made its appearance again in
your " Prometheus."

Let me too relate to you that your grandfather, in memo-
rial of 3^our birth, had planted a pear-tree in the well culti-
vated garden beyond the Bockenheim-gate. This tree has
become very large ; of its fruit (which is delicious) I have
eaten, and — you would laugh at me if I were to tell you
everything. It was on a beautiful day in spring, sunny and
warm, the young, lofty-stemmed pear-tree was covered over
and over with blossoms ; it was, I believe, your mother's
birthday, when the children carried in all silence the green
settee (sitting upon which she used to narrate in the even-
ing, and which was therefore called the " fable-seat ") into
the garden, adorned it with ribands and flowers ; ■ and, after
guests and relations were assembled, Wolfgang, dressed as a
shepherd, with a scrip (from out which hung down a scroll
with golden letters), with a garland of green upon his head,
stepped under the pear-tree, and held an address to the set-
tee, as to the seat of beautiful fables ; it was a high delight
to see the handsome wreath-cro^Tied lad beneath the blos-
soming branches, how he fermented in the fire of an oration,
which he held with the utmost confidence. Tlie second act
of this delightful festival consisted of soap-bubbles, which,
blown in the clear air by children, who surrounded the fable-
seat, were caught by a zephyr, and floated here and there in

316 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

the sunsliine. As often as a bubble sunk do^vn upon the
celebrated chair, all cried out, " A tale, a tale " ; Avhen the
bubble, held for a wliile by the crisp wool of the cover, at
last burst, they all cried again, " The tale burst." The
neighbors in the adjoining garden peeped over wall and
hedge, and took the liveliest interest in these great rejoic-
ings, so that the little festival was known by evening
throughout the whole town. The town has forgotten it ;
your mother retained it ; and often, in after times, inter-
preted it as an omen of your future fame.

Now, dear Goethe, I must confess to you that my heart is
straitened while I write to you these single anecdotes, one
after the other, which are connected Avith a thousand
thoughts, that I can neither ojien nor otherwise explain to
you ; for you do not love yourself as I love you, and this
must seem unimportant to you, while I Avould fain not lose
a breath of yours. There is much which cannot be forgot-
ten, when it has once been felt. That it always recurs, is
no cause of sadness ; but that the shores remain eternally
out of reach ; this sharpens the pain. When your love to
my mother resounds within me, and I think upon all, — this
reserve, this fermenting of youth in a thousand ways, — it
must once resolve itself. My life, what else was it but a
deep mirror of yours ? It was love's forefeeling, which car-
ries everything with it that announced you to me : and as I
came after you to light, so shall I follow you into darkness.
My dear friend, who never mistakes me, lo ! I solve the
enigma in many pretty ways, but ask not what it is ; and let
the heart have its way, say I to myself a hundred times.

I saw growing up around me plants of a rare kind ; they
had thorns and fragrance, I would touch none and I would
miss none. Who ventures into life, has only to work his
way through to freedom : and I know that I shall once hold
you fast, and be with you and be in you : this is the goal of
my wishes, this is my creed.

Farewell ; keep your health, and let it be your frequent
thought, that you would see me again, — there is much
which I would fain utter before you.

November 24th.

WITH A CHILD. 317

TO GOETHE.

Beautiful as an angel you were, are, and will remain :
so in your earliest youth all eyes were turned upon you.
Once some one was standing with your mother at the win-
dow, just as you crossed the street with several other lads ;
they remarked that you walked with much gravity, and re-
proached you, that your erect figure distinguished you in a
strange manner from the others. " With this," said you, " I
make a beginning, and hereafter I will distinguish myself in
many other ways " ; and this, said your mother, has been
verified.

Once at the autumn vintage, when in Frankfort, at even-
ing, fireworks are let off in every garden, and rockets as-
cend from all sides, were seen in the furthest fields, where
the festival had not extended, numerous ignes-fidvi, which
hopped about here and there, now divided, now close to-
gether ; at last they began to perform a regular dance. As
the people hurried closer to them, one light after the other
was extinguished ; others made long leaps and vanished ;
others remained in mid-air and then suddenly went out ;
while others, again, seated themselves upon hedges and
trees. Gone in a moment, — the people found nothing, went
back again, and the dance began anew ; one little light after
the other took its place again and danced round half the
town. What was this? Goethe, that with many of his
companions, w^ho had stuck lights upon their hats, was
dancing there without.

This was one of your mother's favorite anecdotes ; she
had much to tell besides, how after such tricks you always
came merrily home, having met with a hundred adventures,
etc. etc. It was delightful to hear your mother's tales !

" In his dress he was most terribly particular ; I was
obliged to arrange three suits daily for him ; upon one chair
I hung a great-coat, long trousers, ordinary waistcoat, and
added a pair of boots ; upon a second a dress-coat, silk
stockings, which he had already worn, shoes, etc. etc. ; upon
the third was everything of the finest, together with sword
and hair-bag: the first he wore in the house, the second
when visiting his common acquaintances, the third as full
dress ; when I entered the next day, I had everything to
bring to order ; there stood the boots upon his fine ruffs and

318 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

collars, the shoes thrown east and west ; one thing lay here,
the other there : then I shook the dust out of his clothes,
placed Clean linen for him, brought everything again into
the right track. Shaking a waistcoat once at the open win-
dow rather strongly, a quantity of pebbles suddenly flew
into my face : upon this I began to curse ; he came up and
I scolded him, for the pebbles might have struck out my
eye. ' Well,' said he, ' but your eye is not out ; where are
the pebbles ? I must have them again, help me to look for
them.' Now he must have received them from his sweet-
heart, for he took so much trouble about the stones, which
were common flint and sand ; he Avas so vexed, that he
could not collect them any more : all that was still there,
he wrapped up carefully in paper and carried away. The
day before he had been at Ofi^enbach; there was an inn
called the Rose-Inn, the daughter was called the pretty
Grizzel ; he liked her very much, she was the first that I
know with whom he was in love."

Are you angry, that your mother should tell me all this ?
This story I like uncommonly ; your mother related it to me
at least twenty times ; she often added, that the sun shone
througli the window, that you became red, that you held the
gathered stones close to your heart, and so marched forth
with them, without even begging pardon for their having
flown into her face. Only see, all that she took notice of;
for, little as the matter seemed, it was yet to her a source
of joyfid reflection upon your hastiness, sparkling eyes,
beating heart, red cheeks, etc. ; it delighted her, even in her
latest days. This and the following story made the most
lively impression upon me ; I see you before me in both, in
the full splendor of your youth. On a bright winter's day,
when your mother had company, you proposed to her a
drive with the stransjers along the Maine. " She has not
yet seen me skate, and the weather to-day is so fine," etc.
" I put on my scarlet fur-cloak, to wliich was a long train,
and down the front fastened with gold clasps, and so we
drove out. ]My son was shooting like an arrow between the
other skaters, the air had made his cheeks red, and the
powder had flown out of his brown hair : as soon as he
saw the scarlet cloak, he came up to the coach and smiled
quite kindly at me. ' Now what do you want ? ' said I.
* Come, mother, you are not cold in the carriage, give me

WITH A CHILD. 319

your velvet cloak.' ' Why, you won't put it on ? ' ' But I
will, though.' I pulled off my beautiful warm cloak, he
put it on, swung the train over his arm, and away he sailed
like the son of a divinity along the ice ; — had you but seen
him, Bettine ! Anything so beautiful is not to be seen
again ; I clapped my hands with joy ! I always have him
before my eyes, how he glided out of one arch and under
the other, and how the wind upheld the long train behind
him." At that time your mother was with us on the ice,
her he wished to please.

At this story I can say again, what I said to you at Tep-
litz : that the remembrance of your youth ever glows within
me ; yes, it glows within me, and I have a continual enjoy-
ment in it. How do we rejoice to se^ the tree before the
door, which we have known from childhood, grow green and
blossom again in spring ! — how do I rejoice (since you
blossom eternally for me), when at times an inward loftier
gleam beams forth from your blossoms, — and I, in lively
remembrance, sink my face into the cup and quite inhale it !

Bettine.

November 28th.

TO GOETHE.

I KNOW that you will not be able to use all that I tell
you of yourself; I have in a lonely hour lain upon these
single moments, like the dew upon the flowers, which mir-
rors their colors in the sunshine. Still do I ever see you so
glorified, but it is impossible for me to prove it to you by
representation. You are modest and will leave it to itself,
but you will grant me that your appearance beamed pre-
cisely upon me ; I was the only one who, by chance, or
rather unconscious instinct, found myself at your feet. It
costs me pains, and I can only insufficiently prove, that
which is so intimately bound up with my heart, which,
once for all, dwells in my breast, and will not be entirely
separated. In the mean time, I need only one word from
you to cast back these jewels, just as I received them, rough
and unpolished, into your enormous wealth. What on my
brow, rounded by loving thought; in my look, which was
fixed with enthusiasm upon you ; on the lips, which, touched

320 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

with love's spirit, moved to you, — what has thus been im-
pressed, I cannot give you again ; it floats away, hke the
sound of music, which exists only in the moment of per-
formance.

To each anecdote which I write down, I would fain say a
farewell ; the flowers must be broken off*, that they, still in
their bloom, may be placed within the herbary. I did not
think thus, when, in my last letter but one, I so kindly
offered you my garden. Do you smile ? — yet you will
prune the foliage as exuberant, and care neither for the
dew nor sunshine, which, beyond my territory, no longer
rest upon it. The archer who aims at love, will not tire of
sending a thousand and a thousand shafts. He bends again,
and draws the string even to his eye, and looks sharply and
aims sharply : — and you behold, graciously, these spent
arrows, which fall at thy feet, and think that I cannot re-
strain myself from saying to you eternally the same. And
does not such an arrow sometimes touch you, — a very,
very little .''

Your grandfather was a man of dreams, and dream-inter-
preter ; much was revealed to him concerning his family,
by dreams ; once he foretold a great fire, — then the unex-
pected arrival of the Emperor : true, this was not much
noticed, but yet it spread through the town, and excited
general wonder, wherever it came. He secretly confided to
his wife, that he had dreamed one of the aldermen had, in
a most obliging manner, offered him his place ; not long
after, this alderman died of apoplexy, and his place fell, by
ballot, to your grandfather. When the bailiff" died, an ex-
traordinary council was called, late in the night, for the next
morning, by the sergeant. Now the candle in his lantern
was burnt out, and your grandfather called out in his sleep,
" Give him another candle, he takes all his trouble on my
account." Nobody had remarked these words ; he himself
said nothing the next morning, and appeared to have for-
gotten them ; but his eldest daughter, your mother, had
noticed them, and believed firmly in their import. When
her father had gone to the council-house, she, according to
her own expression, "dressed herself in the most mighty
state, and frizzed her hair to the very skies." In this pomp
she seated herself in the arm-chair, by the window, with a
book in her hand. Both mother and sisters beUeved that

WITH A CHILD. 321

their sister princess (so was she called, on account of her
dislike to domestic employments, and her love of dress and
reading) was crazy ; but she assured them that they would
soon creep behind the curtains, when the senators should
come to congratulate them upon their father's having be-
come bailiff. As her sisters were laughing at her credulity,
she saw, from her elevated seat by the window, her father
coming, with a stately train of senators behind ; " Hide your-
selves," she cried, " yonder he comes, and all the senators
with him ; " none of them would believe, till they had all,
one after another, popped their uncurled heads out of the
window, and saw the solemn procession pacing on ; then
they all scampered away, and left the princess alone in the
parlor to receive them.

One sister appeared to have inherited this gift of dream-
ing ; for immediately after your grandfather's death, when
the will could not be found, she dreamed that it was found
between two boards, in her father's desk, which were con-
nected by a secret lock ; the desk was searched, and all was
right. Your mother, however, had not this talent ; she be-
lieved it resulted from her merry-careless disposition, and
her full confidence that all Avas for the best ; this perhaps,
was exactly her prophetic gift, for she said herself, that in
this respect she was never deceived.

Your grandmother came once after midnight into the bed-
chamber of her daughters, and remained there till the morn-
ing, because something had happened to her which she, for
very fright, did not trust herself to tell. The next morning,
however, she related, that something had rustled in her room
like paper : thinking that the window was open, and that the
wind was blowing the papers off your grandfather's desk in
the adjoining study, she had got up, but found the windows
closed. Just as she had laid herself to bed again, the rust-
ling came nearer and nearer, accompanied by an anxious
crumpling of paper ; at last there was a deep sigh, and then
another, so near to her face, that she felt the clammy breath,
and thereupon she ran, out of fear, to the children. Shortly
afterwards a stranger was announced ; and, as he approached
your grandmother, handing her a crumpled up paper, she
fell into a swoon. A friend of hers who, in that night, had
a presentiment of ajDproaching death, wanted paper in order
to write to her upon an important affair ; but, before he had

21

322 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

finished, he was attacked by the death-cramp, seized the
paper, crushed it in his hand, rolled about with it upon the
coverlid, at last gave two deep sighs, and died. Although
that which was written upon the paper, said nothing definite,
yet your grandmother could imagine what his last request
was, — your noble grandfather took to himself a little orphan
of this friend (who had no just claims upon his inheritance),
became his guardian, set apart a sum out of his own means,
which your grandmother increased with many a little saving.
From this moment your mother slighted no forebodings,
or things of like nature. She said, " Even if one does not
believe, one should not deny or despise it ; the heart is deeply
touched by things of that kind." Our entire fate is often
developed by events, which appear so trifling, that we do not
even mention them, and which work within so pliably and
secretly that we scarcely perceive them : I daily meet with
events which no other person would notice, but they are my
world, my enjoyment, my glory. When I enter a circle of
tedious folks, to whom the rising sun is no more matter of
wonder, and who believe themselves raised above all which
they do not understand, I think in my soul, " You believe
you have digested the whole world, and yet you have no
idea of all I have seen and heard to-day." She told me,
that she never in her whole life could content herself in the
ordinary every-day manner; that her strong mind wanted
important and great events to digest, and that these too had
happened to her in full measure ; that she was not here for
her son's sake alone, but her son also for hers ; and that she
could be assured of her own interest in your productions
and your fame, since no more perfect or exalted happiness
could be conceived, than, for her son's sake, to be so gen-
erally honored. She was right, — who needs to explain it
further? it speaks for itself. Far removed as you were
from her, and that too for so long a time, you were never
better understood than by her ; whilst learned men, philos-
ophers, and critics examined you and your works, she was a
living example of how you were to be received. She often
repeated to me single passages from your books, at such fit
moments and with such splendid look and love, that in them
my Avorld, too, began to receive a liveher color, and brothers,
sisters, and friends to fiill into the shade. That song, " O let
me seem, till I become," she interpreted most excellently ;

WITH A CHILD. 323

she said, that this alone must prove, how deep was the rc-
hoioii within you ; for you had tliere described the only state
in which the soul could soar again to God ; namely, without
prejudice, witliout selfish merits, out of pure longing towards
a Creator. She said, too, that the virtues, with which one
believes to take heaven by storm, were mere buffoonery,
and that all merit must strike sail before the confidence of
innocence ; that this was the spring of mercy which washed
away all sins, and that this innocence was born in each, and
was the primitive cause of all longing after divine life.
That, even in the most distracted mind, was adjusted a deep
connection with its Creator, in this innocent love and confi-
dence, which, in spite of all aberrations, allows it not to be
extirpated ; that on these one should take fast hold, for it
was God himself in man, who will not that man should j)ass
in despair from this world to the other, but rather in peace
and presence of mind ; otherwise the spirit would reel over
like a drunkard, and disturb the eternal quiet with its la-
ments ; his folly, too, would there inspire no great respect,
since his head must first be set to rights. Of this song, she
said, it Avas the spirit of truth, encased in the strong body of
Nature, and she called it her confession of faith ; the melo-
dies were miserable and untrue compared with her impres-
sive manner, and the feehng which sounded forth in full
measure from her voice. " None but he who longing
knows," — her eye therewith rested on the ball of St. Cath-
arine's tower, which was the last point of view that she had
from her seat at the window ; her lips moved eagerly, which
at last she always closed with jJainful earnestness, while her
gaze, lost in the distance, glowed ; it was as if the senses of
her youth rose up again before her ; then sometimes she
pressed my hand, and surprised me with the words : " You
understand Wolfgang, and love him." Her memory was
not only remarkable, it was splendid : the impress of power-
ful feelings developed itself in its full force in her recollec-
tions ; and here, simply as she herself related it to me, will
I, as an instance of her great heart, impart to you a tale,
which I intended to have done at Munich, and which was so
strangely connected with her death. Before I went into the
Rheingau, I came to take leave of her ; and as a post-horn
was heard in the street, she said that this sound, even now,
pierced her heart, as at the time when she was seventeen.

324 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

At that time the Emperor Charles the Seventh, suniamed
the Unlucky, was at Frankfort ; all were filled with enthu-
siasm at his great beauty ; on Good Friday, she saw him in
a long black mantle, with many gentlemen and pages, dressed
in black, visiting the churches on foot. " Heavens, what
eyes had that man ! with what a melancholy did he look up
from under the sunken eyehds ! — I did not leave him ; I
followed him into all the churches ; in every one he knelt
upon the last bench, among the beggars, and laid his head
awhile between his hands ; when he looked up again, I felt
as if a thunder-clap struck within my breast.

" When I returned home, I found myself no longer in my
old way of life ; it was as if bed, chair, and table no longer
stood in their usual places : it had become night ; lights were
brought in ; I went to the window and looked out into the
dark streets, and when I heard those in the room sjDeaking
of the Emperor, I trembled like an aspen-leaf. In my
chamber, at night, I fell upon my knees before my bed, and
held my head between my hands like him, and it Avas as if a
great gate were opened in my breast. My sister, who en-
thusiastically praised him, sought every opportunity of see-
ing him ; I went with her ; nobody could Iiave an idea how
deeply my heart was concerned ; once, as the Emperor
drove by, she sprang upon a stepping-stone by the wayside,
and gave him a loud cheer ; he looked out and waved kindly
with his handkerchief. She boasted much that the Emperor
had given her so friendly a token ; but I was secretly per-
suaded that the greeting was meant for me, for, in driving
past, he looked back again towards me : indeed, almost every
day that I had an opportunity of seeing him, something oc-
curred which I could interpret as a mark of his favor ; and
in my chamber, at night, I always knelt before my bed, and
held my head between my hands, as I had seen him do on
Good Friday, in the church; and then I thought over all
that had happened to vie with him, and thus was a private
intelligence of love built up within my heart, of which it
was impossible for me to believe that he knew nothing ; I
believed that he had surely inquij-ed out my dwelling, be-
cause he now drove oftener through our street than before,
and always looked up at the windows and greeted me. O
how blessed was I that entire day, on the morning of which
he greeted me, — then I may well say that I wept for joy.

WITH A CHILD. 325

Once, when he held open table, I pushed my way through
the sentinels and came into the saloon, instead of the gallery.
The trumpets were sounded ; at the tliird sound, he appeared
in a red velvet mantle, which two chamberlains took off; he
walked slowly, with ft somewhat inclining head. I was quite
near to him, thinking not at all of my being in the wrong
place ; his health was drunk by all the nobles present, and
the trumpets crashed in, and then I shouted loudly in con-
cert. The Emperor looked at me, took a goblet to pledge
again, and nodded to me, — nay, it seemed to me as if he
Avould have brought me the goblet, and I must believe it to
this day ; it would cost me too much, if I were compelled to
give up this thought, at which I have shed so many tears of
happiness ; and why should he not, he must have read the
great enthusiasm in my eyes. At the flourish of drums and
trumpets in the saloon, that accompanied the toast in which
he pledged the princes, I became quite miserable and faint,
so much did I take this imaginary honor to heart ; my sister
had much trouble to bring me out into the fresh air ; she
scolded me, that on my account she was forced to lose the
pleasure of seeing the Emperor dine ; indeed, after I had
drank from the fountain, she tried to get in again ; but a
secret voice said to me, that I ought to content myself with
what had been granted me that day, and I did not return
with her : — no, I sought my lonely chamber, and seated
myself upon the chair by the bedside, and wept painfully
sweet tears, of the most ardent love, for the Emperor. The
next day he took his departure ; I lay at four in the morn-
ing in my bed ; the day was just breaking ; it was on the
17th April, when I heard five postilions' horns blow, — this
Avas he, I sprang out of bed ; Avith over-haste I fell in the
middle of the room, and hurt myself; I took no notice of it,
and flew to the window ; at that moment the Emperor drove
past ; he looked up at my window, even before I had torn it
open ; he kissed his hand to me, and waved his handkerchief
till he was out of the street. From this time I have never
heard a post-horn blow without thinking of this parting ;
and, to this very day, when I have voyaged along the whole
stream of life, and am just about to land, its wide-sounding
tone painfully affects me ; and that, too, wlien so much, upon
which mankind set value, has sunk around me, without my
feeling sorrow. Must not one make strange comments, when

32G GOETHE'S COEEESPOXDENCE

one sees how a passion, which, at its very origin, was a chi-
mera, outlives all that is real ; maintaining itself in a heart,
which has long rejected all such claims as follj ? Neither
have I ever had the desire to speak of it ; to-day is the first
time. In the fall which I then got, through over-haste, I
had wounded my knee upon a large nail that stood some-
what high out of the floor ; I had made a deep wound above
the right knee, the sharp head of *he nail formed a cicatrice,
resembling a very fine and regular star, upon which I often
looked during the four weeks, in which, soon afterwards, the
death of the Emperor was tolled by all the bells for a whole
hour every afternoon. Ah ! what painful hours did I then
endure, when the Cathedral began to toll Avith its great bell,
and there came at first such single powerful strokes, as if
it wavered inconsolably here and there. By degrees the
peahng of the smaller bells, and the more distant churches,
sounded too ; it was as if everything sighed and wept at his
decease ; and the air, too, was so awful, and it was just at
sunset when the bells ceased tolKng, one bell after the other
was hushed, till the Cathedi-al even, as it had begun to
mourn, sighed forth the last tones to the evening twilight ;
at tiiat time the cicatrice upon my knee was quite fresh. I
studied it every day, and therewith thought of all."

Your mother showed me her knee, above which was the
scar, in form of a very distinct, regular star ; she reached
me her hand at parting, and said to me again at the door,
she had never spoken with any one about it except me. I
was scarcely in the Rheingau, when I wrote down every
thing as nearly as possible in her own words ; for I thought
directly, that it must surely one day become interesting to
you ; but now your mother's death has set a splendid crown
upon this childlike love-tale, which I think could have left
untouched no noble, manly heart, much less the Emperor,
and which has stamped it as something perfectly beautiful.
In September I received a letter at the Rheingau, to say
that your mother was not well ; I hastened my return ; I
went immediately to her ; the physician was just then with
her ; she looked very grave ; when he was gone, she handed
me the prescription, with a smile, saying, " There, read ;
what may that forebode ? an apphcation of wine, myrrh, oil,
and laurel-leaves, to strengthen my knee, which, since the
summer, has begun to give me pain, and now, at last, water

WITH A CHILD. 327

has collected under the scar ; but you will see that this
imperial specific of laurel, wine, and oil, with which the
Emperor is anointed at his coronation, will give me no
relief. I see it coming already, that the water will be
drawn towards the heart, and then it Avill soon be over."
She bid me farewell, and said she would let me know when
I might come again.

A few days afterwards, she had me called ; she lay in
bed, and said, " To-day I lie in bed again as formerly,
when I was scarcely sixteen, of the same wound." I
laughed with her about it, and said to her playfully much
that both touched and delighted her ; then she looked at me
again very ardently, pressed my hand, and said, " You are
so exactly fitted to keep up my spirits in this time of suffer-
ing, for r well know that it is coming to an end with me."
She tlien said a few words of you, and that I should not
cease to love you, and that at Christmas I should once
more send to her grandson the customary sweetmeats in
her name. Two days afterwards, on the evening when a
concert was given in her neighborhood, she said, " Now, as
I fall asleep, I will think of the music which will soon wel-
come me in heaven." She also had some of her hair cut
off, saying, that it should be given to me after her death,
together with a family picture, by Seekatz, in which she,
with your father, sister, and you, dressed as shepherds, are
portrayed in the midst of a delightful landscape. The next
morning she was no more ; she passed away in nightly
slumber.

This is the story which I had already promised you at
Munich ; now that it is written, I don't know how you will
take it ; it always struck me as something quite uncommon,
and by it I have made so many vows !

Of your father, too, she told me much that was beautiful ;
he was himself a handsome man. She married him without
any settled inclination ; she knew how to direct him in
many ways to the advantage of the children, whom he set,
with a certain severity, to learn ; nevertheless, he must
have been very kindly disposed towards you, for he used
to talk with you, hours together, about future journeys, and
painted your future to you as splendidly as possible. Con-
cerning an important house-repair, which your father under-
took, your mother had also something to relate ; how, as an

323 GOETHE'S COREESPONDENCE

infant, she had often with great anxiety seen you clamber-
ing about the beams. "When the repairs were finished,
which turned your old lumbering house, with winding stairs
and disproportioned stories, into a handsome, elegant dwell-
ins:, in which valuable works of art adorned the rooms with
taste, your father with great attention arranged a library,
in which you were employed. About your father's passion
for travelling, your mother had much to tell ; his rooms
were hung with maps and plans of large cities, and while
you read the description of the journey, he travelled about
with his finger, seeking out every point. Now this agreed
neither with your impatience nor the hasty temperament of
your mother ; you both longed for some interruption to
these tedious winter evenings, which were at last entirely
broken up by a French commander taking up his quarters
in the state-rooms. This was no improvement ; your father
was not to be consoled for the giving up of his scarcely
finished house, which had cost him so many sacrifices, as
mihtary quarters ; from this arose much dilemma, which
your mother understood excellently how to arrange. I also
send you a few pages with memoranda ; they may serve to
awake in you the remembrance of a thousand things, of
which you will then find the connection again. The love-
stories at Offenbach with a certain Grizzel, the nocturnal
walks, and things of that sort, were never connectedly re-
lated to me by your mother ; and, God knows, I was shy
of askin2: about them.

Bettine.

TO GOETHE.

What held me so long prisoner was music, unmended
pens, bad paper, thick ink, — many accidents came to-
gether.

On the fourth of December it was cold and awful

weather, varying between snow, rain, and sleet

what have I now better to do than to keep your heart
warm ? The under-waistcoat I have made as coaxingly
warm as possible. Think of me.

I have heard Prince Radziwill's music out of Faust ;
the song of the shepherd is so unique, lively, descriptive,

WITH A CHILD. 329

brief, possessing all praiseworthy qualities, that it certainly
can never be so excellingly composed again. The chorus,
" Within sits one imprisoned," goes through and through
one. The chorus of the spirits, when Faust slumbers,
splendid ! — one hears the Pole throughout. A German
would not have handled it so, — so much the more charm-
ing ! It must be given as softly as is the flying gossamer
in a summer's evening.

Zelter is often with us ; I try to get out of him what he
is. Unpolished he certainly is ; he is right and wrong too.
He maintains, too, that he loves you ; he would fain serve
the world, and bears complaints that it will not yield, and
that he is obliged to keep all his wisdom to himself. One
jDoint of view he has chosen to himself, from where he looks
down upon the world, which does not care whether he sit
together with the crows on the pinnacle, to see mankind
struggling upon common places. On the song-table he is
Cgesar, rejoicing at his victories ; in the singing academy he
is Napoleon, who drives by his command all to fear, and his
confiding troops follow him through thick and thin. For-
tunately singing is not fighting ; his first guard, the bass,
has a catarrh. On the world, in company, and in travelling,
he is Goethe, and indeed a very human one, full of kind
concession ; he walks, stands, throws a little word, nods
graciously to insignificant things, puts his hands on his
back. AH this will do ; but sometimes he spits very
bravely ; that hits not, then the whole illusion goes to the
devil.

In every art the magical raises in trivial minds a per-
plexity, which in music attains an undoing power ; Zelter,
for instance, admits of nothing he does not already under-
stand, though music is only beginning where mental powers
reach no more. And the ever-disappointing cross-spirits,
having so good an intention, when above all they claim for
clear accounts in art ! — who do not feel their degradinsc
the highest element of a divine language, in working it up
with their low understanding ! — who with a higher revela-
tion will never be intrusted, when they think to be wiser
than its messengers, enthusiasm and fancy. Though in
music a magical performing is ever in action, the trivial-
minded, at their not understanding it, struck with fear, often
pronounce these magical spells either but half or in a false

330 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

direction : whence it is, that those else so lively sparkling
spirits, now moist-cold, tedious, troublesome, and indeed in-
comprehensible, stop them in tlieir way, whilst the inspired
listens with a secret confidence, and complies with a world
which cannot be explained, which imparts to the mind its
efficacy, yet not its origin. Thence the sudden appearance
of genius in his ripeness, which, for a long time lost in
unbounded self-contemplation, now heightened in himself,
breaks forth to daylight, not caring whether the profane
understand him, Avhile he speaks with God (Beethoven).
Thus it is with music : genius will not be revealed to trivial
minds, for they will not acknowledge what they do not
understand. Ah ! when I remember Beethoven, who, feel-
ing his own power, exultingly exclaimed, " I am of an
electric nature, therefore my music is so excellent ! "

Many senses to one apparition of the spirit, — perpetual
lively action of the spirit upon senses (men), — without
senses no spirit, no music.

Voluptuousness to look into the past, as through crystal !
Acuteness of a ruling and exciting genius ! — never thus in
music : — what sounds, dies away ; — music can arise, but
ever new.

Strange fate of music-language, not to be understood !
Thence the rasre aorainst that which has not been heard
before ; thence the expression, " unheard." To genius in
music the man of principle in music always stands oppo-
site, like a block. (Zelter must avoid standing oj)posite to
Beethoven.) With the known he agrees, not by under-
standing, but because he is accustomed, like the ass, to its
daily way. What can one do, who even would do every-
thing, if genius does not lead him to where he must give
no account, and where erudition dares not, bunghng, in.
Erudition at least comprehends what there was before, but
not what is to come ; it cannot loosen the spirit from the
letter, not from the law. Every art is properly emj)owered
to supplant death, to lead mankind up to heaven ; but
where the trivial-wise watch and absolve out as masters,
there it stands ashamed at itself ; what should be free will,
free life, becomes mechanic ; and there one may hear, and
believe, and hope ; nothing will result. Only on paths
unaccessible to trivial people it could be attained ; these are
prayer and discretion of the mind with quiet confidence in

WITH A CHILD. 331

eternal wisdom, were it even incomprehensible. There we
stay on the inaccessible heights, and yet — there above only
one learns to understand the voluptuousness of breathing.

To the housewife this little souvenir, with my best wishes
for the beginning year. To Mr. Riemer the unmade waist-
coat ; his perfection has too much dazzled me, that I might
find the just measure of it. Simple forget-me-nots on the
waistcoat ! — he will be not a little proud of it. Should his
taste be not as far cultivated as to find it pretty, he may be
assured all wiU envy him for it. I must still advise, that it
is to be worn as an under- waistcoat, — he certainly will
write and thank me for it. And thou ? — hum ? — thou only
one who makes death bitter to me !

Bettine.

Adieu, magnetic mount ! — would I even direct my sails
here and there, on thee all ships should wreck.
Adieu, thou sole heritage of my mother.
Adieu, fountain from which I drink.

TO BETTINE.

Thou appearest from time to time, dear Bettine, like a
beneficent genius, often in person, often with good gifts ;
now also from all sides the best thanks for thy endow-
ments

That you sometimes are with Zelter, pleases me ; I hope
that at last you will learn to accommodate with him. Thou
hast sagacity enough, but much Hmited caprice too ; and
jmrticularly what refers to music. You allow your little
liead to be benumbed with odd whims ; though I like them
because they belong to thee, therefore I will neither com-
mand nor torment you for them. To confess it plainly, I
wish to have your thoughts on art in general, and partic-
ularly on music, committed to me. Your solitary hours
vou can spend in no better way than in meditating on your
dear caprice, and to intrust me with it. I will not conceal
either to you, that, in spite of all their whim, your ideas
have a harmonizing echo within me ; and so much which in
earlier time I had hidden in a fine heart, will be excited at
what in this moment succeeds very well with me. For you

332 GOETHE'S CORRESPOXDEXCE

it is to be wished, what the great masters of wisdom will
advise as for the most essential condition of immortality,
that man, out of his inmost being, shall come forth to light.
I must urgently recommend you to follow this wise advice
as well as possible : for though I do not believe that in this
way all, unintelligible and mysterious one, would sufficiently
be resolved in you, yet the most agreeable results would be
attended by it.

Of the good musical works I own to you, many are
already studied ; in general, our little musical study, this
winter, has a very quiet and regular proceeding.

Of me can I but tell that I am well ; for mere exte-
riorities nothing could unfold from within. I think spring
and a httle solitude will do the best. I thank thee, in tho
best way, for thy evangeUum juventutis, of which thou hast
sent me some pericopes. Proceed from time to time, as
genius suggests thee.

Farewell, now ; receive my thanks once more for the
Avarm, brilliant waistcoat. My wife salutes and thanks
politely. Riemer must have written already.

Jena, where I shall remain for a fortnight.

G.

January lltli, ISll.

TO GOETHE.

Thus my dear friend is alone ! that cheers me, that you
are alone, think on me ! — lay your head in your hand and
think on me, that I also am alone. In the pages inclosed
is the proof that my solitude is filled with you ; yes, how
should I come to such intuitions, but in thinking myself in
your presence.

I have spent a cold night listening to my thoughts, be-
cause you in such a friendly manner ask to know all ; yet
T could not write all, these thoughts are too volatile. Ay,
Goethe ! should I write down all, how odd would that be !
be contented with those, supply them in my mind, in which
thou hast a home. You — no other — have ever reminded
me to impart my soul to you, and I would withhold you
nothing ; therefore I would come forth to light out of my-
self, because you alone enlighten me.

WITH A CHILD. 333

The added pages were written in Monday night.

Art ! — I have not studied it ; I know nothing of its ori-
gin, of its history, its condition ; how is its influence, how
men understand it, — that seems unreal to me.

Art is the hallowing, sensual nature, and that is all I
know of it. What is beloved shall serve to love : spirit is
the beloved child of God, chosen by God for the service of
sensual nature, — this is art. Intuition of spirit into the
senses is art. What you feel becomes thought, and what
you think, what you strive to invent, that becomes sensual
feeling. What men compile in art, what they produce in it,
how they force their way through it, what they do more or
less, that would be submitted to many contradictions, but yet
is it even a spelling of the divine " Let it be."

What seizes us in the shape of a figure which moves not,
and is not able to unfold the moment of its mental tendency ?
— what penetrates us in a painted atmosphere, in which the
idea of rising will never be fulfilled ? — what moves us to
long for home, even in the painted cottage ? — what to this
intimate bending to the imitated animals ? — if it is not the
germing of the productive power in genius ?

Ah, what do you ask about art ; I can say nothing that
shall satisfy you. Ask about love, this is my art ; in it I
am to perform, in it I shall recollect myself and rejoice.

I am afraid of you : I am afraid of the spirit which you
bid to arise within me, because I am not able to express it.
In your letter you say : " The whole internal spirit shall
come forth to light out of itself." Never before has this
simple infallible command been obvious to me ; and now,
where your wisdom calls me forth to light, what have I to
display as only faults against this internal genius ; look
there ! — misused and oppressed it was. But this breaking
forth to light of the mind, is it not art ? This inner man
asking for hght, to have by the finger of God loosened his
tongue, untied his hearing, awakened all senses to receive
and to spend ; and is love here not the only master, and we
its disciples in every work which we form by its inspiration ?

Works of art, however, are those which alone we call art,
through which we think to perceive and enjoy art. But as
far the producing of God in heart and mind overpowers the
idea we make to ourselves of him and his laws, which in
temporal life are of value, even so does art overpower men's

334 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

valuing of it. They who fancy to understand it will per-
form no more than what is ruled by understanding ; but
whose senses are submitted to its spirit, he has revelation.

All production of art is a symbol of revelation, where the
conceiving mind is often more imparted with revelation than
the producing one. Art is witness, that in our world the
language of a higher one is plainly to be perceived ; and
when to explain it we venture not, then it will make us
ready for this higher spirit's life, of which it is the language.
We want not to understand it, but to trust in it ; faith is the
seed through which this language-spirit germs in us ; so as
all wisdom springs from faith, as it is the seed of an immor-
tal world. As the highest wonder is true, all that lies there
between must be an approach to truth, and but the judging
mind of mankind misleads. What in fairness mav and
dares make us wonder, but our own meanness ? All is
father, and son, and holy ghost, limits of earthly wisdom are
but the starlighted little men who talk of its light. The
warmth of thy blood is wisdom, for love alone gives life ; the
warmth of thy spirit is wisdom, for love alone enlivens the
mind ; warm thou my heart with thy spirit, which thou
breathest into me, then I shall have the spirit of God ; he
alone is able to produce it.

This cold night I have spent at the writing-table, to con-
tinue the Evangelium juventutis, and much I have thought,
what I am not able to tell.

To improve the advantages of experiences as they ought
to be is mastership ; to transfer them on the scholar is teach-
ing ; has the scholar comprehended all and understands how
to employ it, then he becomes absolved ; this is the school
by which art will be transplanted. To one in such manner
absolved all ways of error are open, but never the right one.
Once released from the long-frequented school in which sys-
tem and experience had enclosed him, the labyrinth of errors
becomes his world, from which he may never escape. Every
way he will choose is a misguiding path of error ; void of
divine spirit, misled by prejudices, he tries to employ all his
artificial craft to bring the object of his labor to a good issue.
More will never be attained by the endeavors of an artist
educated in the school of art. AYhoever has come to some-
thing in art did forget of his craftiness ; his load of experi-
ences become ship^^^:•ecked, and despair led him to land on

WITH A CHILD. 335

the right shore. "What from such a violent epoch will pro-
ceed is indeed often captivating, but not convincing, because
the scale of judgment and of perception is no other than
those experiences and artifices which never suit where pro-
duction will not be made up by means of them ; then, also,
because the prejudice of an obtained mastership will not
allow of anything to be that depends not on its authority ;
and because the presentiment of a higher world will thus
remain closed to it. The invention of this mastership is
justified by the principle, that there is nothing new ; that all
is invented before imagination ; such productions are partly
an abuse of that which is invented, to new inventions, partly
apparent inventions, where the work of art has not the
thought within itself, but must make up for its want by the
devices and experience of the school of art ; and finally
productions, which go just as far as thought by improvement
is allowed to comprehend ; the more prudently balancing,
the more faultless and secure; the more comprehensible,
too, they are for the multitude ; these we call works of art.

If we form the statue of a hero, we are acquainted with
the situations in his life ; we unite them satisfying to honor
in a manner agreeing with good taste ; every part expresses
itself harmoniously with the individuality of its idea ; the
whole answering the experience of the beautiful, and so we
are sufficiently contented. But such is not the problem of
art promoted by genius ; this is not contenting, but over-
whelming ; it is not representing the appearance, but it re-
veals the genius himself in this appearance. You will not
say, " This is the effigy of a man who was a hero," but,
" This is the revelation of heroism itself, which is embodied
in this work of art." Such a question of art requires not
calculation, but passion, or rather endurance of divine power ;
and whatever artist represents heroism (heroism is the sym-
bol of every virtue, for virtue is quite victory) in a manner
it may impart the enthusiasm which is the appearance of it,
he has not only the faculty for this virtue, but it is already
regenerated in him. In the plastic arts, the object stands as
fast as faith ; the mind of mankind wanders around it like
perception : consciousness in faith produces the work of art,
which enlightens.

In music, producing is itself a wandering of the divine
idea, which enlightens the mind without object, and man

336 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

himself is conception. In all is union of love, a joining of
mental forces one in another.

Excitement becomes language, a summons to the spirit ;
it answers, and this is invention. This also is the secret
base of invention : the faculty of mind to answer a demand ;
which has no fixed object as problem, but is the perhaps
unconscious tendency of production.

All motions of mental events in life have such a deep
hidden basis : thus, as the breath of life sinks into the
breast to draw both anew, so the procreating spirit sinks
into the soul, again to ascend to the higher regions of eter-
nal creative power.

The soul breathes by spirit, spirit breathes by inspiration,
and this is the breathing of the divinity.

To inhale the divine spirit is to engenerate, to produce ;
to exhale the divine breath is to breed and nourish the mind :
thus the divine engenerates, breeds, and nourishes itself in
the spirit ; thus through spirit in the soul, thus through the
soul in the body. Body is art ; art is the sensual nature,
engenerated into the life of spirit.

In the style of art they say : nothing that is new is to be
invented, all has existed before : Yes ! we can but invent
in mankind, nothing is without them. For spirit is not witli-
out man, for God himself has no other harbor but the spirit
of man. The inventor is love: and because embracing love
alone is the foundation of existence, therefore, beyond this
embraced one, there is no being, no invention. Inventing is
only perceiving how the genius of love rules in the being
founded by love.

Man cannot invent, only feel himself; only conceive,
learn, what the genius of love speaks to him ; how it nour-
ishes itself in him, and how it teaches him by itself. With-
out transforming this perception of divine love into the lan-
guage of knowledge, there is no invention.

How could mind invent, when itself is but the invented ;
when the displaying of its life is but the explanation of tliose
passions, which, to impart to it, is the enjoyment and nour-
ishment of divine love ; — as its breathing is only consuming
of this passion, as its productions are only the embodying of
this passion.

Thus existence is the embracing of love, the being be-
loved. The inventing, the pronouncing, is the inspiring of

WITH A CHILD. . 337

its passion into the human mind. Beauty is tlie mirror of
its rapture; — rapture of love mirrors itself in the spirit
which love' produces, and penetrates with passion to make
him longing for love ; to content spirit is love's enjoyment.
Sympathy with this enjoyment, with this rapture, is pro-
nounced by the spirit tlu'ough beauty. Beauty embodies
itself through the loving spirit, which with passion pene-
trates the form, thus as love will penetrate the self-created
form of spirit. Then will the sensual form pronounce the
beauty of spirit, as spirit filled by passion will pronounce the
beauty of love ; — and thus the beauty of sensual form will
be the mirror of the loving spirit's rapture, as beauty of the
soul is the mirror of the loving divinity's rapture.

My friend believes me perhaps a lunatic, because we have
to-day full moon ? — I believe it also.

August 1st, 18ir.

I did not think that I ever ajrain should be so darinsc as
to write to you ! Is it you, or is it only my remembrance,
which in this solitude dares look on me with open eyes ?
Alas, how often in such hours have I offered my hand to
thee, that thou mightst lay thine into it, that I might press
them both on my lips. How I feel, that it was not easy to
endure me in my passionate behavior ; nay, I do not even
endure myself, and with terror I turn my mind from all these
pains, which contemplation stirs up within me.

But why even to-day, after years passed, after hours over-
come, where I had to struggle with spirits which did mind
me to thee ? — to-day I considered, that perhaps you also
never may have experienced a love, which lasted to the end ;
to-day I had the hair in my hand which your mother cut off
from her head, to have it given to me after her death as a
token of her love, and there I kept a good heart ; once more
I shall call on thee ; what can happen to me if thou wilt not
listen ?

People go now often to church : they go to the Lord's
Supper ; they speak much of the friend and Lord of man-
kind, of the Son of God ; I could not even preserve the
friend whom I had chosen for myself; my Hps were closed
on him, as if I did not know him ; I have seen the judg-
ment's-sword of tongue lightening above him, and did not

22

338 GOETHE'S CORRESPOXDEXCE

avert it ; look, there is so little good within me, though I

did think myself surely better than all who are thus.

Three years ago I dreamed that I awoke out of a calm

sleep, sitting upon thy knees, at a covered long table ; the

candles had burnt deep away, nearly extinguished ; and I

I3ointed at them and said : " I let thee sleep so long on my

bosom, all the guests have left the table ; I alone, not to

trouble thy slumber, waited thy awaking ; and now do not

reproach me any more, that I have no patience with thee."

Yes, truly ! this I dreamed ; then I would have written it to

thee, but an anxiety, which proceeded to my very finger-tops,

detained me from it. Now I greet thee once again through

all the night of past times, and again close the wounds,

which, during so long a time, I did not venture to look on,

and I wait if you will not agree to listen before I relate any

more. t^

Bettine.

The very day on which I had written this the theatre
took fire ; I went to the place where thousands with me en-
joyed this astonishing scene ; the wild flame-dragons broke
loose from the roof and curled downwards, or were torn by
puffs of wind ; the heat had consumed or dissevered already
dripping clouds, and through the red glowing one might
quietly look at the sun, the smoke became a reddish veil.
The fire descended into the inner rooms, and from without
frisked here and there on the edge of the building ; the tim-
ber of the roof in a twinkling tumbled do^^m, and then looked
most pompously. Now I must also tell you, that meanwhile
there was an exulting within me, I also was glowing ; the
earthly body consumed itself, and also the false pomp was
consumed with it. Through the open door, through the
dark dead walls, — all windows black, — we saw the theatre
curtain, burning in violent flames, suddenly fall in ; instantly
the theatre was a sea of flames ; a slow crackling went
through all the windows, and they were gone. Yes, when
the spirits of such elements once have their wings loosened
from their chains, they will do great harm. In this other
world, into which now I was raised by mind, I thought of
thee, whom so long already I had forsaken ; thy songs,
which since a long time I had not sung, moved on my lips ;
I alone, perhaps, amongst those thousands who stood there

WITH A CHILD. 339

shuddering and lamenting, felt in delightful solitary enthu-
siasm, how fire-proof thou art ; a problem was resolved, bet-
ter and clearer could the j^tain, which often in former times
stirred within me, not be elucidated. Yes, it was good ! —
with this house a mouldy building was burnt down, — so
free and bright it grew in my soul, and my fatherland's air
blew on me, I will tell you one thing more of this fire-story.
In the first afternoon-hours the flames had already finished
playing their part within the building ; as the moon was
rising, the little blazy spirits frisked in the window-frames ;
dancing between the ornaments, they lightened the black-
ened masks. On the third day the blaze burst out of the
deep excavated rafter-holes. More there was not to be
expected, I am sure you say so too, — wilt thou again reach
me thy hand over all this rubbish ; wilt thou know me
warm and loving thee to the end ; then say me one single
word, but soon, for I am thirsty.

Since these long years, I have forgotten writing ; thoughts
wind themselves through uneven paths, and yet I think my-
self like the foaming cup in thine hand, out of which thou
wouldst like to taste.

When the enclosed leaves of a flower will not have lost
their color, you may see what color my love to you has ;
for it always seems to me as if it were just as fervently red
and as quiet, and the golden seed-dust also ; thus your bed
is spread in my heart ; do not despise it. My direction is
17 George Street.

TO GOETHE.

/

Weimar, October 29th, 1821.

With thee I have to speak, not witli him who has pushed
me from him, not caring about tears ; and niggardly has
neither curse nor blessing to spend, before whom thoughts
rebound. With thee, genius, warden, and inflamer, who,
with mighty wings, often blew up again the flame out of the
dying embers ; with thee, who with hidden delight enjoyed,
when the youthful spring, roaring, revolting, over rocks,
searched for its way to the calm inlet at thy feet, where I
was contented to embrace thy knees.

Eye in eye ! — thou — merely life ! no ecstasy above
thee ! — happiness to see and to be seen by thee !

340 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

If I did love thee ? — tliis thou demandest ? — find ye it
out above our heads, ye wing-endowed. Trust in me !
trust in a warm impulse, — life's impulse I call it, so I
sing to thy dreaming bosom. Thou dreamst, thou slum-
berest, and I also do dream.

Yes, past time is now a dream ; the glorious flash of
enthusiasm had consumed thy earthly garment, and I saw
thee as thou art, a son of beauty ; now it is a dream.

I had to lay down at thy feet, myself, as a sacrifice, a
fervent, silent, solemn mystery ; quiet and deeply hidden,
like the unripe seed-corn in its husk ; on thee, on thy for-
giving love, it should ripen ; every involuntary fault, every
sin I ought to confess, I would suck them away out of thine
eyes with my tear-laden look, with my smile ; out of thy
consciousness, with the glowing of my heart, which thou
wilt not find a second time, — but all this is now a dream.

Ten years of solitude have overbuilt my heart, have
parted me from the spring from which I draw life ; of no
words, since then, have I again made use ; all what I had
felt and forefelt was gone. My last thought was, a time
will return in which I shall be : for, for this time, they
have buried my senses and veiled my heart.

This future time, my friend, passes over me like the
winds of the desert, which bury so many beings with light
quicksand, and no voice but thine will awake me again ;
and this, perhaps, will also remain a dream.

Then I often prayed for that only, that I might kiss thy
last breath, for I fain would touch thy upflying soul with
my lips. Yes, Goethe ! Ye times which are past, from
the far horizon turn to me once again ; you bear, hidden
in thick veils, the image of my youth-time.

No ! thou canst not ever be what thou now art, hard,
and cold as stone ; mayst thou be so for this Avorld, for
these vanishing times ; but there, where the clouds dis-
play themselves in triumphant standards, beyond which thy
songs ascend to the throne ; where thou, creator of them
and creator of thy world, reposest, after having created the
work of thy days, created it to live ; there let me be with
thee, for my love's sake, which, by the busy spirits of
yonder higher world, was carried to me, like honey by
thousands of busy bees, is inoculated on the wild fruit-tree's
hollow trunk ; which, though not from itself, hides a more

WITH A CHILD. 341

precious treasure than the tree which bears noble fruits.
Yes, — let the wild sprig entangle its roots with thine ; con-
sume it if thou wilt not endure it.

Yes, indeed, I am too eager ; look there, the dike whicli
use had built is destroyed, and the unused overflows heart
and paper. Yes, unused tears, ye overflow my face, which
seeks the sun and sees it not for tears ; also will it not
shine to me to-day ?

November 23d.

To gather all the flowers which yet stand in the gar-
den, to join together roses and fresh grapes yet late in the
season, is no unfit occupation, and does not deserve the
anger of him they are offered to. Why should I fear
thee ? — that thou hast thrust me away with the hand I
would kiss ; that was long since, and now thou hast changed
thy mind. Let this bouquet be planted into the cup of the
goblet from which thou drankest to-day ; may it keep these
last flowers for a night, let it be a grave to these flowers ;
to-morrow throw the bunch away, and fill the goblet as thou
art used to do. Thus thou hast done with me ; thou hast
thrown me away out of the vessel which thou art used to
carry to thy lips.

November 24th.

For a time the soul flutters on the ground, but soon it
flits, ascending into the cool ether. Beauty is ether ; it
cools, it inflames not. To know beauty is the true doing of
love. Love is no error, but alas ! fancy, which persecutes
it ! Thou seest I search for a beginning to speak with
thee, but though I stride on cothurns, the body is too weak
to bear the mind ; overloaded boughs drag the fruits on the
ground. Alas ! soon these dreams will have flamed away.

June 29th, 1822.

Thou seest on this paper that it is old already, and that I
have carried it along with me this long time ; I wrote it last
year, after having left thee. I suddenly felt as if thoughts
would break down with me ; I must leave off writing ; yet
from time to time a voice bids me tell thee all. I am going
into the country ; there I will, if possible, raise my view

342 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

above this earthly life ; I will veil it in mist, that it may
perceive nothing beyond thee. Beyond the sun, which the
dewdrop embraces, it shall embrace nothing ; each blossom,
opening its cup to light, contains a dewdrop, which receives
the shape of warming, animating power ; but trunk and
root are laden with the dark solid earth ; and, had the blos-
som no root, perhaps it would have wings.

It is so warm to-day ! To-day be resigned to the thoughts
which this paper will bring thee ; time and distance let van-
ish between our hearts ; then I have no further request,
then the heart must be silenced.

Bettine.

On this letter was written, by Goethe's hand, Received,
July 4th, 1822.

TO GOETHE.

Many times my mind was fixed on writing to you, but
thoughts and feehngs, such as tongue would not express, fill
the soul, and it is not able to break its silence.

Thus truth is a muse, who, indeed, harmoniously founds
the scheme of her melodies in him that she penetrates,
though will not let them resound. When all earthly want
is still, and all earthly knowledge is silenced, then first she
raises the wings of her song. Love ! impulse of all inspira-
tion, renews the heart, makes the soul infant-like and spot-
less. How often, beneath the slumber-cover of earthly life
did my heart awaken, endowed with the mystic power of
revealing itself; to the world I had faded, the soul a con-
sonant of love ; and hence my thinking, my feeling, a
summons to thee : Come ! be with me ! find me in this
darkness. It is my breath which plays about thy lips ! —
which comes flying to thy breast. Thus my thoughts tended
to thee from afar, and my letters bore to thee these melo-
dies ; my only request, thou shouldst think of me, and so as
in thought I ever lay at thy feet, embracing thy knees, so I
had a will thy blessing hand might repose on me. These
were the fundamental chords of my mind, searching to be
resolved within thee. Then I was, what alone makes bliss-
ful, an element, penetrated by powers of a higher nature ;

WITH A CHILD. 343

my feet did not walk, tliey flew above earthly patlis to meet
pleiitiness of the future ; my eyes did not see, they created
the images of my most delightful enjoyments ; and what my
ears perceived of thee, that was germ of eternal life, cher-
ished by a fructifying warmth of the heart. See! with
these remembrances I hasten through the past. Back, from
cliff to cliif, downward to the valley of a lonely youth;
here, finding thee, calming the moved heart on thy breast,
I feel myself raised to that inspiration in which the spirit of
heaven reveals itself in human feeling.

To pronounce thee, might perhaps be the most powerful
seal of my love ; surely it would, as a production of divine
nature, prove my relation to thee. It would be a problem
resolved, like the long-hidden mountain-torrent, which at
last forces itself to light, enduring with a volui3tuous enthu-
siasm the immense fall, in a life's moment, by which, after
which, a higher existence begins. Undoer ! thou who hast
taken from me free-will. Generator ! thou who hast created
in me the feehng of awaking ; with a thousand electrical
sparkles, out of the holy Nature's realm, palpitatest through
me. By thee I have learned to love the curling tendrils
of young vines ; on its hoary fruit fell the tears of my long-
ing. The young grass I have kissed for thy sake ; the open
breast for thy sake I exposed to the dew ; for thy sake I
listened when the butterfly and the bee were swarming
about me ; thee I would feel in the inmost sanctuary of
thy enjoyments. 0 thou, in the hidden toying with the
beloved, must I, heeding this mystery, not become drunk
with love.

Hast thou an idea of the shuddering which shook mc,
when the trees poured their fragrance and their blossoms
over me ? As I thought and felt, and firmly believed, it
was thy caressing with Nature ; thy enjoying its beauty,
its longing, its yielding to thee, which loosened these blos-
soms from the agitated boughs, and whirled them softly in
my lap. 0, ye mirror-nights of the moon, how, on your
heaven-vault, my spirit displayed itself ! there, dreams took
off the earthly consciousness, and, reawakening, the world
was strange to me. The approaching of tempests gave me
mind of the friend ; the heart felt him, the breath streamed
towards him ; joyfully the bounded life loosened itself,
during the lightning's crossing flash, and the rolling of its
thunder.

3-44: GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

The gift of Eros is the only touch "which aTX'akens genius ;
but those others, who want genius, call it madness. The
endowed, however, soar with the far-hitting arrow, from the
god's bow ; and their delight and their love has attained its
aim, if, with such a divine arrow, they sink at the feet of
the beloved. He who at his feet finds such an arrow, may
keep it sacred, and presence it in his bosom as a jewel, for
it is a double gift of Eros, while a life vowed to him is
glowing away in the flight of such an arrow ; and now,
also, I tell thee, value me as such a gift, which a god would
have voted to thy beauty ; for my life is for thee conciliated
to a higher one, and to the earthly one it is glown away ;
and what I tell thee yet in this life, is but what the arrow,
stretched at thy feet, bears witness to.

TVhat in paradise would be more refreshing, more adapted
to heaven's bliss ? either to find friends again, and surround-
ing abundance of blessed spirits, or but to enjoy the quiet
calm, in which the mind collects itself, waving in silent con-
templation over love's producing in him, that for me is no
question ; for I hasten undisturbed to the loneliest place,
and there, hiding my face in my f)raying hands, I kiss the
api earance of what moves my heart.

A king wandered through the ranks of the people, and,
as ebb and tide require, so did the wave of triviality bear
him higher and higher ; but a child, inflamed by the glance
of his eyes, seized the skirt of his garment, and attended
him to the very steps of his throne ; but there the intoxi-
cated people pushed the innocent, unnamed, unadvised boy
behind the lines of the raised standards of the trivial people.
Now he waits for the lonely spot of the grave ; there he
will build high walls around the altar, that no wind may
extinguish the flame, whilst, to honor the ashes of the be-
loved one, it turns to ashes the flowers oflfered. But, is it
thou, Nature ! which hidest the freed spirit ? — no, no, —
sounds rising from the lyre are generated to light, and with-
drawn from earth ; and, like the song, so does the beloved
spirit soar up into the freedom of higher regions ; and, the
more immeasurable the height, the more endless the depth
for him, who, loving, remains behind ; if the freed spirit
does not recognize him, touch him, sanctify him in his
flight.

And thus, O Goethe, despair will pierce my bosom, when,

WITH A CHILD. 345

tarrying on the loneliest place, I devote myself to con-
templation of thee, and Nature around me is turned into a
dungeon, which incloses me, — a lonely captive, when thou
art fled from it, without thy spirit's touching me. O do not
thus, do not sooner wear away to my inspiration ; let the
mystery of love once more blossom Ijetween us ; an ever-
lasting impulse is beyond limits of time, and thus is my
feeling to thee, a source of youth, fermenting there in its
powers, — and in life's renewed glowings, bursting forth to
the end.

And thus midnight has come on, — whilst I am writing
and musing on these last lines. They call it Sylvester's-
night, in which men for one moment perceive the advance
of time. Now by this time's shock, that draws from the
watchman's horn a sign of greeting, I conjure thee, think of
these written leaves, that, like all truth, they come from a
past time. It is not mere remembrance, — but an intimate
relation with yonder past time is the base of my feelings.
Like the magic wand, which forms itself out of the glance
of loving eyes, and from afiir touches the beloved, thus the
beam of that earher time breaks itself on my remembrance,
and becomes a magic wand in my mind. A feeling of im-
mediate assurance, the view of my own truest life, is for
me this touching of the past ; and whilst world and fate,
like phantoms in the background, never had a real influence
on me, so the belief, as if I were nearer related to thee ; as
if thy seeing, thy hearing, thy feeling for a moment had
given itself up to my influence, has alone given me an
assurance in myself. The path which leads to thee is re-
membrance, by which I try to communicate with thee ; it
is to me appearance and reappearance ; spirits' talking,
imparting, and uniting. And what to me once was an
enigma, that by sweet talk I listened more to the motion
of thy features, than to thy words ; that I numbered thy
pulses, the beat of thy heart ; reckoned the weight and
depth of thy breath ; examined the lines on the folds of thy
garment ; nay, that with spirits' love I drew in the shadow
that thy shape threw ; that now is no longer an enigma to
me, but revelation, by which thy appearance becomes the
more perceptible to me, and by which my heart also is
moved to beat, and my breath to sigh.

See, on the steps of glory, where every arbitrary activity

346 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

of the mind suffers itself to be depressed by earthly weight ;
where no love, no admiration tries its wings, to penetrate
the mists in which the parting one wraps himself; which
ascends between here and beyond ; there, in the forefeeling
of love, I hastened to precede thee ; and whilst friends,
children, and favorites, and the people, who slowly walk
behind thee in solemn procession, call thee their poet, pre-
paring the mind to take leave, I step, fly, exult to welcome
thee, steeping my soul in the fragrance of the clouds which
bear thy feet, dissolved in the atmosphere of thy blessing-
influence. If in this moment we understand each other, my
friend, thou who still wearest the terrestrial body, which
poured this body's spirit, a source of charm, over me, sancti-
fied me, transformed me ; which taught me in sense to adore
beauty ; which extended this beauty over me as a shelter-
ing mantle, and under this veil raised my life into a holy
state of mystery ? if we understand each other, I will not
ask, in this moment of profound emotion. Be moved as I
am, let me first shed all my tears, hiding thy feet in my
lap ; then raise me up to thy heart, once more allow thy
arm to embrace me, lay thy blessing-hand on the head that
is devoted to thee, overpower me with thy look ; no ! —
more ! — darken, hide thy look in mine, and I shall not
want thy lips sealing upon mine my soul as tliine own.
That is what in this life I ask from thee.

In the dark bosom of midnight, surrounded by the pros-
pects of my youth, the most resigned avowal of all sins thou
wilt impute to me in reserve, heaven of reconciliation in the
foreground, I seize the cup and empty it to thy health, by
the dark glowing of the wine at the crystal brim, thinking
on the splendid vault of thy eyes.

January 1st.

Thinking on the splendid vault of thy eyes also to-day,
on the first morning of the year, where I am as ignorant as
on the first morning of my life ; for nothing have I learned,
and no arts have I tried, and of no wisdom am I conscious ;
only the day on which I saw thee, made me know beauty.
Nothing speaks more convincingly of God, than when he
himself from out of beauty sj)eaks ; thus is happy he who
sees, for he believes. Since that day I have learned noth-
ing, but only I was taught by inspiration. The acquiring

WITH A CHILD. 347

of knowledge and art seemed to me dead, and not wortli
being envied.

Virtue whicli is not the highest voluptuousness lasts but
a short time and is troublesome ; noAV we fancy to seize it,
now we hasten after the fugitive whicli vanishes, and we
are contented to get rid of the trouble to pursue it. Thus I
see also artists contented with their ability, whilst genius
vanishes ; they measure with one another, and will find
the measure of their own greatness still the highest, but
have no idea that the smallest scale of genius requires un-
measurable inspiration. All this I have very strongly felt
on the occasion of thy statue being proj)osed to be made ;
the cautious logic of a sculjDtor allows no precedence to
inspiration ; he forms a dead body, which is not in the least
sanctified by the legal power of invention. The invented
Goethe could only be represented in a manner, that at the
same time he appears an Adam, an Abraham, a Moses, a
lawyer, or also a poet.

Meanwhile the longing increased within me to represent
thee once according to the holy ideal of my inspiration.
The inclosed drawing may give thee a proof what inspira-
tion, without rote in art, is able of ; for I never drew nor
painted, but only kept looking at artists, and wondered at
their persevering in their limits ; for they only esteem what
is become of use in language of art, and indeed do they
esteem the thoughtless word, but never the thought, which
before all should sanctify the word. No customary process
can unite the spirit, the prophet, and the God, in everlast-
ing peace in the work of art. The Goethe, as I have
drawn him here, with tremblmg hand, but in a free, ardent
contemplation, declines from the straight way of the sculp-
tors ; for imperceptibly he sinks to the side where the
laurel, in the moment of inspiration, rests neglected in the
loosing hand. The soul, swayed by a higher power, in
love-etfusions abjures the muse, since the infant Psyche
pronounces the mystery of his soul in the lyre, her Uttle
foot finds no other place, it must upon thine climb to a
higher point. The breast opens itself to the sunbeam ;
the arm, to which the laurel is committed, we have softly
bedded upon the cloak. The spirit ascends in the flaming
hair above the head, surrounded by an inscription which
thou wilt understand, if thou dost not misunderstand me.

348 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

It has been interpreted in the most different ways, and
always so that it answered thy relation to the iDublic ;
partly 1 would express with it, " all that with your bodily
eyes you perceive no more, has overpowered the earthly and
become part of the heavenly^ I also mean to say by it
another thing, which thou wilt feel, and which is not to be
expressed ; — in a Avord, this inscription lies like honey in
my mouth, so sweet do I find it, so perfectly answering my
love. Of the Kttle geniuses in the niches, on the brim of
the chair, who in the execution look more like little awk-
ward fellows, each has a job for thee ; they press wine for
thee, they kindle fire and prepare the sacrifices for thee,
they pour oil in the lamp for thy nightwatching ; and he,
behind thy head, with the reed, teaches the young night-
ingales in their nest to sing better. Mignon, on thy right
side, in the moment when she is resigning — alas ! and I
with her for this world, with a thousand tears pronouncing
so many thousand times thy song, softening sorrowfully the
soul excited again and again forever. This only will grant
to me, that to my love's apotheosis I gave Mignon this
place ; on the other side, she who bears my name in the
moment when she will overthrow herself, — not having
succeeded. I have drawn her once more, where she stands
on her little head ; there the drawing is better. Could
you on this side have been so innocent, you dared even
be on the other side so harmless ; that will agree with one
another. Below, on the base, I, like thee, a child of Frank-
fort, have honored my good town ; on both sides of the
base, which thou dost not see, will be engraven thy works,
overgrown with lightly-relieved laurel sprigs, which behind
the pillars come forth to the front, richly to surround and
crown the eagle of Frankfort ; on the back may be en-
graved the names and arms of those who erect the monu-
ment. This monument, as I fancied it, in a sleepless night,
has the advantage to represent thee and no other. That
it is accomplished in its own tendency, pronouncing thy
inauguration without by works, that it expresses the love
of the citizens of Frankfort, and, also, that which thou bear-
est them, then, — the mystery of thy transfiguration, which,
during thy whole life, kept thy sensual and spiritual nature
free from triviality, is explained in it. The drawing may,
indeed, not be one of the best ; how should it be otherwise,

WITH A CHILD. 349

for I once more must assure thee, that I never had any
practice in drawing, which will by so much the more con-
vince thee of the inspiration by which I produced it in
wrath against the want of contemplation in those artists
who are intrusted with a work of so much importance, so
sacred for a future world, if they would but consider how
significantly, in such a monument, the past ought to penetrate
through the future ; how the youth of coming generations,
who have not seen thee thyself, will then hang, with glow-
ing look, on these imitated features ; then the artists should
be advised to bid the spirit help them, instead of persisting,
with vain arrogance, on their academic caprices ; I, at least,
implore it to bear witness of its having assisted me, and to
suggest to thee, with a look unprejudiced, if not rather
prejudiced, by bounty for me. I have sent a copy to Beth-
mann, at whose request I ventured to draw the invention,
which I made while he was here. Do I not ask for too
much, if I entreat thee to announce me the reception of the
drawing, with a few words ?

Bettine.

January 11th, 1824.

DIARY.

TO THE ENGLISH BARDS.

Gentlemen : —
The noble cup of your mellifluous tongue, so often brimmed
with immortality, here filled with odd but pure and fiery
draught, do not refuse to taste, if you relish its spirit to be
homefelt, though not homeborn.

Bettina Aenim.

DIARY.

PREAMBLE.

The translating of Goethe's Correspondence with a Child Into
Eno-llsh was generally disapproved of. Previous to its publica-
tion in Germany, the well-renowned ]\Irs. Austin, by regard for
the great German Poet, proposed to translate it ; but, after hav-
ing perused it with more attention, the Literate and the most
famed booksellers of London thought unadvisable the publication
of a book that in every way widely diifered from the spirit and
feelings of the English, and therefore it could not be depended
upon for exciting their interest. Mrs. Austin, by her gracious
mind to comply with my wishes, proposed to publish some frag-
ments of it, but as no musician ever likes to have only those
passages of his composition executed that blandish the ear, I like-
wise refused my assent to the maiming of a work, that, not by
my own merit, but by chance and nature, became a work of art,
that only in the untouched development of its genius might judi-
ciously be enjoyed and appraised. I stood In awe of these au-
thorities, so familiar with the literary relations of England, and
with regret I gave up the dreamed delight of being read and
named by the English ; but a good or bad demon, I know not
which, made me forget my wits, with the most alluring charms,
tempting me to this enterprise, even In the moment when Ger-
man Newspapers and Kevlews were demonstrating it to be non-
sense, and a failed speculation for Goethe's monument, or for the
spreading of his glory abroad. The poet being not so beloved and
compreliended in his whole grandeur by strangers as in his native
land, the English loould greatly be inclined to construe his bearing to
the child, in these letters, as the unkindest egotism : and the most af-
fected, or also incomprehensible passion in the child.* Those objec-
tions disposed me highly to the contrary. I became still more
persuaded that if the inspiration excited in Germany by that

* Berliner Blatter fiir Litteratur.
23

354: PREAMBLE.

peace-radiating power of Goethe over a juvenile temper de-
pended on a genuine cause, then it must be real, for English as
well as Germans ; and if that be true, what a great German phi-
losopher maintains, that the perception for philosophic revelation
is innate in English people, then I can hope that my confidence
may become a deUghtful means of intelligence for me with the
English.

I was not acquainted with the English tongue, I therefore
relied upon the consciousness of my translators ; the recapitulat-
ing of their version I tried to follow with comparing it to the
German text. Often my ear was hurt by words lack of musical
rythm ; that in the German text, by their harmonious sounds,
and even by the union of their single parts, awake poetic sensa-
tion. I must yield to have them supplied by such as want all
lofty strain. To all my objections my relentless translator op-
posed the impossibility of translating it ; the rigor against any
arbitrariness in that language ; and, besides, its penury, that
allows no great choice, it consisting but in thirty thousand words :
— I thought, if I only did know them, to be sure I would find
the ri2i;ht.

The printing had almost come to end, w^hen, by a variance be-
tween the printer and translator, it was interrupted ; then, by the
inspiration of despair, I ventured to continue translating. I
never could have guessed those difficulties, that fell more heavily
upon me than upon any knight-errant, who tries, with the help of
j)roj)itious spirits, to overcome impossibilities. "What erroneous
ways have I hastened through ; how often have I ferreted for
words that do not exist, or bolted expressions, offered in so many
diversing shapes that the choice disturbed me highly ; how often
in the night the word for which I had pried with despair the
whole day in every nook of my head, awakened me in a hurry
out of deep sleep, and how felt I delighted when suddenly it was
found. I held it between my lips as a pearl or diamond found in
the dark, and in the morning I ran to the book to write it down ;
nay, I was like a blind man, going to work without a guide.
What a copiousness of words with their flexure overflowed me;
how abundantlv gracious seemed to me those varieties of flexions.
I would have them all mweaved in my version, and desponded in
choosing the finest, the noblest, the most eloquent and euphoni-
cal amono; all. Often having studied a whole night, when in the
mornmg I would peruse it, I was obliged to study it anew by help
of the dictionary. My inquiries led me upon thorns and thistles
on a misty path, where I could not see a step before my feet, but
where I fell upon so beauteous expressions I would compound
with my text, though I did not know how to make use of them ;
the strange etymologies, even as blossom-dust transported by sed-
ulous bees from foreign lands to their homely field, variegating

PREAMBLE. 355

the flowerage of tlielr words. Vulgar people know not of tlie
treasures upon their lips, by which genius produces the honey-
dropping fruit. Then I fell in love with this language, that tor-
mented me so much that I almost got a fever of despair. Uncon-
sciously I pursued my task, confiding in my genius, that would
preserve me from doing any harm by unfit or even unusual
expressions, and persisted often in my wrong way when my
advisers would have subverted my construction, as they were
absurdities. Often my version, larded with uncommon or obso-
lete expressions, gave way to misunderstanding ; then I could not
ally the correction with my meaning, and would not be disputed
out of my wits, impassioned as I was for my traced-out turn, for
w:hich I had rummaged dictionary and poetry, and never would
yield till the last sheet, which to-day will come in the press ; and
1 am like one to whom, after a long prison, spring is bestowed in
the free air. Forsooth, I saw in the last year no roses, no tree
blowing ; my intelligence lay narrowly grated up in the diction-
ary of good Johnson, and the grammars, that I took to my couch
and fell asleep on them ; and had also a very hard bed, to no
boot, for I had unfortunately in no language a grammatical learn-
ing; all its terms were unknown to me, and their inferences
incomprehensible ; and those who would advise me frightened me
out of my wits ; I struggled for my version as does an animal for
its young, and suffers them not to be touched by an indiscreet
hand, but licks them clean again. So it was with me ; instinc-
tively, and with great labor, I tried to overcome all the corrections
by a deeper inducement, while people laughed at my relucting,
and said that I never would come to a good issue. Hence it can-
not be otherwise, that all what might be strange, or even never
heard of, that must be imputed to my persevering obstinacy
against the better knowing of my advisers. However, I hope not
to be accused of presumption, by inducing me to such unheard-of
doing ; for even after the refusal of Mrs. Austin, I had not failed
summoning her once more insistingly to favor the English with
her translation ; but the supposition, as if it were impossible, that
this book could be translated, nor even comprehended nor valued
by others than the Germans, provoked my desire almost to an
unmanageable passion, that it should be read and liked by the
English; and as their Reviews, at least, proved so finely their
feeling-out of the primitive element of this love, and how unim-
paired, undisturbed, and how much plainer than to my country-
men appeared to them that paternal relation of Goethe's deli-
cious, hearty affection to the child, from whose ecstasy he explored
a sweet nurture for his immortality ; then I plucked up a good
heart, spite of all warning to go adrift on the floods, mastless and
without a sail, like a cast-off reefer, trusting in my good luck to
find a new fatherland for this hook of love, I risked the little sum

356 PREAMBLE.

gained by the German edition. Shall I prosperously succeed,
then we shall be obliged for Goethe's monument to the Ensrlish
nation ; should I even be destined to suffer shipwreck on those
shores, which I had hoped would receive me with an avitous
greatness of mind ; should the German prophets be in the right
in laughing at my silliness, and boasting already of having pre-
dicted the English * would never have an interest for this book, I
will however not repent ; for the inducement was not poor, the
deed was intrepid, and the exertion was high and undaunted till
the utmost moment. Had Bvron still lived, he would have
praised my attempt, praised and loved me for the book's sake ;
for he was of a generous mind, propending to all uncommon af-
fections : he discriminated humane feelings also in a strange ves-
ture. He would have studied these leaves I wrote in the spring
of my age, under the inspiration of one who, like him, comes to
bloom but once after a thousand years. I must sigh that he lives
no more, for I might have committed it to his protection, as a field
fully teeming with young gems that dreamingly thrive into their
blossom ; then I would have been hallowed in his shelter, and he
would have bestowed on me his gentle goodly graces, and this
would have exceeclinglv blessed me. But now, as I have no
friend yonder, and no connection, I am like a bird that flies from
its nest over the ocean, or a plant, to climate in a foreign land,
must dole till it is riveted in the soil. Therefore I beseech Mr.
Longman, who grants me the honor of publishing my book, to
get this little preamble inserted in the Quarterly or Edinburgh
Reviews, for informing, that if there are still other Englishmen
who, as B}Ton would have done, are inclined to preserve in their
deep minds, and protect such youthfully inspirited feelings, I
should like they scan the pages of my Diary.

Bettixa.

* So many of them came in the spring of their age to this little hospi-
table spot of Germany's classic soil, and Avere received by Goethe with
the kuidest condescendence, for their scientifical and sociaf interest.

THE BOOK OF LOYE.

In this book would I fain write of the mysterious musing,
in night's lonesome hours, of the spirit's ripening into love,
as in the noonday's sun.

Truth will I seek, and ask will I from her the presence
of the beloved, whom I could fancy to be far off.

Love is an internal existence of one in another ; I am not
parted from thee, if it be true that I love.

These waves following me along the shore, the ripening
plenty of these lands, mirrored in the stream ; the young
day, the fleeting mists, the distant heights, kindled by the
morning sun, all this I look at; and as the bee sucks honey
in fresh blossoms, thus my look sucks love out of all, carries
it home and treasures it in the heart, as the bee does the
honey in its cell.

Thus I thought this morning, as I drove along the Rhine,
and forced my way through this sprightly life of Nature to
the still lonesome evening ; because it is then as if a voice
said to me, the beloved is here, and because I then scatter
before him, like flowers, the remembrances of the day, —
and because I then can lay myself on the earth and kiss it
for the love of thee, — this beautifid earth, which bears the
beloved, that I may find my way to lum.

* * *,

Schwalbach.
Names name thee not !

I am silent and name thee not, though it were sweet to
call thee by name.

O friend ! man of slender form, of graceful moulded be-

358 GOETHE'S COREESPONDENCE

liavior, silent one ! — how shall I paraphrase thee to supply
thy name ? — to call by name is a magic charm, that rouses
remembrance m the absent one ; here upon the heights,
where ihe Avoody ravines return the echo sevenfold, I ven-
ture not to utter thy name ; I will not hear a voice so
ardent, so piercing, call thee.

0 thou ! — Thou thyself ! — I will not tell thee that it is
thou thyself ; — therefore I will not trust this book with thy
name, even as I trust it not to the echo.

Ah ! upon thy name I do not dwell, — so wholly bared
from earthly possession I call thee mine.

* * *

Ems.

Not to sleep without speaking to thee, tired as I am ! —
my eyelids close and part me from thee ; not the mountains
and not the floods part me from thee ; and not time, and not
thine own coldness, nor that thou knowest naught of me, —
how I love thee. And me sleep does part ? — why then
part ? I coil myself into thy bosom, — these love-flames
inwrap thy heart, — and so I fall asleep.

* * *

No ! I will not name thee, thou upon whom I call : " Do
give ear ! " Since thou likest to hear thyself talked of, listen
then also to me ; not like those who talk of thee, about
thee ; — to thee, — in thy gaze, do I gather my thoughts.
As a spring cleaves the stone, rushing down through the
shade-dale, breathing on flower to flower, so do I breathe on
thee, sweet friend !

It murmurs only, — the brook ; it waves, it lisps ; few are
the melodies of its course, do give them a friendly ear ; —
exulting thou wilt hear then, complaining, imjoloring, defy-
ing, — and still wilt thou hear and feel mysteries, solemn,
lucid, which only he understands that loves.

* *- *

1 am no longer tired, I will no longer sleep ; — the moon
has risen before me, clouds chase and cover her, still again
she looks at me.

WITH A CHILD. 3o9

I fancy to myself thy house, the stairs ; that tliey he in
the shade, and that I am sitting on those stairs, and yonder
the lawn, lit by the moon. I fancy, that time chases, and
hurries, and takes manifold shapes like those clouds, and
that man hangs on time, and believes that all hurries with
it ; and the pure light, which breaks through time like the
moon through the fleeting clouds, — this he will not avow.

O ! — yes ! avow my love ! — and think, that since time
hurries by, it yet may come in a fleeting moment to grasp
an eternity.

* * *

Midnight has past this long time, there I reclined till
now ; and as I look round, the light burns low.

Where was I, so deep in thoughts ? — I thought thou
sleepest, and I had looked beyond the river, where the
people had kindled a fire near their linen upon the bleach-
ing green, and I had listened to the melodies they sung to
keep themselves awake ; — I too am awake, and think of
thee ; it is a great mystery in love, this lasting embrace of
thy soul with my mind ; much may arise from this, that no
one can foresee.

Yes, thou sleepest ! — dreamest thou ? — and is it as truth
to thee, what thou dreamest of? — as it is to me, when I sit
at thy feet and hold them in my lap, whilst the dream itself
bridles my thoughts, that I fancy nothing but this, — that I
am near thee ?

* * *

Dearest ! — Yesterday I was deeply moved, and melan-
choly ; because much was spoken about thee which is not
true, as I know thee better. Through the tissue of thy
days runs a thread, which binds them to what is above
earth. Not through every one's existence Avinds such a
thread, and without it all existence has no hold.

That thy existence may not want a tie, that all may be
eternal truth, that 's what I long for. Thou who art beau-
teous, and whose behaviour also is beauteous, because it
unveils the mind ! to conceive beauty, is it not to love
thee ? — and does not love wish thee to exist forever ?

360 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

What can I do before tliee, but behold thy mental image
within myself ? — Yes ! look, this is my daily task, and all
else that I begin, — all must yield to thee ; — secretly to
serve thee in my thinking, in my doing ; to live for thee,
amidst the hum of men, or in solitude to stand near thee ;
cheerfully tend upon thee, not caring whether thou wel-
comest or rejectest me.

All Nature is but a symbol of spirit ; she is sacred, be-
cause her language is spirit ; man by her is taught to un-
derstand his own mind, that it also requires love ; that it
will cling to the spirit as his lips will to the lips of the
loved one. Though I had thee and had not thy s^^irit, that
it should understand me, — this would never bring me the
longed-for goal of my desire.

How far does love go ? It unfolds its standards, it con-
quers its own realms. In the shout of joy, in the tumult of
victory, it hastens on towards its eternal generator. So far
goes love, as to return again from whence it proceeded.

And where two exist but in each other, all finite limits
are revoked, — but shall I complain if thou returnest not
my love ? — burns not its fire within me and inflames me ?
— and is it not an all-embracing bliss, this inward glow ?

And forest, and mountain, and the shore on the river,
sun-brightened, smile at me, because my heart, because my
spirit, breathes forth to them an eternal spring.

^ ^ 7^

I will not trifle thee away, beauteous night, as yesterday ;
I will go to sleep in thy lap ; thou dost lull me towards the
morninj>;-li2:ht, and the fresh awakened flowers do I then
pluck to my remembrance on the dreams in the night. So
are friendly kisses Hke these half-unclosed roses, — so soft
lisping, like the blossom-shower ; so wave the thoughts as
the flowers move in the grass ; so trickles tear on tear,
which fill the eye with overmeasured joy, as the raindrops
pearl down from the boughs ; and so pants the longing
heart as the nightingale pants, by morning-blush inspired ;
she exults because she loves ; she sighs for love, she com-
plains of love : therefore, sweet night, — to sleep ! sleep
towards morning-blush, which brings me the sweet fruits
all that ripen to love.

WITH A CHILD. 361

*

Friend ! — it is not a fancy, this inner world ; it rests on
knowing and on mystery, it rests upon a higher faith ; Love
is this inner world-spirit, it is the soul of Nature.

Thoughts are in the spiritual world what feelings are in
the sensual world : it is delight of the spirit's senses, which
fastens me to thee, so that I think of thee ; it moves me
deeply that thou art, and art born into this sensual world ;
that thy sensual appearance gives witness of the mind, which
reveals thee to me.

Love is intuition ; I can only enjoy thee in musing, which
learns to understand, to feel thee ; but when once I shall
wholly understand thee, dost thou then belong to me ? —
canst thou belong to any one, who understands thee not ? —
is not to understand thee a sweet sensual transition into the
beloved one's mind ? — there is an unique limit ; it divides
the bounded from the unbounded : to understand removes
this limit ; two, who understand each other, are within each
other unbounded ; — to understand, is to love : what we do
not love, that we do not understand ; what we understand
not, does not exist for us.

But as I Avould fain have thee, I muse on thee, because
musing learns to understand thee.

* * *

If I be not wholly as thou oughtest, to love me, then my
conscience of thee is undone ; — but this furthers me, brings
me nearer to thee, when also my doing in the exterior life
move in the rhythm of love, when nothing has power upon
me but the feeling that I belong to thee, through my own
free-will am devoted to thee.

I have thee not in this exterior life ; others pride in thy
faithfulness, in thy trust, in thy devotion ; delight with thee
in the labyrinth of thy breast ; being certain of thy posses-
sion, of giving thee joy.

I am nothing, I have nothing which thou longest for ; no
morning wakes thee to ask after me, no evening leads thee
home to me ; — thou art not with me at home.

But in this inner world I trust in thee, I give me up to
thee ; all these strange paths of my mind lead to thee ; nay,
by thy mediation they are planed.

362 GOETHE'S COREESPONDENCE

*

At the earliest morning, upon the Johannisberg,

The sunlight steals through these bushes into mj lap,
and plays beneath the shade of the moving leaves. Why,
before daybreak, already did I come up here ? Here, where
the distance towers before me, and loses itself in the end-
less.

Yes ! so it goes further and still further ; the lands rise
one behind the other on the horizon, and on mountain-
heights we fancy to ascend to heaven's brink ; there, fruit-
laden vales spread, locked in by dusky hill-walls, and the
lambs graze here and there.

And as the mountains rise one behind the other, so do
the days, and none is the last before that which is to unfold
an eternity.*

Where is the day, the hour, which shall harbor me, as I
do thee, sporting sunbeam ? Hope of return, harbor me ! —
thou, settled on the heights of my life, by heaven's purest
breeze enwheeled, do harbor me in thy lap ; let the beam
of love, which breaks forth from mine eyes, play in thy
bosom, like this morning sunbeam in my lap.

* * *

Yesterday I longed, — I thought every moment it was
lost to me, because I had thee not.

To have thee for a moment, how blessed could that
make me !

How rich art thou, since thou canst bless through whole
eternities with every moment !

Yesterday it was early in the morning when I wrote to
thee. I had book and standish with me, and I went before
daybreak along the vale, which on both sides is narrowly
enclosed between mountains, where the brooks purl down
into the soft grass, and lisp like babies ; what should I do ?
It was in my heart, upon my lips, and in my tear-swelling
eye I must bewail to thee, and dolesomely object against
thee, tliat I have thee not. And then the sun was so

* The day of return.

WITH A CHILD. 363

caressing ; — it rustled, it moved, behind me ; — was it a
deer ? — was it a sigh in the distance ? I nimbly stepped
upwards, I meant to overtake thee, and on the height, —
there the distance unbosomed itself to the look ; the mists
divided, — it was as if thou earnest answering to mj
prayers, mysteriously, and lookedst at me, and shelteredst
me in thy to me unrevealed bosom.

Every eternal impulse, — it woos and attains ; it is be-
yond the reach of time. What have I to fear ? This
longing, can it die away, then thou wilt vanish with it ;
does it not, then it will attain what it longs for. And even
now, I owe to it an inner world, manifold and individual ;
thoughts and senses nourish me, and I feel myself in a most
intimate sprightful sympathy with thy spirit.

Bountiful Nature grants to be understood ; and that is
her wisdom, that she paints such images, which are mirrors
of our inner world ; and he who contemplates her, pene-
trates into her depths, to him she will reveal the answers
of hidden enigmas. Who embraces her, will feel himself
understood in her ; every one she indulges with truth, the
despairing and the confiding one ; she lightens the soul, and
proffers her wealth to the needy ; she spurs the senses and
exalts the mind by harmonizing intimation.

I believe also of thee, that thou hast often felt this, when
thou rovest alone through woods and vales, or when, in
shadows-hidden noon, thou surveyest the wide plains ; then
I believe that thou understandest the lano:ua2;e of silence in
Nature. I believe that she exchansres thousfhts with thee,
that thou feelest thine own exalted nature reflected in her ;
and, although painfully often shaken by her, still do I not
believe that, like others, thou shouldst be timorous before
her.

As long as we are still children in mind, does Nature,
with mother's care, cherish us ; she nurses the spirit to
make him grow, then she unfolds herself, a genius ; then
she summons to the highest, to self-intelligence, she will
insight into the inner depths ; and what dissension might
play within them, to what annoyance ever given up, — the
trust in Nature, as in our genius, will restore the pristine
beauty. This I tell thee to-day, before going to sleep ; —
to thee I speak, parted by land and flood ; parted, because
thou dost not think of me ; and every one who should know

O /T

64 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

this, would call it madness ; * and I speak to thee from
my deepest soul ; and though thy senses would leave me
behind them, yet my mind insists upon telling thee all.
Here trom afar I speak with thee, and out of my senses
J. speak with thee this spirit-language. Thou art within
my mind ; it is no more one, it has become two within
itself.

* * *

In the evening, after the tempest, which
perhaps has removed to thee.

Abate, blustering heart, as the storm abates, which lace-
rates the clouds : the thunders have rolled away, the clouds
have done raining, — one star after the other rises.

The night is quite still, — I am quite alone, — the dis-
tance is so far, it will not end ; there only where a loving
one dwells, is a home and no far-off ; didst thou love, I
should know where the distance will end.

Yes, heart ! do abate ; do not bluster, stay quietly.
Stoop, as Nature stoops beneath the cover of the night.

What is the matter with thee, heart ? feelest thou not ?
forebodest thou not ? Whether it may happen and turn,
night covers thee and love.

Night brings roses to light. When the gloom opens
itself to light, then the roses fall out of her lap.

It is indeed night within thee, heart. Gloomy, myste-
rious night weaves roses, and pours them all, at daybreak,
to the delight of love, into its lap.

Yes ! — sighing, complaining, that is thy delight ; beg-
ging, caressing, — will this never end, heart ?

In the evenings I write, be it only a few lines ; still it
lasts till late in the night.

Much have I to think of, — many spells do I utter before
I lay the friend down by my charms. And when I have
raised thee ! — then : — what shall I then say ? — what
news shall I find out for thee ? — what stories shall these
thoughts dance before thee, here on this paper ?

* * *

* Madness, to think not of the beloved.

WITH A CHILD. 3 60

At the Rhine.

Here between the vine-hills stands a temple, like the
Diana's Temple at Ephesus.

Yesterday at sunset I saw it lay in the distance ; it
lighted so daring, so proudly, beneath the storm-clouds ;
the lightning's fork entoiled it. So I fancy thy lightening
brow like the cupola of yon temple, beneath whose eaves
the birds sheltered their storm-ruffled plumage ; — even so
proudly settled and swaying around !

This morning, although the temple is far from my dwell-
ing, yet, as in the evening I had fancied to see thy image
in it, I had a mind to come here and to write here to thee.
At the first traces of day I hastened hither, through be-
dewed meadows. And now I lay my hand upon this little
altar, encircled by nine columns, which bear witness that I
swear to thee.

What, dearest ? What shall I swear to thee ? — that I
will still be true to thee, whether thou carest or not ? — or
that closely I will love thee ? — closely ; only confessing it
to this book, and not to thee ? To be true, I cannot swear ;
that would be too much security, and I am already given
up to thee, and cannot prevail with me, and so I cannot
answer for my truth. Closely love thee, only intrusting it
to this book ? — this I cannot, this I will not ; — this book
is the echo of my hidden thoughts, on thy bosom it will
rebound. O, do receive it, drink it, let it refresh thee ;
solely one sole hot mid-day let thy look sink, drunk, only
a sole time, in this clear glowing wine of love.*

What shall I swear to thee ?

*

To-day I will tell thee how it was yesterday : — so
roofed by a former world of beauties, enveiled in the
thousand hues of morning light, the hand upon this altar,
which never perhaps may have been touched in such a
mysterious sense. Master ! then ray heart was seized in
a strange raanner ; I asked thee jestingly, in sweet earnest,
" What shall I swear ? " — and then again I asked myself,

* In this Book of Love.

oG6 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

" Is this the world in which thou livest ? — and mayst thou
jest with thyself here in midst lonely Nature, where all is
silent, and solemnly hsten to thy internal voice ? — yonder
afar in the open field, where the lark soars in jubilant
exultance, — and on the cornice of the temple, where the
swallow hides her nest and twitters ? " — and I leaned my
head on the stone and thought of thee ; — I ran down to
the bank and gathered balsamic herbs, and laid them on
the altar ; I thought, " Might the leaves of this book full of
love sometimes yield fragrance to thy spirit, as these herbs
do to the spirit of yon former beauties-world, in whose
sense this temple here is built ; — thy spirit like him speaks
in the holy order of beauty, and whether I am any thing
to thy spirit, whether I remain so to him, that must be the
same."

Yes, sweet friend ! whether I am anything to thee, why
shall I inquire ? — as I know that the lark not vainly jubi-
lant ascends ; that the morning breeze does not unfelt play
within the branches, — nay, that the whole Nature is not
unheard lost in her silence. Why should I be disheartened
not to be understood, not to be felt, by thee ? Therefore
will I not swear to be anything to thee ; it is certain to me
that I am, what in harmonizing beauty a tune of Nature, a
spiritual touch of this sensible world, may be to thee.

July.

These days, these environs bear the features of paradise.
Plenteousness smiles to me in the ripening fruit ; life exults
within me ; lonely as I am, like the first man ; — and like
him I learn to sway and rule fortune, that the world shall
be as I will. I will that thou makest me blessed, only
because I know and am concerned with thee, and because
thy ethical senses are the world of my spiritual creations ;
— into thee can I but lay this world of feelings, to thee
can I but let appear the phenomena of exalted emotion.
Thy beauty is bounty, which nourishes me, protects and
rewards me, comforts me, and promises heaven to me; can
a Christian be better organized than I am ?

* * *

WITH A CHILD. 367

There I sit at last, amidst this plentiful Nature with
heart and soul, and so I must always again write to thee
of this double team.*

To-day I was in another temple which lies on the height,
and commands the grandest German river in its most glo-
rious magnificence ; where unnumbered villages and towns
are seen pasturing upon its banks in its districts. In this
sun-basking sky they lay there like reposing herds.

What avails me this splendor of Nature ? — what avails
me this swarming life, this busy working, stretching through
the gay fields ? — the little boats hasten up and down past
one another, each has its travelling aim. Like any of yon-
der ships hast also thou thine aim, and it passes by me,
brisk as the course of the happy crosses more rapidly the
way of the lonely deserted one. And I hear then no more
of thee, that thou askest after me ; and to thy memory die
away, like my sighs, the traces of remembrance.

Thus I thought yonder within the temj^le upon the
height, as I looked down in the wide-spread business of
men, and resolved what new interests every moment might
engage thee, and wholly banish me from thy world. And
I heard the waves roar in the depth, and the flocks of birds
fluttered around my seat, the evening-star beckoned me
that I should come home. So much nearer do I now
throng myself to thee : open thy bosom, and let me rest
there from the tear-moved fancy I were nothing to thee, I
were forgotten by thee. O no ! — do not forget me ! take
me ! — hold me fast, and let the stillness around utter its
blessing over us.

Thou hast said it to me then at parting, thou hast asked
from me to write thee, all and truly, what I think and feel,
and I would fain ; but dearest, the strange ways scarcely
enlightened by the dawning torch of sense, how shall I
describe them to thee ? These dreams of my happiness !
for happy do I dream myself, they are so stormy, so whim-
sically humored, — it is so slight, what I often find out.

My happiness, as I fancy it, how shall I describe it to
thee ? — see the moonsichle in the cloudless sky, and the
broad-boughed, rich-leaved lime ; think ! — see beneath its
whispering foliage, also whispering and embracing one

* Team of heart and soul.

3G8 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

another, — these two ; — how one requires the other, and
ardently loving stretches up to him ; how yon with friendly
will inclines to him, and listens to the lisping of love ; and
think also the moonsickle^ the stars dare not set, till these
souls, sated in each other, spread their wings and ascend to
higher worlds.

This would express to-day my happiness, O dear friend,
it would for once express it, in full embracing sense.

As the eye seizes beauty, so does the spirit ; it embraces
the idea of inward and of outward beauty ; with soothing
accents brings both to chime ; and the body touches with
magical charms the spirit who thus flatters, and its emotion
also reaches the body, so that both will blossom, one in the
other ; and this we call inspiring beauty. My friend, this
is the whispering of love, when lovers tell one another they
are beautiful.

Where, then, is the couch for the soul ? — where does
she feel calm enough to breathe and to recover herself ? —
in the narrow space is it, in the bosom of the friend ! — to
be at home in thee, leads to musing.

Ah, how well am I, when quite as a child I may play
in thy presence ; when all that I begin is hallowed by the
feeling of thy presence ; and that I may walk meandering
within thy nature, which none knows, none guesses ; — how
beautiful is it, that I am alone with thee, there where the
stars reflect themselves in the clear depth of thy soul.

Do grant me, that I thus have settled my world within
thee ; not disturb with thy will, what self-will never could
have produced.

I kiss the traces of thy feet, and will not force my way
into thy sensual world, but be thou with me in the world of
my thoughts ; lay thy hand kindly upon the head which
inclines, since it is consecrated to love.

The wind rattles against the window ; through what
lands has it swept ? — whence does it come ? — how rapidly
has it fled from thee to me? — has it, in its raging and
blustering, snatched no sigh with it, no breath from thee ?

I have faith in the revelation of the spirit ; it does not
lie in mental feeling, or in vision, nor in comprehension ;

WITH A CHILD. 369

it proceeds from the whole of apprehending organs ; when
they all serve love, then they reveal what is to be loved ;
they are the mirror of the inner world.

To have a mental existence in the beloved one, without
a sensible consciousness of him, — what can more power-
fully convince us of our own spiritual power and infinity ?

* * *

Should I to-day have nothing to tell thee ? What
troubles me then to-day, at early morning ? Perhaps, that
the sparrows have driven the swallows out of their nest
here beneath my window ? — the swallows are prattling
things, but they are friendly and peaceable ; the sparrows
argue, they persist, and will not be plucked of their wit.
When the swallow returns from her circling flight about
her dwelling, then the little throat i^ours forth nought but
flattering tales ; their mutual chirping is the element of
their love's intimacy, as ether is the element of their
worldly views. The sparrow flies here and there, he has
his share of selfishness ; he does not dwell like the swallow,
in the bosom of a friend.

And now is the swallow gone, and the sparrow sits in
her abode, where sweet mysteries and dreams played their
parts.

Ah ! — Thou ! my wanton pen had almost written thy
name, while I am angry that the swallow is expelled by
the sparrow. I am the swallow : who is the sparrow ? thou
mayest know it, but surely I am the swallow.

At midnight.

Singing beneath my window ; — they are sitting upon
the bench at the door ; the moon, as she plays with the
clouds, may have brought them to sing, or perhaps the
weariness of repose ; the voices spread through the lonely
night, there is nothing to be heard but lashing of the waves
on the shore, which replenish the long intervals of this
song.

What is this song to me? why am I given up to its
power, that I scarcely may restrain my tears ? — it is a cry
afar ; wert thou yonder, where its last sounds die away,

24

370 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

and feltest the expression of the hearty desire it has raised
in me, and knewest that in thee reposed the happiness of
yielding content !

Ah, to sleep ! — no longer to listen to the song, since I
still shall not hear from afar a harmonizinfi: echo !

It is trifling, what I impart to thee ; monotonous singing,
moonbeams, deep shadows, gliost-jitted stillness, listening
into the distance, that is all — and yet there is nothing, a
full heart had more to lay before thee.

* * *

Friend ! daybreak already wakes me, and yet did I yes-
terday watch late into night. Friend ! sweet one ! beloved
one ! it was a short season of sleep, for I have dreamed
of thee ; waking or dreaming, with thee the coursers hurry
wildly on. Therefore throbs the heart, and cheek and tem-
ples inflame ; because time, so heedless of blissful moments,
hastens by. If there were no anxiety, lest possession should
take flight, how profound a peace, what a sleep, what ease
of stillness, would love and delight then be ! When we
ipass by graves, and remind how they are lying there cov-
ered and becalmed, the throbbing hearts, then solemn emo-
tion overcomes us ; but if love could bury itself to one and
one, as is its need, as deeply secluded as in the grave, and
if even the world's events should dance over the spot, —
what could it be to us ? Yes, — this I may ask, but not
thou.

What I dreamed ? We stood leaning on one another,
in nightly dusk, the starlight was mirrored in thine eyes.
Dreamlight, starlight, eyelight, were mirrored in one an-
other. This eye, that here follows the line which my hand
writes to thee, into unmeasured distance, — for, alas, how
far thou art, that only thy heart may decide, — this eye
saw last night the light of the moon, mirrored in thine eye.

I dreamed of thee, thou dreamedst with me, thou spokest,
I still feel the sound of thy voice. What thou saidst I
know no more ; flattering speeches they were, for with thy
speeches voluptuous showers poured over me.

God made all, and all by wisdom, and all Avisdom for
love ; and yet they say, that one who loves is mad.

Wisdom is the atmosphere of love ; he who loves,

WITH A CHILD. 371

breathes wisdom ; it is not out of him, no, his breathing is
wisdom, his look, his feehng ; — a halo, which parts it from
all that is not love's will, which is wisdom.

Wisdom of love gives all ; it wields fancy in the realm
of dreams, and bestows upon the lips the sweet fruit which
quenches their thirst ; whilst the uninspired search for the
soil, to entrust it with the seed, that shall ripen into their
happiness, which by their very pursuit they will miss.

But I suck enjoyment out of these dreams, these delights,
which a fancying of pain, an illusory happiness, awakens
within me ; and the wisdom which streams to my inspira-
tion bears me on its high, proud waves, far beyond the
bounds of the common perception, which we call under-
standing ; and far above the path of earthly Hfe, on which
we seek our happiness.

How delightful, that the wisdom of love really rules my
dreams ; that the god guides the helm, where I have no
will, and bears me sleeping to the goal, which to reach I
would fain always be awake. Why dost not thou also
dream of me ? — why dost not thou call me on thy side ?
Why not hold me in thine arms, and sweetly immerse thy
look into mine.

Ay, thou art here ! — these sunny paths entwine them-
selves and lead at last to thee ; O, wander along them, their
labyrinthine mazes, — they at last may be solved where
thy look meets mine, as the enigma in my breast is solved,
where thy spirit touches mine.

* * *

To-day I read in these pages ; — mere sighs and long-

ing.

How ashamed should I stand before thee, if thou shouldst
read in this book ! — be it then concealed, and only written
to my own disgrace. No, I must think on thee, and believe
that all will one day pass before thy mind, although I often
feel as if I would fly thee, thee and this strange whim of
lonni;inj>: ; — whim I must call it, for it desires all and asks
for nothino;. But this averting from thee becomes a double
charm ; then it drives me at morning-blush up the moun-
tain, as if I could come up with thee ; and what is the end
of it ? — that I feturn to my book. Well, what matters it ?

372 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

days pass in this way or in another ; how can I lose what I
again recover in these pages ?

To-day I was out early, I took the first field-path ; the
partridges were frightened, still so early it was ; the mead-
ows lay there in the morning splendor, overspun with
threads, upon which the dew-pearls were strung.

Sometimes Nature outweighs thee, I feel the truth of thy
song : " Be gone thou dream, though golden, here too is love
and lifer Such a walk, when I return among men, makes
me lonely.

Alas ! — tame people, I understand not their spirit. Spirit
guides, indicates, flies on before, upon ever new paths, or
comes to meet us like passion, and sinks within the breast
and stirs there. Spirit is volatile as ether, therefore love
seeks it, and when she apprehends it, then she consumes in
it. This is my stratagem, that love traces spirit.

Thee I do trace in lonely ways : when it is still and quiet,
then does each leaf, lifted by the wind, whisper of thee;
then I let my thoughts stand still, and listen ; then the senses
spread themselves like a net to catch thee. It is not the
great poet, not thy world-aj^plauded renown! — in thine
eyes it rests ; in the careless and solemn motions of thy
limbs ; in the vibrations of thy voice ; in this silence and
abiding, till speech unfolds itself in the depth of thy heart to
words. How thou goest and comest, and lettest thy look
sweep over all, and no bright quality can outweigh these
passion-raising signs.

There I swerve between hedges ; I push my way through
bushes ; the sun burns, I lay myself in the grass ; I am not
tired, but because my world is a dream-world. It draws me
thither only for moments ; it raises me up to thee, whom I
do not compare with men. With the checkered lights and
their blue shadows, with the bird's rustling in the wood, with
waters that babble between stones, with the wind rocking
the leafy boughs to meet the sunlight ; with these I like to
compare thee ; it is as though thy humor broke forth in
them. The hum of bees, the swerving in the air, bears to
me thy approach ; yes, even the dogs, baying from afar m
the night-wind, wakes up in me traces of thee. When the

WITH A CHILD. 373

clouds play with the moon, when they swim in light, cleared
up, then all is spirit, plainly breathed forth from out thy
breast : then it is as though thou spirit turnedst to meet me,
and wert content to be borne upon the breath of love as
upon Avaves.

Look ! — thus do I love nature, because I love thee ;
so I fain repose in her and sink in her, because I fain sink
in the remembrance of thee.

Ah ! since thou art nowhere, and yet art there ; because
I feel thee more than all else, then thou must surely be in
this thousandfold echo of my feelings.

* * ^

I know one ! — as with infant's smiles has he made friends
with wisdom, with knowledge. The life of nature is to him
temple and religion ; all within her is to him spirit-glance,
divination ; each object in her became for him an individual
thou ; in his songs sounds forth the divine joy to feel himself
in all, to harbor all mysteries, and in them become to him-
self intelligible.

I

When the seed comes into the earth it becomes alive, and
this life strives into a new realm, into the air. If the seed
had not already life in itself, it could not be awaked in it ; it
is life which passes into life. If man had not already bliss
within himself, he could not become blessed. Tlie germ of
heavefi lies in the breast, as the germ of blossom lies in the
shut seed. Bliss is as much a blossoming in a higher ele-
ment as yonder plant, which is born out of the seed through
the earth to a higher element, into the air. All life is nour-
ished by a higher element, and where it is Avithdrawn from
it, it dies off.

Cognition, revelation, is seed of a higher life ; earthly life
is the soil in which it is scattered ; in dying, the whole seed
springs up to light ; growing, blossoming, bearing fruit from
the seed which the spirit has here laid in us, this is life after
death.

Thou art the ether of my thoughts ; they float through
thee, and are borne in flight by thee, like the birds by the
air.

37-i GOETHE'S CORRESPO^'DENCE

To think on tliee, to abide in tlie consciousness of thee,
that is repose from liiglit. as the bird reposes in its nest.

Spirit in spirit is intinite, but spirit in the senses, in feel-
ing, is the infinite contained in the finite.

Mv thouirhts overswarm thee, as the bees do the bloom-
ing tree. They touch a thousand blossoms, leaving one to
visit another, and each is new to them ; so, too, does love
ever repeat herself, and every repeating is new to her.

Love is everlasting first-born, it is eteraally one single
moment ; time is nothing to it, it is not within time, for it is
eternal : love is brief. Eternity is a celestial briefness.

Kothing celestial passes over, but what is eai'thly passes
over bv the celestial.

Here upon the table lie grapes in their fragrance, and
peaches in their fur, and gay-striped pinks ; the rose lies in
front, and catches up the only sunbeam which pierces
through the closed shutters. How glows the rose ! —
Psyche I call it; — how does the glowing red attract the
beam withm the inmost chalice ! how fragrant breathes it ;
— here the Avork praises the master. Rose, how dost thou
praise light I — as Psyche praises Eros. Most beauteous is
Eros, and his beauteousness penetrates Psyche as the Tight
penetrates the rose. And I, who fancy myself even so pen-
etrated by thy beauty, step before the mirror, — i^' that
beautilies me like the rose.

The beam has yielded to evening ; the rose lies in the
shadow ; I rove throuirh wood and mead, and on lonelv
paths 1 think on thee, — that thou, too, hke light, pene-
tratest me.

» » «

Lonsincr and forefeehns: he in one another : one forces up
the other.

The spirit will espousal with sense : I will be loved, or I
will be felt, is the same.

Therefore the spirit does well, because we feel how that

WITH A CHILD. 375

which is spiritual passes over to heavenly life and becomes
immortal.

Love is the spiritual eye ; it reviews and avows what is
heavenly ; they are presentiments of higher truths, which
make us ask for love.

In thee I behold a thousand germs which blossom to im-
mortality. I think I must breathe on them all. AVhen
spirits touch one another, that is divine electricity.

All is revelation ; it gives the spirit, and then the spirit's
spirit. We have of love the spirit, whose spirit is of love
the art.

All is nought; the will alone reaches above, the will
alone can be divine.

* * *

How eager is the soul after truth, how does slie tliirst,
how does she drink! — as the panting earth, who has a
thousand plants to nourish, drinks in the fruitful thunder-
shower. Truth is also electric fire, like the lightning. I
feel the wide, cloud-over-drifted heaven in my breast ; I feel
the damp storm-wind in my head ; the soft nigh-rolling of
thunders, how they increase, mightily, — they attend the
electric fire of the spirit. Life ! a course which concludes
with death through love, through spirit ; — a secret, hidden
fire, which by this conclusion pours forth into light.

Yes ! electric fire ! — this glows ! this roars ! — and the
sparks, — the thoughts, fly out of the chimney !

Who touches me in the feeling of my spirituality, with
him together uproars the spirit tempestuously, and plays in
the pulse-stroke of the storms, in the electric vibrations of
the air. This I have felt as we spoke together, and thou
didst touch my hand.

Written after the tempest, when, after the storm, it was
once more brightening up, and the night of the returning
day took the realm.

Many a prejudice have I loosened, young as I am ; could
I but loosen that one, that time consumes ! Hunger and
thirst do not become older : so it is too with the spirit ; in

376 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

the present it stipulates the future. He who lays claim to
the future, who hastens on before time, how can he be sub-
jected to time ?

I became aware that on the trees, always behind the
decaying leaf, the germ of a future blossom Hes already
concealed : so too is life in the young, fresh, vigorous body
the nourishing rind of the spirit's blossom ; and as it withers
and falls off in the earthly season, so does the spirit push
its way through it, a heavenly blossom.

"When late in autumn I stripped off the dead fohage from
the hedges in passing by, then I gathered up this wisdom.
I opened the buds, I dug up the roots ; everywhere did the
future throng itself through the whole strength of the pres-
ent : thus then there is no age, no decease, but only everlast-
ing sacrifice of time to the new young sf)ring life ; and who
would not sacrifice himself to the future, how unhappy were
he!

For temple-service am I born, where not the air of sanc-
tuary breathes homely on me, — there I feel myself uneasy,
as if I were gone astray.

Thou art my temple ! when I will be with thee, I clean
myself from daily sorrows, hke one who puts on festival
raiments ; so thou art the induction to my rehgion.

I call religion that which seizes the mind in the moment
of its development, leads it on in prospering, like the sun
does the blossom lead to fruits. Thou lookest on me like
the sun, and fannest me Hke the western breezes, — by such
cheering enticements blossom my thoughts.

This epoch of life with thee traces a limit which bounds
the eternal, because all what forms itself within this limit
declares the celestial ; it traces an embrace of an inner life :
call it religion, revelation of all the unmeasurable, which
the spirit is able to embrace.

"What is Avaking, will awake ! — certainly in thee wakes
what does awake me. From thee proceeds a voice which
calls into my soul. That which by this voice be awakened
is mystery ; mystery enlightens.

Much do I see and feel which is difiicult to explain by
words. He who loves, learns to know ; knowing teaches to
love ; so, jjerhaps, I shall increase in this revelation, which

WITH A CHILD. 377

now is still but forefeeling. Since this moment, where it
came so joyfully into my mind, to pour into thy bosom my
thoughts, my musing life, I feel as if I had roused myself
out of deep shadow into sunny breezes.

* * *

In the garden, where as a child I walked, there grew
along the smooth stone-wall a wild virgin-vine.* At that
time I often beheld its little velvet tendrils, with which it
strives to take hold of the stone-wall ; I wondered at this
indissoluble clinging in every crevice, and, when the spring
was exhausted, and the summer-glowings fired the young,
soft, germing life of this tender plant, then its fine, red-
colored leaves, to set off the autumn, gently fell down into
the grass. Ah ! I too ! decaying, but ardently shall I take
leave of thee, and these leaves, like yonder red-colored
foliage will play on the green plot which will cover these
times.

* * *

I am not false to thee ! Thou sayest, "7/^ thoit ivert false,
that would not honor thy loit ; I am easily to he deceived."

I will not be false ; I ask not if thou art false, but such
as thou art, I will attend thee.

The star which every evening shines to the lonely one,
will not be betrayed by him.

What hast thou done to me which could move me to
falsehood, all what in thee I am aware makes me blessed ;
thou canst wrong neither eye nor spirit, and it has raised
me far above every mean reserve, that I am allowed to
trust in thee ; and out of my deepest heart, I can but pour
in for thee the pure wine of truth, in which thy image is
mirrored.

Is it not ? thou dost not believe that I am false ?

There are bad faults which break forth in us like a
fever ; it has its course, and we feel in convalescence, that
we were grievously ill ; but falsehood is a venom which
engenders itself in the midst of the heart ; — could I no
longer shelter thee in this midst, what should I begin ?

* Creeper.

378 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

In my letters, I would not mention this, but here in this
book I let thee lay thy hand in the wound, and it grieves
that thou canst doubt me. I will tell thee of my infant
days, of the time before I had seen thee ; how my whole
life was a preparing for thee ; how long is it that I know
thee ? — how often have I seen thee with closed eyes ! —
and how wondrous was it, when at last the real world in
thy jDresence did join to the long entertained exi^ectation.

* * *

In the hanging gardens of Semiramis I was brought up ;
a smooth, brown, fine-limbed little roe, tame and courteous
to every one caressing it, but unruly in its capricious pro-
jDcnsities. AVho could tear me from the glowing rock in
the noontide-sun? — who could have checked me, climbino-
the steepest heights and tops of trees ? — ^vho could have
awakened me out of my dreaming oblivion amidst the living
ones, or disturbed my inspirated night-wanderings in the
mist-clouded path ! — they let me go on, the Fates, Muses,
and Graces, who were all hemmed in this narrow dale,
which sent a threefold echo of the mill's clapping into the
surrounding forests ; crossed by the gold sand-river, whose
banks yonder were rented by a gypsy-gang, which at night
encamj^ed in the wood and by day fished gold in the river,
and on this side were used by the bleaching people, and
by the neighing horses and the asses, which belong to the
mills. There the summer nights were harmonized by the
song of the solitary watchmen and the nightingales, and the
morning began with the clamor of asses and geese ; then
the jejuneness of day made quite a difierence with the hymn
of the night.

Many a night have I then passed away in the open air,
I the little thing of eight years ; dost thou think that was
nothing ? — my heroic time it was, for I was bold without
knowing it ; the whole country, as far as I could overtake it,
was my bed ; whether on the river's brink, washed by the
waves, or dew-wetted on the steep rocks, I slept, it was all
the same to me. But, friend ! when dawning gave way to
the morning, spreading its purple over me, and I, having
in dream alreadv listened to the sono; of the ascendins; lark,
was awakened by thousandfold jubilant revel of all the

WITH A CHILD. 379

feathered throats, — how dost thou think I feU ? — no less
than of a divine nature did I feel myself then, and I looked
down upon the whole mankind. Two of such nights I
remember, which were sultry, when I stole from between
the rows of the deeply-sleeping in the suffocating dortoirs,
and hastened forth into the open air, where the tempests
overtook me ; and the broad blossoming linden roofed me ;
— the lightning fired through the deep-bending boughs ;
this sudden illuminating of the far forest and the single
rock-teeth raised a tremor in me. I was timorous and
embraced the tree, which had no heart, to throb against
mine.

O, dear friend ! — had I now felt a vivid pulse-stroke
beneath the bark of this tree, I should not have been timor-
ous ; this little moving, this throbbing in the breast can
raise confidence, and can change the faint-hearted into a
hero ; — for truly should I feel thy heart throb against
mine, and shouldst thou even lead me on to death, I should
triumphantly hasten on with thee !

But then in the tempest-night beneath the tree I was
afraid, my heart throbbed violently; at that time I could
not sing that beautiful song : " How hind and sweet great
Nature is, who takes me to her hosom" I found myself
alone amidst the roaring of the storms, yet I felt so happy,
my heart became ardent. There rung the alarm-bell of
the cloister-steeple, the Fates and Muses hastened in their
nightgowns with their sacred tapers to the vaulted choir;
I saw beneath my storm-ruffled tree the hastening lights
sweep through the long galleries, — soon their ora 'pro nobis
sounded amidst the storm ; as often the lisjlitnino: flashed
they rang the consecrated bell ; the thunder did not strike
as far as its sound was heard.

I alone yon side the clausure, beneath the tree in this
terror-night, and all those, the cherishers of my childhood,
like a timorous and bashful flock, hedged up in the inmost
fire-proof vault of their temple, singing litanies for averting
danger. This seemed to me so very merry beneath my
leafy roof, in which the wind raved, and the thunder, like
a roaring lion, swallowed up the litany together with the
pealing ; on this spot none of those would have ventured to
stand by me; that made me vigorous against that which
alone was to be feared, against fear ; I felt myself not for-

380 GOETHE'S COKEESPONDENCE

saken amidst the all-embracing nature. The gushing rain
did not even disturb the flowers on their fine stalk, what
harm sliould it do me ? — I must have blushed before the
confidence of the little birds, had I been afraid.

^ v^ ^

Thus have I gently got confidence and become familiar
with Nature, and have jestingly undergone many trials.
Storm and tempest drew me forth with them, and this
deliixhted me. The hot sun I did not shun ; I laid down
in the grass among the swarming bees, with blossom-twigs
between my lips, and felt certain they would not sting my
hps, because I was such friends with Nature ; and so I
defied all that others feared ; and at night, on haunted ways
into dark thickets : there I was allured, and everywhere I
was at home, — and nothing had I to fear.

Aloft in the first and highest garden stood the convent-
church on a grass-plot, which sloped down along the rocky
soil and was surrounded by a high-grown vine-roofed walk ;
it led to the vestry-door ; here I often sat when I had ended
my business in the church, for I was vestry -keeper, an office
which imposed on me to clean the chalice in which the con-
secrated hosts were kept, and to wash the chalice-napkins ;
this office was only intrusted to the favorite among the
young girls ; the nuns had unanimously elected me to it.
Many a hot afternoon have I sat under the arch of this
door ; to the left, in the corner of the cloister's building,
stood the bee-house, beneath lofty yew-trees ; to the right
the little bee-garden, planted with fragrant herbs and pinks,
out of which the bees sucked honey. From thence I could
see into the distance ; the distance, — that raises such
strange feelings in the infant soul, and Avhich, ever one and
the same, lies before us, moved in light and shade, and
awakes the first awful presension of a veiled future ; —
there I sat and saw the bees return home from their ram-
blings ; I saw them rolling in the farina of the flowers, and
how they flew further and further into the unmeasured dis-
tance ; how they vanished in the blue sunlit ether, and
amidst these fits of melancholy began to rise the presenti-
ment of unmeasured happiness too.

Yes, sadness is the mirror of happiness ; thou seest, thou

WITH A CHILD. 381

feelest expressed in it a bliss, for whicli it longs. Ay, and
again in happiness glimmer through all the splendor of joy,
— this dolesome voluptuousness. Yes, happiness is also the
mirror of this sadness, rising up from unfathomable depths.
And just now, in the remembrance, as in my infant years,
my soul is filled with that melting mood which softly came
over me at twilight, and then again gave way, when sun-
light had changed with starHght, and the evening dew had
uncurled my ringlets. The cold night-breeze steeled me ;
I courted, I teased playfully with the thousand eyes of dark-
ness, which glittered through every bush. I climbed up
the chestnut-trees and laid myself so Umber and smoothly
on their boughs ; when then the breeze curled through
them, and each leaf whispered to me, it was as if they were
speaking in my tongue. I mounted the high grape-trellis,
which leaned against the church-wall, and listened to the
swallows prattling in their nests ; half-dreaming, they twit-
ter two and three-syllabled sounds, and in profound peace
the little breast sighs forth a sweet tone of content. All
happy love, all delight, that her little bed is lined with a
friendly warmth.

0, woe to me, that my heart is so deeply pained, because
I have beheld this life of nature in my infant days. These
thousandfold love-sighs, panting the summer night through,
and in midst of this a lonesome child ; lonesome till m the
inmost heart, listening to its delights, its fervency, and in the
cups of the flowers inquiring after their mysteries, imbibing
their fragrance like a lesson of wisdom, asking a blessing
upon the grape before tasting it.

But there was a lofty tree, with fine fantastic branches,
broad velvet-leaves, spreading out like an arbor ; I often lay
beneath its cool vault, and saw above how the light eyed
through, — and there I lay with uncovered neck, in deep
slumber ; yes, I dreamed of sweet love-gifts ; most surely !
or I had not understood the tree when I awoke. Because
the ripe fruit, just loosened from its branches, in falling,
moistened my breast with its juice, — the beautiful, dark,
over-ripe blood of the mulberry ; I did not know it, I had
never seen it, but with confidence my lips consumed it, as
lovers consume the first kiss ; and there are kisses, which, I
feel, taste like mulberries.

Say, are these adventures ? and worth relating to thee ?

382 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

* * *

And shall I tell thee still more of these simple events,
which are as common as the breath which heaves the breast ?
and yet upon the pure, still unwritten tablet of remembrance,
they made an indelible impression. See ! as the whole sen-
suousness of nature nourishes the child in swaddling-band
to thrive in senses and powers, till he becomes a man, to
rule with his limbs horse and sword, so too does the feelino:
of the spirituousness of nature serve as nourishment of the
spirit. Not even now should I catch up yon sunbeams with
the glance of remembrance, should not now still recall the
cloud-drifts as lofty events ; the flowers of vanished springs
would not still to-day smile upon me in their colors and
shapes ; and the ripe fruits which I fondled before I tasted
them, would not, after vanished years, as out of yon blissful
dreams, remind me of the hidden joy. They smiled upon
me, the round apples, the striped pears, and the dark cher-
ries, for which I climbed to the topmost branches. O, no
remembrance so burns within my heart, upon my lips, to
which these might yield ; not thou, not others, have made
me amends for the sweet fare of the cherry ripened on the
highest top, in burning sunshine ; or the wood-lone straw-
berry, discovered amidst the dewy grass. Thus, while it is
then so deeply engraven in the spirit, the enjoyment of
infancy's youth, — deep as the flaming characters of passion,
it may then be also a divine revelation, and it stipulates
much within the breast, in which it roots.

Thoughts are also plants, they float in spiritual ether ;
sensation is their parent soil, in which they cherish and ex-
tend their roots ; the spirit is their atmosphere, in which
they spread their blossoms and their fragrance ; the spirit in
which many thoughts blossom is an aromatic spirit ; nigh to
it we breathe its purity. The whole of nature is a mirror
of what happens in the spirit's life. Not a butterfly have I
chased, but my spirit was enabled in it to pursue a hidden
ideal charm, and did I press my throbbing, heart to the tall
herbs of the blooming earth, I lay on the bosom of a divine
nature, and on my fervor, on my longing, she dropped a
cooling balsam, which changed all desire into contemplation.

The wandering herds in the evening's twilight, with their
tinkling bells, which from the wall above I beheld with silent

WITH A CHILD. 383

rapture ; the shepherd's pipe, who in moony nights led his
sheep from pasture to pasture ; the baying of the dog in the
distance, the chasing clouds, the sigh-swelling night-gales,
the rushing stream ; the soft lashing of the waves on the
flinty beach, the slumbering of the plants, their soaking of
morning light, the wrestling and sporting of the mists. O,
say, what spirit has proffered me the same again ? Thou ?
— hast thou so intimately joined me as the evening shadows ?
has thy voice, mournfully kind, penetrated me like yon dis-
tant reed? Has the dog, with his bark, made my heart
throb for some one, who comes to meet me on secret path?
and have I, like yonder drowsy nature, laid myself to rest,
with the consciousness of assuaged longing ? No ; only in
the mirror of nature have I learned it, and beheld the im-
ages of a higher world. Be then aware of these impart-
ings, as events of high enjoyment and charming love-adven-
tures. What have I not learned to prognosticate and to
conceive ? And what more dare we ask of life ? what can
it do better within us, than to prepare us for bliss? If,
then, senses and spirit were so moved by this stirring of na-
ture ; if desire was so strained by her languishing ; if her
thirsting, her drinking, her burning and consuming, her veg-
etating, her brooding floated through the heart ; say, what
of love's bliss have I not experienced, and what flower
would not exhale to me in paradise, and what fruit not
ripen ?

Therefore receive these hieroglyphics of a loftier bliss, as
my memory records them one after another. O look ! the
book of remembrance in thy presence opens these leaves ;
thou ! — thou perhaps wilt pluck for me in paradise these
apples from the unforbidden tree ; on thy bosom shall I
awake yonder, and the melodies of a bliss-bestowing crea-
tion will breathe my rapture into thy breast.

* * *

One tiling keep in thy heart, that thou hast made upon
me the purest impression of beauty, to which I have directly
sworn allegiance, and that nothing can infringe upon thy
pristine nature, and that my love is in intimate understand-
ing with this.

384 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

*

The height of bhss ascends as far as it can be compre-
hended ; what the spirit does not comprehend does not make
him happy ; in vain would cherubim and seraphim bear him
higher upon their wings, where by his own power he could
never sustain himself.

Presensions are emotions to lift the M^ings of the spirit
higher ; longing is a proof that the spirit seeks a higher
bliss ; spirit is not alone gift of comprehension, but also
feeling and instinct of the sublime, throusrh which its
appearance, the thought, is to be developed ; thinking is not
the essential ; we could dispense with it, were it not the mir-
ror for the soul, in which her spirituality is reflected.

* * *

The closed seed, and the blossom which springs from it,
are not comparable with one another, and yet is its first
germing the forefeeling of this blossom, and so it grows and
thrives with increasing security, till blossom and fruit aver
its first instinct, which, could it be lost, would bear neither
blossom nor fruit.

And if even I write it in this book, that I am sad to-day,
can it console me ? How waste are these hues ! ah, they
mark the time of forsaking ! Forsaken ! was I, then, ever
joined to what I love ? \\ as I understood ? ah ! — why do
I wish to be understood ? — all is mystery, all nature, her
magic, her love, her bliss, even as her jDains. The summer
sun shines and calls forth blossom and fruit, but the shadows
and the winter-time follow him. Are, then, the trees also as
inconsolable, as full of despair in their winter, as the heart
in its desertion ? Do the plants yearn ? — do they strive to
blossom as my heart to-day strives to love, to be felt ?
Thou ! to feel me ? — who art thou, that I must ask it of
thee ? Alas ! the whole world is dead, each breast is void !

WITH A CHILD. 385

were there but one heart, one spirit, which would awake
to me.

* * *

Come, let us once more roam through the hanging gar-
dens in which my childhood was at home ; allow thyself to
be led through the long arbor-walks to the steeple, where
with little trouble I brought the bell into swing, to call to
meal or prayers ; and in the evening at seven, I three times
tolled the Angelus to call the guardian angels to the sleep-
ers' night-watch. O, then the evening purple was cutting
into my heart, and so did the waving gold into which the
clouds sank. 0, I know even to-day that it pained me,
when I passed so lonely through the slumbering flower-field,
and the wide, wide heaven spread about me in winged haste,
drivinoj its clouds together like a flock which it had to drive
further, unfolding their red blue and yellOw mantle, and then
again other colors, till the shadows overpoured it. There I
stood, and saw the benighted birds with quick speed fly to
their nest ; and I thought, if one would only fly into my
hand, and I were to feel its little heart flutter, I should be
content. Yes ! I thought a bird which was tame with me
could make me happy. But no bird flew into my hand,
each had already chosen another way, and I with my long-
ing was not understood. Yet then I believed that all nature
only consisted in the conception of feelings, — that there-
from came the blossoming of all flowers ; that thereby the
light melted into all colors ; that therefore the evening
breeze breathed such gentle shivering over the heart ; and
on tliat account the sky, bounded by the shore, was mirrored
in the waves. I saw the life of nature, and I believed that
a spirit, which answered to the sadness that filled my
breast, was himself this life ; that it was his instigations, his
thoughts, which formed these day and night-wanderings of
nature. Yes ; and I young child felt that I must melt into
this spirit, and that to consume in it was the only bliss. I
strove to die away, without knowing what dying was ; I
was insatiate in breathing in the night-gale at full draughts ;
I stretched my hands into the air, and the fluttering gar-
ment, the flying hair, proved to me the presence of nature's
loving spirit. I let the sun kiss me with closed eyes, then I
opened them to him, and my gaze was strong to endure it ;

25

386 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

I thought, wilt thou let him kiss thee, and shouldst thou not
look at him ?

From the church-garden the stairs, over which the foam-
ing water poured down, led into the second garden, which
Avas circular, and surrounded with flower-beds a large basin,
in which water spouted up ; around the basin stood lofty-
pyramids of yew, sprinkled over with purple berries, from
Avhich oozed forth a crystal-clear resin-drop. I still know
all, and this particularly Avas my favorite pleasure, to see the
first rays of the morning sun playing in these resin-dia-
monds.

The water ran out of the basin, under ground, to the end
of the round garden, and from there again gushed down a
flight of stairs into the tliird garden, which quite surrounded
the round one, and lay just so deep that the tops of its trees
waved like a sea round it. It was so delightful when they
blossomed, or when the apples and cherries were ripe and
the laden boughs reached over. Often I lay in the hot mid-
day sun, beneath these trees ; and midst this soundless
nature, where no blade stirred, the ripe fruit dropped doAATi
into the high grass beside me : I thought, thee, too, none
will find ! then I stretched forth my hand towards the
golden apple and touched it with my lips, that it might not
have existed quite in vain.

* * *

The gardens were beautiful, enchanting ! were they not ?
There, below, the water collected in a stone fountain, which
was surrounded by lofty firs ; then it curled down, from ter-
race to terrace, gliding smoothly into stone basins, where it
assembled, and flowing beneath the earth, came to the wall,
which enclosed all the gardens ; from there the water poured
down into the vale, for this last garden was also lying on the
heiirht ; then it ran awav in a rivulet further, I know not
whither. I looked then from above down into its gushing,
spouting, and becalmed rolling course. I saw it grow larger,
and artfully spring aloft, playing around in fine beams ; it
hid itself, but soon came again and hastened down the high
stairs ; I hastened after it, met it in a clear fountain, sur-
rounded by dusky firs, beneath whose boughs the nightin-
gales were at home. There it was so pleasing; there I

WITH A CHILD. 387

played with my bare feet in the cool water. And then it
ran away hidden, and I coidd see, when it came down the
wall from the outside, but I could not pursue it where it ran
away, and I could not lay hold on it. Ah, there came wave
behind wave, — it streamed incessantly down the steps ; the
spring played night and day, and never became exhausted ;
but there where it ran away from me, just there my heart
longed for it, and there I could not go with it ; and if I had
been allowed, and had gone with it, through all the meadows,
through all the vales, through the desert; — where would
the brook have led me ?

Yes, sir ! I see thee rush and stream ; I see thee artfully
play; I see thee, day after day, calmly wander and bend
thy path suddenly away out of the realm of confidence ;
careless that a loving heart, which was fancying there its
home, should remain deserted.

Thus the rivulet, on the banks of which I played away
my childhood, painted to me in its undulating crystal the
features of my destiny, and at that time I already bemoaned
that they felt not related to me.

O, do but come and once more play with me through my
infant days ; thou owest to me, to let my sighs sound amongst
thy melodies, as long as I ask for no more than to claim
upon a child's longing after the rivulet, to which also I must
comply, to let it break forth and hurry on vigorously abroad,
— abroad, where it was certain that my image never should
be mirrored in it.

*

To-day* we have Maundy-thursday, — on this day the
little temple-warden has much to do ; all the flowers which
the early season grants us are plucked ; snow-drops, cro-
cuses, daisies, and the whole field full of hyacinths, adorn
the white altar; and then I bring the surplices; twelve
children, with loosened hair, are invested with them, they
are to perform the apostles. After having wandered round
the altar, we sit down in a semicircle, and the old abbess,
with her high silver staff, involved in her veil with long
training mantle, kneels down between us to wash our feet ;

* Speaking of the past.

388 GOETHE'S COREESPO^^DEXCE

one nun holds the silver basin and pours in the water, the
other reaches the linen for drying ; meanwhile all the bells
are pealing, the organ sounds, two nuns play the violin, one
the bassviol, two sound the trumpet, one beats a whirling
roll on the kettle-drums, and all the others, with high voices,
chant the litany : " Saint Peter, we salute thee ; thou art the
stone on which the church rejjoses." Then they go on to
Paul, and thus one apostle after the other is to be saluted,
till all the feet are washed. Now, see ! — this is a day for
wliich we had already rejoiced three months before. The
church was filled with people ; they thronged themselves
around our procession, and wept heartfelt tears about the
laughing, innocent apostles.

From this day the garden is unclosed, which during the
winter had not been approached ; every child runs to its
little flower-garden ; there the rosemary has wintered very
well ; the little pinks are scraped out beneath the withered
leaves, strawberries are transplanted, and budding violets
carefully planted in pots. I put them near my bed and lay
my head very close to them, that I may breathe their fra-
grance throughout the night.

*

O, what am I, to tell all this to the man whose spirit, far
from such childish doings, is led to other spheres ! — why to
thee, whom I would flatter, whom I would allure ; thou
shalt be friendly to me ; thou shalt unconsciously, gently
endeavor to love me, while I chat thus with thee. Could I
then have told nothing more delightful, more important, that
should move thee, that thou shouldst call me " Dearest
child," shouldst press me to thy bosom, sweetly affected by
what thou listenest to.

Ah, I know nothing better, I know no joyousness more
beautiful than that of the early spring ; no longing more
hearty than that for the blooming of my flower-beds ; no
more ardent thirst than overcame me when I stood amidst
the beauteous blooming nature, all around me in a wanton
luxurious thrivino;. Nothino; has touched on me with more
cheenng sympathy, and more compassionately, than the sun-
beams of the young year ; and couldst thou be jealous, it
could only be of this time ; for truly I long for it agam.

WITH A CHILD. 389

*

A sun rises to us ; he wakes the spirit Uke the young day ;
at his setting it goes to sleep. When he ascends, a thriving
awakes in the heart hke spring : when he stands high, then
the mind glows mightily, it overstretches the earthly tend-
ence, and learns by revelation ; when the sun inclines to
eventide, then comes the moment of reflection ; remem-
brance follows his setting. In the shadow's calm we re-
member the soul's undulating upon the high sea of light,
the inspiration in the season of glowing ; and with these
dreams we go to sleep. But there are spirits Avho rise so
high that to them the sun of love never sets, and the new
day joins the vanishing one.

* *

The lonesome time alone is what remains to me ; what I
recall is of a lone life, and what I have gone through has
made me alone ; the whole wide world, dyed in all hues,
plays around the lonesome spirit ; it reflects in it, but does
not penetrate it.

Spirit is in itself; that which it perceives, which it com-
prehends, is its own tendency, its own power ; its highest
revelation is to comprehend its own power. I believe in
death this may be revealed to it ; till then it has only incred-
ulous visions ; had I believed in them more early, then my
spirit had striven to attain what it fancied impossible, and
had acquired what it longed for ; for longing manifests the
veracity of its aim ; it is inspiration, and emboldens the
spirit. Nothing should be too daring for the spirit, as all
lies in its power ; it is the warrior, whom no weapon de-
ceives ; it is the generous, whose plenty pours forth copi-
ously without end ; it is the blessed, to whom all is volup-
tuousness. Nay, spirit is divinity ; the breast inhales the
air and releases it, again to inhale it, and this is life. The
spirit desirously drinks up the divinity, and breathes it out
again to drink it, and this is the spirit's life ; all else is
chance, is the trace, the history of spirit, not its life.

* * *

390 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

The spirit is lonesome, because it is animated only by
one, which is love. Love is all ; the spirit is lonesome,
because love alone is all. Love is for him alone whose
whole being is in it. Love and spirit behold one another,
for they live one in the other, and can be seen of them-
selves alone.

I, too, in my infancy, was then alone ; the stars looked at
me, I understood them, love speaks by them.

Nature is the language of love, love speaks to infancy by
nature. The spirit is a child here upon earth ; therefore
has love created sweet, blessed, childlike nature, as a lan-
guage for the spirit.

Were the spirit independent, then love would, perhaps,
use another language. Nature guides and proffers what
the spirit needs ; she teaches, she relates, she invents, she
comforts, she protects and guards the spirit's immaturity.
Perhaps, when she once has led spirit beyond childhood,
she guides it no more, but yields it up to its own power ;
perhaps that yonder life is the spring-time of the spirit, as
this life is its childhood ; for we long after spring, after
youth, till our last moment, and this earthly life is only a
prefiguration of the spirit's youth, releasing it from infancy,
as the seed releases the germ into a life of ether.

Blossoming is spirit ; it is beauteousness, it is art, and
its exhaling fragrance is also a striving into a higher ele-
ment.

* * *

Come with me, friend, do not shrink from the dewy-wet
evening ; I am a child, and thou art a child, we fain lie
beneath the open sky and look at the easy drift of evening
clouds, which swim over us in purple garment. 0 come ! —
no dream more blessed, no event more prosperous than
repose, still repose in existence ; blessed that it is so, and
no fancying it could be otherwise, or it must happen other-
wise. No, not in paradise, it will be more beauteous than
is this calm peace, which gives no account, no surveying
of joyousness, because every moment is but bliss. Such
moments I live with thee, only because I fancy thee at my
side, in yon infant years ; there we are both of one mind,
and what I try in life is reflected in thee, and what should
I be to live if I did not behold it in thee.

WITH A CHILD. 391

How spirit does become sentient of itself ; by what does
it prevail upon itself, but by that, that it has love ! I have
thee, my friend, thou wanderest with me, thou reposest at
my side, my words are the spirit which thy breast breathes
forth.

All sensual nature becomes spirit, all spirit is sensual
life of the divinity, — eyes ye see ! — ye drink light, hues,
and forms ! — O eyes, ye are nourished by divine wisdom,
but ye ofler all to love, ye eyes ; that the evening sun plays
a glory over ye, and the cloudy sky teaches you a divine
harmony of colors, in which all agrees ; the far blue heights,
the green seed, the silver river, the black wood, the gray
mist, this, ye eyes, Nature, the mother, gives you to drink ;
while the spirit spends the beauteous evening in beholding
the beloved. O ye ears, the wide stillness sounds around
ye ; within it raises the soft nigher-roaring of the storm-
wind ; then rouses another, it bears to you tones from afar ;
the waves beat sighing on the shore, the leaves whisper,
nothins: moves in lonesomeness, which does not confide in
ye, ye ears. Ye are nourished by all Nature's managmg,
while ear and eye, and language, and enjoyment, are deeply
sunk in the bosom of the friend. Ah, paradise-like meal,
where the fare turns itself into wisdom, where wisdom is
voluptuousness, and where this becomes revelation.

This fruit, ripe and fragrant, sinking down out of the
ether ! — what tree has shaken it off from its overladen
boughs ? while we are leaning cheek on cheek, forgetful
of it and of time. These thoughts, are they not apples,
which are ripened on the tree of wisdom, and which it casts
down into the lap of the loving ones, who abide in its para-
dise and rest in its shadow. At that time, love was in the
child's breast, which, tightly folded and enshrined, enclosed
its sensations, like the young germ its blossom. Then love
was, and, to its striving, the bosom expanded, and opened
itself to unfold its bloom.

One nun was invested during the three years I was in
the convent, another we buried ; I laid the cypress-wreath

392 GOETHE'S COERESPOXDEXCE

upon her coffin ; she was the gardener, and for many years
she had trained the rosemary, which was planted on her
grave. She Avas eighty years of age, and death touched
her gently, while she was setting sprouts from her darling
carnations ; there she sat, kneeling on the ground, holding
in her hand the plants she was to set. I was the executor
of her testament, for I took them from her benumbed hand
and put them into the ground freshly dug up. I watered
them from the last pitcher she had fetched from St. Magda-
len's well, good sister Monica! How finely these carna-
tions grew ! they were large, and of a dark-red hue. "When
in later times he who loves and hnoics me^ likened me to a
dark carnation, I thought of the flowers, which, as a young
child, I had taken from the chilled hand of hoary age to
plant them ; and I thought, whether it would chance, that,
in setting flowers, I too might be snatched away by death.
Death, life's triumphant hero, the redeemer from earthly
heaviness !

But that other nun, young and beautiful, whose long
golden tresses I brought to the altar on the golden offering-
plate ! — I did not weep, when they carried the old gar-
dener to her grave, although she had been my friend, and
had taught me many arts of gardening. It appeared so
natural and so pleasmg to me, that I was not even amazed ;
but then, when in a surj^lice, with a wreath of roses on my
head, as a guardian angel with a lighted taper, I preceded
the youthful bride of Christ, dressed in the wanton gor-
geousness of pride, and all the bells tolled ; when we came
to the grate, before which the bishop stood, who was to take
her vows, and he asked if she wished to be betrothed to
Christ ; when, at her atfirmation, they cut off her hair en-
twined with pearls and ribands, and I received them on a
golden plate, — then my tears fell on that hair, and when I
stepped to the altar, to deliver them to the bishop, I sobbed
aloud, and all wept with me.

The young bride laid herself down on the ground, a pall
was spread over her ; the nuns came by from every side,
two and two, carrying baskets with flowers. I strewed the
flowers over the pall, while a requiem was sung. She was

* Song of ;Micrnon. in Wilhelm ^kleister: '" Ach cler micli liebt iind
kennt ist in der'^Veite."

WITH A CHILD. 893

consecrated, as if she were dead, and prayers were spoken
over her. The terrestrial Hfe had an end ; as angel of res-
urrection I lifted the pall ; the heavenly life begins. The
nuns surround her ; in their midst she is divested of the
worldly pomp ; the habit of the order, gown and veil, are
put on her ; after which, she deposits into the bishop's
hand the vows of obedience, chastity, and poverty. How
anxious was I, when the bishop presented her the crucifix,
to kiss it as her betrothed ! I did not leave her side ; in
the evening, Avhen the nun was sitting lonely in her cell, I
still knelt before her, the withered rose-wreath on my head.
She was a French woman, a Countess d'Antelot. " 3Ion
enfant,'' she said, " mon cher ange, gardien, pourquoi as
tu pleure ce matin lorsqiCon m'a coupe les clteveux ? " I
remained silent for a while ; then I asked her in a low
voice, " Madame^ estce que Jesus Christ a aiissi une harhe
noire ? "

This beautiful lady had come to our convent Avith many
other high ladies and noblemen with star and riband, who
had been driven from France. They all pursued their
way, but she remained behind. She used to walk much
in the garden, and had a glittering ring on her finger,
which she kissed when she was by herself in the dark alley.
Then she was reading her letters in a low voice, and with
a fine white handkerchief she wiped her moistened eyes.
I watched her, I loved her, and wept secretly with her.
Once a beautiful man in a glittering uniform entered the
garden with her. They conversed tenderly with each
other ; the man had a black beard, and was taller than
she ; he held her folded in his arms and looked down upon
her, his brio-ht tears remained hanging in his black beard.
This I saw, for I was sitting in the dark arbor, at the
entrance of which they were standing. He sighed deeply
and loudly, he pressed her to his heart, and she kissed off
from his black beard the brilliant tears.

Many times more the beautiful lady walked in these
lonely alleys ; many times more I saw her, weeping under
the tree where he had parted from her, and finally she took
the veil.

/

* 'F '1^

394 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

Coblenz.

All these clays during I have not written in this book ;
ah, how I desired for it ! In walking through foreign
streets I thought on thee ; here the game and sporting
place of thy youth-time ; there beyond the Ehrenbreitstein ;
it is called like the base of thy glory ; so must the die be
called on which thy monument once shall stand.

Yesterday strange thoughts fell down to me from the
clouds, I had fain written them in the book, I was not
alone ; I must let them go off with the undulating waves
down the river.

* * *

All that does not agree with love's doing is sin, and all
that is sin agrees not with love's doin2j ; love has an own
legitimate power, which it j)erforms over us ; I yield to its
rebuke, and this alone is the voice of my conscience.

Whatever excitements may engage life, what turns des-
tiny may take, love is the path of modulation, on which all
strains are harmonically to chime ; it bestows 'the compre-
hension, the measure, of a high ethical magnitude. It is
severe, and this severity passionately excites one for love ;
I have an ardent desire to do what it prompts. I fain
would suit each feeling, each motion, to it.

Isow I go to sleep ; could I but describe how glad I am !

* * *

Were it to-day that I should welcome thee ! to-day ! —
in a few minutes thou enteredst here my four walls, in
which, throughout this whole summer, I exert magic charms
to become possessed of thee ; nay ! and often a moment
thou wast mine, my love had got thee over to me. I
looked into the distance ; within my heart I looked after
thee and there discovered thee. To enjoy any thing, to be
possessed of it, requires great strength ; to be possessed
of anything, even a few minutes, produces wonder ; what
thou art possessed of in the spirit, that thou art aware of;
of what thou becomest aware, that captivates thee ; what
is captivating thee, that gives thee up to a new world.

WITH A CHILD. 395

Spirit will be self-ruler ; to be possessed of its own self is
its true strength ; every truth, every revelation, is a touch
of our own spirit. Dost thou penetrate it, does thy soul
melt in tliine own spirit, then thou art empowered to all
what thou art able of, and all revelation and thy life is thy
uninterrupted knowing ; and thy knowing is thy being, thy
producing. All knowing is love, therefore it is so blissful to
love, because in love lies the possession of one's self s own
divine nature.

liast thou loved, then it was a trace of divine nature ;
thou didst revoke the limits of thy existence, to expand it
Avithin the possession of thy love. This expansion is the
circulating of thy spiritual nature ; what thou art in love
with, that is the realm into which thou art born, that thou
mayest be able to live within it. Ah, it is so large, this
endless realm of love, and yet the human heart encloses it.

* * *

Let us, then, leave the convent, in which there was no
looking-glass ; in which, therefore, during four years, I
should have in vain sought for the acquaintance with my
own features, with my shape ; and yet, in this whole space
of time, it never came into my mind to think how I looked.
It was a great surprise for me, when, in my thirteenth year,
with two of my sisters, embraced by my grandmother, I for
the first time beheld the whole group in the looking-glass.
I knew them all, but not this one, with ardent look, glowing
cheeks, with black fine curled hair ; I do not know her, but
my heart throbs to meet her ; such a face I have loved
already in my dreams. In this look is something that moves
me to tears ; this creature I must follow, I must repose in
her faith and trust. When she weeps, then silently I will
mourn ; when she is in joy, then I calmly will serve her ; I
beckon her, — behold ! — she rises and comes to meet me ;
we smile at one another, and I can no longer doubt that I
see myself within the looking-glass.

Ah yes ! this presage has become true to me, I had no
other friend than myself. It was not about me, but with
me, that I often shed tears ; I have also jested with myself,
and that was still more touching, that no one took part in
the joke ; should one of them have said to me, that each

396 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

sought in love only himself, and that the highest delight is to
become aware of one's self in it : I should never have com-
prehended it, and yet does this little event hide a sublime
truth, and certainly few may conceive it. Do search for
thyself, be true to thyself, learn to understand thyself; do
follow thine own advice ; by this only canst thou attain the
highest. It is but to thyself that thou may est be true in
love ; when beauty entices thee, thou must love it, or thou
werest faithless to thine own self.

Beauty awakes inspiration, but inspiration for beauty is
the highest beauty itself. It explains, through itself, the
sublime and hallowed ideal of the beloved.

Certainly ! love brings forth a sublimer world from the
sensual world ; the spirit will be nourished, indulged, and
supported by the senses ; it grows and ascends by them to
self-inspiration, to genius ; for genius is the celestial, joyous
life of a celestial inspiration, produced through sensual
nature. -

Thou appearest to nie like this celestial producing of my

world of senses, when I stand before thee, and expound my

love to thee ; and yet when I stand before thee, I feel how

thy sensual apparition hallows me and becomes a celestial

' nature within me.

* * *

Now I am thirteen years of age ; now the time comes on
which awakens from sleep ; the young germs are thriving
and issue from their brown hull, they come forth to light ;
the child, loving, inclines to the germing generations of the
flowers ; its heart glows bashfully and intimately for their
variesrated and frajxrant charms, and does not forbode that
at the same time a germing world, of thousandfold genera-
tions of senses and of spirit, comes forth from the breast to
life, to light. Beholdest thou here confirmed -what I say ?
Love to the germino; blossom-world of sensuous nature ex-

<D CD

cites the slumbering germs of the spiritual blossom-world.
While we descry sensual beauty it creates within us its spir-
itual image, a celestial incorporation of what Ave love within
the senses. Thus was my first love in the garden : in the
honeysuckle-arbor I was every morning witli the sun, to
meet their reddish buds opening to hght ; and Avhen I looked

WITH A CHILD. 307

into the disclosed cups, then I loved and adored this world
of senses in the blossoms, and I mingled my tears with the
honey in their chalice. Yes, do believe it, there was a par-
ticular charm for me to bestow on the flower's bed the tear
which involuntarily started into mine eye ; thus did delight
change Avith wofulness. The young tig-leaves, when they
at first ascend so tight-folded out of their cover, to open
before the sun : alas, god ! thou ! why does beauteousness of
nature give pain ? Is it not because love feels herself unapt
to comprehend her at all ? So the most joyful love is im-
bued by woe, as it cannot satisfy its own longing ; so thy
beauty makes me woful, because I cannot love thee
enough ! O, forsake me not; be disposed to me only as far
as the dew is to the flowers ; in the morning it awakens
them and nurses them, and in the evening it clears them
from the dust, and cools them from the heat of the day. So
do thou, also, awake and nurse my inspiration in the morn-
ing, and cool my glowing, and clear me from sins, in the
evening.

Dost thou love me ? — Alas ! an inclining of thy face on
me, as from the waving boughs of the birch, — how charm-
ins; this would be ! — or also, that thou shouldst breathe on
me in slumber, as the night-breeze flits over the meadows ;
more, my friend, do I not ask from thee. When the breath
from the beloved touches thee, what delight canst thou com-
pare with ?

So clear and distinctly did I not feel there, as I feel to-day
in remembrance ; I was then as unblown as the young germ-
ing corn ; but I was nursed by the light, and led on to self-
consciousness, like the corn when it becomes conscious of
itself by the ripening ear ; and to-day I am ripe, and scatter
the golden grains of love to thy feet ; more my hfe does not
prove.

* * *

The ni2;htin2;ale had another mind to me than thou ; he
came down from branch to branch, drew nearer and nearer
to the utmost twig to behold me ; I turned gently to him,
not to frighten him away, and lo there ! — eye in nightin-
gale's eye ! — we looked at each other, and we remained so.

398 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

Therewith the breezes bore the tones of a distant music over
to us, whose all-embracing harmony resounded like a spirit-
universe, completed in itself, where each spirit penetrates all
spirits, and all comply to each ! Completely beauteous was
this event ! this first nearing of two equally innocent crea-
tures, who had not jet become aware, that by love's thirst,
love's delight, the heart pants faster and faster. Certainly
I was rejoiced and touched by tliis approach of the nightin-
gale, as I think thou perhaps wouldst be friendly moved by
the love of mine. But what has induced the nijjhtino-ale to
come after me ? Why did he come down from the lofty
tree, and sit so nigh that I might catch him with my hand ?
Why did he look at me, and indeed into mine eye ? The
eye speaks with us ; it answers to the look : the nightingale
had a mind to speak with me ; he had a feeling, a thought,
to exchange with me. (Feeling is the germ of the thought.)
And if it is so, what a deep and powerful glance nature
allows us here into her working-place ; how does she j^re-
pare her enhancings ; how deep does she lay her germs ! —
how far is it from the ni2"htin2:ale to the consciousness be-
tween two lovers, who find their ardency so clearly enhanced
in the song of the nightingale, that they should easily be-
lieve his melodies were the very expression of their feelings.
On the next day he came again, the little nightingale, I
too. I thouGfht he would come ; I had taken the fjuitar
along with me ; I wanted to jilay a little on it to him ; it
was by the wall of the i:>oplar-trees, near the wild-rose
hedge, which stretched forth its tall bowing branches over
the wall of the neighbor's sfarden, and with its blossoms
reached nearly the ground ; there he sat and stretched his
little throat, and looked at me how I played with the sand.
Xightingales are inquisitive, they say. With us it is a
proverb. Thou art as inquisitive as a nightingale : but for
what sake is he inquisitive after man, who seemingly has no
reference to him ? what shall once come forth out of this
curiosity ? O, nought is in vain ; all is used by nature to
her restless working ; it will and must go further in her
redemption. I ascended a high ]:)oplar, whose boughs from
below were formed to easy steps round about the trunk to
the top ; there, aloft in the limber top, I fastened myself to
the branches with the string on which I had drawn up the
guitar : the air was sultry, now the breezes moved stronger.

WITH A CHILD. 399

and swept a drift of clouds together over us. The rose-
hedges were hfted by the wind and again bent down, but
the bird sat steady. The more roaring the storm, the more
warbhng was his song ; its httle throat exuhingly poured
forth his whole soul into the roused nature ; the streamino;
rain did not impede him ; the rushing trees, the thunder-roll-
ing did not stun and frighten him ; and I also, upon my lim-
ber poplar, waved in the storm down upon the rose-hedrre
while it was lifted, and I swept over the chords to temper with
the measure the revel of the little singer. How still it Avas
after the thunder-storm ! what a hallowed rest followed this
inspiration in the hurricane ! with this repose the gloom dis-
played over the vast fields, my little singer was silent ; he had
become weary. Alas ! when genius lightens up in us and stirs
up all our strength, that it may serve him ; when man does
nothing but serve the mighty, the higher one, and rest fol-
lows such an exertion, how mild is it then ; how are then all
claims to be something melted in devotion to the genius !
Thus is nature, when she reposes from day-work : she sleeps,
and in sleep God bestows upon his oion. Such is the man
who is subdued to the genius of art ; in whose veins streams
the electric fire of poetry ; who is enlightened by the gift of
prophecy ; or who, like Beethoven, uses a tongue Avliich,
not on earth, but in the ether, is mother-tonirue. AVhen
such as these repose from inspirited exertion, then it is as
calm, as cool, as it was to-day after the tempest in the whole
nature, and still more in the breast of the little nightingale,
for he slept perchance to-day more deeply than all other
birds : and the more powerfully, and the more intimately the
genius, who bestows to his own when in slumber, will have
repaid him ; but I, after having breathed in the evening
stillness, came down from my tree, and, penetrated by the
sublimity of the just now passed events, had a mind to look
askant on mankind.

* * %

All changes ! elder men think otherwise than in youth ;
alas ! — what shall I think once if this earthly life preserves
me, till I advance in years ! Perhaps I shall then go to
church, iastead of going to my friend ; perhaps I shall then
pray instead of loving ! Ah ! how I then liken prayer to

400 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

love ? I know not how to express kissing ; did I ever feel
devotion, it was on thy breast, friend ! Temple-fragrance
which thy lips respire ! Spirit of God, which thine eyes
preach ! from thee streams forth an inspiriting power ; thy
garments, thy countenance, thy spirit streams forth a hallow-
ing breath. O thou ! — in pressing thy knees close to my
breast, no more do I ask what bliss may be, that which is
prepared for tlie blessed in heaven. To see God face to
face ? — how often with closed eyes have I rejoiced in thy
presence. Perhaps God, through the beloved, penetrates
into our heart. Yes, beloved ! — what have we in our heart
but only God ? And if there we did not feel him, how and
where should Ave seek his trace ?

* * *

Wliat do I trifle about tlie spring ! — what do I talk of
merry days, of delight and fortune ! — Thou, — the con-
sciousness of thee, consumes each emotion in me ; I cannot
smile at jesting, I cannot rejoice, I cannot hope with others.
That I know thee, that I am conscious of thee, makes my
senses so stilL

7^ TJS VF

0, to-day is a wondrous day, — to-day I have woe, so
heavy is my soul ! thou art nigh, I know it ; not far is the
way to thee, but me parts the small space like infinity. It
is the moment of lonijino; which wills to be felt and satisfied,
and if the beloved does not forefeel this same, if he slights
love, then ! — what can bring me near him ? Alas, woful
day, which has passed away to-day in expecting and longing.

Whom shall I confide in ? — who feels humanly with
me ? — to whom shall I complain of thee ? — who is my
friend ? AYho dares to ascend those steps, on which I have
raised myself above all human touch ? ■ — who dares lay his
hand on my brow, and dares say, Peace be with thee ?

To thee, whom I seek, I complain ; to thee I cry over the
depths : only think ! With the oar's ardent stroke I over-
wing time and life ; I drive them behind me, the moments
of parting ; and now, ye isles of the blessed,* my anchor

"V * Where parted friends shall meet again.

WITH A CHILD. 401

finds no bottom ! "Wild strand ! — inhospitable shore ! — ye
will not let me land, and not approach the bosom of the
friend, who knoAvs the mysteries, and the divine origin, and
the goal, of my life ! He, — that I may learn to behold
him, has within my spirit awakened the unspotted splendor
of light ; he, attending in ardent lays the delights, the pangs
of love, has taught me, between both them advancing, before
the sisters of fate with the flaming torch of Eros to irradiate
the way.

* * *

To-day is another day ; the evil fear is appeased, it rages
not, it roars no more in the heart ; the moaning no more
interrupts the splendor-lilled stillness. Ah, to-day the sun
is not down, his last beams display beneath thy steps ; he
walks, the sun ! — he stands not still, he ushers thee in to
me, where twilight beckons thee, and of violets the purple
wreath. O dearest ! — then I stand silent before thee, and
the flowers' fragrance will speak to thee for me.

* * *

I am joyous as is the dolphin, when, on the wide-reposing
ocean-plain, it hears flutes afar ; waggishly he drives the
waters into the splendent stillness of the sky, to spread a
rushing pearl-shower over the smooth glassy main ; each
pearl mirrors the universe and flows away ; so each thought
mirrors the eternal wisdom and flows aAvay.

Thy hand leaned on my cheek, and thy lip ref)Osed on
my brow, — it was so still ! — thy breath exhaled like the
breath of spirits. Time ever speeds with the happy, but
for this once time hurried not ; — an eternity which never
ends is this time ; which is so brief, so within itself, that no
measure can be adapted to it.

On mild spring-days, when the thin-cloudy sky bestows a
fruit-bearing rain upon the young seed, then it is, as now
within my breast ; I guess, as the hardly rooted germ guesses
its blossom, that love is everlastingly a sole futurity.

To be good, satisfies the soul, as the lullaby quiets the
infant soul to sleep. To be good is the inviolable rest which
the seed of the spirit must have, before it is matured, again

26

402 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

to be sown ; yet the spirit divines, that to be good is the
preparation for a deep, inscrutable mystery. This hast thou,
Goethe, to me confided, last night by the starry sky at the
open window, when one breeze after the other fluttered in,
and then out again. Thus if the soul be good : that is a
reposing, a falling asleep in the lap of God ; as the seed
sleeps in the lap of Nature, ere it germs. But if the sph'it
asks for what is good, then it asks for divinity itself; then it
asks for that mystery of goodness as for its food and nurs-
ing, and as a preparing for its nigh transformation ; then it
knocks, as the hidden stream does in the lap of the rock, for
issue to light. Such a daring mood had thy spirit, that, to
his urging, bolts and bars gave way ; and that it might foam
up over all times, — onward, Avliere spirit inheres in spirit,
as wave springs from wave, and wave is lost in wave.

Such was our talk last night, and thou saidst, " None
should believe that we two thus talk with one another."

We spoke also of beauty : beauty is, when the body is
wholly pervaded with the spirit it harbors. "When the light
of the spirit streams forth from the body, which it pervades
and involves, that is beauteousness. Thy glance is beau-
teous, because it sends forth the light of thy spirit, and in
this light floats.

The pure spirit frames for itself a ])ure body in the word :
this is the beauteousness of poetry. Thy word is beauteous,
because the spirit, which it harbors, forces its way through
and streams around it.

Beauty fades not ! the sense which comprehends it is
everlastingly possessed of it, and to this sense it fades not.

Not the image which beauty reflects, not the shajje which
expresses its spirit, has beauty : lie only has it, who in this
mirror guesses his own sj^irit.

Beauty frames itself in him, who longs for it, who recog-
nises it, and longs to reproduce it ; to frame himself like it.

Each genuine man is artist, he seeks after beauteousness,
again to bestow it. Each genuine man wants beauty, as the
only nourishment of spirit.

Art is the mirror of the inly soul ; her image it is as she
proceeded from God, which art reflects to thee. All beau-
teousness is a confession of thine own beauty.

It is art which charms the sensual image of the spirit
before thy bodily eyes.

WITH A CHILD. 403

Each impulse of life is an impulse of beauty. Behold
the plant ; its impulses are filled with the longing for blos-
som, and the satisfying of this longing already was prepared
in the grain ; thus then is beauty the most secure pledge,
that he who strives after everlasting beauty will have it and
enjoy it.

All that I here say, thou wrotest in my heart ; why I do
not yet with full freedom express it ? — because I am not
able, quite, to comprehend it.

Last night thine eye roamed to the distant mountains,
and then thou saidst, " The passion which springs from the
heart shall also wax and thrive, for there is no desire where
the divine is not present to make it blessed."

* * *

They have ushered me into their temple, the genii, and
here I stand abashed, but not a stranger ; their lore is intel-
ligible to me, their law gives me wisdom ; the search of love
is not the search of transient men. All flowers that are
broken, become immortal in the sacrifice, — a loving heart
soars above a hostile lot.

I shall relate thee of the time when I had not yet learned
to say thy name ? Certainly thou art in the right, to ask
what predisposed and led me to thee ; I told thee that
flowers and herbs first beheld me ; how their looks be-
trayed a question, a claim to which I could but answer
with tender tears ; then the nightingale allured me, and his
intimate bearing, his song, his advancing and shrinking
charmed me still more than the life of the flowers. I was
nearer to him in mind, his intercourse had something
charming ; on my little couch I could hear his song ; his
melodious groaning waked me, I sighed with him ; I sup-
plied thoughts to his song, to which I invented consoling
replies. I remember, that once under the blooming trees,
when I played with a ball, a young man who caught it,
brought it to me and said, " Thou art handsome ! " This
word brought fire into my heart, it flamed up like my
cheeks ; but I thought of the nightingale, whose carol, per-

404 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

chance, beautified me nightly ; and in this moment the
sacred truth burst in upon my spirit, that all which hfts
above what is earthly produces beauteousness, and I wooed
the nightingale with more zeal ; my heart throbbingly suf-
fered to be touched by his tones, as by a divine finger ; —
I longed to be beauteous, and beauty was to me divine,
and I subdued to the feeling of beauteousness, and did not
consider whether it was outward or inly. In every time,
even till to-day, I have felt a neai' affinity with beauty,
wherever it showed itself to me, in pictures and statues, in
scenery, or in slender trees. Although I am not slender,
yet something moves within my spirit which answers to
their slenderness ; and though thou smilest, I tell thee,
while with my gaze I follow their heaven-aspiring tops, my
suggestion seems to me also to asj^ire to heaven ; and as,
in the wind's blustering, tlie supple branches wave to and
fro, so waves within me a feeling as if it were the foliaged
branchery of a lofty stem of thoughts. And so I would
but say, that all beauty educates ; and that the mind, which
like a true mirror comprises beauty, by this attains a higher
impulse, which spiritually is this same beauty, — I mean
always its divine revelation. So then behold thou, how
much thou must enlighten me, since thou art beauteous.
Beauty is redemption ; beauty is deliverance from incanta-
tion, is freedom ! heavenly ! — has wings, and cuts through
the ether. Beauty is out of law ; before her vanishes each
limit ; she dissolves, in all that be sensible of her charms ;
she frees from the letter, for she is spirit. I am sensible
of thee, thou freest me from the letter and the law. Lo !
this dread which overwaves me, it is the charm of thy
beauteousness, which dissolves within my senses, that I
myself become beauteous, and by this dignified of deserving
thee.

The summer passes by and the nightingale is silent ; he
is silent, he is mute, and will no more be seen. I lived
there without disturbance through the days ; his nigh was
to me a dear haunt, it pains me to miss him ; had I but
something to supply him ! Perhaps another animal, — of
men I did not think. In the neighbor's garden is a roe
within a railing ; it runs to and fro along the garden-fence

WITH A CHILD. 405

and groans ; I make an opening, througli which I may
stroke its head. Winter lias covered all with snow, I seek
moss on the trees for it : Av^e know each other ; how beauti-
ful are its eyes ; how deep a soul gazes on me out of them ;
how true, how warm ! — it likes to lay its head in my hand
and looks at me. I love it too, I come as often as it calls
me ; in the cold, bright moonlit nights I hear its voice ; I
jump out of bed, with bare feet I run to the snow to soothe
thee. Then thou art quiet, when thou hast seen me ;
wondrous animal, which looks at me, cries to me, as if it
begged for deliverance. What firm reliance has it upon
me, who am not of its like ! Poor animal ! thou and I are
parted from our like ; we are both lonely, and we share
this feeling of lonesomeness. O ! how often for thee have
I thought into the wood, where thou couldst run out at full
length, and not ever in a round, as here in thy prison.
Yonder thou couldst run thy way still on, and with each
bound thou couldst hope to meet at last with a comrade ;
but here thy goal has no end, and yet all hope was cut off.
Poor doe ! how do I shudder at thy lot, and how nearly
related may it be to mine. I too run in a round ; there
above I see the stars glimmer, they all hold fast, none
sinks down ; — and from here it is so far to them, and
what wants to be loved shall come near to me. But thus
it was sung to me in the cradle, that I must love a star,
and this star would keep far aloof from me ; a long time
have I strived after it, and my senses were consumed in
this striving ; so that I saw nothing, heard nothing, and
thought of nothing, except my star only, Avhich would not
loosen itself from the firmament, to incline down to me. I
dream the star sinks deeper and deeper ; I already dis-
tinguish its face ; its radiating becomes eye ; it gazes at
me, and mine eyes are mirrored in it. Its splendor broad-
ens around me ; from all upon earth, far as I can think, far
as my senses bear me, I am parted by my star.

* * «

Nothing have I to lose, nothing have I to gain ; between
me and each gain art thou floating ; who, divinely radiating
in the spirit, outweighest all happiness. Between me and
each loss art thou, who humanly inclinest down to me.

406 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

I understand but this one, to dream away time on thy
bosom. I understand not of thy wings the motion, which
bear thee into the ether ; there above me, in the eternal
azure, maintain thee floatmg.

Me and the world mantles thy splendor ; thy light is
dream-light of a higher world ; we breathe its atmosphere,
we awake in the fragrance of remembrance. Yes, it yields
fragrance to us, it lifts us and bears our wavering fate upon
the mirror-floods, forth to the all-embracing arms of the
gods.

But thou hast sung to me in the cradle, that to thy song,
which in dreaming lulls me over the destiny of my days, I
should dreamingly listen, even to the end of my days.

Once already, in the convent, the sj^irits had induced me
to join with them ; in the moon-clear nights they allured
m.e. I wandered through strange dark walks, where I
heard the waters rushing ; I anxiously followed them, even
to the fountain I came ; the moon shone in its moved
waters, mantling the sjiirits, who, upon its wavy mirror
showed themselves to me in silver splendor ; they came,
they intimated to my asking heart, and vanished. Others
came ; they laid mysteries upon my tongue, touched all the
germs of hfe within my breast ; they stamped me with their
seal ; they veiled my will, my fancy, and the power which
they conferred upon me.

How was this ? — how did they advise me ? — in what
language did they reveal to me their mysteries ; and how
shall I make known to thee that it was so, and what they
taught me ?

The moony night wrapped me in sweet, deep infant-
sleep ; then it broke forth from out itself and touched mine
eyes, that they awoke to its light ; then it sunk with mag-
netic power into my breast, that I overcame all fear ; on
ways which were not safe, I hastened forth into the deep
stirless night, till I came to the fountain between flower-
beds, where each flower, each weed, in delusive dimness

WITH A CHILD. 407

was imprinted with a dreamy face, where they caressed
and stru2;2:led with fantastic illusions. Yonder I stood, and
saw how the breeze-moved water-beams waved to and fro,
and how the moonbeams checkered through the moved
water ; and, like the lightning, with quivering haste, traced
silver hieroglyphics into the waving circles ; there I knelt
on the moist sand and bent over the giddy light-web, and
listened with all my senses ; and my heart stood still and
fancied, as if those vanishing glances wrote something to
me, and my heart was glad, as if I had understood them,
that their meaning hinted me to happiness. I returned
through the long, dim labyrinthine walks, passed images of
strange saints in calm repose, until I reached my little bed,
which was confined in the window-corner ; then I gently
opened the window to the moonlight and let it glance on
my breast. Yes, in such blessed, bliss-bringing moments,
inarmed me a spirit-delighted feeling, wide, all-comprising !
from without it inarmed my heart ; my heart felt itself
inarmed by a loving power, joining it in the slumber which
from out this power came over me. How shall I name
this power ? — life-spirit ? — I know it not, I know not what
had happened with me, but to me it was an event, an occur-
rence of high moment ; I was in my heart like the germ,
which from out its first cover breaks forth to licrht ; I sucked
light in with the spirit, and with it I saw what before with
my bodily eyes I should not have seen ; all that Nature
playfully offered me, reminded of hidden senses within me ;
the hues, the shapes of the world of plants, I saw with a
deep, enjoying, and consuming look, through which nourish-
ment reached my mind.

Ah, we will keep silence over these mysteries ; we will
draw a soft, misty gauze, through which its contents fore-
bodingly glimmer. Yes, we will keep silence, friend ! for,
also, we cannot unveil it in words. But the earthly man
sows and plants into the bo-om of the earth (which before
was not fertilized,) that its nourishing strength might pene-
trate the fruit of its produces. Were it conscious of its
sensual feelings, then these feelings would become spirit
within it ; so I compare the spirit of man with it, an island
involved in celestial spirit-ether, which becomes moulded
and arable, and a divine seed will be confided to its sensual
strength. And those forces move themselves, they sprout

4:08 GOETHE'S COREESPOKDENCE

into a higher life, that belongs to the light, which is spirit ;
and the fruit born by this divine seed is knowledge, which
we taste, to make thrive our forces growing to bliss.

How shall I explain, that this soft breathing and playing
of the breeze, of the water and moonlight, were to me a
real contact with the world of spirits ? AVhen God thought
the creation, then the only thought, " Let it ^e," became
a tree, which bears all worlds and ripens them. So this
breath, this lisping of Nature in nightly stillness, is a soft
spirit-breath, which awakens the spirit, and sows it with
everlasting thoughts.

I beheld an inmost doing within me, a loftier one, to
which I felt myself subdued, to which I ought to sacrifice
all ; and where I did not do it, there I felt myself thrown
out of the path of knowledge, and stiU to-day I must agree
with this po\ver ; it bids one give up every selfish enjoy-
ment ; it tears from all claims on common life, and lifts
us above them. Strange it is, that what we ask for our-
selves is also usually that which deprives us of our free-
dom ; we long to be bound with bonds, which seem sweet to
us, and will be a projD, an insurance to our weakness ; we
want to be borne, to be lifted by renown, by glory ; and do
not forebode, that to this claim we sacrifice what is the dig-
nity of glory and the nourishment of the sublime. We
require love where we have incitement to love, and do not
perceive that thereby we drive out our loving genius.
What becomes of freedom, when the soul wants to be satis-
fied in its desire by the mediation of others !

W^hat are these claims on that which is without us but the
proof of a want within us ? And what affects its satisfying,
but the increase of this inner weakness, and the bondage of
our freedom in it ? The genius will that the soul rather be
in need, than dependent upon satisfying an incitement, an in-
clination, or also a want.

We all shall be kings ; the more obstinate and imperious
the slave is wuthin us, the more glorious the dignity of the
ruler's sway will prove, the more bold and powerful the
spirit who subdues.

The genius who himself moves his pinions, soars into the
blue ether and sends down light-streams, who has power to
produce blissfulness by his o\\ai strength : how beauteous
when he stoops to thee, and will love thee ; he who com-

WITH A CHILD. 409

plains not for love, asks not for it, but bestows it. Yes,
beauteous and glorious to yield up one to the other, in the
light spheres of spirit, in all the glory of freedom, by their
own mighiy will.

The earth lies in the ether as in the egg, the terrestrial
lies in the celestial as in the womb ; love is the womb of
the spirit.

There is no wisdom, no perception of truth, which asks
for more than to be loved.

Every truth wooes the benevolence of the mind.

Justice to all attests love to the one.

The more universal, the more individual.

It is but the spirit which can make free from sins.

Wilt thou be alone with the beloved, then be alone with
thyself.

Wilt thou gain the beloved, then search to gain, to find
thyself in him.

Thou gainest, — thou possessest thyself where thou lov-
est ; where thou dost not love, there thou art deprived of
thyself.

Art thou alone with thyself, then thou art with the genius.

Thou lovest, in the beloved, but thy own genius.

To love God is to enjoy God ; if thou worshippest the
divine, then thou givest a banquet to thy genius.

Be always with thy genius, then thou art on the direct
way to heaven.

To acquire an art, is to give the genius a sensual body.

To have acquired an . art, imports no more to the spirit,
than to the father of an important child ; the soul was
already there, and the spirit has born it into the visible
world.

When thou hast a thought which inspires thee, then thou
feelest well ; it is thy loving genius which caresses thee.
He endeavors to excite thee passionately for him.

And all truth is inspiration, and all inspiration is a caress-
ing, is fervor of thy genius to thee ; it will move thee to
pass over into him.

Dost thou love, then thy genius adopts sensual features.

God has become man in the beloved ; whatever form
thou lovest, it is the ideal of thy own higher nature, which
thou feelest in the beloved.

The genuine love is incapable of faithlessness ; in every

410 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

transformation, it searches for the beloved, for the genius, as
for Proteus.

Spirit is for art the divine stuff, in sensual nature it lies
as an untouched matter. Heavenly life is, when God makes
use of this stuff, to produce his own spirit in it.

Therefore the whole heavenly life is but spirit, and every
error is a detriment to the heavenly.

Therefore is every truth a bud, Avhich, by celestial ele-
ments, will bloom and bear fruits. Therefore, like the earth
takes into itself the seed, we shall take into onrselves the
truth, as the means by which our sensual power blossoms
into a higher element.

In thinking, be always loving to thy genius ; then thou
wilt never miss the plentifulness of spirit.

Genuine love is conscious of the spirit, also in the sensual
appearance of beauteousness. Beauty is spirit, having a
sensual body.

All sj^irit proceeds from self-subduing.

Self-subduing is, when thy genius gains that power over
thy spirit, which the loving yields to the beloved.

Many a one will subdue himself; but on this wrecks
every wit, every art, every perseverance ; he must let Jdm-
self be subdued by liis genius, by his ideal nature.

Thou canst not produce spirit, thou canst but conceive it.

Thou art in contact with the beloved in all that thou feel-
est elevated above thee.

Thou art in the secret of love with him, in all that inspires
thee.

Nothing shall separate thee from this divine self; all that
forms a cleft between thee and thy genius is sin.

Kothing is sin that does not disunite thee and thy genius ;
every jest, every pertness, every daring is hallowed by him ;
he is the divine freeness.

He who feels himself offended by this divine freeness
lives not with his genius ; his wisdom is not inspiration, it is
after-wisdom.

To avow the bad is a divertino; from the inarmins; of
the ideal love ; the sin is not reflected hi the eye of the
beloved.

Thou suckest divine freedom from the book of love ; the
look of the genius beams forth divine freedom.

There is a wild nature-life, which rambles through all

WITH A CHILD. 411

precipices, does not know the divine genius, but does not
deny him ; there is a tame cultivated virtue-Ufe that debars
him.

lie who practises virtue by his own wisdom is a slave to
his own short-sighted improvement ; — he who confides in
genius breathes divine freedom ; his faculties are diffused
in all regions, and he will find himself everywhere ui the
divine element.

Often in the night I had sweet intercourse Avith the genius
instead of sleeping ; and I was weary, and he awakened me
again to intimate chatting, and would not let me sleep.

Thus did the demon speak with me this night, when I
tried to explain thee in what strange impartings I was en-
gaged in my childhood ; there were thoughts shaped within
me, I did not perpend them, I believed in them, they may
have been of another mood ; but they had this peculiarity
as they have still, that I felt them not as self-thought, but as
imparted.

* * *

Thou art good, thou wilt not that I break off this sweet
chatting with thee. What here I tell thee is at least as
delightful, as intelligible, as the twinkling of the stars ; and
if it were even but a melody, which breathes forth through
my spirit ! — it is most sweet this melody, and will teach
thee to dream.

0 learn, by my chatting, beauteous dreams ; which shall
hewing thee, and sail with thee through the cool ether.

How glorious thou walkest over those dream-carpets !
how thou pervadest these manifold veils of fancy, and be-
comest more clear and more plain to thyself, who deservest
to be loved ; — there thou meetest with me, and thou won-
derest at me, and art pleased to grant me, that I may first
find thee.

Do sleep ; sink thy eye-lashes into each other ; let thyself
be entwined gently as with gossamers on the meadow; — be
entwined with magic threads, which charm thee into dream-
lands. Do sleep! and from the lulling pillow, dreaming ,
half listen to me.

412 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

On Christmas morning, — it was tlii'ee years before I had
seen thee, — we went early to church. It was still night ; a
lantern lighted before to show the footpath across the snow,
which led past a devastated, decayed convent-church ; the
wind Avhistled through the broken windows, and clapped
with the loose slates. " In this rubbish haunt the ghosts,"
said the bearer of the lantern ; " There it is not safe ! '* In
the evening, in my grandmother's room, M^iere an equally
devastated and decayed company was playing at cards, I
recalled this observation. I thousfht how dreadful it was to
be alone there, and that, for all in the world, I should not
like to be there now. I had scarcely considered this, when
a demand was within me, if I would not venture it ? — I
shook off the thought, it came again. I became still more
fearful, still more I defended myself against this impracti-
cable fancy, still more urgently I felt myself summoned to
do it. I wanted to escape it, and sat down in another cor-
ner of the well-lighted room, but there I was just opposite
the door opening into a dark space, — and now there played
and glittered beckonings in the gloom, they weaved and
wafted near to me. I wrapped myself up in the window-
curtain before those seeming beings ; I shut my eyes and
dreamed into myself; there was a friendly persuading within
me, that I should go to the convent-walls, where the spirits
walk. It was eight o'clock in the evening ; I reflected how
I could risk in this hour to go a lone far way, which I knew
scarcely, and which I should not have gone alone even by
day. It drew me still deeper into an intimate secluded
circle ; I heard the voices of the playing company as in a
far distance, Uke a strange world, which moved far beyond
my sphere.

I opened my eyes, and saw the curious insolvable riddle-
faces of those who played, sitting there, lighted by the bright
candle-shine ; I heard the exclaiming of the I'hombre-set
like exorcisings and magic spells ; those people, with their
singular doing, were phantom-like ; their dress, their ges-
ture incomprehensible, shudder-exciting ; their rustling was
come too near towards me ; I slowly crept out. On the
court-stairs I again breathed freely ; there lay the pure
snow-carpet at my feet, and covered, softly swelling, all
unevenness ; there the hoary trees spread their silver
branches beneath the wandering moonlight ; this coldness

WITH A CHILD. 413

was so -warm, so affable ; here, nothing was incomprehensi-
ble, nothing to fear ; it was as if I had escaped the evil
spirits ; here, out of doors, the good ones spoke the more
intelligibly to me, I delayed not a moment longer to follow
their bidding. Whatever may happen, softly and nimbly I
climb over the door ; yon side I throw my dress over my
head, to veil myself, and, in slight bounds, I leap over the
snow. Many strange things lie in my way, that I avoid ;
with increasing anxiety and panting heart I arrive ; shy
and fearful I look about, but I delay not to step on the
waste spot ; I make a way through the shattered over-
snowed stones till the church-wall, on which I lean my
head. I listen ; I hear the clai:)ping of the slates on the
roof, and how the wind rattles in the loose rafters. I think,
" Should that be the spirits ? " They sink down ; I try to
overcome my anxiety ; they soar in low height over me ;
the fear lessened ; it was as if I offered the open breast to
the breath of the friend, whom shortly before I had taken
for my enemy.

As I stood for the first time before thee, it was in the
winter of 1807, I grew pale and trembled ; but on thy
breast, entwined in thine arms, I came to such a delightful
quietness, that my eyelids sunk down, and I fell in sleep.

So it is when we drink nectar ; the senses are not used
to it. Then sleep alleviates the storm of inspiration, and
provides for the broken powers. Could we comprehend
what in one moment is offered to us, could we bear its
glorifying sight, then we should be clear-sighted ; could
the power of bliss extend itself in us, we should be all-
powerful ; therefore, I beg thee, if it is true that thou lovest
me, bury me within thy thinking ; veil my heart and spirit
with sleep, because they are too weak to bear happiness.
Yes, happiness ! he who would agree with it as with a
spirit, to which he felt himself a match, he might transfig-
urate his earthly nature into divine.

Yesterday a letter came from thee ; I beheld the blue
cover lying on the table and recognized it from aflir ; I hid
it in my bosom and hastened into my solitary room to my
writing-table. On the first perusal, I was about to write
thee in the fulness of my ecstasy. There I sat and folded
my hands over the treasure, and did not like to take it
away from the warm heart. Thou knowest, thus I also

414 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

never have torn myself out of thine arms ; thou always
was the first, and lettest thine arms sink down, and saidst,
" Now be gone ! " and I followed the command of thy lips.
Had I followed those of thine eyes, I should have remained
with thee, for they said, " Come here ! "

I then fell asleep in watching my treasure in the bosom,
and, as I awoke, I read those two lines, written by thy
hand : " / loas once as foolish as thou, and then I ivas better
than nowT

'• O thou ! — of thee the public voice says, thou art
favored by fortune ; they extol thy glory and say, that, in
the brooding of thy radiant spirit, thy century is hatched
into an ethereal race, which, w^afted by thee, overwings the
heights of thy age ; but yet, they say, thy good fortune
exceeds still thy spirit. 0, forsooth, thou art the smith of
thy fortune, who forges it with the bold, strong stroke of a
hero ; whatever happens to thee, it must adapt itself to the
mould which thy happiness needs ; the woe, which would
move others to complaint, to sadness, to thee becomes a
spur to inspiration. By what others are dejected, that
unfolds thy flight ; which lifts thee above grievances, where
thou drinkest the pure ether, and where the feeling of
misery does not harm thee. Thou takest thy destiny as
thy food from the hands of the gods, and drinkest the bitter
chalice, as well as the sweet one, with the feeling of pre-
eminence. Thou becomest not inebriated, as I become
inebriated on the way which leads to thee ; thou wouldst
not, like me, be given up to despair when an abyss parted
thee from thy happiness. And thus misfortune has no
business to meddle with thee, thou knowest how to meddle
with thy good fortune ; in every little event, as all-blissful
Nature grants to the least flower a blossom-time, in which
it sheds fragrance while the sun shines into its cup.

Thou givest to each stuff, each moment all, what of hap-
jnness is to be framed in it ; and thus thou hast given to
me, though at thy feet I am given up ; and so T have also
filled a moment of thy happiness. What do I want more ?
— for what more shall I ask, since in it lies a task till to
the last breath.

*

WITH A CHILD. 415

I compare thee rightly with yonder friendly cold winter-
night, in which the spirits mastered me ; in thee the sun
does not shine to me, in thee a thousand stars sparkle to
me ; and all trifles which day enlightens, untouched in
its many-cornered adversities, melt together into sublime
masses.

Thou art cold and friendly, and clear and calm, like the
bright winter-night ; thy attracting power lies in the ideal
purity, with which thou harborest and utterest the yielding
love. Thou art like the hoar-frost of yon winter-night,
which clothes the trees and bushes, and all their little sprigs
and buds of future blossoms, with a tender silver mat.
I<ike yonder night, changing with moon and starlight, thou
enlightenest thy apprehending and thy advising with a
thousand lights, crossing each other, and coverest with
a mild twilight and meltest into shadow. The roused feel-
ings thou overpourest with ideal forms ; every frame of
mind becomes more individual and charming by thy loving
intellection, and by thy soft quieting, violent passion be-
comes genius.

* * *

From those venturesome spirit-night-wanderings, I came
home with garments wet with melted snow ; they believed
I had been in the garden. When night, I forgot all ; on
the next evening at the same time, it came back to my
mind, and the fear, too, I had suffered. I could not con-
ceive how I had ventured to walk alone on that desolate
road in the night, and to stay on such a waste, dreadful
spot ; I stood leaning at the court-gate ; to-day it was not
so mild and still as yesterday ; the gales rose high and
roared along ; they sighed up at my feet and hastened on
yonder side ; the fluttering poplars in the garden bowed,
and flung off their snow-burden ; the clouds drove away in
a great hurry ; what rooted fast wavered yonder, and what
could ever be loosened, was swept away by the hastening
breezes. In a trice, I too was yon side the door, and Avitli
fleet steps, breathless I reached the church. And now I
was so glad to be there ; I leaned on the wall till my
breath was calmed ; it was as if my body and soul would
be refined in this retreat. I felt the soothing caresses of

416 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

my genius in my breast ; I felt them as true impartings of
my spirit. All is divine imparting, what we learn ; all
knowing, is to receive the divine ; it only depends on the
confiding innocent conception of our spirit, that w^e, too,
feel the god within us. As I stood for the first time before
thee, and thy look touched mine, as with a magic wand,
then thou transformedst my will into subduing. I did not
think upon any other desire than to remain in that atmos-
phere of light in which thy presence had received me, it
was my element ; I often have been driven out of it, and
always by my own fault. The whole object of life is but
the persevering within it, and sin is that which drives us
out of it.

* * *

Thus we reach bliss, when we know how to maintain
ourselves on the road in which we anticipate it. Never
had I a more steady conviction of it, than when I had faith
in that love of thine. And what is it then, this bliss ?
Thou art far off ; when thou rememberest the beloved, thy
soul melts in this remembrance, and thus lovingly touches
the beloved, as the sunbeams, warming, touch the river ; as
the vernal breezes bear the fragrance and blossom-dust to
the river, which mingles those beauteous gifts of spring with
its waves. If all working in Nature has a spirituous sense
of itself, then the river also is as sensible of these fondling
touchings, as of the inmost reality of its being. Why should
I doubt of this ? Why are we touched by the ecstasies of
spring, but because it gives the rhythm by which the mind
is enabled to soar up? So, then, when thou thinkest of
me, thou givest the rhythm by which my enthusiasm is
enabled to soar up to the conception of its bliss.

Ah, I feel it ; soft shudders run through me, that thou
shouldst think of me from afar ; that the comforts, the
delights of thy days, should one moment be enhanced by
my love. Lo ! so beauteous is the web of my world of
thoughts within me ! — who would destroy it ? Music !
every tone in it is essential, — is the germ of a modulation,
in which the soul entirely joins ; and as different, as con-
fined in themselves the melodious forms may be, in which
this world of thoughts pours itself, yet it feels and inarms
all harmony, as tlip ocean inarms all the streaming

igs.

WITH A CHILD. 417

So belongs then to our bird-singing, blossom-snowing
spring, where the river dances between verdant herbs, and
one heart lives within the other, that cold wind and snow-
crossed winter, where the icy gales set my breath in rime
at my curls ; when I knew as little what drove me out into
the winter-storm, as where the wind came from, and where
it hastened to. Alas ! heart and storm-wind hastened forth
from these to future days, to meet with thee. Therefore
I was hurried so resistlessly out of the mute existence, to
meet with that beauteous moment, which should develope
my life in all its aspirations, and should dissolve it into
music.

* * *

Nothing can be more unlike winter than spring, whicli,
beneath the icy cover, waits for future days. Nothing can
be more strange to the germ, inclosed in its seed and hidden
in the earth, than light, though it be its sole impulse ; the
genius of life bursts forth from the germ to espousal with
hght.

This joining with a spirit's-world, this intrusting in the
secret voice, which led me such strange ways, and gave me
but gentle hints, what was it else but involuntary following
the spirit, who enticed me, as light entices life.

* * *

My desolate church stood on this side, on the height of
a wall, which, deeply descending and inclosing a bleaching
green, on the other side was bounded by the IMain river.
While I became giddy at the height of the wall, and fear-
fully was about to give way, I had involuntarily swung
myself on yonder side. I found, in the nightly gloom, little
clefts in the wall, into which I squeezed ray hands and feet,
and jutting stones, upon which I helped myself down.
Without reflecting how I might ascend again, I reached the
bottom ; here was a tub, which may have been used for
bleaching in summer, and had been forgotten in autumn.
I rolled it to the shore and sat down in it, and looked at the
driving of the ice ; it was a pleasmg, comfortable feeling for

27

418 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

me, enframed like a picture, to look into tlie face of winter-
nature. It was as if I had satisfied a hidden claim.

In climbing up, I found just such little gaps and stones
beneath my feet as I wanted. Henceforth no weather, no
chance could hinder me ; I overcame all difficulties. With-
out reflecting upon it, I came to my haunted wall, on which
every evening I climbed down, and sitting in my tub, I
gazed at the driving of the icy flakes. One of them drove
on shore ; I strove no longer against the demoniacal inspira-
tions, — relying on them, I leapt over to it, and let myself
be carried down with the ice. Then I leapt upon the next
flake, and so on till I sailed down in the midst of the stream.
It was a wondrous night ! — why ? — every moment in na-
ture is wondrous, is prodigious, when it rules in its freeness
over the spirit of mankind. I gave myself up to it, and so
it became to me the highest event. In the far horizon glim-
mered a sad red, a dim yellow, which tempered the dark-
ness into twilight ; light captivated in the inarmings of night !
Thither I gazed, thither my icy kidnapper bore me ; and
the breeze, which, scarcely raised above the level of the
stream, sported and lashed at my feet within the folds of
my clothes ; still to-day I feel the kinglike pride within my
breast ; still to-day I am lifted by the remembrance of those
breezes flattering at my feet ; still to-day I am ardently in-
spired with the ecstasy of that daring nightly course ; not
as if it were six years ago, but in this very same cold win-
ter-night, in which I am sitting here to write all down, out
of love to thee, and to the remembrance of my love. A
good way I had let myself drive ; even so without will, as I
had swum down the river, I strove back ; I calmly paced
from one ice-flake to the other, till I was safe on shore. At
home in bed I deliberated whither those ways would lead
me ; I guessed a way leading still further, but not back, and
I was curious for the adventures of the next night. On the
following day, by chance a journey to town interruj^ted my
nightly spirit-walks. At my return, after three weeks, this
mighty charm was broken, and nothing could have induced
me to venture them by my own determination. They in-
deed led a way, those friendly night-spirits, which does not
lead back ; they gave me lore ; they would advise me to
mind the deepness, the earnestness, the wisdom of my for-
tune, and to consider its favor only as its resplendence. So

WITH A CHILD. 419

is it with mankind ; while their fate offers them a transient
enjoyment, they want for ever to abide with it, and thus
they omit to intrust in their fortune, whicli steps forward,
and they do not guess tliat they must part with enjoyment,
to hasten after fortune, and not leave it out of sight.

* * *

Only this one is bliss, which unfolds the genuine ideal
within us ; and only as far as enjoyment lifts the mind into
ether, and teaches it to float in unknown regions, it is true
bhss to him. Truly, I should like always to be Avith thee, to
behold thy face, to exchange speech with thee ; that delight
never would be exhausted. Yet a secret voice says to me,
that it would not be worthy of thee to settle this for my
happiness. To hasten onward into the endless ocean, these
are the paths, which on the icy way the spirits prescribed to
me, on which certainly I shall never lose thee, as thou also
dost not return, and on which I never shall overtake thee ;
and thus, indeed, the only aim of all desire is eternity.

* * *

The journey to town had been occasioned by the war, to
escape the conflict of the Austrians and French. It was to
be feared that our little paradise in town, with its well-regu-
lated pleasure-grounds, would soon be destroyed by the
hoofs of the fighting cavalry. The enemy had only hastily
passed over our fields and woods, and crossed the river ; the
cheerful repose of the coming spring displayed protectingly
over the young seed, whose vernal green peeped already
throua;li the meltinjz: snow, as we returned.

The mighty trunks of the chestnut-alley, — thou knowest
them well ! many dreams of thy spring-days fluttered here
about, vicing with the young brood of the nightingale : how
often hast thou sauntered there on thy sweetheart's arm, to
meet the rising moon ! I may not think of it ; thou wilt
fully remember the gentle prospects, the busy life on the
river by daylight; its calm-whispering, reedy shores in warm
summer nights, and round about its blooming gardens, be-
tween which the neat streets are scattered, and wilt also
recall its convenience for thy love-affairs. Since that time,

420 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

the country, the way of living, and the population, too, have
undergone a wondrous change ; and nobody who has not
seen it would believe it ; every one who with its travelling
book in his pocket passes there, coming from a voyage round
the world, would think he had been removed into a town of
fairy-tales. There, a mysterious tribe, in gaudy, marvel-
lous garments, crowds among the others ; the men with long
beards, in purple, in green and yellow robes, with half then'
robes of different colors ; the beautiful youths and boys in
close-fitting waistcoats, bordered with gold; the breeches
half green, half red or yellow, galloping onward, mounted
on mettlesome horses, with silver bells on their necks ; or at
eventide preluding through the streets on the guitar or flute,
till at last they make halt before their sweetheart's window.
Imagine all this, and the mild summer sky vaulted over it,
whose horizon bounds a blooming, dancing, and singing
world ; imagine the prince of that tribe, with silver beard
and white garments, reposing on costly carpets and pillows
in the public street before his palace, surrounded by his
courtiers, each of whom wears a badge of his office and
rank on his strange dress. There he feasts in the open air,
opposite the gay gardens, behind the elegant gratings of
which high j^yramids of blooming flowers are raised, and
aviaries with fine wire network, where the gold-pheasant and
the j)eacock proudly stalk among the cooing doves, and the
little singing-birds rejoice ; all surrounded with tender green
turf, where many jets of water spring up. The boys in
embroidered garments bring golden dishes, while music
sounds from the oj^en windows of the palace.

We children halted there sometimes in passing by ; we
gazed and listened to the unison of beautiful youths in song,
on the flute and guitar ; but I did not then know that the
world is not everywhere expanded in such a gay loveliness,
in so pure a joyousness ; and so I did not think it wondrous
when night came on, and the grandest symphonies were
sounding from the neighbor's garden, executed by an orches-
tra of the most famous artists ; when the stately tall trees
were ornamented with as many colored lamps as stars were
to be seen in the sky ; then I sought for a lonely path, and
gazed at the fiery glow-worms, how they crossed each other
in flying, and I was surprised at their wonderful shine, and
I thought at night of these animals, delighted that I should

WITH A CHILD. 421

see them again the next evening ; but to see men did not
delight me, — they did not shine to me, I did not compre-
hend nor guess how to symj^athize with them. lilany a
summer ni«-ht also the orchestra of wind-instruments swam
on the Main, up and down, attended by many barks, in
which scarcely a whisper was to be heard, with such a deep
earnest did they listen to the music. There I too was
rocked on the gentle gliding waves, and I beheld the flitting
shadows, and lights, and moonbeams, and let the cool water
flow over my hands.

Such was our summer life, which suddenly was Interrupted
by the returning scenes of war. There was no possibility of
escaping ; on the morning, as we awoke, there was the cry,
" Down into the cellar ! the town is cannonaded ; the French
have entered the town ; the Red-mantles * and the Death-
heads f throng on from every side to drive them out ! " There
was a flocking in the streets : they told of the Red-mantles,
that they never gave quarter ; that they cut all down with
the sword ; that they had horrible moustaches, rolling eyes,
blood-red mantles, that the shed blood should not be seen.
By and by the shutters were closed, the streets emptied ;
and, as the first cannon-ball flew through the streets, every
one ran to the cellar. We, too, grandmamma, my aunt, a
cousin of eighty years of age, the cook, the chambermaid,
and a male inmate of our house ; there we sat ; the time
grew tiresome ; we listened, — a bomb fell into our court-
yard and burst. That was at least a diversion, but now we
had to fear fire might break out. Many things of great
value to my grandmamma, as books and pictures, she re-
membered of, and longed to see them safe in the cellar.
The male inmate demonstrated, that it was impossible now
to bring down the picture of Saint John from the upper
saloon, as it was much too heavy, a picture which had the
marvellous credit to be of Raphael. I silently stole awa}%
went up to the saloon, tore off the heavy picture, slang it
over my back by the sling, and thus, before the discussion
was finished, I came bouncing down the cellar-stairs, to the
astonishment of all, and to the great delight of my grand-

* Hungavian soldiers, commanded by the Austrian'?,
t Todtenkopfe, the famous Austrian hussars, having a skull as device
on their caps.

422 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

mamma. I reported, also, that I looked out of the Avindow
in the saloon, and that. all was quiet ; I was allowed to save
more, and got the keys of the library to fetch works of en-
gravings ; and with joyous haste I ran up stairs, as I had
long since wished very much to peep into the libraiy.
There were collections of superb shells, rare stones, dried
herbs ; there were ostrich-eggs hanging on the walls ; cocoa-
nuts, old weapons lying about, a loadstone, on which all
sewincr and knittin2:-needles remained lianirinG;. There
stood boxes with letters, toilets with curious old vessels, and
ornaments, egrets with stars of colored stones and diamonds.
How happy I was to* have the key ; I brought down what
they wished, took out the key without locking, and promised
myself a silent, lonely night, in which I would rejoice, ex-
amining and contemplating all. The firing had begun again,
single horsemen Avere heard interrupting the awful silence
of the streets ; the fright in the cellar increased, but they
did not think that I was in danger, I also not; I forbore to
mention that I was without fear ; nay, I did not even feel it,
and thus I got the ofRce of attending on all, and caring for
every want.

At times I heard horsemen galloping by : " That may
be a Red-mantle ! " I thouglit, and ran hastily to the win-
dow of the ground-floor, opened the shutters, — lo ! there
he stood in the midst of the street, with drawn sabre, long
flying moustaches, thick black braids, hanging down from
under his red fur cap ; the red mantle waved in the air,
as he flew down the street, — all in dead silence again !
There a young man in shirt sleeves, with bare head, ghastly
pale, spotted with blood, runs to and fro in despair ; rattles
at the house-doors ; knocks at the shutters, none is opened ;
— but my heart throbs, I make a sign to him, — he does
not see it. Now he runs towards me, begging, — suddenly
the clatter of hoofs is heard ; he cringes in the recess of the
court-gate ; the horseman, who seeking pursues him, passes
by him, halts a moment, spies into the distance, turns and
gallops off. O ! every look, every movement of the rider
and his horse, stood deeply impressed within my brain !
The poor terror-struck youth comes forth, and on the weak
child's arm he swinjics himself into the shelterinnr walls. In

-1-

a wink the rider is there again ; he gallops on to me, I do
not move from the window, he asks for water, — I hasten to

WITH A CHILD. 423

the kitclien to fetch him some ; after he has drunk, and I
have seen him ride down the street, then I close the shut-
ters, and now I look after my rescued booty. If the Red-
mantle had raised himself in his stirrups, he would have
discovered my rescued man ; — trembhng he kissed my
hands, and said in a low voice : " 0 mon dieu ! mon dieu ! "

— I laughed for joy ; but then I burst out into tears, for I
was affected of having become the rescuer of a man, with-
out deliberating and being conscious of it. And thou also !

— does it not affect thee ? — does it not delight thee, that I
succeeded ? — more than all the flatteries, I could say thee ?

— Saavez moi, cachez moil" he said, '"'■ Mon jJ^re et ma mere
prieront poiw vous ! "

I took him by the hand and led him in siliuice quietly
over the court-yard to the m ood-house ; there I examined
his -wound ; I could not wash the blood off, as I had no
water, and did not venture to fetch any, as our neighbor
Andree, whom you will remember, had ascended to his
observatory to watch the tumult of war, and could have
perceived me. One single way I had found out, I licked
the blood off, for I thought it not fine to wash it off with
my spittle ; he allowed me to do as I would. Soflly and
smoothly I drew off his sticking hair, — suddenly a hen
with great clamor flew down from the piles of wood ; we
had frightened her from the spot where she was wont to lay
her eggs. I climbed up to fetch the ^^^^ and put its inward
white skin on the wound. It will have healed, I trust !
Now I hastened again down into the cellar ; one of my
sisters was asleep, the other prayed for fear. Our grand-
mamma was writing her testament on a little table by can-
dlelight ; my aunt had made tea. I got the keys of the
pantry, to fetch some wine and cold meat ; then 1 thought,
too, of the wants of my poor prisoner, and brought him some
wine and bread. Thus the day and the danger went over ;
we left the cellar, my secret began to pinch me ; I observed
every step of the inmates. I helped the cook in the kitchen,
I fetched water and wood for her, under the pretext it might
still be dangerous out of doors ; she allowed me to do it.
At last night came on ; and, as the neighbor had reported
that nothing was to be apprehended at present, we went to
sleep, which we w^ere so much in want of. My bedroom
was next to grandmamma's, from thence I could observe

424 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

the wood-house, which was hghted by the moon. I now
arranged my plan : firstly a dress was to be procured, to
conceal his being a soldier. How lucky that I had left open
the library ! a hunter's coat and cap were hanging there, —
of what cut, — old or new fashioned, — I did not know.
Like a ghost, I glided in my stockings past my aunt's room ;
silently I brought the dress down, that the metallic buttons
might not clatter ; he put it on, and it fitted him exactly, —
God made it to fit him ! and the hunter's cap too. The
money which I sometimes got, I used to put under the
pillow of a leathern arm-chair, as I did not know how to
spend it. I examined the chair and scraped together a
sufficient sum, which I gave to my rescued 3'outh as a
score-penny. Now I led him through the moonlit and
blossom-breathing garden : we walked slowly hand in hand
behind the poplar-row, to the wall where the nightingale
every year made his nest in the rose-hedge ; it was just
that time, but no help ! — this year it must be disturbed.
Then he would thank me ; he took me on his arms, and
lifted me up high ; he threw off his cap and put his band-
aged head into my bosom ; what could I do ? — I had my
arms free, I folded them over his head in a prayer : he
kissed me, climbed over the rose-hedge-wall into a garden,
which led to the river Main, from thence he could get over,
as there were boats on the shore.

There are unexpected events, they are forgotten, as if
they were never expected, and then only when they rise
anew out of the fountain of memory, their significance will
be guessed, — it is as if an emergency in hfe was required,
to teach us how to feel their importance ; there are other
occurrences, for which we ardently wait, and they glide
as smoothly and indifferently over, as the trickling water.
When thou askedst me, who had given me the first kiss,
which I clearly remembered, my thoughts swerved to and
fro, like a weaver's shuttle, till at last this shape of my
rescued came forth brisk and j^lain, and in this echoing of
my feelings I first became aware how deep a trace they
left behind within me. There are also thoughts lightsome
as beams, which but for a moment bestow the sense of
brightness and then vanish ; but I believe indeed, that they
will be everlasting, and touch us again in the moment when
our ethical strength becomes so much enhanced, as to enable

AVITH A CHILD. 425

US to compreliend them. I believe, to doom ourselves, or
if tliou likest, to make war against all powers, is the best
way to share in higher thoughts. There is a sort of rabble
also in the spirit, which crushes all zeal of inspiration, and
usuriously extends itself; to this belong all sort of claims on
the outer world. The mind which expects anything without
itself, never will acquire it from within itself; all incitement,
whicli from without becomes an offence, can become a virtue
from within ; — the sense that in touching the outside of life,
instantly shoots out into vanity, reserved in the inmost soul,
will shape itself a subduing to beauteousness. And so per-
haps every perverseness proceeds thence, because its excite-
ment fails in its satisfying. All claims, all allurement, all
passion, shall be satisfied only by the divine ; and shall not
become the slave of passion, but of our sublimer nature.

"When I behold myself, and my doing and my aspiring,
then I am instantly struck with thoughts, of which I feel
they have a settled reference to a settled appearance within
me. As certainly also in the different epochs of the plant's
life, their nutriment adopts a diverse spiritual direction ; that
for instance in blooming, their food, which indeed consists in
the selfsame elements, intends a metamorphosis, enhanced
within itself, — for this nutriment shows itself in the life of
the plant, no longer merely vegetating : but perfuming, fra-
grant, inspirited Avith the plant's spirit. Thoughts of this
kind bless me, when I make peace with myself, and accept
of slumber, as conciliating myself. Thus I felt last night
before sleeping, as if my own mind was in love with me, and
then I slept tranquilhty deep into my soul ; and awoke from
moment to moment, and became aware of thoughts. With-
out meditating further on them, or exploring their contents,
nay, witliout comprehending many of them, I wrote them
down with a pencil, and instantly I slept on ; but soon after
they awakened me again ; these thoughts were like exclaim-
ings of my soul, in the sensations of becalming. I will copy
them here, as I liave learned them. If they are of worth
and contents, I will not consider ; but always they aver a
spirit, even in sleep alive and active. I believe, that each
doing has its endless inferences ; that truth grants us enjoy-
ment, that therefore every enjoyment has a truth as its
deepest foundation ; that therefore every enjoyment is legit-
imized by its truth.

426 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

I believe that all presensions are reflectings of truth.

The spirit is eye ! — the more shar2:)-sighted it is the
more pervading Avill it guess, and the more pure the mirror-
shape of truth comes forth in the senses. The multifarious-
ness shall lead to oneness. The mirror embraces all within
one glance.

Light brings forth the manifold living and striving into
oneness, into the realm of the divine.

Philosophy is the symbol of passion between God and
mankind.

Love is a metamorphosis of the divinity.

Every thougiit is the blossom of a plant ; what is then its
fruit ? — its intluence upon the mind is its fruit.

Tlie sense of genuine spirit requires innocence. It is
only with the innocent Psyche that the spirit will confer.

Spirit restores otfended innocence. To taste the fruit of
spirit, makes innocent, and that is the effect of its fruit.

The sensual is symbol of the spiritual, is the mirror of a
truth, not as yet born in spiritual experience.

Spiritual experience is developed life. Are we possessed
of the spiritual truth, then the sensual is dissolved.

All that is sensual is not comjDrehended ; by comprehend-
ing it, it becomes spiritual.

Spiritual development gives great pains j it avers the
spirit's relation to the senses.

Spirit, which excites not pain, is life after birth.

Often the spirit dies, its death is sin ; but it arises again
to life ; to rise from death gives pain.

Spirit is an enchanter, it performs all! when with the
full fancy of love I step before thee, then, indeed, thou art
there.

What is magic ? — to make the truth of our sensations
be of value.

Longing is ever in the right, but mankind often mis-
interprets it.

Man has adopted a sensual body, within it to become
sentient of truth ; the earthly is there, that the divine
become manifested by it.

All working of Nature is but an instinct, to follow the
track of truth.

Truth has no body ; but sensual life tracks its way.

Sometimes I am in the mood to avert myself from thee,

WITH A CHILD. 427

as I comprehend thee with my senses ; and to lay claim to
the divine mystery of thy existence ; and then I feel that
all diverf>:in2: inclinations dissolve into one.

Certainly ! love is the instinct of a higher partnership, of
the same divine nature with the beloved. Therefore, love
excludes all diverging inclinations.

When first we become aware that all outward eyes are
one inly eye that beholds us, then we do all for the sake of
the inly eye, for we want to be seen in our secret doing
of beauteousness.

Our impulse to do beauteously, is the impulse to appear
agreeable to the inward eye. Therefore, the impulse for
value and glory is a perverse satisfying of this innate,
indestructible propensity, its origin is of a divine source.
What is to us all glory of the world, what the prestigeous
applause of an ignorant crowd, when we do not come off
with glory before the eye of the inly genius ; Avhen our
beauty is annihilated before it ! — I will only exist for my
own beauteousness, I will do homage only to it, for it is the
beloved himself.

When we explain the glance of the inner eye, then we
have art and knowing.

All knowing shall raise itself to art, it shall as innocently
imitate truth as does art ; and so it becomes a mirror of
truth, an image, in which we become aware of truth.

Thinking is an immediate imitation of truth ; it is not
truth itself, it has no body, it has but an appearance.

Search for truth within thyself, then thou j)romotest to
find it and to lose thyself in it.

In thine inly being thou wilt be aware of a vivid agi-
tating, as the agitating of water ; it is nought but an
agitatino; to dissolve one's self in truth.

All life dissolves itself in a higher truth, passes over into
a higher truth ; should it be otherwise, then it -would be
dying.

Beauteousness is a dissolving of the sensual perception
in a higher truth ; beauteousness does not die, it is spirit-
uousness.

All disharmony is untruth.

When thou wilt sleep, then yield to thy inner moon.
Sleep in the moonlight of thy own nature ! I believe that
will bring forth and nurse thy mind, as the moonhght
nurses and promotes the mind of the plants.

428 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENGE

He who by liis own means subdues liis spirit to Nature,
for him is no death.

Spirit must become so powerful, that it shall not feel the
death of the body.

S{)irit needs not to think, and may yet be powerful only
by the pureness of its will.

To behold in all only one's self, to have the purest mind
to one's self, by this the spirit is powerful.

Also, the sensual sleep shall be enjoyed, so that it may
become a si^irituous balm.

Perhaps spirituous Avealth may be transferred like earth-
ly ; perhaps the spirits impart their etficacy to their de-
scendants ! " I am aware in thy thought, of what spirit
thou art the child." This is a proverb, which assents to
my remark.

Growing is the feeling that primeness forces its way to
its origin, into eternity.

Genius, alone, can restore the hurt innocence. 0 come,
genius, to make peace with me.

Here a deeper sleep overcame me. In the morning I
found the sheets filled with this writing ; scarcely I remem-
bered it, but very distinctly did I remember this night's
cheerfulness ; and that I had a sensation, as rocking must
be to the child in the cradle, and I thought I should Hke
often to dream so.

Now I will tell thee, also, the story of my second kiss ;
it followed almost immediately upon the first : and what
dost thou think of thy girl, that she is become so light-
minded ? — yes, that once I was very lightly minded, and
indeed to a friend of thine. The bell rings, hastily I spring
to open the door ; a man in black dress, of stern appear-
ance, with somewhat inflamed eyes, enters ; — even before
announcing his name, or saying what is his business, he
kisses me ; even before I bethink myself, I give him a box
on the ear, and only then I looked furiously in his face and
became aware of a friendly countenance, which seems not
at all frightened, and not irritated at my proceeding. To
escape my dilemma, — for I did not know if I had done
right or wrong, — I quickly open to him the doors of my
grandmother's apartments. Then my surprise suddenly
was changed to fright, when I heard her exclaim, in great
ecstasy, " Herder, my Herder ! Is it possible, that your

WITH A CHILD. 429

way should have led you into this whimsical cricket-hut ? —
be a thousand times embraced ! " — and here followed these
thousand inarmings, during which I gently sneaked away,
and wished that in the throng of caresses the one might be
drowned which was replied to him with a box on the ear.
But, not so ! — he forgot neither kiss nor tiap ; fast en-
chained to the heart of my grandmother by her embracing
arms, he leered over her shoulder upon the grandchild,
making to her a beseeching reproach. I instantly under-
stood him, and made also intelligible to him, he should not
accuse me, or I would avenge it, and I escaped beyond
the ante-chambers. But Herder had no longer devotion
for my grandmother ; for her beautiful remembrances of
Switzerland, for her account of the correspondence with
Julia Bondeli, for her flattering speeches and enthusiastic
encomium, for her notices of the hterary jDublic. To all
this he replied, if she would not let him see her grand-
children ? Then we three sisters were solemnly j^resented
to him, and also instructed by my grandmother, what an
event of high moment it was for us, to see this great philos-
opher and first professor of theosophy in all Germany, and
receive his benediction. He was also not at all slow, and
hastened towards me, laid his hand upon my head, under
which I threateningly looked at him, and with a solemn
and slow voice he said, " This one seems to he very inde-
pendent ; as God has endowed her with this strength as a
weapon for her fortune^ may she then use it without dis-
turhance, that all suhmit to her daring will, and nobody may
have a mind, to break her mind^ A little astonished was
my grandmother at this strange benediction, but still more
so, that he did not bless my sisters, who were her darlings.
We were dismissed and went into the garden ; — at that
time we were, by the taste of my grandmother, dressed in
the manner of English girls, in white frocks, with sashes of
blue and white flamed silk ; they were tied on the back in
knots which, displayed in their full breadth, seemed like the
wings of a butterfly. While I was working at my flower-
bed, somebody caught me by these wings ; it was Herder.
" Lo ! little Psyche," said he, " with the wings thou enjoy-
est freedom, when thou knowest the right time to make use
of them ; but by the wings thou shalt also be seized, and
what wilt thou give me, if I release thee ? " He demanded

430 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

a kiss ; I made a courtesy and kissed liim, witliout makino"
the least observation.

The kiss of the rescued Frenchman was wholly in sym-
pathy with my feeling, I came half-way to meet it, and yet
it was instantly forgotten ; but in this moment, six years
after, this kiss arises as a new appearance out of the depth
of my memory. The kiss of Herder was accepted on my
part without my will, or rather against my will, and how-
ever I have not forgot it ; and in the first time I could not
overcome the impression of it, it pursued me also in my
dreams ; often I felt as if I had bestowed somethino; ag-ainst
my will, often I was surprised that this great man of so
high renown had so urgently asked me to kiss him ; it was
an enigmatical exj)erience. Herder, after he had kissed
me, looked at me so very solemnly, that a shivering over-
came me ; the enigmatical name Psyche, whose significa-
tion I did not understand, conciliated me in some way to
him, and as often a fortuitous event unminded passing by
many a one, most deeply touches one of them, and gets a
lasting interest for him, thus to me this incomprehended
word Psyche was a talisman, which led me on towards an
invisible world, in which I fancied myself com^Drehended by
this name.

Thus Amor gave me a lesson of A B C, and within
my honeysuckle-arbor, in which the spiders all around me
spread nets to the winged crowd of insects, the winged little
Psyche sighed about this problematical lesson.

Alas, master ! — in the beginning of the year the sun is
mild, he flatters the young germs, then he slits the shoot
and becomes still more cogent ; the bud cannot inclose itself
again in the cool closet of unconscious darkness ; its blossom
falls as a sacrifice to the glowing beam, which had first
allured it.

Third Kiss.

The blind Duke of Aremberg, the beauteous, whose
lineaments exalted bore the hallo'wed stamp of legitimacy,
would against my own will give me this kiss ; but I was
as the waving flower is in the wind, where the butterfly
vainly dances round it. Let me tell and paint with these
bright hues from the child's color-shells, with which I then

WITH A CHILD. 431

still illustrated my world and understood it ; and thou also
wilt understand and rejoice to look with me in that mirror,
in which I perceive myself and the genius, which summons
me to thee.

He was beauteous, the Duke ! — beauteous for the large-
vaulted infant-eye, which had not yet beheld a countenance
whose features streamed forth genius. When for hours he
sat with my grandmother, and let her relate to him, then I
would stand near him and stare at him ; I wg-s sunk in con-
templation at those pure sublime lineaments, which never
are bestowed on common man.

This pure stern brow, whose midst was left as a hearth
for the divine glow of wrath ; this- nose, still more sublime,
bold, and defying than his awful fate ; these fine moist lips,
which before all expressed command and authority, which
drank air and sighed out the deepest melancholy ; these del-
icate temples, gliding down to the cheeks and to the turned-
up chin like Minerva's brazen helmet ! — Let me paint,
Goethe ! — from my little color-shells, it will be so beauti-
ful ! look at those gaudy contrasting colors, which the philo-
sophical painter avoids, but I, the child, paint thus ; and
thou, who smilest to the child as to the stars, and in whose
inspiration infant simplicity mingles with the prophet-look
of the wise, rejoice then in the gaudy bright colors of my
fancy.

Such he was, the beauteous, blind Duke ; such he is still
now in the magic mirror of remembrance, which holds fet-
tered the images of my childhood, and strings them in rows
of pearls, and lays them down as an offer to thy feet ; thus
his figure Avas often bent down in grief for his blinded youth,
then proudly erect, Avith serene scornfulness ; with irony he
smiled, when he turned up to light his deep-sunk eye-stars.
There I stood and stared at him, as the shepherd's-boy, fully
obvious of his flock and his dog, stares at Prometheus, forged
to the solitary rock, unlamented by the averted world. There
I stood and sucked in the pure dew, which the tragic muse
sprinkles from her urn, to quench the dust of meanness ; —
whilst I was absorbed in deep, unconscious reveries at him.
It was in his twentieth year ; in the wild, ardent joyance of
youth, in the feeling of his overwhelming beauty, and in the
secret consciousness of all that stood at its command, that on
his birthday, as he was to join the chase, he jumped over

432 GOETHE'S COKRESPONDENCE

the table, with his spur pulled to the ground the table-cloth,
with service and set of plate, dashing them to pieces, to
throw himself on the neck of his dearest friend, to embrace
him, and talk over a thousand adventures. They separated
at the chase, and the first shot which the friend filled, struck
out both the eye-balls of the Duke.

I never pitied the Duke, I never was conscious of his
misfortune ; such as I beheld him, he appeared to me en-
tirely to agree with himself and his fate. When I heard
others say, " What a pity, that the Duke is blind ! " I did
not feel with them, I rather thought, " What a j^ity that you
all are not blind, to prevent your comparing the meanness
of your features with these ! " Yes, Goethe ! Beauty is
the seeing eye of God ; God's eye, on what object it reposes,
calls forth beauty ; and though the Duke's eyes had no light,
— he was betrothed to the divine light by beauteousness,
and this is by no means the most bitter fate.

When I thus stood at his side, and, lost in reveries, I
sighed with him, then he asked : " Qui est la ? — Bettine !
amie ! — viens que je touche tes traits, pour les apprendre
par coeur ! " and then he took me on his knees, and glided
with his finger over my brows, over my nose and lips, and
he said to me fine words of my eyes glowing, as if he could
behold them. Once I drove with him from Frankfort to
Offenbach, to pay a visit to my grandmother. I was sitting
at his side ; he asked if we were still in the town, if there
were houses and people near us ? — I said, " No, we were
in the country." Suddenly his countenance changed, he
seized me, and pressed me to his heart ; I was afraid, and,
quick as lightning, I slij^ped from his embrace, and stooped
down into the corner of the carriage ; he sought me, I
laughed secretly that he could not find me. Then he said,
" Ton coeur est-il si mechant pour mepriser, pour se jouer
d^un pauvre aveugle ? " Then I was frightened at the of-
fence of my pertness ; I returned to his side and allowed
him to draw me near him, to press me violently to his heart,
but my face I turned aside and gave him my cheek, when
he sought for my lips. He asked me if I had a confessor,
and if I would tell him that he had kissed me. I said,
roguishly, if he thought that would please my confessor, I
would do so. " No?i, mon amie, cela ne lui plaira pas, il
lib en faut rien dire, cela ne lui plaira ahsolument pas, n^en

WITH A CHILD. 433

dites rien a personnel In Offenbacli I told my grand-
mother, that the Duke had kissed me, then she looked at
me and said, " Child ! a blind man, a poor man ! " In
driving home he asked me, if I had told my grandmamma
that he had kissed me ? — " Yes ! " I said. " Well, was
grandmamma angry ? " " No ! " " Et hien ? est ce qiCelle
7i'a rien dit ? " — " oui ! " — " et quoi ? " — "a blind man,
a poor man ! " — " 0 oui ! " he cried, " elle a hien raison ! "
" a blind man, a poor man ! " and then he exclaimed, again
and again, " A blind man, a poor man ! " till at last he, burst
into a loud cry of woe, which pierced my heart like a sword ;
but my eyes remained dry, while tears fell from his dead
ones. Since that time a solemn monument has been raised
to the Duke within my heart.

* * *

We had a beautiful garden before the house, symmetry
and cleanliness were its chief ornaments ; on both sides the
espaliers were covered with exotic fruit-trees ; in the middle
walk these trees stood so nobly, so high, so free from every
fault ; in autumn their lithy boughs, heavily laden, bent to
the ground. It was as still in this garden as in a temple ;
at the entrance there was a pond on either side, with flower-
isles in the midst of them ; high poplars bounded the garden
and accommodated with the trees in the neighboring gar-
dens. Pray, fancy how I fared there, how all was so plain,
and how I became conscious of thee.

What works within my heart, when I call to mind how
the little blossom-catkins of the poplars, and those brown,
clammy shells of the buds, showered down on me ; how I
sat there so calmly and watched the striving tendrils of the
young vine-branches ; how the sun-beams shone on me, the
bees around me hummed, the beetles buzzed to and fro, the
spider hung its net before me in the trellis of the arbor. In
such an hour I became first aware of thee. Then I listened,
then I heard from afar the bustle of the world ; then I said
to myself: "Thou art out of this world, but with whom art
thou ? " Who is with thee ? Then I thought of near and
far, there was nothing that belonged to me. Then I could
conceive nothing, imagine nothing, that could be mine. Then
by chance, or was it written so in the stars, thy appearance

28

434 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

came forth ; I never had heard anything about thee but
blame. They had said in my j^resence, " Goethe is no
more as he was ; he is proud and haughty ; he knows no
more his old friends, his beauty has mightily waned, and he
looks not as nobly as formerly." Much was spoken in this
way by my aunt and grandmother, which was to thy preju-
dice. I had heard it without attending to it, for 1 did not
know who thou Avast.

Now in this solitude and secluded stillness, beneath the
trees .which just were to bloom, these speeches occurred to
me, and I saw in my mind how those men who would criti-
cise thee, were wrong ; and I said to myself, " No ! he is
not unbeauteous, he is thoroughly noble ; to me he is not
haughty ; he defies only the world, which bustles without ;
but to me, who thinks friendly of him, he is kind ; " and at
once I felt as if thou likedst me, and I fancied myself in-
closed in thine arms, and parted by thee from the whole
world ; and within my heart I searched for thee, and had
friendly intercourse with thee in thought ; and from this
came afterwards my jealousy ; when any one spoke of thee,
or uttered thy name, it was as if they had called thee to
come out of my breast. Do not forget, Goethe, how I
learned to love thee ; that I knew nothing of thee, but that
thou wast maliciously mentioned in my presence. My aunt
spoke of thy freethinking, and that thou didst not believe in
the devil ; in that same moment I also did not believe in
the devil, and was wholly thine ; and I loved thee, without
knowing that thou wast the poet, of whom the world expect-
ed so great things ; that I heard later ; tJten I only knew
that people blamed thee, and my heart said, " No, he is
greater, more beauteous, than all ; " and then I loved thee
with ardent love until to-day, and I defied the whole world
until to-day, and turned away from every one who spoke
about thee ; I could not hearken to it. But when at last I
could understand thy glory, great grief expanded my breast ;
in tears I laid my face upon the first book of thine that came
into my hands ; it was the Meister ; * my brother Clemens
had brought it to me. As I was alone, I opened the book ;
there I read thy name ; this I beheld as if it were thyself.
There on the grass-seat, where a few days before I had

* Wilhelm Meister, renowned as the first German novel.

WITH A CHILD. 435

thought of thee for the first time, and gave thee shelter
within my heart, here a created world of thine streamed
towards me ; here I found Mignon,* when she speaks with
the friend, when he takes her into favor ; — then I felt thy
presence ; I laid my hand upon the book, and I fancied as
if I stood before thee and touched thy hand ; it was always
so silent and so solemn when I was alone with the book ;
and now the days passed, and I remained faithful to thee.
T have never thouijht on other thing's with which I would
fill my time ; thy songs were the first which I learned* ; ah,
how richly hast thou endowed me for this inclination to
thee ; how was I astonished, how was I struck with the
beauty of their sound, and their contents, which then I could
not yet conceive, as I learned to understand them ! — what
has all this stirred up within me ; what have I felt and en-
joyed, and what events have I passed through ! How often
has jealousy towards these songs excited me ; and in many
of them I felt myself sung and blessed. Yes, why should I
not dream myself blessed ? — what higher reality is there
than the dream ? Thou never wilt find in the bosom of the
longed-for bliss, what thou hadst dreamed of it. Years pass
by, while one weens himself near the other, and yet the
genuine nature will never venture to come to light ; the
first moment of a free, absolute movement divides friend-
ship and love. The eternal, inexhaustible source of love is,
that it carries mysteries within its clear undulations. The
endless in the spirit, so covetous for longing, is, indeed,
that spirit offers eternal enigmas. Therefore, my friend,
I dream; and none of wisdom's lessons so deeply penetrate
me with ever new inspiration, as these dreams do ; for they
rely not on delusion, but on the sacred necessity of love.

My first perusing of thy works ! — I did not understand
them ; but the sound, the rhythm, the choice of words, to
which thou confidest thy spirit, those ravished me, without
having comprehended their meaning. Yes, I might assert,
that I was much too deeply engaged with thee, to let the
story of thy poetry intrude itself between us. Alas ! no-
body had told me of thee, that thou wert the greatest, the
only man among all ; that I discovered myself, as I learned
by and by to understand thy books. How often did I then

* The beloved child in this novel.

436 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

feel shamed by these potent inspirations ; there I stood and
spoke in the mirror with myself : " He knows nothing of
thee : in this hour other bells ring to him, which call him
here and there ; he is cheerful, the present one is to him the
most beloved ; poor child ! his heart does not call thee."
Then my tears flowed ; then I consoled myself, and was
awed before this love, as before something wholly sublime.
Yes, it is true, a loftier bemg dwells within us ; we shall
follow submitting to its will, and to none other shall we
build altars and bring sacrifices ; nothing shall happen out
of it ; we shall know of no happiness but alone imthin it.

So I have loved thee iu complying to this internal voice.
I was blind and deaf to all that happened ; no spring feast
and no winter feast was celebrated by me ; upon thy books,
which I ever would read, I laid my head, and clasped a
circle with my arms around them, and so I slept a sweet
slumber ; meanwhile my sisters, in beautiful dresses, visited
the balls, and I longed always to get sooner to sleep, only to
be there where I was nigher to thee. Thus time passed
between my sixteenth and eighteenth year : then I came to
thy mother ; with her I spoke of thee, as if thou wast
amidst us : then I came to thee, and since then thou know-
est indeed that I never ceased to dwell with thee within a
circle, which a mighty charm draws around us. And since
then thou knowest every event of my heart and mind ;
therefore I can say to thee nothing as only, " Draw me to
thy heart, and keep me on it thy whole life."

Good night ! To-morrow I go to the Wetterau.

Journey to the Wetterau.

How it looks here I must describe thee. A wide plain,
all com on every side, as if the earth was a round plate, yet
with a brim ; for the plain around softly swells up-hill, alter-
nately encircled by forests and by mountain-peaks. Here I
am, standing in the middle, among the undulating crop. If
I had bow and arrows, and were to shoot from the centre in
whatever direction, my arrow would fly to an old castle. I
stroll to every side, and where a castle appears, thither I
wander ; then I have to leap over many a ditch, to wade

WITH A CHILD. 437

through many brooks, to cross woods, to dimb over steep
rocks ; if there were abysses, rapid torrents, deserts, and
giddy precipices, I would be the most daring adventurer.
On every old ruin, a dwelling of man is plastered on, like a
swallow's nest, where curious old people live, cut off from
most relations with their fellow-men, and yet endowed witli
a heart-touching look, as if piercing through the clouds.
Yesterday we walked a whole hour, through tinely arranged
vine-walks, till we arrived at the steep hill where the walls
of the fortification begin, which can only be climbed up by
bold and skilful leaps. There, on the top, some compassion-
ate pear-trees remain standing ; oaks, with their large,
broad roof of leaves, and a lime-tree in the floating, sultry
steam of its blossoms. Amidst this venerable society, the
witnesses of former days, an old man with silver hair was
lying on spare turf, and slept. The green fruit, which had
fallen from the trees, was lying gathered by his side ; from
his hands had probably fallen the worn-out, open prayer-
book, upon which a black dog, with glowing eyes, had rested
his nose ; he threatened to bark, but remained silent, lest he
should wake his master : we, too, went round the little space
in a Avider circle, to show the dog that we had no bad inten-
tion. I took a loaf of white bread from my basket, and
some wine ; I ventured as near as the dog allowed me, and
put it down. Then I went to the other side and took a
glance at the valley ; it was trimmed with silver ribands,
which crossed the green meadows ; the black forest encircled
it, the distant mountain-tops watched over it ; the flocks wan-
dered over the pasture-ground ; the sun followed the flock
of clouds, relucent in his lustre, and left the pale moonsickle
alone, there above the black forest of firs. Thus I walked
round the castle, and saw up and down, everywhere, wonder-
ful images, heard melancholy sounds, and felt the low, awful
breathing of nature ; she sighed, she wofully fawned round
me, as if she would say, " Weep with me ! " O ! what is
my power ? what can I give her ?

When I returned, I saw, in passing, the old man under the
tree, eating the white bread I had laid near him, and his
dog, which was sitting upright before him, and looked into

his mouth.

* * *

438 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

Opposite lies another castle ; there dwells, as a companion,
an old woman surrounded by three grandchildren ; fair
cherubs, of whom the eldest is three years, the youngest
six months old. She is nearly seventy, and walks on
crutches : last year she was still vigorous, as she told us,
and had the employment from the schoolmaster of tolling
the bells, because the church was on a higher place than the
village, and nearer to the old castle-ruin. Her son was a
carpenter ; in the cold Christmas-time he went to the forest
to fell wood, and to w^ork it for a house ; he did not return,
— he was frozen in the wood. \Yhen they brought her the
news, she went down to the wood to see him for the last
time, and there she fell down and became lame ; they were
obliged to carry her uj) the steep height, from which she is
never more to come down now. " Every evening I see the
stars, which will shine on my grave, and that rejoices me,"
she said. " I have made peace with all mankind, and with
all fate ; the wind may, roaring, pass by, as the Bible says,
and throttle the old oaks, or the sun may warm my old
limbs, — I accept of all. Peace with all things makes the
spirit poAverful ; real peace has wings, and lifts man, still in
his lifetime, high above the earth to heaven ; for it is a
heavenly messenger, and shows the shortest path ; and says,
we shall not rest anywhere, for that is discord. The straight
way to heaven is spirit. That is the road which leads be-
yond, that one understands and conceives everything. Who
murmurs against his fate, does not understand it ; but he
who accepts of it in peace will soon learn to understand it.
What one has experienced and learned, is always a stage he
has made on the way to heaven. Yes, yes ! the fate of man
contains all knowledge, and when one has understood every-
thing in this terrestrial world, he will be able, at last, I
think, to know our Lord. Nobody learns to understand,
but by the inspiration of the holy ghost. By self-revelation
one learns to comprehend others' wants. I discover in-
stantly in every man's heart what burns and what sears him ;
and I know, too, when the time comes which heals him.
Yes ! I must still daily weep over my dear son, who died by
frost ; but, as I know he has completed his earthly way, I
have no objection. I read, also, every day, in this book :
there all these great truths are written." She gave us an
old hymn to read : " O Lord ! Thou leadest me on in

WITH A CHILD. 439

gloomy paths, but at the end I behold light." But in this
nothino- stood of what she had told us, besides some of the
principal words.

When we went home, the Giessen students dispersed our
melancholy ; they were encamped on the slope of tlie moun-
tain, in large vine-arbors : they sung, they shouted, glasses
and bottles flew doM^n ; they danced, waltzed, and rolled
down the mountain, and made the valley resound with their
horrible roaring.

*

The Niu^se's Castle,

Thus I call a little dwelling which is exactly so large as
to satisfy the most simple wants of a single person, in nice
comfortable order : it is built with red bricks, on a conical
mountain-top, covered with velvet grass. Three years ago
it did not yet stand there ; then love was the only shelter
against wind and weather ; there they often came together
from spring till autumn, from sunset till sunrise ; they lay
there, cheered by the smiling moon, on the flower-turf be-
tween silvery mountain-springs ; when winter came, the
trumpet of Avar called him, and Armida remained alone, but
not long ; then came Amor, the child. She laid him in the
cradle, she nursed him with the milk of her bosom, and
from the nurse-wages she bought this spot, and built the
little cottage. She now lives with her gold-curled boy here
on high, where she sees far through the valley in the dis-
tance, and also can hear in the calm the drum beaten, or the
trumpet sounding among the rocks. Perhaj^s he will return,
and discover in seeing the gaudy painted chimney, planted
upon the cottage-roof, that the joyous bliss of love is not
changed into repentance.

* * *

To-day we went to another castle : it is twenty miles off :
its proud, well-preserved towers rise to heaven as if in
swearing an oath. It can be seen at many miles distance ;
at every quarter of an hour it has another countenance ;
now woods appear enclosing it, then soft hills ; many vil-.
lages swim in the fertile skirts of its long and wide field-

440 GOETHE'S COREESPO^DENCE

vesture, in whose folds they soon are lost agam. We were
all mounted and armed for the chase. We dined in the
wood ; and then pursued a fox, and that detained us. As
we arrived, the moon rose between the two towers, but we
rode in the dark valley through the rugged streets of the
little town ; we spent the night in a large iron-foundry. In
the morning at daylight I hurried out ; I meaned to sur-
prise my fair one, Nature, with her eyes shut ; I longed to
see how from this side she would look in so sweet a pos-
ture. O friend ! — all the flower-cups full of dew-mirrors,
one halm j^aints itself in the pearly ornaments of the other,
one floweret sucks its image in the cup of the next ; — and
thou ! thy sj^irit, thy reviving spirit, what can it be but
pure dew from heaven, in which all reflects, m purest prim-
itive beauty. Mirror ! — deep knowledge full of wisdom
is thy spirit, in which even thyself but reflects ; and all the
good mankind is endowed with by thee, is only the mirror
of their purest, unadulterated nature, — their own ideality.
Now I returned from my way to the castle, ^^■hich I had
enwheeled twice in winged race, as Pindar says. It lies on
a round top, covered with short grass ; the flock thronged
around its dungeons like a fur-collar ; a bleating fur-collar !
I had bread with me, which I distributed among them, as
the German emperor did among the Tyrolese ; but they
too pressed me, as the Tyrolese did the emperor, and
screamed, " More bread ! more bread ! ba, ba ! " I had
nothing more, like the emperor : I was in danger to be
tumbled down, like him. I broke through them, and in full
gallop down the mountain, the whole flock after me also
with the barking dog, I arrived at the foot of the mountain
before the inn ; there they awoke the whole party of travel-
lers with their bleating, and I assure thee, they would enter
the guests' room by force. I must lock the door ; I think
the ram would have forced it open with his horns. Cer-
tainly, if the Tyrolese had done thus, the emperor must
have provided them with bread ; but they did like the
shepherd, who remained thunderstruck on the mountain
and saw his flock hurry down. " You can pen together a
thousand foolish tricks, as the shepherd does his flock," my
brother Francis said, as he saw me arrive, with the flock at
my heels.

Till all had made themselves ready to start, I walked
about in the cow-house. The yard is immensely large, a

WITH A CHILD. 441

"whole farm would find place in it ; they call from one barn
to the other with speaking-trumpet. The cow-house in the
middle forms a theatre, a semicircle of smooth cows, at each
end closed in by a bull. At the end where I entered, the
ox is so friendly and gentle, that he tries to reach every
one who comes near him with his tongue, to lick him : he
bellowed at me ; I would not let him beg in vain, and had
my face licked by his foaming tongue ; he liked that so
much, that he Avould not leave off. He pasted all the locks
together, which your hand always strokes in such fine
order.

Now I will describe you the castle, but cursorily ; for
where I cannot caress in words, I do not like to stay long.
It is in better state of preservation than the others ; even
that of Gelnhausen is not nearly so perfect, and I cannot
conceive why it is not taken more notice of. In former
times it belonged to the barons of Muenzeberg, now it has
descended to the Counts of Stolberg. The castle is well
preserved in its principal walls ; in the interior, however,
many things are decayed ; the paraj^et is entire, and one
can walk on it around the castle. On every side one
looks into the fruit-lands, which in the distance ascend to
other castle-ruins. Thus between tombs and deserted walls,
blooms and ripens the eternal blessing, and man dare only
appear there, when blessing is there too, and traces and
invests him. The sun wheedlingly gets from our Lord,
that he may ripen hundredfold ears for the children of
men. The sun and God caress each other, and that is
man's happiness, for he who loves, joins in tlie love of God,
and in him and by him the divine blessing also ripens.

In the chapel stand still some columns with their Gothic
capitals ; some are lying on the ground, but still safe. One
I copy here for thee, but imperfectly. The moonsickle
stretches the scutcheon aloft, and forms so the capital, with
two interlaced dragons beneath it. People say that they
had golden medals in their jaws ; in that way they are
copied in an old chronicle. Another is still much finer ;
I would have copied it too, but it was so cold and damp
there. Roses, wonderfully carved in the stone, form a
wreath ; serpents winding through it, and stretching out
their little crowned heads, form a second wreath. It is
most beautiful ; I would have brought it thee, could I have
taken it with me. While I was drawing, a little serpent

442 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

came forth from under the grass ; it got up before me, as if
it would look how I copied the image of its ancestors, and
that frightened me, shuddering, out of this solitariness.

In the outer castle-gate the hinges are still left ; over the
inner door on the sollar stands a stone-hearth, encircled by
a little brick wall in the form of a niche. There they made
the pitch boiling, and poured it through a hole in the midst
of the door. Every thing was contemplated, considered,
explained ; many things remained unexj^lained ; the won-
dering about former times, and that they reached so palpa-
bly into ours, made us quite stupefied people : yea, I was
afraid this old, coarse-bony time would suddenly come over
the moment of presence and swallow it up. O, Goethe,
only one thing is of cogent force to me, my being in thee :
after that come the end of all things.

Shall I take thee further with me on my rambles, or is
it enough of decayed walls, of Avilderness which overthrives
all ; of the ivy, which sprouts out of the cold ground, rest-
less climbs up the desolate wall, till it becomes aware of the
sun, and then instantly again descends ; longing, Avith wide-
reaching tendrils, for the damp, dusky depth. Yesterday
the sky Avas blue, to-day ruby-dyed and emeraldly, and
there in the west, where it covers the earth, it chases the
light in saffron-garb out of its couch. For a moment,
desirous love may disport, seeing whole Nature slumbering
soak. Yes, I feel it ; when night falls in, every little root
drinks ; in each is an appetite, a desire for food, and this
attractive poAver enforces the earth, AAdiich does not refuse
to nourish CA'ery A'ital germ : and so lies in each floAver-
brow fanciful inspiration, that draws doAA^n out of the glit-
tering star-droplets dreams embracing it. "Wallv OA^er a
meadoAA'^'s carpet in stillful, star-fulgid night ; there, AA^hen
thou dost bend down to the green, thou Avilt perceiA'e the
millions of dream visions which croAvd there ; where one
often borroAvs from the other whim, oddness, and hues ;
there thou Avilt feel that this dream-world soars up into the
bosom of the ad Averting one, and mirrors itself in thy spirit
as revelation. Yes, the beauteous floAver of thought has
a root ; this sucks nurture from the Avarm, hidden soil of
senses, and ascends up to the divine light, to AA'hich it opens
its eye and drinks it, and wafts its perfume to it ; yes, the
spirit-floAver longs for Nature and God, as does every earth-
flower.

WITH A CHILD. 443

FRAGMENTS

FROM LETTERS WRITTEN IN GOETHE'S SUMMER-HOUSE.

Anno 18.

To-day I have seen thee but for a few moments, and,
methinks, the whole of hfe is awanting to tell thee all.
Music, and art, and language ; all I gently might swaj, to
explain myself therein.

I long for inspiration ; — thou art for what I long ! —
Love strives to be inbosomed within thee, it will feel itself
within the depths of thy spirit.

Thy presence agitates me, as my heart feels the possibil-
ity of giving thee a presentiment of my longing.

Thy nearness changes all without and within ; that the
breath thou respirest mingles with the air which also my
bosom drinks, that makes it tne element of a higher world ;
so the Avails which surround thee are magnetic ; the mirror,
which catches thy shape, the light-beams which graze thee,
thy seat, all has a magic ; thou art gone, but this remains
and fdls thy place. I lie down on the ground where thy
feet were standing ; on this spot, on no other, do I feel well !
Is that a fancy ? Tears I feel within my breast, thus to
think of thee, as I think now ; and this sadness is volup-
tuousness to me ; in it I feel myself raised above the whole
terrestrial life, and that is my religion. Certainly, the be-
loved is the element of my future life, in which it engenders
itself, in which it lives and nurses itself. 0 ! had I spirit !
had I that, what mysteries Avould I impart thee !

Revelation is the only Avant of the spirit ; for the sub-
limest is ever the onliest want.

Spirit can only be struck by revelation ; or, rather, all
becomes revelation of it.

Thus, spirit must imparadise itself Nothing Avithout the
spirit. Hea\'en and bliss Avithin it. How far must inspira-
tion ascend till it I'aises itself to heaven !

444 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

"When the whole life becomes the element of spirit, then
it has power over heaven.

The key to the higher hfe is love, it prepares for free-
dom ; freedom is spirituous life.

Thinking is inspiration of freedom.

He has spirit or is spirituous, who recovers himself.
Inspiration insists, that man recover himself. When thou
inspiritest me, thou demandest thyself from me, and my in-
spiration tends to give thee to thyself. True love bestows
the beloved on himself. How very true is that, as I can
only think thyself, and yet bestow all thoughts on thee.

What is, to love ? The warder aloft calls out the nigh
morning hour. The brisk mind slumbering, presages the
coming day ; it breaks forth from its dream-world into the
young day's inarmings of light. That is love's power, that
all is reality that before was a dream ; and that a divine
spirit enlightens life to him awoke within love, as does the
young day to him awoke out of the dream-world.

Love is comprehending, and that is possessing.

When the seed lies in the earth it requires earth ; once
stirred up to life, it would die if taken out of it.

Within the earth seed fii'st changes into life, and in ger-
minating earth first becomes spirit.

When thou lovest, thou urgest forth to light, as does the
seeds that were hidden within the earth.

Why does Nature hide the seed within the lap of earth,
ere she releases its life forth to light ? — Life, also, lies in
the hidden lap of the spirit, ere in the germ of love it
comes to light. The soil from which love germinates is
mystery.

Mystery is of phantasy the instinct. He whose spirit is
endowed with this instinct, has the arable land for the germ
of love.

Phantasy is the free art of truth.

And here powerful thoughts could be imparted, did not
weariness overcome me ; I must be content that I feel how,
in slumber, phantasy becomes mediator between heavenly
wisdom and earthly spirit.

Every thought has wings, and flies to him who prompts
it ; every breath a thought, flying to the beloved ; only
Avhat loves, is thought, and flies, — yes, thoughts are spirit-
uous birds.

WITH A CHILD. 445

Were I not in bed I would write more, but my pillow
draws me down.

In thy garden it is so beautiful ! — All my thoughts are
bees, — they rush in through the window from thy fragrant
garden, that I opened to let them in ; there they deposit
their honey, which they have gathered in thy garden full
of blossoms. And though it be late, and past midnight, yet
they still arrive, one by one, and hum around me, and wake
me from sleep ; — and the bees of thy garden, and the bees
of thy spirit, hum in concert about me.

Love is comprehending ; beauty is the mystery of this
comprehension ; and so deep is this mystery, that it imparts
itself to none but the loving one. Do believe it, nobody
knows the mystery of thee as I do ; that means, nobody
loves thee as I love thee.

Again, a little bee ! — " Thy beauty is thy life,'' — it
wanted to hum more, but the wind drove it back out of
the window again.

That in thy garden I sleep for a night, that, indeed, is a
great event in my life ; thou hast spent here many a glori-
ous hour, alone and with friends, and now I am alone here
musing on all, — and I gaze on all this in my mind. Alas,
and as to-day, before I entered the lone, silent house, I still
ascended the mountain to the uppermost tree, overgrown
with such a manifold verdure, all managed by thy hand,
spreading its branches sheltering over the stone, on which is
engraved the vow of remembrance ! There, on the summit,
I stood, quite alone ; the moonlight stole gently through the
foliage ; I searched for the letters carved in the bark. Alas,
good night ! —

If I steal any longer the dreams from sleep, then my
thoughts will become foam.*

* * *

There above I saw thy house illumined. I thought, if
by this light thou awaitedest me, and if I traced down the
cool moonlit path, with so well prepared a heart, and stepped
in to thee, how friendly thou wouldst receive me. Till I
was come down, my fancy imposed on me, that thou couldst

German proverb : Trauma sind Schaume : dreams are foams.

446 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

possibly be there ; and though I was persuaded that this
light burnt alone within my solitary closet, (for I had indeed
kindled the light myself,) yet I timidly opened the door ;
and as I became aware of this silent loneliness, — on the
table the dried plants, the stones and fossils, and the butter-
flies ; and the awful gloom that played with the rays of the
lamp ! — and, as I entered there, I remained leaning on the
door, and first took breath.

And now I lie on this little couch to sleep ; the bed is
hard, only a straw-sack and a woollen blanket, and, to cover
myself, a gray quilt, worked with flowers ; and npne knows
that I pass this night here but thou alone.

Terrestrial youth is unconscious ; it bursts from the bud,
its disclosing is its aim. Consciousness of youth is rather
supersensual youth.

In thee I am conscious of my youth. I behold them all,
the golden days I lived within thee ; croAvned, each of them,
with wondrous blossoms ; proud, loftily pacing along, with
ardent-brisk spirit; untouched, chaste, flying before vul-
garity into higher regions. A mild light irradiates them, it
is the evening-light of thy hfe. Alas, and to-day is also
one of them, it joins the array of the expired ones, majestic !
triumphant ! — though I am alone here in the deserted
house, not ready for my reception, — the traces of the past
winter are still here.

Spirit dives into youth as into ocean ; youth becomes its
element, in it spirit becomes love. Youth gets the spirit
suitable to eternity, which is eternal youth.

I believe in thy presence within this solitary chamber ; I
believe that thou hearkenest to me, that thou dost advert to
me ; I speak with thee ; thou askest and I reply.

Every one aspires after youth, because the want of spirit
is development in love.

[After having slept a little while.]

Nothing is stransre to genius, all is element to him. In
love, one is genius to the other, and one becomes element
to the other.

Thou art my element ; within thee I can flutter with my
wings, and this is solely comprising, solely sensing, solely
having thee.

Though thou mayest a thousand times long out of thyself,
thou never wilt recover thyself, unless by effusing thyself

WITH A CHILD. 447

into another ; thou never wilt be in another, unless he be in
thee.

Thinkine: beholds and touches, it is most sensuous contact
with the mind of the bethought one.

When spirit changes into music, then philosoi^hy becomes
sensation.

Again and again I have wrapped myself in this gray
quilt, and when I want to sleep, I must stretch forth my
hand to write a line.

Is it true that there is a magic of life which begets itself
by dint of self-enlightening ? who, then, would stand out of
the circle of its spell ?

Good night ! — at thy feet I shall sleep it away.

Yes ! — I will believe that thou art here ; and will not
stretch my hand out to reach thee, not to frighten thee from
me, — and yet thou touchest me ; — the air changes ; — the
glimmering of the lamp, — the shadows, — everything gets
intimation.

August 28th.*

This day we pass over in silence. To me thou art from
ever. Who would disown that the stars dominate us ? —
thou wert complying to their influence, and so they elevated
thee to themselves. I know all ! secretly they dispose thee,
that thou must be favorable to me ; I behold within thy look,
thou art content of me. Thou sayest nought, thou closest
thy lips as firmly as if thou wert afraid they would talk
against thy will. Goethe ! it is enough to me what thy
look utters, also when it does not rest upon me. Yesterday,
as I stood behind thee and rustled with the paper, thou
lookedst around ; indeed I became aware of it, I got softly
out, and did not quite shut the door ; I saw thee seize the
letter, and then Avent away, — I would not watch thee any
lono-er: a flittino; shiver came over me as I weened thou
wouldst now read what I had shaped to thee last night.
How rapturing, Goethe ! — to think, now he accepts of these
wheedling speeches ; now his mind friendly regrants what I
have invented for him. It is beauteous, what I say to thee ;
love-spirits they are that speak with thee, they jubilant en-
wheel thy head.

* The 28th of August; Goethe's birthday.

448 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

Wilt thou know how mj fancy shapes thee to me to-day
as on thy birthday ? — on the ocean-shore, on the golden
throne-chair, in the wliite woollen garb, the purple spread
beneath thy feet ; from afar the white sails studding the
high sea, swelhng in the gale, flying briskly past each other ;
and thou in morning light reposing, crowned with sacred
foliage ; but myself I behold at thy feet, with the clear
flood I had drawn from the sea to wash them. So in a
thousand fictions I ween myself in thy service, and it is as
if this were the ripening of my existence.

* * *

Hast thou ever looked into the disk of the settino- sun,
when, his rays more mildly beaming, a sharp eye is no
longer overpowered by his glance? Hast thou then beheld,
how his own shape loosens itself from him, and plunges into
the red flood beneath the horizon, and after this image still
another in gentle refractions, still dying in other hues? —
my soul, when the mighty splendor of thy full apparition no
longer dazzles so strong, and the far weaves soft veils around
thee, beholds such images darting from thee one after the
other ; they all plunge into my inspiration as into the glow-
ing bosom of nature, and I cannot satiate myself in this
affluence of beauteousness.

* * *

September 3cl.

So weary as I was late at eve, and so fast as I slept at
early morn, I have not wrote since three days. Thou hast
not asked after me all this time ; so this evening I came into
thy garden, and on this seat I muse that thou dost forget me.
The birds are already used that I sit here so immovably
still. How odd is it here m the strange land ! — hither I
came to this derelicted spot, to sink deeply into myself; then
I behold images, remembrances of earlier days, which join
with to-day.* To-day, as at moming-dawn, they made
music before the Koman house,t and as the Duke came out^

* The 3J of September, birthday of Duke of "Weimar,
t The summer palace of the Duke.

WITH A CHILD. 449

and the great dogs impatiently hastened on before the peo-
ple and sprang up to his neck, — it seemed to me so very
solemn, as he friendly resigned himself to their rude caresses,
and nodded beyond them to the crowd, who saluted him with
great shouts. Then suddenly thou dividest them, and the
exulting redoubled at thy appearance. To view the two
friends walking to and fro, elevated in mind and benevo-
lence, that was a solemn aspect for the people ; and they all
whispered to one another, what a seldom couple! And
many glorious things were spoken of ye both, and each of
your movements was observed : "^ smiles 1 — he turns ! —
the Duhe leans on him I they shake hands 1 — now they sit
down ! " — so the peoj)le awfully repeated all that passed
between you ; — ah, by right, for from your both united love
emanated their happiness ; that they all know ; and while
you were conversing, the crowd stood in profound silence, as
if the bliss of centuries was to be called down upon them.
I also Goethe ! — I beheve that you both, as beings of a
higher order, are endowed with the power of securing bliss
to futurity ; for in the Duke's mind benevolence has long
been matured to a sweet fruit, — that thyself hast said, —
and thy spirit streams forth light, — light of wisdom, which
is mercy, and makes all thrive.

As thou wert gone, the Duke bid me come to him ; he
asked if thou hadst seen and greeted me ; this I must deny,
for alas, thou hadst overseen me. Dost thou still remember
that birthday ? — On the evening when I stood leaning be-
hind the pillar ? — thou soughtest after me with thy look,
and thou foundst me also. Alas, how it made my heart
glow, as I watched thy spying look ; then thou reachedst me
thy glass, that I might drink from it, and none of the others
was aware of it. Many days have passed since ; to-day I
am alone ; there lies thy house ; I could go to thee and see
thee face to face, yet I prefer here alone in thy garden to
conjure thee : " Helj) me to think thee, to feel theeT My
faith is my wand ; with it I create my world ; out of its
charm all is strange to me, and I have no doubt that in it
alone I really live. My thinking is miraculous : I speak
with thee ; I look into thee ! — my prayer is, that I may
strengthen my will to think of thee.

29

450 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

IN Goethe's garden.

The whole world around lightened by one sun ! thy-
self alone enlightened within me, all else in darkness ! —
How it inflames love, when light shines uj)on one object
alone.

Such were thy words yesterday : " I should write to thee,
if even it were folios, it would never be too much for thee."
Ay ! and yet thou knowest, my language comprises but a
small extent of knowledge. That, although I imagine to
shape each time anew, what I have to tell thee, yet it is
ever the same ; and for thee ? — is it not too much for
thee ? — I have tried, like a mole, to dig through my own
heart, and had a mind to discover there a treasure, liirht-
ening in the dark ; I would have brought that up to thee,
but in vain. They are no mighty things I have to tell
thee ; they are nought but sweetly to confess, and irresist-
ible are these noughts. Why, caresses consist in imparting.
When thou dost couch upon the bank of the rillet, amongst
fragrant herbs ; and libella, with its crystal-eyes, sits down
on thee, it fans thy lips with its flapping wings, dost thou
become angry with it ? — If a little beetle crawls up thy
clothes and at last strays into thy bosom, dost thou call that
too 2^1'e sumptuous ? — this little creature, so unconscious of
the throbbing heart beneath its little feet ; — and I, — con-
scious of this enhanced measure of thy feelings, am I to
l)lame that I intrude upon thy heart ? — behold ! that is all
I have to tell thee The evening-breezes swiftly skim o'er
the grass down to me, who am sitting at the foot of thy hill,
musing how I shall fill up for thee those folios.

*

Do I think of thee, then I may not tarry on the ground.
Anon Psyche agitates her wings, she feels the earthly weight,
she feels herself entangled in much that is strange to her
celestial calling ; this gives pain, tliis makes woful.

The light of wisdom only shines within ourselves. What
is not inly revelation will never bear the fruits of recogni-
tion. The soul comes to meet herself in the beloved, she
finds and embraces herself in the beloved ; thus I find my-
self in thee ! — What more blissful can happen to me ? —

WITH A CHILD. 451

and is it a wonder that I embrace thy knees ? I might
impart thee all I have learned li'oni thee. Were the spirit
what the word can rehearse, idea would occupy a small re-
gion. There is also somewhat else spirit, as what may be
caught in the net of language. Spirit is all into itself trans-
forming life ; love also must become spirit. My spirit is
ever anxious to transplant this love into itself; out of this
my immortal life shall and must rise, or I shall sink.

The sun sinks ! its purple awning spreads over thy gar-
den. I sit here alone and overlook the path, which thou
hast guided through these meadows ; they are all deserted,
nowhere walks one ; so lonely it is, and so quiet till far off;
and so long have I already waited till all should be silent,
then I Avould recover my senses to speak with thee, and
now I feel myself so disheartened here in the almighty
stillfulness. The bird in the hedge I have startled, the
bell-flowers sleep, the moon and the evening star wink each
other ; whither shall I turn ? The tree, in whose bark thou
hast carved many a name, I have quitted, and I am gone
down to the door-house, and leaned my brow on the latch,
which thy hand, how often, has lifted, and thou hast sat
there in joyousness, with thy friends ; and many a lonely
hour too thou hast spent the're. Thou alone with thy genius
hast not felt the awe of solitude, gloriously triumphing in
the strife between sense and inspiration, these silent even-
ings have passed away. O, Goethe, what dost thou think
of my love, Avhich so eternally rushes on to thee, like the
flood dashing on the shore, and would speak to thee, and
can say nought but only sigh ? Yes ! what dost thou think
my love desires ? myself often as awaking from a dream,
am surprised that the power of such a dream controls me.
But soon again I stoop under the shady roof of its arches
and bend to its lisping, and let my senses be overcome by
the wing-rushing of unknown spirits ! Divine will I be !
divine and grand like thee ; free, above the haunt of man
will I stand, only Avithin thy liglit, understood only by thee.
Arrows will I shoot ; — thoughts ! — thee they shall hit, and
no one else ; thou shalt prove their point, and by this secret
intercourse my senses shall thrive ; bold, strong, brisk, and

452 GOETHE'S CORKESPONDENCE

joyous shall be those vital-spirits, for ever ascending, not
sinking, streaming towards Iheir generator.

* * *

It is night, I write in starlight. Wisdom is like a tree,
which spreads its boughs throughout the firmament ; the
golden fruits, which adorn its foliage, are stars. When a
desire comes up to taste the fruits of the tree of wisdom,
how may I attain these golden fruits ? The stars are
worlds, thej say ; — is not the kiss also a world ? — and
is the star larger to thine eye than the ambit of a kiss ? —
and is the kiss less to thy feeling than the embracing of a
Avorld ? AYhy ? wisdom is love ! and its fruits are worlds ;
and he who feels a world in a kiss, deceiyes himself not ; to
him a ripe fruit, a star matured in the light of wisdom, has
sunk into his bosom. But lie, friend ! • — who is nourished
by such celestial food, is he still esteemed to be in his wits ?

Now I go to sleep ; the stillfulness of night, the lone time,
is spent by Psyche to come forth to thee. Often dream
leads her to thee ; she finds thee crossed, 23erchance, by a
thousand thoughts, none of which mentions her. But she
lowers her wings, and kisses the dust of thy feet till thy
look bends down upon her.

•* * • *

Still it is early ; the nightingale sweetly rej^lies to the
stillful night, and the lark, dew-immersed, sleeps in its nest
on the ground. Rather to be the nightingale, who gives not
his nights to sleep in his nest. While his little wife sits
hatching its brood, he, on the next full-blown tree, tells love-
stories to the moon and stars, and greets the driving clouds
with sighs, that call through the waving groves and the
rinfjino; vales. Thou also, like the little nio;htino;ale-she,
hatchest thy brood, whilst I, fancy's poor deluded child,
warble my wild and ardent notes to the moon through the
nubiferous gales, that bring her a cloud-cap or a beard, and
again snatch it away. I only want to share in the brood
of thy nest, else we were a nightingale-couple. Thou dost
write books of which I have no mind ; thou dost write for
all the world, not for me alone ; but I write alone for thee.

WITH A CHILD. 453

I would also sit on the pleasant bough of my full-blown tree,
not too nigh, that my night-warbling not shake thine ear ;
yet I would a nightly gale bore through the waving groves
and ringing dales my nightly lays, so soft, so clear, and so
deep out of my breast to the too, too distant friend. But
when the sun-spying lark upsoars, with shrilling shouts to
silence the nightingale, and buoyant catches the morning-
balm over the clouds, then I sooner would be the lark, jubi-
lant to relate, what the nightingale groaningly confessed.
Would the sun come, would it go, a charm leads through my
senses, with the first beam that darts on my couch, higher
than the lark in towering ditties, to exult in thy glory ; or
amid the flaring stars, in sharp and deep harmonical sounds,
to overtune the nightingale's love-sighing tune.

* * *

Here on this hill my ■world I do survey !
Down to the vale with verdure soft o'ergrown ;
Crossed by the path that leads beyond, thereon,
The white house mid the height in sunny ray,
On what with joy does here my fancy prey V

Here on this hill my world I do survey !
Though I would climb the country's steepest brow,
Where man can see prows sailing to and fro,
And towns afar and near the mountains proud array,
It would not lure from here my eye to stray.

Here on this hill my world I do survey !
And though a paradise were to be seen.
Yet I would ere?' long for yonder tufted green,
Whereof thy roof before my gaze does stay, —
For this alone inwraps my world for aye.

Auf diesem Hllgel iiberseh ich meine Welt !
Hinab in's Thai, mit liasen sanffc begleitet,
Vo:u Weg durchzogen, der hiniiber leitet,
Das weifse Haus inmitten aufgestellt.
Was ist's worin sich hier der Sinn gefallt?

Auf diesem Hiigel iiberseh ich meine Welt !
Erstieg ich audi der Lander steilste Hohen,
Von wo ich konnt' die Schiffe fahren sehen'
Und Sttidte fern und nah von Bergen stolz umstellt,
Nichts ist's was mir den Blick gefesselt halt.

454 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

Auf diesem Hligel iiberseh icli meine AVelt !
Und konnt' icli Paradiese iiberschaiien,
Ich sehnte micli zuriick nacli jenen Alien
AVo Deines Daches Zinne meiiiem Blick sich stellt,
Denn der allein umgrenzet meine Welt.

* * *

Rhymed and luirhjmed I tell thee the same, and thou art
not tired with listening ; here in the dusk, when the sinking
day borrows light from the rising moon, I sit on the bench,
dehghted to survey my world in twilight. A few moments
since, all was lying in sunlight ; then I was not easy whether
to go or stay. Now the moon is up, I know that I shall re-
main; in her light I recognise my icorlcl ; her beams involve
me into its mao:ic limits ; and whatever incredible I deem
true, she does not disown it. Like the sunlight, doatingly
she wooes into the valley's bosom ; and I clearly perceive
Nature loves the moon, and the moon is inclined to Nature.

Were I to thee what to the moon is Nature, who vivify-
ing plays within her pulses, emits soft airs as harbingers,
lays down the western breezes' seed-Hedged pinions in the
dew-wet soil, rouse* its bes^ettins: strength to her frugiferous
darts, then my Avhole being would but accept of thy beauty.
Many blossoms open to her view ; many disporting speeches
How from my lips to thee ; many dew-drops glitter in her
light ; many tears of joy are treasured under thy influence.

* * - *

The converse of yesterday, on the bench in thy moonlit garden,
between thee and me, a tree full of glorious blossoms, forth-
streaming electrical fire into the cool night, and from the
breeze-moved branches slowly whirling adown on thy brow
and mine, and adown in the luxurious blooming herb around ;
also our words from the love-moved lips, whirled adown in the
lone nio-ht-stillness around.

Within thy bosom I would sleep away my whole life.
A hud of future blossom hidden in my hosom. Ay ! a bud
hidden in thy inmost core ; so closely folded, so beauteously,
so happily thronged therein. What could more inly, more
ahscondedly, he embodied than this germ of future blossom ?
Alas ! thou knowest my behest. From others to be hid, and

WITH A CHILD. 455

not unfelt hij me. Ay I hid in tJry breast, where their preju-
dices not reach me, and flow away over me, as tlie surges
flow away over the deepest ground. Deep in that ground
I would live, impassionated with thy divine nature ; and all
that passes in thy outer life, I would sleep it away within
thy bosom, and the dreams of thy earthly fate should never
harm me ; they would not touch me within thy breast,
though they might sometimes bedew my love with tears, as
the clouds bedew the sleeping buds ; yet I should feel as
fast rooted in thee, not to be dismissed with my red cheeks,
brown hair, fiery glance, and panting lips, passing away
as the evening-red passes. Nay ! thou eternally wouldst
accept of my love ; wouldst thou not ? Why wouldst thou
not speak ? / hearhen to thee. But when I pause, wdiy
answer not ? A 'pause also is music.

* *

"When I said yesterday, the pause in music were the con-
ductor of all musical spirits ; and that no more than one
pause, like the ruler, ascends the throne when its forgoer's
sway has died away, then thou hast laughed at these fancies
and absurdities, though wouldst have me explained what is
the pause. In my pensiveness I had rather strange visions
of it ; I never could lay hold on them, for never to be
caught is peculiar to the pause. It urges forth as in a
deep dale a well, where the tunes resort to drink, for musi-
cal spirits always are thirsty ; and having drunk, they soar
aloft, never they remain on the ground. Soon to the well
they return to drink ; then flapping the air with buoyant
wings, shrilling or sighing, roaring or whistling, they one
above the other bear their ditties into the cool ether, from
where their thirst again leads them in the valley to the w^ell
of the pause. The deeper the well forth-springs, the sweet-
lier they become bousy by the draught ; the more ebriety
wafts them aloft, the more ardently lor the well they pant ;
till once peering above the stars, they do not return ; ibr all
will return there above, by their own inspiration again to
be found ; the tunes gulping from the well are silence-
drunken ; and this is the pause swaying music : with silence
to inebriate the tunes.

Thou art the deepest well ! — from thee I drink silence

456 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

into my soul ; in mine ear to hearken thee, in mine eyes
to behold thee, and on my lips to taste thee ; and my senses
all with my breath, gloriously wafted, soar on by this drunk-
enness with thee. Ay, drunken with the pause-inspirited,
tuneful art of the voice, of thy lyre, which in all inarming
feelings wafts among and over the stars, luxuriously ex-
panding across the silence-pausing skies.

Lo ! that is the draught which yesterday I drew m that
well of thy wisdom, when I was inebriated with drinking
the silence of thy spirit.

* "Sk ^

Pause, for the spirit is space to regenerate ; — to be
sensuous of its calm, is to accept of its procreative power ;
in it aspiring germs devolve, move, and become independ-
ent, — grow spirit. No other improvement than spirit, no
freedom, no heaven, no space but spirit alone. Pause is
space, is spirit unuttered, the well whose draught inspirits
music.

Music is sj)irit embodied, is sensual expansion of spirit.

He who is sensuous of music, is sensually touched by the
spirit.

* * *

Heaven has space only in the spirit. Spirit frames
celestial space ; the larger it expands, the larger heaven
expands. Heaven is not severed from temporal life by
an abyss that in death we overleap ; heaven immediately
begins where we first feel impelled for the conception of the
divine. By learning to conceive the divine, forth springs
the germ of heaven. As God has created from nought the
world, an egg out of which immortality creeps forth, pause
is that sphere of nought, out of which, in consciousness of
inspiration, the immortal germ of life creeps forth.

I thank thee that thou wert come ; the sky was so grey
and dim, I looked out into the far, I thought it would over-
take me as the weather, when spare tears dropped from
the clouds, and the sky was heavy and sad, and looked

WITH A CHILD. 457

more Gjloomy, as if it had much rained. Then thou camest.
Thou hast said nothing of farewell, and hast troubled me,
for the complaint was on my lips, — nay, it was fairer, not
to saw farewell ; — not thou and I. How have I spent
this time ? — too happy ! to be nigh to thee, blessed every
breath of mine ; this I do call celestial air, — and thou ?
have I not displeased thee ? Ah, do not trouble me, for-
get what w^ould not agree with thee, when sometimes, too
eagerly, I did not understand thy gentle hints. My ardent
frame of mind lays no claim to thee ; it is like music, which
also requires no earthly possession, but it attunes the heark-
ening mind to sympathy, to echo. Yes ! may it resound
for awhile within thy ear, within thy heart, all that I dared
tell thee. Passion is music, a phenomenon of sublimest
powers ; not without, but most deeply within us ; it guides
us to meet with yon ideal self, for whose sake the spirit is
innate within the body : this self, which alone can raise
passions, can shape and form them. Man will be bred by
inspiration, the whole earthly life is then to this spiritual
one as the soil is to the fruit-grain, that springs up, a
thousandfold to yield.

* * *

Only eternity realizes, for what once shall decay, may
it straightly decay, to-day or to-morrow, that is the same ;
but love bears all to the heavenly realm ; love is all-com-
prising, all-pervading like the sun, and yet it propitiates
every spiritual charm to be possessed of itself, secluded in
itself, intrusted with itself; it engages the spirit to seize
peculiarity in a peculiar way. Thus love deals with me ;
in thee I become master of my spirit, — and thou ? the
lucid green, which the tree sprouts forth in renewed vernal
strength, bears witness that the sun darts far into its pith.
And thou art recreated bv this love ! art thou not ?

*

He who sees thee with bodily eyes, and sees thee not
through love, does not see thee ; thou only appearest
through love to the love-conjuring spirit. The more ardent,
the more racy the exorcism : the more glorious thy appear-

458 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

ance, and the more potent tliy influence. Dear friend, to
my exorcism thou hast most intimately presentiated thy-
self ; in every thought I have involved thee, as in a magic
round ; and, whatever may be its tenor, thou managest it
thoroughly, and abidest in every shape which my spirit
does pronounce.

* * *

It is true, magic is magic ; it abrogates its own self, and,
therefore, they deny its reality; they believe what has a
sensual body only, is real ; and to them understanding must
serve but as a sensual soil. But the work of God is magic :
the love in our breast, immortality, freedom, are magical
engenderings of God ; they are only maintained within us
by the power of his conjuration ; his breath is their life ;
they are our element, and in it we eternalize ourselves ;
and though enchantment may vanish into nothing, how
easily ! — yet it is the only base of reality, for it is the
efficiency of the divine spirit.

The innating of the divine nature into earthly life, and
its dying into innate pain, is of conjuration the magic spell.

Pain lies in Nature as the mighty transition from nought
into magical life.

Life is pain, but as we have only as much life as our
spirit supports, we are indiiferently aware of this pain
which is life ; for if our sj)irit M^as strong, then the strongest
pain would be the highest delight.

In my love, be it farewell or welcome, my spirit ever
floats between delight and pain, for thou strengthenest my
spirit, and yet it can hardly brook it. Transition into the
divine is ever woful, yet it is life.

All appropriation in spirit is painful, all what we learn
and perceive gives us pain in gaining it ; as soon as it has
been received in us, it has enhanced our spirit and enabled
it to penetrate life more vigorously, and what before gave
us woe, that we now enjoy.

* * *

Wisdom inhales and exhales life ; we live in wisdom, not
out of it. Consciousness is of wisdom the breath, wisdom
forth breathes thee to nourish my senses.

WITH A CHILD. 459

He who is sensuous of wisdom, his thoughts and feehngs
become creatures engendered by it, into spirit, hke as nature
engenders into sensual life. When in my love thou art
sensuous of tliine own self, then thou dost breathe wisdom,
for my love forthbrings the thought in which wisdom frames
thee an ideal. Of heavenly wisdom the art is, in the loving
to mould the frame of the beloved genius, and thus makes
the beloved sensuous of his OAvn ideal in the loving. That
is of wisdom the artful strain, through the lovmg to inspirit
the beloved.

^ 7^ ^

Art is also magic ; it, likewise, conjures the spirit into an
enhanced visible appearance ; and the spirit, also, must wan-
der over the bridge of grief, to enter its magic round.

* * *

All what concerns the heart belongs to art. When, to-
day, innocence is inspirited with love, to-morrow it will
practise the art to please thee, then by ar^ it rules thy own
affection upon itself; then, to live worthy of love is the art-
ful day-work of innocence, and never would be averted from
it ; for, as love artfully frames of a higher life the germ,
therefore despairs he who is pushed out of love. Nay, even
despair often is of love a tragic problem for art, to frame
the spirit into a higher complexion of strength. It is art
which leads love victoriously through all events, and forbids
access to annihilation.

* * *

Art valiantly spiritualizes sensual life. This toilsome en-
deavor, so deeply founded within us, freely to learn, create,
for future life, produces the germ of higher organization.
What by energy, concentration of all spirituous faculties,
art produces, once by instinct evolves in the mind and body
of a transfigurated life.

In this life the spirit only is fermenting, in a future life to
be created a sensual body, animated by love. Spirit is of a
transfigurated existence the sensual life. This striving,
moving, longing, and searching of the human spirit, to re-

460 GOETHE'S COEEESPONDEXCE

plenisli every form here on earth, is a fermenting to ripen
into supernal life. Therefore, the indefatigable endeavor
for higher accomplishment ; therefore our enjoyment also of
the meanest, that, with consciousness, and by instinct of
truth, succeeds in art.

Sensual life is impregnated with spirit, to forthbring it
into supernal life.

* * *

That is of fiction the marvellous art, practised by love,
to presentiate the ideal man, — the genius of the beloved.
Love between the genius of the beloved and the loving
remams mystery, for none understands the genius but only
the lovmg.

These lines I write to thy genius, and would he gave me
answer. I trace thy genius, thou also tracest him ; for the
poet, in love, only minds his own genius. So fate has dis-
posed of us both in thine own self to meet together. Thou
hast said. He who u-ould he ivrested from his oicn genius
were undone ; hut genius xoere immortality; man could lose
the conscience of it, hut never jiart with it ; and he who had
faith in his own genius, ever would he in the reach of his
superncd strength. My genius also plajdngly evolves of
fancy the marvellous strength ; how often my fiction be-
comes clear consciousness of the beloved ; should not this
have everlasting result ? — as each temporal propension has
its event ?

The intercourse between thee and me forthbrings sjDirits.
Thoughts are spirits ; my love is the hatching warmth for
the spirit's offspring. The thoughts love thee, they are in
thy behalf; man has thoughts to be bred by them. The
whole spirit-universe is only to eternaUze man. Eternity is
not an everlasting course of life, it is the unconceived of
supenaal spirit, to be conceived by mankind spirit, and ever-
lastino; to be born to light.

Ay ! love only would mind the genius, as it would last for
aye ; and my love, like the striving of all life, ardently en-
deavors for a hio^her one. It wants to be inbosomed in that
future life of thine, and spent in that higher comj^lexion ot
thine, and enhanced to quite joyous enlivening of thine.

WITH A CHILD. 461

The volunte love is impregnated with is germ, is indica-
tion of truth ; what could ever j^revent its unfolding ? — and
then, where should the wonder be at an end ? — as wonder
is supernal life.

In this world commutual life is the element for to oro-anize
a future life, notwithstanding what man living together ex-
pert by the story of daily life ; also the web of the influ-
ences on one another is that element by which be franl'ed
our future organization. What in a future existence be-
comes spirituous strength, and instinct to evolve in higher
faculties, that begets itself by relation and conception in the
element of this world. "When I see the little birds build
their nest, or also the spider its web, tlien I must believe
that by influence of an earlier existence they might have
gained faculties which now are born an instinct into sensual
life, and that likewise all Avhat we gain by art once as in-
stinct of divine faculties, shall evolve in a higher life,

^ ^ ^

Often when I saw the red-glowing tops of Tyrol, and
could not conjure my anxiety, and could not brook to think
of their desjDair ; then I had this vision of their joyant
glory, going into death, that God bestowed on them, by
struggling to enhance their sensual strength into a divine
nature. What we gain by our own valiance, that becomes
our own ; it devolves that divine power to beget itself within
us, like as God engenerates him by himself. For otherwise
it cannot be as that we become God. For, that we endeavor
aloft, of that we are conscious ; — for sensual life strives out
of us into divine life. Where should this striving end ? —
where be satiated ?

Why exults the heart of the warrior ? why does the
brave, the noble, not shun in the ardency of combat to kill,
— a man's life cheered by love, to which every day God
blows in his breath? Whence this glorious inspiration of
combat, which fears not, feels itself enhanced with the flow-
ing blood, gushed by the own grand mind. And on the
remembrance of daring, of perseverance, of victory, repos-
ing as on the sweetest laurels ! AYere it not a divine spark,
begetting itself in the human mind ? — and is not one single
moment of the divinity in us an eternity in itself? and is

462 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

not each low instigation a germ of eternity ? — all what is
received in a higher sense is like the fruit-seated field, soak-
ing the sunbeams ; inspiration soaks divine light, the eternal
power to enliven the starving senses. Spirit, enjoyment,
strength, faculties, all must be fructified with the divme ;
man must be divine, else he Avere not at all.

Lo ! — as the sunbeam ripening the fruit is a mirror-shape
of that hallowing inspiration which everlasting repairs man
anew, not to forsake future divinity ; also that insj^iration for
combat where the highest, human life, is pledged, is the
mirror-shape of that contest for eternity, where the highest
spirifs life, too, is pledged to struggle for the hereditary
divine right. And so I have often calmed my despair of
the Tyrolese hero Hofer, and all the others, when I thought
that they pledged here their earthly life for a divine nature,
gained by this victorious struggling.

Ay, Goethe ! take care of this, that, like the young unripe
fruit, ere it becomes matured by the darting sun, also man,
ere his disposition has become will, is only passive, and God,
darting his maturing light on him, is active. But here,
ripening with inspiration for all that is comprised in life,
armed with maturity of free will, man is active and God is
passive ; and that is to gain freedom by our own self.

* * *

When I was born, thou wast long ago ; and when I saw
thee first, then the strength of all thy mental faculties cor-
radiated into mine, and, may be, they begot in me that in-
stinct for higher faculties. And that may be the everlast-
ingness of love, from life to life to be born into a higher
instinct for higher perfectness. And, of all that will become
grand, the germ must be love ; and to him who '11 ask what
will become of my love, I '11 answer, " It is a celestial germ
rooted within me, once springing up into supernal life, en-
dowed with all my love aims at."

* * *

What were to me the present without the past ? — should
I not know once that thou wast tcho now is ? what of me ?
What do I want, having lived the past ? What I have lived

WITH A CHILD. 463

never parts from me ; the more I confide in tlie past, the
more devoted I feel to the present. Love only passes
through life to forthbring itself into eternity. All is dream
in life ; when life is past, dream is past. Love only passes
through dream, a veracious life, into eternity. lie in Avhom
love awakes will not avail in the drowsiness of earthly
inconsequence.

Nor do I feel a home in this lethargic existence. That
I love, is the real existence I awake in, Avhen I am alone
thinking or weening ; and with me fly the gods into this
lonely pensiveness, there to ensphere my senses, and inspirit
them with that prophetic look, which not by way of life
comes to meet with us, but from higher spheres transcend-
ently sinks adown into love's presence, and again, when from
love we swerve, ascends to heaven. Thou for me art such
an unknown, lone receptacle, where from heaven futurity
comes down, wholly to swoop the present.

As I was still so very young, like a young clear-limbered
stem beneath the wood-borne oaks, bending its gold-leaved
branchery to the gale. Ay, when young life was still so
pliant, and so flattering, and so passionless, then I faced of
futurity the most delicious prospect. How rich, how pure,
how marvellous were the plans of this spring ! Were my
dreams large enough to comprise all ? so closely blended
Avith each other Aveening and thought, feeling and inspira-
tion, — still the mind and body not outgrown its bud ! At
that time I fancied my whole happiness shrunk to the midst
of the forest, in the small hut, with the ivy and the eglantine
creeping along its walls, hidden by powerful oaks, that al-
lowed the sun only when noon-tide heralded him, to peep in
all the secret verdant nooks. There I 'd dwell, aloof and
unknown to men ; only the grand, the slender one, of lofty
gait, black hair, and black sharp brows, Avith ripe lips and
sweet talk, Avith daring look, — ay, — Iioav may I describe
him beauteously enough, and more than all the others ? He
alone, should knoAV the furtive Avay to the hut ; abscondedly
Avinding through bushes and thorns, fulgent in the j^urple-
daAvn, Avith his broAv SAveeping aside the boughs, that shake
their dcAV upon him ; there e\^ery brake, every shrub he
Avould pry ; and Avould find me at length, at the rill, that
shoAved in its mirror the shape of the beloved one, that I to
him Avould l)e ; and then I was to him that beloA'ed one, and

464 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

all the delight I was, his ardent heart might ever have asked
for ; so charmingly these sweet reveries kept me fettered in
deep thought, that none could swerve me out of them, nor
inlease me m such feelings, to make the hearts throb for
each other ; but when in the evening-breeze I briskly drove
across the park, and the fire of the setting sun pierced
through the loop-holes of the bushes, like of many a spear
the darting fiash, to hem me in my wild career ; then glowed
my cheeks, and violently throbbed my heart, with feeling
love-insj)irited, and my features emitting glorious beauty
from it.

When early in the morning I sauntered along the wood,
down I dropped on the dewy grass, and pored on all I saw,
and numbered the little pearls, that hung at the halms and
in the tiower-cups. Wandering home, not unsatisfied, no !
with exulting far beyond the daily life events, I felt pos-
sessed of secret delight, which none could guess, and my
converse with men was an unconsciously playing irony.

What would men have deemed this, had they known of
it ? Foolishness, madness, total foolishness ; and yet it was
a heavenly pedagogy ; it was of spirits, the mystic relations
with me ; that, like electrical sparks, ran fermenting through
whole life to leap over its brim into a celestial element.

When now I sing that song of thine, where the lover,
leaving the wood-cottage, praises the beauteous night ; and,
however, would give a thousand such only for one given
by his sweetheart, who there dwells, then I bethink me at
times, amidst the same forest, where I so sweetly mused;
still weening myself in the little moon-glanced bed, with the
delights of farewell within my heart. And noAv, as I know
thee, I think that a propitious demon should then to my
fancy have lent those lineaments of thy }'outh-time, that my
love might comprise thy whole life. Be friendly, pray, to
these fancies of mine, it is so sweet an earnest in their woo-
ing thy favor. Nay, hear me, there is no behest I ask of
thee, but what the spirits ivill to bestow 'i^on me.

* * *

Love is of a supernal nature the lofty jiregnancy ; the
more pure the fire our spirituous organism will be nurtured
with, the more grand and jDure the sj^irituous race will be

WITH A CHILD. 465

framed in us. And, as in a noble born man, even by tlie
most degenerated fate, Ms race never Avill be denied by
his instinct. Thus, also, in this sensual spirit-relation to a
future life, mostly by instinct will be comprehended what
organizes spirit for a higher complexion ; and for thee it is
not a problem, that an instinct of that higher race in me,
bore me towards thee in love ; and as a spring of water
glides through the hidden bosom of the earth, and secretly
throngs to nourish the roots of herbs and flowers, thy spirit
throngs to the roots of all my thoughts, breathing in them
that instinct for a higher life.

*

Genius is the encroaching, voluptuousness-guessing, thirst-
ing instinct ; its impulse vanquishes the slothful timorousness,
and ever incites the spirit to new energy. The more pas-
sionate the genius is in man, the more impellent is happiness
within him ; the more powerfully he strives to vanquish,
then the more secure he is of being satisfied ; — thus thou
hast affirmed to me. In my love to thee I am in suspense ;
between this timorous pain, and genial eagerness to vanish
the indolence of my spirit and feel bliss. Sometimes the
spirit feels itself sadly derelicted, even a trifle occupying
the place of this enthusiastic inspiration, and then all its
fervency is vanished. But how could I brook this ? If
God has summoned me forth from nought, if he has formed
my being as a pure claim on bliss, then I shall acquire bliss,
in the magic of love ; and by want, by divinely impregned
longing for beauteousness, genius ever and anon upbears his
Aveary wings, faithfully and firmly to convey this heart to thy
abode, with my soul to feel thee, with my spirit to compre-
hend and profess thee, quite as thou art in thy essence.

And if all this be true what here I tell thee, and we may
meet again in a higher life, think, then, that my genius shall
be a match for thine.

# ♦ •5|f

30

466 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

TO GOETHE.

March 22cl, 1832.*

Here from the depths of the mountains I come uncalled
for, unforeseen, as often in former times upon thy path. In
the Bohemian high-lands, where like a bird of prey I hung
o'er thee on the jutting rocks, dost thou still remember ? —
and as I then climbed down quite chafed, my veins throb-
bing in my head, and thy hand wiped off the dust from the
lashes of my eyes ; and from my braided hair gathered the
little sj)rigs and moss, and laid them softly down beside thee
on the seat ? — thou knowest of that no more. Multitudes
have passed by thee, hailing thee with loud shouts of fame ;
they bore wreaths before thee ; the banners they have flour-
ished ; kings have come and touched the skirts of thy man-
tle, and brought thee golden vessels, and laid chains of honor
on thy free neck. Thou knowest no more that I planted all
the gathered flowers, the wild herbs into thy bosom, and laid
my hand upon it to fix them there. Thou knowest no more
of my hand withheld mid tliy breast, and that thou calledst
me the wild hop Avhich would root there, to wind its tendrils
growing up around thee, that nothing might be seen on thee
but only the wild hop. Lo ! in this double-wall of rock
and mountain-depths, abides of echo the joyful call ; lo ! my
breast is such an artfully framed double wall, that ever and
anon a thousand times the joyous shouts of so sweet a tale
echoes across. AVliere should it end, this life of youthly
mirth, that in my keeping is so safely housed, and in enthu-
siasm the most pure is involved, as in tlie sweet nursing of
my infant-time ! Thy breath, in which the god immortality
hath blown, in sooth, in me has blown the breath of inspira-
tion. Be pleased to hear me sing once more the melodies
of my fairest paths of life, and in the excited rhythm of
momentary joy, where of spirit and sense the vital sources
stream into each other, and so exalt each other, that not the
experienced alone become sensible and visible, but the in-
visible, unheard of, too, be known and heard of.

Is it of drums and trumpets the jubilating chime, which
shakes the clouds ? is it of harps and cymbals ? — is it of
thousand instruments the tumult, that, at commando's call,

* Written on the day of his death.

WITH A CHILD. .467

disposing, solves itself into tlie measure of pure strains,
forms warbling shapes, j^ronounces accents of celestial in-
fluences, penetrates into man's spirit, with hue and light
espouses sense and mind ? Is it this genial power, which,
running through the veins, conjures the blood, the earthly
to reject, to nurse, to bring forth of supernal love, of super-
nal light the genuine fruit ? Is it not thou Avho hast con-
summated it in me, when it still fulgurates within my soul ?
Yes, it fulgurates when I think of thee ! Or is it only
shalms, — museful and weening, only grazing phantasy, not
espousing with its revelations, what I have to confide to
these leaves ? Whatever it be ! — till into death this music
of the first love may lead me. At thy feet I plant the bass ;
it shall pullulate a palm-grove for thee, to wander in its
shades ; all what of lovely and sweetly thou hast said to
me, that shall whisper from twig to twig, like soft carols of
twittering birds ; — be yon kisses, yon caresses between us,
the honey-dropping fruits of this grove. But the element
of my life, harmony with thee, with Nature, with God, of
whose lap aj'ises the abundance of generation, upwards to
light, into light, decaying in light, — be that the torrent, the
most powerful, which encompasses this grove, to make it
lonely with me and thee.

* * *

Dost thou still know, as thou badst me come again in
twilight ? Thou knowest nought, ■ — I know all ; I am the
leaf, etched with the remembrance of all blissfulness. Yes,
I am of this remembrance the essence, and am nothing else.
Nay, I went around thy house waiting for twilight, and
when I came to the gate, I thought, " If it might be dark
enough already ; and if thou mightest deem this to be twi-
light ? " — and fearing to fail thy orders, I went once more
round thy house ; and when I then stepped in, thou scoldedst
me that I were come too late, since long it were dusky, thou
hadst since long awaited me ; then thou wouldst ask for a
white woollen garment, and put aside the day-dress, and say,
^' Notv, as night is come doimi hy waiting for tJtee, we will he
quite nightly and comfortable ; and most nicely laniiginous
will I he to thee^ for thou slialt to-day confess to mer Then
I stooped down on the ground between thy knees, and em-

468 GOETHE'S COKEESPONDENCE.

braced thee, and tliou me. Then thou saidst, " Do trust in
me, and tell me all ivhat offered violence to thy heart ; thou
grantest that I never have betrayed thee ; no word, no sound
of %vhat thy j^cission has raved to me has ever come o^er my
lijjs ; noiv tell me, for it is not possible thy own heart all this
time should have been without jKission, tell me now who he
was ? Do I hiow him ? and how was it ? what hast thou
more learned and experienced, %vhich made thee forget me ?"
Then, dear friend, I spoke the truth, when I assevered
thee that my heart had been quite at ease ; that nought
had touched me since then, for in that same moment before
thee, all was but a weening, and a pale phantom the whole
world ; and in thy presence vanished all what had hap-
pened to me ; in full consciousness I durst avouch me
linked with thy beauty, for I looked in thy face. But thou
by all means wouldst know the story, which in vain I tried
to invent, for I was rather ashamed that no love-story had
happened to me. Now I thought of one and began : '' Once
I walked as in a dream, now I am awake again ; here in
moonlight on thy bosom I know who I am and what thou
art to me ; how I belong ever to thee and never to another,
as thou fascinatest me ! But once," ■ — and then I began
my love-story. And thou, most glorious one, didst not
suffer me to speak on, and criedst, " No I no I — thou art
Tnine 1 — thou art my muse, no others^ / — no other shall
dare say that he was possessed of thee as I am ; that thou
wast devoted to him as ivell as to me, that he was so secure of
thy love as I tvas. I have loved thee, I have forborne thee ;
the bee brings not more carefully and heedily the honey from
all the floivering cups together, than I gathered delight from
thy lijjs, from thy thousandfold love-overpourings." Then
my braids fell down ; thou tookest them up, and called them
brown snakes, and hid them in thy garment, and drew my
head to thy breast ; on which I should repose from aye to
aye, and disburden myself of thinking and doing ; that
would be fine, that would be true ; that would thus be the
right sweet lounge of my existence. That is the fruit of
paradise, for which I languish : to rest, to sleep, with con-
sciousness of being near the most glorious.

AFTEK GOETHE'S DEATH.

LETTER TO A FRIEND.

So far I had wrote yesterday ; when I went in the
evening at ten o'clock into society, I had resolved to expose
once more to Goethe all the sweet and important events I
had lived over with him in a cyclus of such letters ; now
all stood so very clear before my eyes, as if it had but just
happened. My soul was deeply moved and far from men,
like the moon when it is beyond. In such frame of mind
I often fly a very high pitch of humor, so I was of great
wantonness yesterday. They were already informed of
Goethe's death ; I told that I had to-day for the first time
since years written to him ; nobody imparted me the doleful
news. I spoke much of Goethe ; at one o'clock in the
night, at home, the newspapers lay before my couch, I read
the news of his death. I was alone ; I did not need to give
account to anybody about my feelings ; I could so calmly
look forward to all it would bring me ; for it was quite clear
that this love, the first and unique source of my being, was
not staunched with his death. I fell asleep and dreamed of
him, and awoke to rejoice that just now I had seen him in
dream ; and I slept again to dream on, and thus I passed
the night in sweet consolation, and was conscious his spirit
had been conciliated with mine, and naught were lost for
me.

Upon whom should I then transfer this orphan leaf, that
I wrote on the day of his death, if not to the friend, who,
with so intimate sympathy heard me speak of him ; and if
it were to him but what is a withered leaf by the wind
whirled before his feet, however he will nerceivc it has
grown on a noble stem.

470 GOETHE'S COERESPOXDEXCE

I will relate here to you the issue of yon last evening
with Goethe. "When I parted he attended me with the
taper to the second room ; whilst he embraced me, the
burning candle dropj)ed from his hand ; I was about to take
it up, he would not allow it. '■ Leave it there," said he ;
"it shall burn a mark for me in the floor, where last I
beheld thee ; as often as I become aware of this burnt spot
I wiU think of thy dear appearance ; as often as I stej) on
it I shall ween as if thy hand had ensnared my foot. Be
thou ensnared to me, be mine, I am m want of thee." He
kissed me on the brow and led me out.

"Were it not wrong, that on the festival of glory the mists
of secret reproaches would arise and darken the sun-cleared
horizon, then I should here accuse, just her of whom the
friend knows that she would fam appear pure and free from
every taint of neglect in love. Yes, this ashamed heart ! —
look how great is its offence against love, to whom not only
a branch of this sacred tree of glory was intrusted ; yea, the
tree itself, which thrives these stems in everlasting rejuve-
nescence, was given to her love's care ; and she did not
care for it, and forsook the shelter of this tree, which grew
on, verdantly prospering without her.

*

O, should I never mend what I had demerited and regain
what I had lost ? Perhaps that the clipped pinions will
grow hereafter ; perhaps I shaU overtake him and come to
my place of rest, having no other mind than to enjoy rest.

TO GOETHE.

Ascended into heaven ! — the world inane ! — the pas-
turage deserted ; for certain it is that tlnj foot no more
wanders here ; may the sunshine yet lustre the tops of
yonder trees, which thou hast planted ; may the cloudy sky

•WITH A CHILD. 471

cleave asunder and the blue heaven open to them, they
never will thrive in it ; but this love ! — how were it, if
that there above spread its blossom-crown a carpet beneath
thy feet? If it strove up, on and on, till its toji would
touch the stool of thy feet, and there disfolding all its blos-
soms, whirling their fragrant sighs around thee ; — were
not that also to number to heaven's-mirth ? To God
nothing is impossible, say the godly ; and Avhat is pos-
sible that must happen, say the wise ; lovers alone say
nothing, for they have faith ; their life, their breath, dis-
plays supernal spirit ; what should they ask for more ? — I
have faith in thee, that thou dost hear me, that my sighs
ascend to thee. Here on earth it was not possible ; the
crowding coil of daily life let longing not prevail ; no lone
day, no trusty night, came to its aid. Myself ! — I myself
said a hundred times, thou art lost. Thou, Lord ! who
hearest me, to whom I intrust he may hear me, give an-
swer ! Since they say thee dead, my heart throbs with
secret expectancy : it is as if thou hadst summoned me
hence to surprise me, as heretofore in thy garden ; where
from tufted lanes thou steppedst forth, the ripe apple in thy
hand, which then I threw on before thee, to lead thy walk
to the arbor, where the great globe lay on the ground.
Then thou saidst, " There lies the globe of the world at
thy feet, and yet thou liest at my feet ! " Yes, the world
and I lay at thy feet ; that cold world above which thou
stoodst elevated, and I who strove up to thee. And thus it
came to pass : the Avorld remained lying there, and me thou
drewest up to thy heart. On thy heart, ardently throbbing
in thy breast, I lay, and did not comprehend how blissful
that was. My dear lord ! — is all that again to recover ? —
with sweet consciousness again to wander through ? — may
I absorb these tears ? may I rely on the daring conviction,
that love attains all ; and when I attain thee, wilt thou bid
me welcome ? O, root into me, ye magical powers of love !
— ye stars keep sentry, begird me ; let none, within the
sacred halo of my constellation ; none of the false, untrue
real Avorld, which became betrayer to us, and severed us,
and led me astray, me poor blind child, away from my
lord ! What have I searched, and what have I found ?
who has joyously smiled on me ? whose incoming have I
filled with the loving conscience, that he never should

472 GOETHE'S COEEESPONDENCE

inarm, one more ecstasied with happiness ? Thou wast
satisfied in me, thou didst rejoice to view the infant-heart
vigorously bursting forth tlie spring of enthusiasm ! — why
must this sprmg be drained ? could not the whole stream
of Hfe, — should it not flow on to meet thy smile, thy greet-
ing, thy beck and bidding ? — must it not turn to thy liking,
and with a thousand serpentine curls ensnare thee ; and
love, in a thousand smooth bendings, enwheel thee ? Where
was it beauteous but alone with thee ? thou wast aware of
the Graces, their far pace already echoed the rhythm of thy
inspiration ! The placid fire of thy dusky eyes, the soft
rej)osing of thy limbs, thy smilmg at my naive narrations,
thy docile devotion for my raptures. Ay, and thou leanedst
thy sacred brow on my breast and lookedst up to me, who
also became sacred by thy presence.

* * * .

TO THE FRIEND.

Perhaps I shall forfeit your little devotion to me, when
I let you down so deeply in my heart, where all is so odd
that people would say it were madness. Yes, madness is
the right partition between the eternal, immortal, and the
transient. All that comjirise life must soar up, as the eagle
soars up to the sun, and not shun the consuming of its
earthly garments in the divine fire. The spirit Avill indeed
learn to undergo its transfigurations ; he will become aware
that he is invulnerable, that he is endless.

I should tell you all more clearly, I should impart you
the story of the events within my soul, and ever let you but
perceive the exulting, the grievous exulting, of my senses.
You are my friend, or are you not, I do not know : but ever
I must consider you as such ; as you stand, amidst the secret
of my breast, a pillar on which I lean ; and if you were not
there, this epoch would overflow me, like the deluge of a
torrent, which, after the vernal-showers are withdrawn, again
softly returns into the rivets of his bed ; and as the expert
swimmer from the jeopardous height plunges into the floods,
before such eyes, to whom he would fain prove his daring :
so venture I, for you are witness of my yielding to these
demoniac powers, — these floods of tears, in which I play ;

WITH A CHILD. 473

these vernal love-inspiritings of yonder time with Goethe ;
and the upbraidings wliieh arise in me, would tear my heart
with grief, did not the friend hear and reverberate in his
own feelings what here assails me.

* * *

The last of the blooming-time is, to impregn the flower
with its fructifying dust ; then the breezes sportingly waft
the loosened leaves, trifling awhile with the apparel of
spring ; soon no eye will j)erceive their splendor, for their
season is gone ; but the seed swells, and in the fruit reveals
the mystery of generating. When these leaves of inspiration,
loosed from their stem, shall whirl about, and like yon little
blossom-crowns, having breathed their fragrance, molested
by the earthly dust, with flagged wings, at last do bed tired
beneath the ground : perhaps that then in the heart of the
friend, to whom now they breathe, the bliss of this beauteous
love between the j^oet and the cJiild gloriously avers itself.

* * *

TO GOETHE.

How desirous wast thou for love ! — how desirous wast
thou of being beloved ! — " Thou lovest me, dost thou not ?
It is indeed thy earnest, is it not ? thou hast never betrayed
me ? " — So didst thou ask, and silently I beheld thee. —
" I am easily deceived, each can delude me ; do thou not
delude me ; I will rather the truth, even if it should pain
me, than be imposed upon ! " — When excited by this con-
verse, I tenderly conferred with thee and demonstrated sweet
arguments of thy presence within me ; then thou saidst, —
" Nay, but thou art true, with such a voice love alone can
tell." — Goethe, hear me ! to-day love also speaks from me ;
to-day ! the thirtieth of March, eight days after that, of which
they say, it were the day of thy death ; since which day all
thy former rights become valid within my bosom, as if still
I lay at thy feet ; to-day love will bewail to thee. Thou on
high ! above the clouds, not saddened by their dimness ! not
disturbed by their tears, — say ! will moans throng into thine

474 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

ear ? Tliou ! poet also joncler, hearkening to plaints also
yonder, and solving into strains what thou hearest. O, solve
my plaint, and release me from this eagerness of being com-
prehended and wished for. Was it not thou who compre-
hended me, ay, with prophetic voice awoke Avithin me the
slumbering strengths of inspiration, that avouch me everlast-
ing youth, and raise me far beyond the reach of men ? Hast
thou not, in the first replying sigh to my love, richly com-
pensated all that ever could be denied me ? — Thou ! • — to
think of Avhom slowly rouses tempesting within my heart ;
where anon, electric shiverings run through the spirit ; where
anon, slumber befalls the senses ; and no comprising more
of the world's claim ! Who had ever sounded my heart ?
who has asked, Avhat ails thee ? Who has bent to the flower
to enjoy its enamel, to breathe its perfume ? — to whom the
chime of my voice, — of which thou saidst it made thee feel,
what echo must feel, Avhen the voice of a lover resounds in
her bosom, — Avould have revealed, which mysteries, by
virtue of thy poetic spells it was compelled to utter ? O
Goethe ! thou alone hast allowed me the stool of thy feet,
and avowed my insj^irations pouring before thee. Men ! a
race blind to beauty, deaf to spirit, and senseless to love !
— Why then do I lament ? — because it is so still around
me ? — or because I am so alone ? Well, then ! in this lone
space, if there is of my feelings a replying echo, it can only
be thou ; if a consoling in the free air waves towards me,
it is the breathing of thy spirit. Who besides might un-
derstand what we both with another here commune ? who
might solemnly comply to the converse of thy spirit with
me ? Goethe ! it is no more sweet, our meeting ; it is no
caressing, no mirth ; the Graces around thee no more array,
no more shape each love-whim, each sport of wit into poems.
The kisses, the sighs, the tears and smiles, no more chase
and rally each other ; it is solemn stillness, solemn doleful-
ness, which entirely seizes upon me. In my breast the har-
monies range, the strains sever, and each within its own
j^rowess against the other, is penetrated with the organs of
its own affinities, and with these powers it j^revails. So it
is within my breast, whilst I dare step before thee, in the
midst of thy Avay, where thou so hastily roamest, and ask
thee if thou still knowest me, who knows none besides thee ?
Behold, amidst this breast, the pure chalice of love filled to

WITH A CHILD. 475

the brim with harsh drink, with bitter tears of grievous
j^rivation. When the harmonies transfuse into each other,
then shakes the chahce, then stream tears ; they flow to
thee, who lovest the votaries of death ; thou who saidst, —
" To be immortal, for awaking again a thousand-fokl within
each bosom." — Nay ! then I weened, luitliin my hosom alone
thou shouldst awake ; and it is become true, and close after
thee and me, hfe is secluded. Alas, thou wakest, but I can-
not cope with thy holy presence. I venture too much, and
shrink lono-ino* for a breast that lives amongst the living
ones, that may bear with my secrets and warm me ; for to
stand before thee, gives harrowing chill ; and my hands I
must fearfully clasp, in daring to think so intimately of
thee ! — No ! — not to call upon thee, — not to tend my
hands towards thee ; in this odd vigil of the night, not gaze
after thee ; above the stars look up to thee and call thy
name, — I dare not ! — O, I am afraid of thee ! rather to
sink my look upon the tomb which covers thee, to gather
flowers and pour them to thee ; ay, we will pluck all the
sweet flowers of remembrance, they breathe so spiritly ;
may they be kept for thy remembrance and mine, or chance
may blow them away ; once more I will resume these sweet
stories of past times.

*

To-day I will tell thee how in dark night thou ledst me
unknown ways. In Weimar, when on the market we came
to the stairs, and thou descendest the first, and thou borest
me away, wrapped in thy mantle upon thy shoulder ? Is
it true, my lord ? — hast borne me with both thine arms ?
How beauteous wast thou then, how grand and noble ; how
dark fulgurated thine eye in the starry glance ! — how dark
into mine, when I sat there above on thy shoulder, fastening
me with both mine arms round thy neck. How blissful I
was ; how didst thou smile, that I was so blissful ; how didst
thou rejoice to have me, and bear me waving above thy
head ; how did I rejoice ! — and then I swung over to the
right shoulder, not to tire the left. Thou letst me see,
through the illumined windows, a series of peaceful eyes of
old and young, by the lamp's light or before the blazing
kitchen-fire ; also the little dog and the kitten sat by. Thou

476 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

saidst, — " Is not that a merryful galleiy of pictures ? " — so
we passed from one dwelling to the other along the gloomy
streets, till we came in the park beneath the high trees. I
touched the boughs, and the birds startled away ; how we
both rejoiced and laughed ! — children thou and I, — and
now ? — thou a spirit, ascended to the heavens ; and I ? —
unfulfilled, unawaited for, uncomprehended, unloved ! Nay,
they might ask, who art thou, and what is thy want ? and
should I answer them, they would say, we understand thee
not. But thou didst comprehend me, and openedst tliine
arms and thy heart to me, and each demand was answered
and each Avoe was cahned. Yonder in the park we went
hand in hand beneath the thick-foliage d trees ; thou gavest
me many sweet names, they resound still in my ear : he-
loved heart! my fine child! how much did that ravish me,
to know how thou wouldst call me ; then arose the moon ;
thou also wast delighted : thou rejoicedst not at the moon,
thou rejoicedst at my delight, and I ? — why did I applaud
the moon ? — - was I not happy to be with thee ? — what was
to me the moon ? — but now thy lips kissed my brow ; thy
closed lips so stately, so consummately, jDronouncing what is
beauty. Say ! — can form decay when it is sjjirit ? Did
not thy lips express thy poet-tongue ; thine eye thy poet
spirit ; and thy nose, thy brow so pure, so proud, maintain-
ing its dignity ? Can form decay, which so answers for it-
self ? — and soul and mind and body shall he kept clean and
hlameless, all to share in divine hliss. Ay, beauty is a divine
bliss ; and what is the sj)irit's beauty ? — to be kept free
from sin, free from law. All nursing of the soul to be pure,
be heaven's-bread ; . each demand be granted, for the soul
shall become free. And on what her instinct lays claim,
that must nourish her raciness, her sensuosity to become
enhghtening, to stand the test of inspiration; in the meat
of love to feel of spirit the vital power.

* * *

But yonder, beneath the trees, thou didst kiss the playing
shadows on my head, and not didst talk philosophy ; and to
be together with thee is more wisdom than any philosophy.
And thou didst whisper a litany of sweet names upon my
brow, and I was rejoiced to learn them, and re^Dcated them

WITH A CHILD. 477

in my mind, not to forget them. " Thou Httle mouse," thou
saiclst, " come ! " and ledst me to the well, that issued, like a
green crystal-globe, amidst the turf; there we stood a httle
while, hearkening to its music ; — "it sings ever, bul, bul,"
I said ; " ay, it calls, in Persian tongue, to the nightingale ;
no wonder, when in- future I sing ever like the rill, for I will
ever call on thee, as thou art my nightingale, and warblest
all songs into my soul.'^ — Then we went further, — beau-
teous night ! — thou ledst me by my hand ; we looked at
each other, bedewed with trembling light-droplets, which the
moon scattered down upon us, through the hiding shadows
of yon high trees. Then thou saidst, — " Those I have
planted ere many, many years, and ever delighted in see-
ing them thrive so luxuriously ; this year they are most
gorgeously foliaged ; to help solemnizing thy presence, they
pour those moon-diamonds upon thee." — All these speeches
were electric showers ; I shivered at thy words, they flew
into my breast as were they birds, and would build a nest
there ; or they would call my soul a young bird with its
flixy wings to soar up ; — and I durst not utter a word ; thy
smiling seemed to me so grand, that I w,as ashamed to let
hear my voice ; in this stillful, breath-stopping j)ause, I was
not thinking, I Avas only filled with thy presence.

Look hoiu, in the dubious gloom, all the branches glow and
bloom ; star on star is j^lctginf/ down, through the bushes, em-
eraldhj, fulgurating thousandfoldly, yet thy mind is far from
all. " I will kiss thee," said I.*

We went home ; at the door I asked, " Shall we part
now ? " — thou camest up the stairs with me and enteredst
my room ; I leaped to the sofa, and there I snugged myself
in thine arms, and closed them fast rouiid my neck. Then
it was so stillful near thy heart, I heard it throb, I heard
thee breathing ; then I hearkened to it, and had no other
mind than to hear thee live. O thou ! — my heart pangs ;

* AVest-eastern divan : Suleika named.
Full-moon-night.
Schan ! Im zweifclliaftcn Dunkel
Gliihen bliihend alle Zweige,
Kiederspielet Stern auf Stem,
Und smaragden durch's Gestriiuche
Tausendfaltiger Karfunkel,
Docli Dein Geist ist allem fern.
Ich wiU klissen, sagt' icli.

478 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

— here, long after midnight, alone with thee in the remem-
brance of yon hour, so many years gone, so penetrated with
that love of thine, that my tears must flow ; and thou, no
more on earth, beyond, where I reach thee not, where my
prayers do not resound ! — alas ! tears ! will they flow to
the beloved into the other world, — or is all for nauaht ?
So time passed on thy breast, not presuming that it could
pass over, all was managed for eternity. Twilight; the
night-lamp cast a dubious shine on the ceiling, the flame
began to crackle and flashed u-p ; had it not, thou wouldst
not have awaked so soon out of thy deep dream-musing.
Perhaps I should have passed a whole hour more in thy
arms ; perhaps I should have seen the sun rise there. Thou
turnedst thy head towards me, and beheldst me a long while,
then leanedst me softly out of thine arms and saidst : " I will
go ! — look, how ambiguously the night-lamp burns, — how
movable the shine of its blaze plays on the ceiling : even
as unsafely burns a flame in my bosom ; I am not sure it
should flare up and scorch thee and me." — Thou pressedst
both my hands with thine, thou didst go, and gave me no
kiss, as heretofore, Avhen thou didst go away. First ! — as
it is strange with lovers, — I was quite calm, I felt me
glory-filled and still inwrapped in glory, but suddenly I
cried for grief, that thou wast gone. I called upon thee,
I searched for one to whom I could complain, that I had
thee no more. I was so very alone, I knelt on the table
before the mirror ; there my pale face looked at me with
dark eyes : so very dolefully it looked, that from pity I
broke forth in tears.

LETTER TO A FRIEND.

I w^ouLD not have "vvi'ote this, were not your letter, after
Goethe's death, the impulse to the reviving of my memory.
It is as if each breath out of the j^ast time would rise ; and
what I thought forgotten, with prodigious power lays hold
on me, and discharges the fire of concealed jDangs upon my
cheeks ; — shall I here alone bear all, or do I not in vain
ask you to share in it ? Lo, it is so gracious, nay, even de-
lightful a task to console, I have no doubt you would accept

WITH A CHILD. 479

of what my remembrance dares offer you, wliich once more
usliers in this love's full power and everlastingness upon me.

So far I have written this night ; now the day is dawning,
I Avill still write down how the agonized soul, with all the
strength of wilful youth, assuaged itself. I had no presen-
sions, no idea, that I could go out of these four walls and
come to the door where Goethe dwelled ; that I could lean
there my head upon the sill and find rest there ; the voice
kept silence which could have instructed me, that it depend-
ed only upon me to become blissed in one moment for aye.
Had but that inly voice reminded me, how often heretofore
my quick fancy found a way to him when I spoke with his
mother ; or how, in musing, which always borrows of imagi-
nation what it is in want of, I weened to climb up the vine-
laths, which ascended to the window of his closet ; had I
said to myself that these vine-laths were not ten steps afar ;
that now I could indeed ascend them, and could knock at
the window, and to be sure, joyfully surprised, he would
open it, and draw me to his heart ; — had I told that to
myself, and had not hazarded upon this adventure, then that
very innocence of which I was penetrated, might be denied
me. I, innocent, and he indiscreet, — that was our partition-
wall, not virtue ; virtue is not the genius of innocence.

Kneeling on the table before the looking-glass, at the un-
steady flickering of the night-lamp, seeking for help within
my own eyes, that with tears replied to me ; with lips trem-
bling, the hands so fastly clasped upon my breast grievously
filled with sighs. Lo ! how often had I wished once to dare
pronounce his own poems before him ; — suddenly it came
into my mind, how, ere a few moments, the great tall oaks
in the moonlight had rustled above us ; then I remembered
the monologue of Iphigenia.*

* Forth ! — in your shades, ye breeze-removed tops
Of the ancient sacred, thiclc-foliagod grove,
As in the goddess silent sanctuary
Still now with awful shivering I step,
As did I for the first time tread on them,
And not does here the mind inure itself.
So many a year preser\'es me here concealed
A will, sublime, to which I am addicted ;

480 GOETHE'S CORRESPOXDENCE

There I stood before the glass and spoke this monologue
aloud, with art-inspirited enthusiasm, fancying as if Goethe
would hearken to me ; often I stopped, — the low, detained
trembling of my voice, intimated me the pauses so very mo-

Yct e'ei* like in the first still am I strange,

For oil ! the sea parts me from my beloved,

And on the shoi-e I stand the tarrying days,

Searching the land of Grecians "vvith my soul;

And to reply my sighs, the billoAV brings

But over to me, mournfully roaring tunes.

Woe man, who, far from parent, brother, sister,

Lonesomely lives ! — to him consuming grief

Frets the next hap away before his lips.

To him the musing thoughts swarm ever down

Towards his father's halls, whereat, the sun

Before him first disclosed heaven, where

The fellowborn did playing strong and stronger

"With cheerful bands unite each to the other.

Against the gods, I dare not contest ; — but

Tiie state of women is commiserable ;

At home and in the war man does govern ;

In foreign lands, he knows how to behave ;

Possession he enjoys; victor}^ crowns him;

A glorious death will be reserved for him.

How close ensnared is fortune for a wife;

Kay, to obey the spouse's nide commands

Is dvity and console; how pitiful

When hostile fate drives her in foreign lands.

Thus keeps me Thoas here, a noble man.

Fettered in stern and sacred slavish bands.

O, how ashamed do I own, that I

But with a still reluctance serve thee, goddess.

Thee, my rescuer! — my life should wholly be

Devoted uncompelled to thy service.

Also I ever hoped for thee ! — and hope

Still now for thee, Diana! thou Avho hast

Within thy sacred, gentle anns received

j\Ie, — of the greatest king the out-cast datighter.

Ay, Jove's daughter, if thou once wilt lead

Homeward the magnanimous man, whom thou

AVith pangs didst strike, demanding for his daughter;

If once by thee the godlike Agamemnon,

Who brought his most beloved to thy altar,

From Troya's crushed walls glorious be led

Back to his fatherland, and thou for him

Hast spared the spouse, Electra, and the son,

The beauteous treasures all, — then give at length

;Me also back again to mine ; and do

Rescue me, whom thou didst rescue from death,

Also from living here, the second death.

Goethe's '■'•Monologue of Tphigenia.''^

Heraus in Eure Schatten, rege Wipfel
Des alten, heil'geu, dichtbelaubteu Haines,

WITH A CHILD. 481

mentous in these past and future-raising speeches. My
emotion, my spirit, by Goethe's spirit deeply-moved, pre-
vailed in me this dramatical effusion ; I clearly felt inspir-

Wie in der Gottin stilles Heiligthum,

Tret' ich noch jetzt mit shaudenidem Gefiihl,

Als wenu icli sie zum erstenmal betriite,

Und es gewohnt sicli nicht mein Geist hierher.

So manclies Jahr bewahrt mich hier verborgen

Ein holier Wille dem ich mich ergebe ;

Doch immer bin ich, wie im ersten, fremd.

Denn acli, mich trennt das Meer von den Geliebten,

Und an dem Ufer steli' ich lange Tage :

Das Land der Griechen mit der Seele sucliend ;

Und gegen meine Senfzer bringt die Welle

Km* dumpfe Tone brausend mir heriiber.

AVeh dem, der fern von Eltern und Geschwistern

Ein einsam Leben fiihrt ! Ihm zehrt der Gram

Das ntichste Gliick von seinen Lippen weg.

Ihm schwiirmen abwiirts immer die Gedanken

Nach seines Vaters Hallen, wo die Sonne

Zuerst den Himmel vor ihm aufschlofs, wo

Sicli jNIitgeborne, spielend fest und fester

Mit sanften Banden aneinander kniipften.

Ich rechte mit den Gottern nicht; allein

Der Frauen Zustand ist beklagenswerth.

Zu Haus und in dem Kriege heiTscht der Mann,

Und in der Fremde weifs er sich zu helfen ;

Ihn freuet der Besitz, ilm kront der Sieg ;

Ein ehrenvoller Tod ist ihm bereitet,

Wie eng gebunden ist des Weibes Gliick !

Schon einem rauhen Gatten zu gehorchen,

Ist Pflicht und Trost ; wie elend wenn sie gar

Ein feindlich Schicksal in die Feme ti-eibt ! —

So hiilt mich Thoas hier, ein edler Mann,

In ernsten, heil'gen Sclavenbanden fest.

0 wie beschamt gesteh' ich, dafs ich Dir

!Mit stillem Widerwillen diene, Gottin,

Dir meiner Eetterin ! mein Leben sollte

Zu freiem Dienste Dir gewidmet sein.

Audi hab' ich stets auf Dich gehofft und hofle

Noch jetzt auf Dich, Diana, die Du mich

Des gi'ofsten Koniges verstofsne Tochter,

In Deinen heil'gen sanften Arm genommen.

Ja, Tochter Zevs, wenn Du den hoheu Mann,

Den Dii, die Tochter fordenid, iingstigtest,

Wenn Du den guttergleiclien Agamemnon,

Der Dir sein Liebstes zum Altare brachte.

Von Trojas umgewandten ^laixem riihmlich

Nach seinem Vaterland zuriickbegleitet,

Die Gattin ihm, Elektren und den Sohn,

Die schonen Schiitze, wohlerhalten hast:

So gieb audi mich den ]\Ieinen endlich wieder,

Und rette mich die Du vom Tod' errettet,

Audi von dem Lebeu liier, dem zweiten Tode.

Goethe's " Monolog der J/)higenia.'''

31

482 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

ited witli his own inspiration. I felt as in a cloud ascend-
ing ; a divine power wafted this cloud towards him, the
love-inspiriting one, and in sooth in the glorifying of his
own work. How could I more forcibly have been pene-
trated by his genius ? All this longing pang dissolved in
joyful wing-rushing of the spirit ; as the young eagle not
soaring up, with his 2)inions only beckons the sun, feeling
valiant to ^^ursue him on his course ; so I was, — cheerly
and delighted I went to bed ; sleep overpoured me like the
refreshing shower, that follows a storm.

* -» «

So since ever to this very moment, all unsatisfied desire,
by sensuousness of art, will be transi:)orted to a higher state ;
and if anything bears witness for a transfiguration yonder,
it is, that all sensation, arising from holy Nature, if not
prosj)erous in its passion, exalts to a longing, by which the
sensually evolved spirit strives to transfigure itself, and pass
over into a higher world, where the sensual becomes also
sj^irit.

No spirit comes forth but out of a sensual bottom, and
which does not derive from that, is but ephemeric ; he who
Avere so disposed, that the very germ of spirituous desire
were not received by sensual nature, would soon, from a
magic evolution in his sjiirit, from high-minded sensation
degrade to the feel of inanity. If, perchance, a third had
perceived this dramatic glorifying of my longing ; the easy
strain of my countenance ; the low steps, the timorous look-
ing for the temple ; the disposing of my garments ; the mod-
ulating of my voice ; could he ever ween how deeply love
insinuated this performance ? — that Avitli it, the j)ure, un-
offenced spring bloolned forth from its cover in these prem-
ises of my feelings ?

I thank my friend, that I dare relate to him all my
feelings ; they evolve of Goethe's unhurt piety^ the infinite
genius, engenerating in the bosom of an innocent Avoman,
softly to rule his ardent-spirited darling, that she might
ever feel happy and in full harmony witli him. I cannot

WITH A CHILD. 483

elucidate what passes witliin me since lie is dead ; — deej)
remembrances, shooting forth like plants, ambrosial begem-
med, opening to the ambient light of marvelling truth. I
feel the air wafting still his breath to me ; I feel the beam
of his atmos])here warm and enlighten me ; I look around
to see him ; I feel my earthly spirit inflecting and refracting
the ray of his supernal one ; none can unriddle what I am,
nor what poAver my spirit is possessed of ; and how deeply,
by the favor of a propitious constellation, my percipient
genius, like a new moon, may grow or wane, rise or set.
Thus let not your own mind be ruffled by others' judgment :
and I will also not lose my trust, spite of dreary night-spec-
tres, scared up to haunt me.

* « *

Wert thou with me, Goethe ! — now, in this moment.
Once the sky bedewed thy slumbering brow, amidst Na-
ture's young sleeping brood ; the early breeze awaked the
blossoms with playing round thy breast ; and the sun, before
it set, did woo thy ardent look. Thou ! of poets the prince,
wast pleased to feel straightly in the mid of thy bosom, the
nightingale resound his lay. Thy proud bosom swelled by
spumy dreams of love before a prosperous gale ; when time,
the powerful torrent inspirited with youth, bore thee on his
surges, towards the hankering mind, to meet Avitli thee for
a moment ; but those surges rolled away, and they never
return.

TO GOETHE.

Fr03I unmeasured height the stars stream their light
down to the earth ; and the earth becomes green, and blows
in many thousand flowers, aloft to the stars.

Love's spirit also streams down from unmeasured height
into the bosom of man, and to this spirit also smiles a bloom-
ing spring. Thou ! — as the stars are pleased, in the golden
flower-field, to be reverberated on the fresh, verdant ground,
thus be thou pleased, that thy higher genius for thee calls
forth thousandfold blossom of feelings out of my breast ;
everlasting dreams entwine my senses ; dreams are foams !
ay, they foam up and rush to heaven.

484 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE

And lo ! he comes ! — give way ! — prodigious stillness in
Avide Nature ! — no breeze moving, no thought moving, —
without reluctance, at his feet the mind fettered to him ! —
can I love him, so high aloft, above myself? O world, but
thou art narrow ! — the mind does not its pinions o ce stretch
out, without to strain them far beyond thy reach. The
wood, the verdant jilain I must desert, the play-ground of
his poetical delight ; I fancy me touching his mantle's skirt,
and my hands to stretch forth to him, who in earlier days,
to me counted golden moments ; when I sat at his feet and
kissed his hand, and caressed him with speeches ; and his
mind was so nigh to mine, that ay he said to all, and drew
my curls through his fingers and played with my ear ; and
raised my head, to regard the moon and stars ; and should
relate fine things of the moon, how she ascends the heights
to crown the tops with lily-chaplets, and pour silver-streams
in tenebrose wildernesses, filling their ravines with splen-
dor, when stillness watches over the wafting vapors around.
" Thou whimsey moon," said I, " givest whims that, like yon
catcliing clouds, impetuously roll on after each other, to veil
my hap ; and as thy vapor-dividing light victoriously breaks
forth to defy the nubiferous gale, thus darts on me the
glance of him whose knees I here embrace. So moon,
thou art the secret divine ; and like thee, moon, he is the
secret divine ; who like thee, onesided moon, pours down
his liirht over the want of love." And now, in the dazzlinsj
glimmer of my tears, I see him cloud-compelling, walk a
silver-lining path, casting a claim at me to follow ! — I lack !
— hard before, he stepped this cloudy style ; his breath
agrees still with the air ; I might drink it, I dare not ; I
am not strong to bear the violence impassionate, that prances
over the bounds. O lead me over the plain, where once
my genius led me to meet with him, in the season when
youth gemmed its blossoms ; when first the eye opened to
light ; and he, fully darting, engaged my look, and darkened
each other light to me.

*

0 come in, as first thou camest before the face of that
pale-waning, speechless maiden, obeying the fate of love ;
fainting away as she saw the falchion of decree flashing in

WITH A CHILD. 485

thine eye, and thou didst catcli her in thine arms and
drink my glowing blood from my cheek ; in thy enclosing
arms at once assuagedst this heart hankering since many
years ; and peace came o'er me on thy breast, a sweet,
sweet slumber for a moment, or was I stunned ? I never
knew. It was a deep pause ; thou didst bend thy brow
over mine, to shelter me in thy shadow ; and when I awoke,
thou wouldst say, " Thou hast slept in my arms." " Long ? "
I asked ; " well, strains which long since had not resounded
within my breast, vibrated, and so time is gone." Thy dim
eye, how mildly thou lookedst on me ; and all was new for
me, — a human face, first stared at, tranced in love. Thy
face, O Goethe, never to compare to another, at once
striking my soul with light. 0 glorious man ! — now also,
I feel myself under thy darting looks. I know thy lips
dew balm upon me from the clouds. I feel myself as
burdened with fruits of blissfulness, all ripened by thy fire-
beaming genius. Thou lookest upon me, down from celestial
heights ; let it be unknown to me, for I would not bear it ;
thou hast taken me from thyself; where stand I firm? —
the ground reels ; I feel myself no more on earth. My
soul buoys up, I do no more know any one ; I have no
thought, I have no will but to sleep, bedded in clouds, on
the steps o thy celestial chair. Thy glance, keeping over
me fire-vigil ; thy all-inarming spirit, bending over me in the
blossom-carouse of thy love-carols. Thou, lisping over me,
nightingale-fluting the groans of my languishing pants.
Thou ! storming over me, weather-stressing the frenzy of
passion. Thou ! shouting, heaven-urging the eternal hymns
of love, that, warbling, rebound on the heart. Ay ! at thy
feet I will sleep, while thou, valiant one ! poet ! prince !
lightsomely grazing the clouds, evolvest yon harmonies,
rooted within my heart.

* * *

Prayers ascend to heaven ! — what is he who also as-
cends to heaven ? — he also is prayer, matured in the
shelter of the muses. Eros, the celestial, to light before,
severs the clouds on his way.

486 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDEXCE

His pride ! his sacred pride in his beauty ! They say, it
"were not possible, he having ah-eady been sixty years of
age, when I had firstly seen him, and I a fresh rose. 0,
there is a difference between the freshness of youth and
that beauty by the divine spirit inculcated to human fea-
tures, through which inspiration persjiires a halo, and, un-
hurt by lowness, its fragrance freely evolves.

Beauty is secluded from what is low and isolated by what
is noble, being in itself, and having its own sanction to keep
vigil between it and the world. Beauty fades not, its bloom
only loosens from the stem that bore it; its bloom sinks
not in dust, it is Avinged and ascends to heaven. They who
saw Jam, must yield, that beauty, which by other men only
invest the outer shape Avith a higher spirit, here in its ap-
pearance Avithal, streams forth from it, and rules over it ;
and so bails his claim to the celestial.

^ * *

Goethe, I yield to thy beauteousness, and would not a
second time tempt thee, as then in Weimar in the library
at the pillar fronting thy bust, which in the fortieth year
of thy age evolved the full harmony of thy immarcessible
beauty. There thou hast led the young maiden ; and thou,
wrapped in thy green mantle, leanedst on the pillar, sound-
ing if in these rejuvened features she should remind the
present friend ; but I would not mind it ; — alas, cheery
love-visions, secret merriment, would not let it 'scape from
out my hps. " WellV — he impatiently asked. " He must
have been a beautiful man," I said. " Yes ! forsooth I he
could say in his time he was a beautiful man," — said
Goethe, irritated. I would come near him, and with sooth-
ing implore him ; he escaped, he held me aloof ; and when
I touched his hand, he sluns; me from him. For a moment
I was perplexed ; — " stay ! like this image," I cried : " then
I Avill woo thee calm auain ! wilt thou not ? — well ! then I
forsake the living one, and kiss the stone so long, till
grudsinirlv thou hast snatched me from it." I embraced
the bust ; I bent my brow on this majestic brow ; I kissed
these marble-lips, I lent cheek to cheek. Suddenly he
raised me from it in his arms. '^ 'T is time," said I, " for
nearlv I had abandoned me to the stone " : he lifted me

WITH A CHILD. 487

liio-li in his arms, this man of threescore years; he looked
up to me, and gave me sweet names : " Child of my good
stars ! child of my gods ! thou liest in the cradle of my
breast."* AYhat beautiful words were that in which he
harbored me, what a hallowed music by which he immortal-
ized me ! After having awhile thus ardently beheld me,
he let me down, wrapped my arm into his mantle, and held
my hand on his throbbing heart, and so Avith lingering
paces we went home. I said, " How thy heart beats ! " —
" It beats not for me," he replied ; " the seconds, that with
such a throbbing assault my heart, they, with impassionate
violence rush upon thee, thou also thrivest the irretrievable
time for me to forego." Lo ! so finely he snatched the
impulse of his heart with sweet expressions, he, the irrefra-
gable poet!

* Thou lookest so stern, beloved ! with thy styled
]\Iarble bust here 1 'd like thee to compare;
As this, thou givest no sign of living air;
Likening it to thee, the stone seems mild.

The foe doth parry with his shield for 's best
The friend to us, shows openly his brow.
I strive to thee, Avhilst thou wilt 'scape me now;
0 brave it out, as doth this artful crest !

To which of these should I now have recourse ?
;Miist I of both here suffer cold and Avrong,
As this is dead, and thou alive t' is said?

Brief, not to lose more words nor make it worse,
This stone I shall caress and avoo so long,
Till thou art jealous, and Avilt me from it lead.

Du siehst so ernst, Geliebter ! Deinem Bilde
Yon ]Mai-mor hier muclit' ich dich wohl vergleichen;
Wie dieses giebst du mir kein Lebenszeichen;
Mit dir vci'^lichen zeigt der Stein sich mildc.

Der Feind verbirgt sich hinter seinem Schildc.
Der Freund soil otfeu seine Stiru uns reichen.
Ich suche dich, du suchst mir zu entwcichen;
Doch halte Stand, wie dieses Kunstgcbilde.

An wen von beiden soil ich nun mich Avenden ?
Sollt' ich A'on beiden Kiilte leiden miissen,
Da dieser todt und du lebendig heifsest ?

Kurz, um der "Worte niehr nicht zu A'erscIiAvcnden,
So Avill ich dreseu Stein so lange kiissen,
Bis eiferslichtig du mich ihm entreifsest.

Goethe's Werke, II. Band.

488 GOETHE'S CORRESPOXDEXCE

My friend, good night ! weep witli me for a moment, ■

for behold, midnight is ah'eady past; midnight, which has
raft him away.

* * *

Yesterday I mused over him ; no, not mused, I had
ahnost communion with him. Pain to me is not feehn^,
it is thinking ; my heart is not moved, it is excited. I
was afflicted in my thoughts ; I have also dreamed of him,
and awakened very grateful, that he had gratified me with
his presence in dream, though the heavenly spirits can do
all without trouble. Goethe, silent and portentous, led me
along the shore of a river. I know also that he spoke
single words, but not what ; the dusk swerved like lacerated
mist-clouds driving ; — then I saw the glitter of the stars
vibratmg in the water ; — my peaceable steps on his side
made the moving of Nature more sensible to me ; it moved
me and moves me still now while I write. "What is emo-
tion ? — is it not divine force, wliich enters through my
soul as through the porch into my spirit ; breaks in, mingles,
and blends with powers Avhich before were untouched ; with
them engenders new sensations, new thoughts, and new
faculties. Thus a dream leads and directs the spirit of man-
kind ; — is it not also a dream, which sj)reads the emerald
carpet before your feet and embroiders it with golden
flowers ; and all the beauty which moves you, is it not a
dream? — all what you want of, do you not dream your-
self to be jDOSsessed of it ? Alas, and having dreamed thus,
must thou not make it true or die for lono-ino;? And is
the dream within dream not the free arbitrary will of our
spirit, that gives all what the soul demands ? Mirror front-
ing mirror, Avith the soul amid, to show her endless in ever-
lastino; transfijxuration ?

Those vague glimmers in the air, those refracting light-
rays in the surgy water, are they not the mirror-shape of
my waving mind ? and he who placidly, silence-breathing
led me at his hand, quieting my panting senses, were he not
like the divine spirit of life, consuming the bad and purify-
ing the good in me ? So plainly I dreamed, and by this
dream am advised, as Salomo was by his friend, the angel
of death, who also is the genius of life. And like the sun

WITH A CHILD. 489

every clay shines anew, thus God every clay darts the beam
of revelation into mankind, although not every day minded
to accept of it. But love enters the bosom and plants in it
desire for revelation ; and to this dream forth-streaming, my
bosom opened ; like the rose-cup, exhaling and glowing, does
to the sun. Goethe led me down the river along the tufted
banks, and bade me sleep and wait for the day, as it was
night ; and Avaiting for the day, I fell asleep, as was his bid-
ding ; and in the morning, Avhen I awoke out of this double-
sleep, it was as if, in the dream of yon dreamed night, he
had imparted me bliss.

Wednesday,

Also in this night I have dreamed of him, I must write
it down ; it was ever my most ardent desire to see him in
dream, and it would not do as only now while he is dead.
The mind never by itself so daringly trusts in the floods of
life, as when the dream egregiously navigates through which
way in real life should have led me to him ? But dream
has done it ; so simple, so sensuous of that mental rhythm
within my feelings for him. Were I ever dream-inspirited,
I should not derogate from harmony with genius. It was
night ; through its gauze I could discern the hues of the
manifold flowers, spread on the turf-carpet before his dwell-
ing ; the most flowrets Avere white, the gales moved them ;
in the midst of the green lay stones and fragments of ruins,
tumbled over one another. I climbed on them to see into
the ilhmiinated room ; the windows were open, the curtains
were wafted to me by the breeze. Suddenly I saw his
shape walking through the room, laying his hand on his
brow, as musing into the far ; tlien tlie curtains sunk and
the breeze softened. O Avould thoy waft once more to me,
that I might reach them and lujld tliem fast ; sightfully to
drink this view of him, as one thirstily drinks out of a clear
bourn, which brings heahli in its surges ; but the curtain
moved never, as I could not dream any more, — I must
awake by the great stillness in all Nature around. I
mused about this dream, and as I traced the truth in it,
I felt blessed to have seen him ; had the dream dared
delude me, then perhaps it had passed the limits of the
possible, and Goethe could not have aojreed with it. But

490 GOETHE'S CORRESPOXDEXCE

it enliglitened for a moment the mirror of my desire, and
so I saw liim.

As blessed spirits are busy to thrive the strength of Na-
ture in blossom, so they also transfuse thinkins; and feelinsr
into a spirituous blooming. To muse is to dream, and the
evaporating of the vernal-ground is also the strength which
sprouts forth in flowers, and is the musing of Nature's ge-
nius; what is kept in him must thrive in him; so I must ^
kept in this love by Nature's genius. The simplest gemi
of truth reaches to all-comprising sight, like the smallest
path that leads at last on the height where I am pleased
to behold these romantic wildernesses of my life-shores ;
lone, darksome, rugged, not easily to climb up, not easily
to move freely on their tops ; but to survey life from there
adown, is grand. Often I feel myself as wimpled in balmy
vapor, and it is, as that cloud durst only lift, to soar me
out of temporal life. And from out these heights I look
nowhere, I search nowhere, but for the place at his feet.
Never believe, that even the shadow of his siirht were for-
saken to me ; — the sound of his voice frequents my ear ; I
suddenly hear it, when all other voices which daily I hear,
have no home within my memory. I have no memory, I
have a sacred presence ; my i3resence is possessed of that
time I lived in love ; my senses tide on it, as does ebb and
flow. Ay ! this flood tides ever and anon, uproaring on
the cold, ruggy shores of life, foaming, boiling, and quaffing
down itself.

Plere on earth the senses are not clear ; they lie under
the dream-carpet. Life is not yet born into light ; it still
reposes, as immatured fruit, in Nature's womb, which God
has impregnated with the human mind to ripen into self-
consciousness, and in the richt moment to beteem into lisrht.
The innermost srerm in the core of life is bodimr, strivimr to
ripen into self-consciousness ; as betides to our understand-
ing, so is our Avill swathed up in Nature. Like the fruit in
the Momb, which soaks nurture, and moves and strives to
light, and spurs Nature to bring it forth, thus does the mind,
and so will become to us as to the fruit when it is ripe.
We are the fruit of Nature's love, and with sharp throes
we shall be born to light ; and that I reply when they ask

WITH A CHILD. 491

about this love, that I lie in the womb of Nature, striving
for light by this love's throes, as man has not power to do
otherwise.

This all, I have no doubt, prepares for a higher organiza-
tion, — a string having sensual life, would thus be touched
by vibration, when the master over harmonies would make
it chime through all modulations ; as I am touched, that love
forthwith makes me chime within its harmonies.

* * *

TO THE FRIEND.

You want I should tell you of him more, all ? — how
dare I ? most too grievous it would be, parted from him, to
recall all this love. No, when it comes so that I might sec
and speak to him, as it happened to me these two days ;
when I can pray to him as formerly ; when I can hope that
he again would turn the eternal, holy speech of his look to
me, then I will impart you the remembrances which out of
this look beckons to me. Thus it will also happen ; it is
not possible, that only because the earthly veil is sunk from
him, all this should no more exist or alter. I will confide ;
and what others deem to be impossible, shall become pos-
sible to me. What would love be, if it were nothing but
what the dull perceive in their oAvn mind ; alas ! they per-
ceive nothing but its flowing off. Even in the moment
when happiness makes us bold enough to summon eternity
as a witness of it, we have a foreboding that for love we are
not able ; alas ! we rather know nothing of love. To know
of love and to he in love, is a difference ; I have hiown of it
when I Avas no more in it. This is the difference : to live
171 it, then we live in mystery ; the inward man does not
comprehend the effect which it has upon him. To live out
of it, then we live in revelation, we become aware how a
higher world once had received us ; we feel the mark of a
former divine touch, — what first but seemed jesting love,
we account now as heavenly wisdom. We are moved, that
the god was so near to us, that our earthly part in him did
not consume; that we still live, still exist, still think; that
Ave did not forever give up what, in a happy hour in the
bosom of the friend, we so easily renounce, that is, to be
anything else but deeply felt by the beloved.

492 GOETHE'S COEEESPONDENCE

Once I stood at the window with him. It was moon-
shine ; the shade of the vine-leaves played on his face, the
wind agitated them, so that his eye was alternately in dark,
and again sparkling in moonhght. I asked, " What says
thine eye ? " — for it seemed to me as if it chatted. " Thou
pleasest me ! " — " What do thy looks say ? " — " Thou
pleasest me more than any other can please me," said he.
" 0, pray tell me, what means thy piercing look ? " did I
ask, for I thought his rej^ly an evasion to my question.
" My look asserts," said he, " what I say, and swears what
I dare not swear, that no spring, no summer, no autumn nor
Mdnter, shall delude my look from thee. For thou smilest
on me, as thou never smilest on the world ; shall I then not
swear to thee, what I never swore to mankind ? "

Often it is as a beam of light, that breaks through my
senses, flashing up in remembrances ; of which I hardly
know, whether they are important enough to mark them
as something happened. In Nature, Avhate'er can mirror,
reflect the characters of love ; the lake paints the lofty trees
which surround it, just the highest tops in the deepest deep ;
and the lofty stars still find a deeper deep in it, and love,
that produced all, forms the foundation of all ; and thus I
can rightly say, unfathomable mystery lures all to the mirror
of love, be it ever so mean, be it ever so far.

The first time I met with him, then I told him that jeal-
ousy had teased me, since I knew of him. Not his poems,
not his works, had so impassionately disposed me. I was
too much moved even before I had seen him ; my senses
were too much perplexed to comprehend the sense of his
works. I was bred up in the nunnery, and had not yet
learned to understand poetry ; but in my sixteenth year
already I was so much transported by him, that whene'er
his name was mentioned, be it in praise or blame, my heart
throbbed impetuously. I think it was jealousy, a giddiness
overcame me ; were it at table that my grandmother spoke
at times of him, then I was no more able to eat ; when the
conversation lasted longer, then my senses reeled, I was no
more aware of anything, all fermented about me ; and when
I was alone, I burst in tears, I could not read in books, I
was too much moved ; it was as if my life, like a torrent,
was rushing in a thousand cascades down over rocks and
chffs, and it lasted long before it settled into calmness.
Somebody came, who had a seal-ring on his finger, and

WITH A CHILD. 493

said, Goethe had given it to him. Of this I complained to
Goethe, at my first interview, hoAV it had grieved me, that
he could so carelessly give away a ring, even before know-
ing me. He did not smile at these strange love-complaints,
lie looked mildly down upon me, who confidently sat at his
knees, on a footstool. When I went away, he put a ring
'pon my finger and said, " If any one says again he had got
a ring from me, then say thou, Goethe reminds no ring hut
this." Then he pressed me to his heart, I counted its palpi-
tations, " I hope thou wilt not forget me, it would be un-
grateful ; I have, without conditions, complied with all thy
claims, as far as possible." Then thou lovest me, I said,
and eternally, for else I am more poor than ever ; nay, I
must despair.

* * *

This morning I received a letter from Chancellor Miiller,
who wrote about Goethe, as follows : " He died the most
blissful death, with consciousness, cheerful, without a fore-
boding of his decease till his last breath, quite painless. It
was a gradual soft sinking and dying of the flame of life,
without a struggle. His last demand was for light ; half an
hour before his end, he ordered, ' Open the shutters, that
more light may enter.' "

*

TO GOETHE.

To-day let us change my strain upon the lyre ! To-day
I am so happy, dear lord and master ! To-day a surprising,
a glorious resolution has flashed up within my mind, that
will bring me so near to thee. Thou, a refining fire, hast
pervaded me, and consumed all that 's unruly and vain, — it
rushes so delightfully through me, — no time more exalted,
more juvenile from to-day, till beyond to thee.

AVho dares presume to cope with me ? What 's their
behest ? Would those judge me ? AVho knows, who feels
me, will not judge. As the sunbeams quivering play on
thy brow, so love and fancy play on my heart ; and do I
love one, then honor decks him ; and do I call one friend,
then he is glorified, thus i:)laced close to thee.

When raved and swept the tempest in me, then delight

494 GOETHE'S COERESPONDENCE

of love streamed melodies therein, and inspiration led them
into the all-enrushing ocean of harmonies. Thou didst listen
to me, and leave to others the option of shrinking at my fan-
tastic i^ranks ; in the mean immortality poured through thy
lays, and of jealousy the brand dissevered the nubiferous
showers, and the powerful sun allured blossom and fruit.

Ay, eternal drunkenness of love, and temperance of wit,
ye do not molest each other ; the one jubilees with music,
the other reads a lesson. Aj, improve your wits, get names,
good, glorious, and grand ; have whims, ideas ; and what you
let sli^^, do never comprehend it ; for I and he, who poured
forth to me in boundless mind, retrieves me all.

Thou art above, thou smilest down ! O this year's vernal
showers, the tempests of its summer-days, they come forth
out of thy sphere. Thou wilt thunder towards me ; thou
wilt strike thy all-powerful essence deep into my heart, and
I exult up unto thee.

When insjiiration takes her course to heaven, then danc-
ing she takes her flight, and the youths of the skies stand
arrayed to rejoice at her reckless daring. And thou? — thou
art proud, that she is the darling of thy earthly days ; who,
with joyous hurricane-stirring impatience, steers through the
airy ocean, midst the foam of cloudy breakers ; with joined
feet, leaps up on the shore of heaven, flies towards thee with
high flaring torch swinging over thy brow, then flings it into
the clangorous heaven-deej)ening spaces to flare for the ser-
vice of chance, — to her it boots not how ; she reposes in
the lap of her beloved, and Eros the jealous keeps vigil nigh
her, that like flames do not flash up.

* * *

In Bohemia on the height, at the skirt of the wood thou
waitedst for me ; and, as I came clambering up to thee the
short steep way, there thou stoodst firm and silent as a col-
umn-stone ; but the wind, the harbinger of the coming storm,
violently blored, and in the folding of thy mantle revelled
and blasted it up, and flung it over thy head and down
again. Then streaming out with vehemence on either side,
it would bring thee down to me, who paused a little while
not far off, to breathe for cooling my throbbing pulse and
glowing cheeks. Then I came to thee ; thou didst clasp me
in thy arms, and, rolled up in thy mantle, hug me close to

WITH A CHILD. 495

thy breast. There we stood in tlie drizzly rain, creeping
through the thick-fohaged boughs, and the warm drops fell
down upon us ; there came the storms from east and west ;

— Ave said but little, we were silent. — " It will withdraw,"
so thou saidst, " but for that blackening from there below,
that gains upon us." — And the host of clouds came riding
onwards along the horizon ; — it became obscure ; — the
wind raised little whirls of dust around us ; thy left hand
pointed to the distance, thy right held the weeds and motley
plants I had picked up on the way. " Behold ! war is yon-
der ; those clouds shall confound and put the others to the
flight ; if my bodings and skill in weather don't deceive me,
their strife will be the forerunner of peace." — Thus scarcely
liadst thou said, then flashed the li";htnin2:s, and from all
sides the thunderings burst forth. I looked up and stretched
my arms to thee ; thou didst bow over my face and plant
thy lips in mine, and the tempests crashed on, bounced peal
on peal, and tumbled from step to step down the Olympus,

— softly rolling they did fly away ; no second clap followed.
" If one holds his beloved in arms, then may the tempest fall
out over his head!" were thy last words up there; — we
went down hand in hand. The night broke in, the fruiterer
had already her lamp lighted, to get rid of her apples. Thou
stoodst still to look on me. — " Thus Eros keeps fair with an
old one, that her lamp should light the apples and the be-
loved." — Then silently thou ledst me to my dwelling, kissed
my brow, and pushed me into the door. A sweet peace was
the cradle of my pleasing dreams till the morn.

TO THE FRIEND.

Ten years after this fair event, which remained so clearly
printed in my memory, gave way to the inventing of Goethe's
monument. IMoritz Bethmann, from Frankfort on the INIain,
had ordered it ; he wished the undeniable true character of
the poet to be expressed. He thought me able of forming
the idea, though at that time I had never interfered witli the
arts. Then I remembered Goethe, as he had stood at the
brink of the mountain, his cloak thrown around me on his
bosom. The fever of invention seized me ; often I was
obliged, to recover myself from fancying, not to yield en-

496 GOETHE'S COEEESPONDENCE.

tirely up to its rapture and impetuosity. After I had spent
my nights sleepless, and my days without nurture, my idea
at last was decided and purified.

A glorified j^roduction of my love, an apotheosis of my in-
spiration and liis glory ; thus did Goethe call it, as he saw it
for the first time.

Goethe sitting with naked breast and arms. The cloak
fastened at his neck, thrown back over the shoulders ; and
gathered from beneath his arms to his lap ; his left hand,
which then had pointed to the thunderstorm, now lifted, re-
posing on the lyre, which stands on his left knee ; his right
hand, which held my flowers, posing in the same manner,
carelessly holds, forgetful of his glory, the full laurel-crown
downwards ; his look turned to the clouds. Young Psyche
stands before him, as I then did ; she lifts herself u]^ on the
point of her feet to touch the chord of the lyre, and he, sunk
in inspiration, suffers her to do so. On one side of the throne
is Mignon, in the garb of an angel, with the inscription :
" Thus let me look till I be so ! " * On the other side a nice
childlike Maenade stands on her head, with the inscription :
" Stretch forth thy little feet up to heaven, and care not !
We, prayins:, stretch up our hands, but not guiltless like
thee!"t

It is now eight years, since, with the help of an artist, I
made a model in clay of this monument ; it stands in Frank-
fort in the museum ; they were much inclined to have it
executed. At this time Goethe gave up his right as citizen
of Frankfort, which maimed the interest for him, and the
exertions for the erection of his monument, that till now re-
mained undone. I myself have often thought, what my love
to him might signify, what would proceed from it, or if it
should have been quite in vain. Then I remembered in
these last days, that as a child I had often considered, if he
died what I should begin, what should become of me ; and
that I then ever thought, on his grave I would fain have a
j)lace, on his monument be petrified, like those stone-images,
which people would erect to his eternal fame. Ay, I saw
myself in fancy as a little dog, which commonly hes sculp-
tured at the feet of celebrated men and heroes, as a symbol
of faithfulness. To-night I thought of it, that formerly I
had often been absorbed in such visions ; and then I became

* Willielm Meister (song of Mignon). f Epigrams of Goethe.

WITH A CHILD. 497

aware, that this was the germ to his monument, and that it
was incumbent on me to realize it. Since I have adopted
this idea, I am quite joyous, and I have great hope of suc-
ceeding. Goethe said once those golden words to me : '* Be
constant, and what once a divine decree has contracted in
thee, must rouse all thy strength, to bring it to maturity. If
even the fruits do not succeed such as thou expectest, yet
they are fruits of a higher feeling, and the all-generating,
life-nourishing nature, can and shall still be surpassed by the
eternal divine strength of love." — Reminding these words,
which he then referred to our love, and trusting in them,
that still to-day they will lead my mean faculties to prevail,
I shall persevere ; and as it is by love that such fruits are
produced, though they are not those which I then expected,
I confide in his promise, that I may succeed.

To the history of the monument I have still to add, that
I brought it myself to Goethe. After having long looked at
it, he burst out a laughing. I asked, — " Why, canst thou
do nothing else than laugh ? " — and tears choked my voice.
" Child, my dearest child," he exclaimed, " it is joy, which
loudly shouts in me, that thou lovest ! lovest me, for alone
love could do so." And solemnly laying his hands on my
head: "If the power of my blessing can avail anything,
then let it be transferred to thee in thankfulness for this
love." It was the only time that he blessed me in the
year 24, on the 5th of September.

* * *

My friend knows, that longing is not as men think of it,
as of the roaring wind, and of both falsely, that they would
pass away; and the question, from where they came and
whither they go, is to men the same by longing or by wind.
But from what height descends perchance the essences,
which allure the young grass out of the ground? — and
to what height ascends perchance these fragrancics, which
soar out of the flowers ? — is there a measure applied ? —
or do all the powers of Nature descend from the lap of
the divinity, and do her simplest productions again ascend
to their generator? Ay, certainly! all what descends out
of divine bliss returns to it ; and this longing, for him who
showered down as dew on the thirsty soil of the human

32

498 GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE.

spirit, who here unfolded his most splendid blossom, who
again ascended in the fragrance of his own glorification; —
should not this longing also speed up to heaven ? — should
it not alike find the wav to him aloft ?

Kai r; crdp^ nvevfia iyevero.

These words I have selected as an inscription for the
monument. What the lover calls to thee, Goethe, will
not remain without vejAy ; — thou improvest, thou rejoicest,
thou permeatest, thou impregnest the heart of the loving
with the word to become flesh within it.

As breaks forth from nauo^ht and into nau2:ht aijain
sounds away the tone, that bore the word which never
sounds away, but clangs in the soul, calling uj^ all kindred
harmonies, thus inspiration also springs fortli from naught
bearing the word into flesh, and then sounds away again.
The spirit, which espouses with the word, as yon celestial
powers in the ground esjDouse with the seed, from whose
blossom they again ascend in fragrance to their generator,
thaf spirit will also ascend ; and to him, — adown from the
celestial ether, answer will resound.

The drift of airs Avhich sweep along and groan like
longing sighs, we know not of from whence ; they also
have no form, they cannot say, that I am, or that belongs
tome! — but the breath of divinity streams through them,
and gives them a frame, for it ingenerates them through
the word into flesh. Thou kriowest that love solely is par-
turient ; — that what is not offered by it unto the celestial
generator never belono's to the eternal kin ! What is wis-
dom, which does not derive from love? — Avhat is remem-
brance, which love bestows not ? — what is the want, which
does not strive to it ? — what is doing, that uses not love .''
If thou forth-stretchest thy hand, and hast not a mind to
attain love, what mind hast thou ? or what Avouldst thou
grasp ? That tree, which thou beddest into the pit with
all its roots, to which thou carriest the fertile earth and the
rillet, as it cannot walk, that it may want nothing to thrive
and blossom, that tree thrives its blossom for thee, and thy
care thou givest to the tree for it. I also do all, that kis
memory may thrive for me. Love does all for its own
sake, and yet the lover forsakes himself and traces love.

APPENDIX.

APPENDIX

To page 100.

Why to the paper still my thoughts do tend ?
That, my beloved, thou must not ask exactly,
For properly have I nothing to tell thee ;
Yet Avill at least, it come in thy dear hand.

Because I cannot come, shall what I send
My undivided heart bring thee instantly.
With hopes, delights, raptm-es, and pains iiniiily :
All this has no beginning and no end.

Of this day's news, I shall confide thee nothing;
How in my musing, fancy, wish, and Avill rebel;
My truest heart to you the pxice will mend.

Thus once I stood before thee, contemplating,
Nothing I said. What had I then to tell ?
All mv existence in thv look must end.

To page 106.

A LOOK only from thine eyes into mine,
Of thy lips on my lips only a kiss, —
0 ! who like me once felt so sweet a bliss;
What else to him may then appear divine ?

Away from thee, esti-anged to what is mine,
]\Iy vagrant thoughts will ever meet with this
Sweet hour again, which never I could miss,
That only one, — and soon a tear will shine.

Soon dries the tear, and I feel with neAV ease,

He loving I'eaches me, into the still

Should I not also reach him in the distance ? —

Hark to the lisping of this gay love-breeze !
]\ry only happiness on earth, — it is thy will, —
Thy well-minded to me ; — give me remembrance !

ANHANG.

Zu Seite 100.

Warum ich wieder zum Papier micli wende ?
Das mtisst du, Liebster, so bestimmt niclit fragcn :
Denn eigentlich liab' ich dir nichts zu sagen ;
Doch kommt's zuletzt in deine lieben Hiinde.

Weil ich nicht kommen kann, soil was ich sende
Meiii iingetheiltes Herz hinlibei* tragen
Mit Wonnen, HofFnungen, Entzlicken, Plagen :
Das alles hat nicht Anfang, hat nicht Eude.

Ich mag vom heut'gen Tag dir nichts vertranen,
Wie sich im Sinnen, Wiinschen, Wiihnen, Wolleu
Mein treues Herz zu dir hiniiber wendet:

So stand ich einst vor dir, dich anzuschauen,
Und sagte nichts. Was hiitt' ich sagen sollen ?
Mein ganzes Wesen war in sich vollendet.

Zu Seite 106.

EiN Blick von Deinen Augen in die meinen,
Ein Kuss von Deinem Mund auf meinera Munde,
Wer davon hat, wie ich, gewisse Kunde,
Maec dem was anders wohl erfreulich scheiuen ?

'o

Entfernt von Dir, entfremdet von den Meinen,
Fiihr' ich stets die Gedanken in die Runde,
Und immer trefFen sie auf jene Stunde,
Die einzige ; da fang' ich an zu weinen.

Die Thrane trocknet wieder unversehens;
Er liebt ja, donk' ich, her in diese Stille,
Und soUtest Du nicht in die Fernc reichcn?

Vernimm das Lispeln dieses Liebeweliens ;
]\Icin einzig Gliick auf Erden ist Dehi Wille,
Dein freundhchcr zu mir; gieb mir cin Zeichen!

502 APPENDIX.

To page 107.

If I did send thee now these pages white,
Not filled with letters, — then perhaps to rhyme
They should engage thee, and to charm my time
Wouldst thou send back them, spending me delight.

If then, the blue covert came to my sight, —
In woman-wit, inquiring is the prime, —
Love-tales in easy style, in sense sublime.
Should I discover, as from thy lips they sighed :

" Dear child! my gentle heart ! my only Being ! "
So my desire once friendly thou hadst stilled
With fond indulging words to have me cherished.

Even thy lisping I were to read believing.

Of which thy loving breath my soul once filled,

And so forever me before myself embellished.

To page 138.

As I on the Euplu-at shipped,
Down my finger fell the gold-ring;
In the water's clifts it slipped,
Which thy love had trusted me keeping.

Thus I dreamed. Li morning's dew-wet
Touched mine eyes a blushing beam.
Tell me poet, tell me prophet !
What does signify this dream V

This to presage I am ready!
Had I told not often thee.
How the Venice doge was lieedy
To espousal with the sea ?

Thus, down from thy finger-lid
To the Euphrat fell thy ring.
Thousand heaven's-songs will bid.
Sweetest dream ! thy sense a spring.

^le, who from the Hindostans
Till Damascus had been swerving,
Speedy with new caravans
To the red sea then removina:, —

Me thou weddest to thy bay.
To thy terrace blooming round;
Here shall be my latest Avay,
Where my kiss and mind be bound.

APPENDIX. 503

Zii Seite 107.

Wenn icli nun gleicli das weisse Blatt dir schickte,

Anstatt dass icli's mit Lettern erst beschreibe,
Aiisfiilltest dn's vielleicht zum Zeitvertreibe
Und seudetest's an micli, die Hochbegiuckte.

Wenn ich den blauen Umsclilag dann erblickte ;

Neugierig schnell, wie es geziemt dem Weibe,
Eiss ich ihn auf, dass nichts verborgen bleibe;
Da liis' ich was mich miindHch sonst entziickte :

Lieh Kind! mein artlg Ihrz ! mein einzig Wesen !
"VVie du so freundlieh nieine Sehnsiicht stilltest
Mit siissem Wort mid mich so ganz verwohntest.

Sogar dein Lispehi glaubt' ich auch zu lesen,

AVorait du hebend meine Seele flilltest

Und mich auf ewig vor mir selbst verschontest.

Zu Seite 138.

Als ich auf dem Euphrat schiffte,
Streifte sich der goktne King
Fingerab in Wasserlvlilfte,
Den ich jtlngst von Dir empfing.

Also triiumt' ich. Morgenrotlie
Blitzt' in's Auge durch den Baum,
Sag' Poete, sag' Pi'ophete!
Was bedeutet dieser Traum ?

Dies zu deuten bin erbotig!
Hab' ich Dir nicht oft erziihlt,
Wie der Doge von Venedig
Mit dem Meere sich vermiihlt ?

So von deinen Fingerghedem
Fiel der Ring dem Euphrat zu.
Ach zu tausend Ilimmelsliedern,
Siisser Traum, begeisterst du !

Mich, der von den Indostanen
Streifte bis Damascus hin,
Um mit neuen Caravanen
Bis an's rotlie Meer zu ziehn.

Mich venniihlst Du Deinem Flusse,
Der Terrasse, diesem Haiii,
Hier soil bis zum letzten Kusse
Dir mein Geist gewidmet sein.

•rv ■«-"

BOSTON UNIVERSITY

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