expedient; aye, the pure and the noble, which is now abandoned for the moment, will soon be resought with additional ardor.”
“It is surprising to me,” remarked I, “that even Merimee, who is one of your favorites, has entered upon this ultra-romantic path, through the horrible subjects of his _Guzla_.”
“Merimee,” returned Goethe, “has treated these things very differently from his fellow-authors. These poems certainly are not deficient in various horrible _motives_, such as churchyards, nightly crossways, ghosts and vampires; but the repulsive themes do not touch the intrinsic merit of the poet. On the contrary, he treats them from a certain objective distance, and, as it were, with irony. He goes to work with them like an artist, to whom it is an amusement to try anything of the sort. He has, as I have said before, quite renounced himself, nay, he has ever renounced the Frenchman, and that to such a degree that at first these poems of Guzla were deemed real Illyrian popular poems, and thus little was wanting for the success of the imposition he had intended.”
“Merimee,” continued Goethe, “is indeed a thorough fellow! Indeed, generally, more power and genius are required for the objective treatment of a subject than is supposed. Thus, too, Lord Byron, notwithstanding his predominant personality, has sometimes had the power of renouncing himself altogether, as may be seen in some of his dramatic pieces, particularly in his _Marino Faliero_. In this piece one quite forgets that Lord Byron, or even an Englishman, wrote it. We live entirely in Venice, and entirely in the time in which the action takes place. The personages speak quite from themselves and from their own condition, without having any of the subjective feelings, thoughts, and opinions of the poet. That is as it should be. Of our young French romantic writers of the exaggerating sort, one cannot say as much. What I have read of them–poems, novels, dramatic works–have all borne the personal coloring of the author, and none of them ever makes me forget that a Parisian–that a Frenchman–wrote them. Even in the treatment of foreign subjects one still remains in France and Paris, quite absorbed in all the wishes, necessities, conflicts, and fermentations of the present day.”
“Beranger also,” I threw in experimentally, “has only expressed the situation of the great metropolis, and his own interior.”
“That is a man,” said Goethe, “whose power of representation and whose interior are worth something. In him is all the substance of an important personality. Beranger is a nature most happily endowed, firmly grounded in himself, purely developed from himself, and quite in harmony with himself. He has never asked–what would suit the times? what produces an effect? what pleases? what are others doing?–in order that he might do the like. He has always worked only from the core of his own nature, without troubling himself as to what the public, or what this or that party, expects. He has certainly, at different critical epochs, been influenced by the mood, wishes, and necessities of the people; but that has only confirmed him in himself, by proving to him that his own nature is in harmony with that of the people; and has never seduced him into expressing anything but what already lay in his heart.
“You know that I am, upon the whole, no friend to what is called political poems, but such as Beranger has composed I can tolerate. With him there is nothing snatched out of the air, nothing of merely imagined or imaginary interest; he never shoots at random; but, on the contrary, has always the most decided, the most important subjects. His affectionate admiration of Napoleon, and his reminiscences of the great warlike deeds which were performed under him, and that at a time when these recollections were a consolation to the somewhat oppressed French; then his hatred of the domination of priests, and of the darkness which threatened to return with the Jesuits–these are things to which one cannot refuse hearty sympathy. And how masterly is his treatment on all occasions! How he turns about and rounds off every subject in his own mind before he expresses it! And then, when all is matured, what wit, spirit, irony, and persiflage, and what heartiness, naivete, and grace, are unfolded at every step! His songs have every year made millions of joyous men; they always flow glibly from the tongue, even with the working-classes, whilst they are so far elevated above the level of the commonplace, that the populace, in converse with these pleasant spirits, becomes accustomed and compelled to think itself better and nobler. What more would you have? and, altogether, what higher praise could be given to a poet?”
“He is excellent, unquestionably!” returned I. “You know how I loved him for years, and can imagine how it gratifies me to hear you speak of him thus. But if I must say which of his songs I prefer, his amatory poems please me more than his political, in which the particular references and allusions are not always clear to me.”
“That happens to be your case,” returned Goethe; “the political poems were not written for you; but ask the French, and they will tell you what is good in them. Besides, a political poem, under the most fortunate circumstances, is to be looked upon only as the organ of a single nation, and, in most cases, only as the organ of a single party; but it is seized with enthusiasm by this nation and this party when it is good. Again, a political poem should always be looked upon as the mere result of a certain state of the times; which passes by, and with respect to succeeding times takes from the poem the value which it derived from the subject. As for Beranger, his was no hard task. Paris is France. All the important interests of his great country are concentrated in the capital, and there have their proper life and their proper echo. Besides, in most of his political songs he is by no means to be regarded as the mere organ of a single party; on the contrary, the things against which he writes are for the most part of so universal and national an interest, that the poet is almost always heard as a great _voice_ of the people. With us, in Germany, such a thing is not possible. We have no city, nay, we have no country, of which we could decidedly say–_Here is Germany_! If we inquire in Vienna, the answer is–this is Austria! and if in Berlin, the answer is–this is Prussia! Only sixteen years ago, when we tried to get rid of the French, was Germany everywhere. Then a political poet could have had an universal effect; but there was no need of one! The universal necessity, and the universal feeling of disgrace, had seized upon the nation like something daemonic; the inspiring fire which the poet might have kindled was already burning everywhere of its own accord. Still, I will not deny that Arndt, Koerner, and Rueckert, have had some effect.”
“You have been reproached,” remarked I, rather inconsiderately, “for not taking up arms at that great period, or at least cooperating as a poet.”
“Let us leave that point alone, my good friend,” returned Goethe. “It is an absurd world, which does not know what it wants, and which one must allow to have its own way. How could I take up arms without hatred, and how could I hate without youth? If such an emergency had befallen me when twenty years old, I should certainly not have been the last; but it found me as one who had already passed the first sixties.
“Besides, we cannot all serve our country in the same way, but each does his best, according as God has endowed him. I have toiled hard enough during half a century. I can say, that in those things which nature has appointed for my daily work, I have permitted myself no repose or relaxation night or day, but have always striven, investigated, and done as much, and that as well, as I could. If every one can say the same of himself, it will prove well with all.”
“The fact is,” said I, by way of conciliation, “that you should not be vexed at that reproach, but should rather feel flattered at it. For what does it show but that the opinion of the world concerning you is so great that it desires that he who has done more for the culture of his nation than any other should at last do everything!”
“I will not say what I think,” returned Goethe. “There is more ill-will towards me hidden beneath that remark than you are aware of. I feel therein a new form of the old hatred with which people have persecuted me, and endeavored quietly to wound me for years. I know very well that I am an eyesore to many; that they would all willingly get rid of me; and that, since they cannot touch my talent, they aim at my character. Now, it is said, I am proud; now, egotistical; now, full of envy towards young men of genius; now, immersed in sensuality; now, without Christianity; and now, without love for my native country, and my own dear Germans. You have now known me sufficiently for years, and you feel what all that talk is worth. But if you would learn what I have suffered, read my ‘_Xenien_’, and it will be clear to you, from my retorts, how people have from time to time sought to embitter my life.
“A German author is a German martyr! Yes, my friend, you will not find it otherwise! And I myself can scarcely complain; none of the others has fared better–most have fared worse; and in England and France it is quite the same as with us. What did not Moliere suffer? What Rousseau and Voltaire? Byron was driven from England by evil tongues, and would have fled to the end of the world, if an early death had not delivered him from the Philistines and their hatred.
“And if it were only the narrow-minded masses that persecuted noble men! But no! one gifted man and one genius persecutes another; Platen scandalizes Heine, and Heine Platen, and each seeks to make the other hateful; while the world is wide enough for all to live and to let live; and every one has an enemy in his own talent, who gives him quite enough to do.
“To write military songs, and sit in a room! That forsooth was my duty! To have written them in the bivouac, when the horses at the enemy’s outposts are heard neighing at night, would have been well enough; however, that was not my life and not my business, but that of Theodore Koerner. His war-songs suit him perfectly. But to me, who am not of a warlike nature, and who have no warlike sense, war-songs would have been a mask which would have fitted my face very badly.
“I have never affected anything in my poetry. I have never uttered anything which I have not experienced, and which has not urged me to production. I have composed love-songs only when I have loved. How could I write songs of hatred without hating! And, between ourselves, I did not hate the French, although I thanked God that we were free from them. How could I, to whom culture and barbarism are alone of importance, hate a nation which is among the most cultivated of the earth, and to which I owe so great a part of my own cultivation?
“Altogether,” continued Goethe, “national hatred is something peculiar. You will always find it strongest and most violent where there is the lowest degree of culture. But there is a degree where it vanishes altogether, and where one stands to a certain extent above nations, and feels the weal or woe of a neighboring people, as if it had happened to one’s own. This degree of culture was conformable to my nature, and I had become strengthened in it long before I had reached my sixtieth year.”
* * * * *
1832.
_Sunday_, March 11.–The conversation turned upon the great men who had lived before Christ, among the Chinese, the Indians, the Persians, and the Greeks; and it was remarked, that the divine power had been as operative in them as in some of the great Jews of the Old Testament. We then came to the question how far God influenced the great natures of the present world in which we live?
“To hear people speak,” said Goethe, “one would almost believe that they were of opinion that God had withdrawn into silence since those old times, and that man was now placed quite upon his own feet, and had to see how he could get on without God, and his daily invisible breath. In religious and moral matters a divine influence is indeed still allowed, but in matters of science and art it is believed that they are merely earthly and nothing but the product of human powers.
[Illustration: SCHILLER’S GARDEN HOUSE AT JENA Drawing by Goethe]
“Let any one only try, with human will and human power, to produce something which may be compared with the creations that bear the names of Mozart, Raphael, or Shakespeare. I know very well that these three noble beings are not the only ones, and that in every province of art innumerable excellent geniuses have operated, who have produced things as perfectly good as those just mentioned. But if they were as great as those, they rose above ordinary human nature, and in the same proportion were as divinely endowed as they.
“And, after all, what does it all come to? God did not retire to rest after the well-known six days of creation, but, on the contrary, is constantly active as on the first. It would have been for Him a poor occupation to compose this heavy world out of simple elements, and to keep it rolling in the sunbeams from year to year, if He had not had the plan of founding a nursery for a world of spirits upon this material basis. So He is now constantly active in higher natures to attract the lower ones.”
Goethe was silent. But I cherished his great and good words in my heart.
_Early in March_.[23]–Goethe mentioned at table that he had received a visit from Baron Carl Von Spiegel, and that he had been pleased with him beyond measure.
“He is a very fine young man,” said Goethe; “in his mien and manners he has something by which the nobleman is seen at once. He could as little dissemble his descent as any one could deny a higher intellect; for birth and intellect both give him who once possesses them a stamp which no incognito can conceal. Like beauty, these are powers which one cannot approach without feeling that they are of a higher nature.”
_Some days later_.–We talked of the tragic idea of Destiny among the Greeks.
“It no longer suits our way of thinking,” said Goethe; “it is obsolete, and is also in contradiction with our religious views. If a modern poet introduces such antique ideas into a drama, it always has an air of affectation. It is a costume which is long since out of fashion, and which, like the Roman toga, no longer suits us.
“It is better for us moderns to say with Napoleon, ‘Politics are Destiny.’ But let us beware of saying, with our latest literati, that politics are poetry, or a suitable subject for the poet. The English poet Thomson wrote a very good poem on the Seasons, but a very bad one on Liberty, and that not from want of poetry in the poet, but from want of poetry in the subject.”
“If a poet would work politically, he must give himself up to a party; and so soon as he does that, he is lost as a poet; he must bid farewell to his free spirit, his unbiased view, and draw over his ears the cap of bigotry and blind hatred.
“The poet, as a man and citizen, will love his native land; but the native land of his poetic powers and poetic action is the good, noble, and beautiful, which is confined to no particular province or country, and which he seizes upon and forms wherever he finds it. Therein is he like the eagle, who hovers with free gaze over whole countries, and to whom it is of no consequence whether the hare on which he pounces is running in Prussia or in Saxony.
“And, then, what is meant by love of one’s country? What is meant by patriotic deeds? If the poet has employed a life in battling with pernicious prejudices, in setting aside narrow views, in enlightening the minds, purifying the tastes, ennobling the feelings and thoughts of his countrymen, what better could he have done? How could he have acted more patriotically?
“To make such ungrateful and unsuitable demands upon a poet is just as if one required the captain of a regiment to show himself a patriot, by taking part in political innovations and thus neglecting his proper calling. The captain’s country is his regiment, and he will show himself an excellent patriot by troubling himself about political matters only so far as they concern him, and bestowing all his mind and all his care on the battalions under him, trying so to train and discipline them that they may do their duty if ever their native land should be in peril.
[Illustration: THE MOAT AT JENA Drawing by GOETHE]
“I hate all bungling like sin, but most of all bungling in state-affairs, which produces nothing but mischief to thousands and millions.
“You know that, on the whole, I care little what is written about me; but yet it comes to my ears, and I know well enough that, hard as I have toiled all my life, all my labors are as nothing in the eyes of certain people, just because I have disdained to mingle in political parties. To please such people I must have become a member of a Jacobin club, and preached bloodshed and murder. However, not a word more upon this wretched subject, lest I become unwise in railing against folly.”
In the same manner he blamed the political course, so much praised by others, of Uhland.
“Mind,” said he, “the politician will devour the poet. To be a member of the States, and to live amid daily jostlings and excitements, is not for the delicate nature of a poet. His song will cease, and that is in some sort to be lamented. Swabia has plenty of men, sufficiently well educated, well meaning, able, and eloquent, to be members of the States, but only one poet of Uhland’s class.”
* * * * *
The last stranger whom Goethe entertained as his guest was the eldest son of Frau von Arnim; the last words he wrote were some verses in the album of this young friend.
* * * * *
The morning after Goethe’s death, a deep desire seized me to look once again upon his earthly garment. His faithful servant, Frederic, opened for me the chamber in which he was laid out. Stretched upon his back, he reposed as if asleep; profound peace and security reigned in the features of his sublimely noble countenance. The mighty brow seemed yet to harbor thoughts. I wished for a lock of his hair; but reverence prevented me from cutting it off. The body lay naked, wrapped only in a white sheet; large pieces of ice had been placed near it, to keep it fresh as long as possible. Frederic drew aside the sheet, and I was astonished at the divine magnificence of the limbs. The breast was powerful, broad, and arched; the arms and thighs were full, and softly muscular; the feet were elegant, and of the most perfect shape; nowhere, on the whole body, was there a trace either of fat or of leanness and decay. A perfect man lay in great beauty before me; and the rapture which the sight caused made me forget for a moment that the immortal spirit had left such an abode. I laid my hand on his heart–there was a deep silence–and I turned away to give free vent to my suppressed tears.
[Illustration: VIEW INTO THE SAALE VALLEY NEAR JENA Drawing by GOETHE]
LETTERS TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT AND HIS WIFE
TRANSLATED BY LOUIS H. GRAY, PH.D. GOETHE TO KAROLINE VON HUMBOLDT
January 25, 1804.
How many an hour have I thought of you with genuine and lively interest; and nearly every time I have marveled at the outrageous intention which correspondents can express, that, when far apart, they will write to each other once a month. Distance absolutely precludes interest in trifles that are close to us; how can we tell each other our daily joys and sorrows, when the voice which speaks must wait so long for the sound of the answering voice; and then those unexpected chances happen which in an instant destroy our careful plans so that, when we would continue, we know not where we should begin.
This time, in remembrance of so much that has passed, and in anticipation of so much that is to be, I intend to write you a long letter that the stream may run once more.
Meanwhile you have suffered a bitter loss, of which I shall not speak. I trust that all the agencies which nature has contrived for man to alleviate such woes may have been and may in the future be at your behest; for they alone can repair the evil they have wrought.
Fernow has come to us; he bears himself gallantly and well, though an unfortunate fever has given him a deal of trouble. Since he is in earnest about what he does, and is essentially of an honest disposition, we are having a good, profitable, and pleasant time together.
Riemer is staying with my August, and I hope they will get along right well together.
Schiller is continually advancing with great strides, as usual; his _Tell_ is magnificently planned and, so far as I have seen it, executed in masterly fashion.
I myself have been placed, by the swindling spirit which has come over the gentlemen of Jena, and especially over the proprietors of the _Allgemeine Literatur-Zeitung_, under the lamentable necessity of again laboring in person on behalf of this antiquated body of municipal teachers, wherein I have lost nearly four months of my own time–not precisely because I did much, but because, notwithstanding, everything had to be done, and everything that must be done takes time; and thus for the last three months I have been unable to present you with even a single little poem.
Meanwhile life has brought us much of interest. Professor Wolf of Halle spent two weeks with us; Johannes von Mueller is here now; and for four weeks Madame de Stael has also honored us with her presence.
The drawings of the late Herr Carstens, which Fernow brought with him, have given me much pleasure, since through them I have first learned to know this rare talent, which, alas, was held back by circumstances in earlier days, and which at last was mown down even yet unripe.
A couple of large pictures by Hackert have arrived, and anything more perfect, as faithful copies of reality, could scarcely be imagined.
As to my studies and hobbies, I do not know whether I have ever said anything to you about my collection of modern medals in bronze and copper, beginning with the second half of the fifteenth century, and coming down to the most recent times.
I chanced upon this in connection with my revision of Cellini; for, since in the north we must be content with crumbs, it seemed possible for me to gain even an approximately clear survey of plastic art only through the aid of original medals from the various centuries, which, as is generally known, invariably kept close to the sculpture of their time. Through exertion, favor, and good fortune I have already succeeded extremely well in making a rather important collection. Permit me to include a couple of commissions and desiderata.
1. For a couple of old medals said to be in the possession of Mercandetti.[24]
2. For papal medals from Innocent XIII inclusive; I have very fine specimens of Hamerani’s[25] medals of Clement XI.
3. For a medal to be ordered from Mercandetti, a commission which I especially urge both on you and on Humboldt; for the enterprise is, I must admit, a serious one; in the long run, some satisfaction may probably be gained; but should it fail, money will be lost and vexation will be the result.
* * * * *
GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT
July 30, 1804.
Months ago I wrote the inclosed sheet to your dear wife. She has recently been here, and I have had the pleasure of conversing with her; she has, so I hear, safely reached Paris and been delivered. I trust that, ere long, she may there embrace your dear brother, who has, in a sense, risen for us from the dead. Your precious letter of February 25 reached me safely in good time, and as I reflect on the long interval during which I have left you without news from me, I now note through what singular emotions I have passed during this time.
Schiller’s _Tell_ has been completed for some time and is now on the stage. It is an extraordinary production wherein his dramatic skill puts forth new branches, and it justly creates a profound sensation. You will surely receive it before long, for it is already in press.
I have permitted myself to be persuaded to try to make my _Goetz von Berlichingen_ suitable for the stage.
This was an undertaking well-nigh impossible, for its very trend is untheatrical; like Penelope, I, too, have ceaselessly woven and unwoven it for a year; and in the process I have learned much, though, I fear, I have not perfectly attained the end which I had in view. In about six weeks I hope to present it, and Schiller will, no doubt, speak to you about it.
Have you chanced to see our Jena _Literatur-Zeitung_ for this year, and has anything which it contained aroused your interest?
I am extremely grateful to you for the very welcome information which you give me regarding an improvisatrice. Could I possibly dare to make use of it in the advertising columns of the _Literatur-Zeitung_? What you have said I would modify in every way consonant with its relation to the public, which needs not know everything. If you could occasionally communicate to me some information of this type from the wealth of your observations, you would confer a great pleasure upon us.
Since Jagemann’s death, Fernow has received an appointment at the library of the Duchess Dowager, and his connection with it is of great value for her house and for the society which assembles there; he makes love for Italian literature a living force and gives occasion for witty readings and conversations.
Generally speaking, Weimar is like heaven since the Bottiger goblin [26] has been banished; and our school is also going very well indeed. A professorship has been given to Voss’s eldest son, who inherits from his father that fundamental love for antiquity, especially from the linguistic side, which, after all, is the principal thing in a teacher of the classics.
Riemer also conducts himself very well in my house, and I am fairly satisfied with the progress of my boy, who, I must admit, has a greater interest in subject-matter than in diction.
Madame de Stael’s intention of spending a portion of the summer here has been frustrated by her father’s death. She has taken Schlegel with her from Berlin; they are together in Coppet; and will probably go to Italy toward winter. Such a visit would doubtless be more delightful to you, dear friend, than many another.
My warmest thanks are due you for sending me the _Odes of Pindar_ in translation; they have given a very pleasant hour of recreation to Riemer and myself.
I trust to your goodness to see that the inclosed memorandum is delivered to Mercandetti, and perhaps to confer with him in person about the matter. Then among your ministering spirits you perhaps have some one who would keep an eye on the affair in future. I should be glad if our old patron[27] were given such a public token of gratitude, which should also be noteworthy from the artistic side, but it must be acknowledged that it is always a daring venture to place any order at such a distance, and, therefore, I entreat your friendly participation.
Above all things it is important that Mercandetti should make a moderate charge. He demands three piasters for his Alfieri, which he offers for sale and which is said to be as large as his Galvani. If, now, he asks somewhat more for the archchancellor’s medal, which is ordered and which is not supposed to be any larger, surely the extra expense should not be much, and if it is relatively cheap, I am confident of securing him two hundred subscribers. As has already been noted in the memorandum, he will render himself better known in Germany through this medal than through any other work, a fact which cannot fail to be of great moment to him in the series of distinguished men of the previous century, which he intends to issue. Forgive me for adding this new burden to your many duties, and yet endeavor to conduct the affair so that it will not require much writing to and fro, and so that, in his reply to the memorandum, Mercandetti will accept our offer. Letters are now delayed intolerably; one from Florence here takes twenty days, and more.
It comforts me greatly that you have been pleased with my _Natural Daughter_, for though at times I long remain silent toward my absent friends, my desire is, nevertheless, suddenly to resume relations with them through that which I have toiled over in silence. Unfortunately, I have given up this play, and do not know when I shall be able to resume work on it.
Have you seen the twenty lyric poems which have been published by me in my _Annual_ of this year? Among them are some that ought not to displease you. Do not render like for like, but write me soon. Communicate to me many observations on lands, nations, men, and languages, which are so instructive and so stimulating. Do not delay, moreover, to give me some information regarding your own health and that of your dear wife.
Weimar, July 30, 1804.
* * * * *
GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT
August 31, 1812.
Faithful to its nature, Teplitz continues to be, esteemed friend, unfavorable to our coming together. This inconvenience is doubly vexatious to me now that, after your departure from Karlsbad, I deliberately thought over the value of your presence, and wished to continue our interviews. I was especially grieved that your beautiful presentation of the manner in which languages received their expansion over the world was not completely drawn up, although the most of it remained with me. If you wish to give me a real proof of friendship, have the kindness to write out for me such an abstract, and I shall have a hemispherical map colored for myself accordingly and add it to Lesage’s _Atlas_, since, in view of my residence abroad for so much of the year, I am compelled to think more and more of my general need of a compendious and tabulated traveling library. Thus, with the assistance of Aulic Councillor Meyer, the history of the plastic arts and of painting is now being written on the margin of Bredow’s _Tabellen_, and thus in a very large number of cases your linguistic map will help to refresh my memory and serve as a guide in much of my reading.
I would gladly have spoken with you in detail regarding Berlin and all that which, according to your previous preparations and suggestions, is going on there. Great cities always contain within themselves the image of whole empires, and even though distorted by exaggerations which degenerate into caricature, they nevertheless present the nation in concentrated form to the eye.
State Councillor Langermann, whose good will and energy are so beautifully balanced, has now delighted me for two weeks with his instructive conversation, and both by word and by example revived my courage for many things which I had been on the point of abandoning. It is very enlivening indeed to re-behold the world in its entirety through the medium of a truly energetic man; for the Germans seldom know how to inspire in details, and never as a whole.
I here find an entirely natural transition to the information which you give me–that our friend Wolf is not satisfied with Niebuhr’s work, although he preeminently should have had reason to be. I feel, however, very calm about it, for I value Wolf infinitely when he works and acts, but I have never known him to be sympathetic, especially as regards the affairs of the present, and herein he is a true German. Moreover, he knows entirely too much to permit himself to be instructed further and not to discover the gaps in the knowledge of others. He has his own mode of thought; how should he recognize the merits of the views of others? And the great endowments which he possesses are the very ones which are adapted to rouse and to maintain the spirit of contradiction and of rejection.
As to myself, a layman, I have been very greatly indebted to Niebuhr’s first volume, and I hope that the second will increase my gratitude toward him. I am very curious about his development of the _lex agraria_. We have heard of it from the time of our youth without gaining any clear conception of it. How pleasant it is to listen to a learned and original man on such a theme, especially in these days, when the summons comes for a more free and unprejudiced consideration of the law of states and nations, as well as of all the relations of civil law. It becomes obvious what an advantage it is to know little, and to have forgotten very much of that little. I never love to mingle in the wrangles of the day, but I cannot forego the delight of quietly snapping my fingers at them. I trust that the small leaf inclosed may win a smile from you.
I beg you to give my best regards to your wife, and convey my kindest greetings to the Koerners. When the young man [28] again has anything ready, I beg that it may be sent me at once. This time I should be most happy to receive a rather large article for January 30, the birthday of the duchess. A thousand fare-you-wells!
* * * * *
GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT
Weimar, February 8, 1813.
With sincere thanks I recognize the fact that you have been able so quickly and so perfectly to fulfil your friendly promise. Your beautiful sketch has given me an entirely new impulse to studies of all sorts. It is no longer possible for me to collect materials; but when they are brought to me in so concentrated a form, it becomes a source of very real pleasure for me speedily to fill the gaps in my knowledge and to discover a thousand relations to what information I already possess.
As soon as I can spend a few quiet weeks at Jena in March, I shall get about my task, which, after your preliminary work, is in reality only a pastime. Bertuch has had some maps of Europe printed for me in a brownish tint. One of these is to be laid on a large drawing-board, and the boundaries are to be colored. I shall then indicate the main languages and, so far as possible, the dialects as well, by attaching little slips; and Bertuch is not unwilling then to have such a map engraved, an easy task in his great establishment which is provided with artists of every kind. Please have the kindness, therefore, to proceed and to send me the continuation at the earliest possible moment. A map of the two hemispheres is now ready and is to have the languages indicated in like fashion. From my inmost heart I wish success to your translation of AEschylus, which continually becomes more and more elaborate, and I rejoice that you have not let yourself be frightened away from this good work by the threats of the Heidelberg Cyclops[29] and his crew. At the present moment they menace our friend Wolf, who certainly is no kitten, with ignominious execution, because he also dared to land on the translation island which they have received from Father Neptune in private fief, and to bring with him a readable Aristophanes. It is written, “Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord,” but still more blessed are they who go mad over some conceitedness.
Our friend Wieland is blessed in the first sense; he has died in his Lord, and without particular suffering has passed over to his gods and heroes. What talent and spirit, learning, common sense, receptivity, and versatility, conjoined with industry and endurance, can accomplish, _utile nobis proposuit exemplar_. If every man would so employ his gifts and his time, what marvels would then take place!
I have passed my winter as usual, much distracted with my work, yet with tolerable health, so that it has gone quickly and not without profit. In November and December my plans were disarranged by theatrical preparations for the long-expected Iffland, who did not come till toward the close of the year, and also by preparations for his performances, which gave me great pleasure. In January and February there were four birthdays, when either our inventive genius or our collaboration was demanded; and thus much has been frittered away, willingly, to be sure, but fruitlessly.
What I have done meanwhile with pleasure and real interest has been to make a renewed effort to find among extant monuments a trace of those of which descriptions have come down to us. Philostrati were again the order of the day, and as to the statues, I believe that I have got on the track of the Olympian Zeus, on which so many preliminary studies have already been made, and also on that of the Hera of Samos, the Doryphorus of Polycletes, and especially on that of the Cow of Myron and of the bull that carried Europa. Meyer, whose history of ancient art, now written in a fair copy, furnished the chief inspiration, takes a lively interest, since both his doubt and his agreement are invariably well-founded.
And thus I shall now close for this time, in the hope of soon seeing something from your dear hand once more.
* * * * *
GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT
Tennstaedt, September 1, 1816. The great work to which you, dearest friend, have devoted a large portion of your life, could not have reached me at a better time; it finds me here in Tennstaedt, a little provincial Thuringian bathing town which is probably not entirely unknown to you. Here I have now been for five weeks, and alone, since my friend Meyer left me.
Here, at first, I indulged in a cursory reading both of the introduction and of the drama[30] itself, to my no small edification; and inasmuch as I am now, for the second time, enjoying the details together with the whole, I will no longer withhold my thanks for this gift.
For even though one sympathetically concerns one’s self with all the praiseworthy and with all the good that the most ancient and the most modern times afford, nevertheless, such a pre-ancient giant figure, formed like a prodigy, appears amazing to us, and we must collect all our senses to stand over against it in an attitude even approximately worthy of it. At such a moment there is no doubt that here the work of all works of art is seen, or, in more moderate language, a model of the highest type. That we now can control this easily is our indebtedness to you; and continuous thanks must fervently reward your efforts, though in themselves they bring their own reward.
This drama has always been to me one of those most worthy of consideration, and through your interest it has been made accessible earlier than the rest. But, more than ever, the texture of this primeval tapestry now seems most marvelous to me; past, present, and future are so happily interwoven that the reader himself becomes the seer, that is, he becomes like unto God, and yet, in the last resort, that is the triumph of all poetry in the greatest and in the least.
But if we here perceive how the poet had at his service each and every means by which so tremendous an effort may be produced, we cannot refrain from the highest admiration. How happily the epic, lyric, and dramatic diction is interwoven, not compelling, but enticing us to sympathize with such cruel fates! And how well the scanty didactic reflection becomes the chorus as it speaks! All this cannot receive too high a mead of praise.
Forgive me, then, for bringing owls to Athens as a thanks-offering. I could truly continue thus forever, and tell you what you yourself have long since better known. Thus I have once more been astonished to see that each character, except Clytemnestra, the linker of evil unto evil, has her exclusive Aristeia, so that each one acts an entire poem, and does not return later for the possible purpose of again burdening us with her affairs. In every good poem poetry in its entirety must be contained; but this is a flugleman.
The ideas in your introduction regarding synonymy are precious; would that our linguistic purists were imbued with them! We will not, however, contaminate such lofty affairs with the lamentable blunders whereby the German nation is corrupting its language from the very foundation, an evil which will not be perceived for thirty years.
You, however, my dearest friend, be and remain blessed for the benefaction which you have done us. This your _Agamemnon_ shall never again leave my side.
I cannot judge the rhythmic merit, but I believe I feel it. Our admirable, talented, and original friend Wolf–although he becomes intractable in case of contradiction–who spent a number of days with me, speaks very highly of your careful work. It will be instructive to see how the Heidelberg gentlemen[31] conduct themselves.
Let me have a word from you before you go to Paris, and give my greetings to your dear wife. How much I had wished to see you this summer, for so many things are in progress on every side that only days suffice to consider what is to be furthered and how. Fortunately for me, nothing is approaching that I must absolutely refuse, even though everything is not undertaken and conducted according to my convictions. And it is precisely this bitter-sweet which can be treated only orally and in person.
* * * * *
GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT
Weimar, June 22, 1823.
Your letter, dear and honored friend, came at a remarkable juncture which made it doubly interesting; Schiller’s letters had just been collected, and I was looking them through from the very first, finding there the most charming traces of the happy and fruitful hours which we passed together. The invitation to the _Horen_ is contained in the first letter of June 13, 1794; then the correspondence continues, and with every letter admiration for Schiller’s extraordinary spirit and joy over his influence on our entire development increases in intensity and elevation. His letters are an infinite treasure, of which you also possess rich store; and as, through them, we have made noteworthy progress, so we must read them again to be protected against backward steps to which the precious world about us is inclined to tempt us day by day and hour by hour.
Just imagine to yourself now, my dearest friend, how highly welcome your announcement seemed to me at this moment when, after ripe reflection, I desired to give you very friendly counsel to visit us toward the end of October. Should the gods not dispose otherwise concerning us, you will surely find me, and whatever else is near and dear to you, assembled here; quiet, personal communication may very happily alternate with social recreations, and, above all things, we can take delight in Schiller’s correspondence, since then you will also bring with you the letters of several years, and in the fruitful present we may edify and refresh ourselves with the fair bloom of by-gone days. Riemer sends his very best greetings; he is well; our relation is permanent, mutually beneficial, and profitable. Aulic Councillor Meyer has left for Wiesbaden; unfortunately, his health is not of the best.
Two new numbers of _Ueber Kunst und Alterthum_ and _Zur Naturwissenschaft_ are about to appear–the fruits of my winter’s labors. Fortunately, they have been so carefully prepared that no noteworthy hindrance was presented by my troubles and by the subsequent illness of our Grand Duchess, which filled us all, especially my convalescent self, with fear and anxiety.
Please give my kindest regards to your wife, and, by the way, I need not assure you that you will certainly be most highly welcome to our most gracious court. In my household children and grandchildren will meet you with joyous faces; our nearest friends we shall assemble as we wish. If in the interval you should have some message for me, I beg you to send it to my address here, for then it will reach me most quickly.
And now I again send the very best of all kind greetings to your dear wife; may good fortune bring me once more to her side. Pardon a somewhat distracted way of writing, indicative of packing.
* * * * *
GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT
October 22, 1826.
Your letter and package, most honored friend, gave me a very welcome token of your continuous remembrance and friendly sympathy. I wish, however, that I might have received an equal assurance of your good health. For my own part, I cannot complain; a ship that is no longer a deep-sea sailer may perhaps still be useful as a coaster.
I have passed the entire summer at home, laboring undisturbed at editing my works. Possibly you still remember, my dearest friend, a dramatic _Helena_, which was to appear in the second part of _Faust_. From Schiller’s letters at the beginning of the century I see that I showed him the commencement of it, and also that he, with true friendship, counseled me to continue it. It is one of my oldest conceptions, resting on the marionette tradition that Faust compelled Mephistopheles to produce Helen of Troy for his nuptials. From time to time I have continued to work on it, but the piece could not be completed except in the fulness of time, for its action has now covered three thousand years, from the fall of Troy to the capture of Missolonghi. This can, therefore, also be regarded as a unity of time in the higher sense of the term; the unities of place and action are, however, likewise most carefully regarded in the usual acceptation of the word. It appears under the title:
Helena
Classico-Romantic Phantasmagoria.
Interlude to Faust.
This says little indeed, and yet enough, I hope, to direct your attention more vividly to the first instalment of my works which I hope to present at Easter.
I next ask, with more confidence, whether perchance you still remember an epic poem which I had in mind immediately after the completion of _Hermann and Dorothea_–in a modern hunt a tiger and a lion were concerned. At the time you dissuaded me from elaborating the idea, and I abandoned it; now, in searching through old papers, I find the plot again, and cannot refrain from executing it in prose; for it may then pass as a tale, a rubric under which an extremely large amount of remarkable stuff circulates.
Very recently there has reached my hermitage the portrayal of the very active life of a man of the world, which highly entertains me–the journal of Duke Bernhard of Weimar, who left Ghent in April, 1825, and who returned to us only a short time past. It is written uninterruptedly, and since his station, his mode of thought, and his demeanor introduced him to the highest circles of society, and since he was at ease among the middle classes and did not disdain the most humble, his reader is very agreeably conducted through most diverse situations, which, for me at least, it was highly important to survey directly.
Now, however, I must assure you that the outline which you have sent is extremely profitable to Riemer and myself, and has given a most admirable opportunity for discussions on linguistics and philosophy. I am by no means averse to the literature of India, but I am afraid of it; for it draws my imaginative power towards the formless and the deformed, against which I am forced to guard myself more than ever; but if it comes over the signature of a valued friend, it will always be welcome, for it gives me the desired opportunity to converse with him on what interests him, and what must certainly be of importance.
Now, as I prepare to close, I simply say that I am engaged in combining and uniting the scattered _Wanderings of Wilhelm Meister_, in its old and new portions, as two volumes. While engaged in which task nothing could give me greater delight than to welcome the chief of wanderers, your highly esteemed brother, to our house, and to learn directly of his ceaseless activity; nor do I fail to express my hearty wishes to your dear wife for the best results from the cure which she is seeking in such lofty regions.
And so, for ever and ever, in truest sympathy, GOETHE.
* * * * *
GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT
October 19, 1830.
How often during these weeks, my dear and honored friend, have I sought refuge at your side, again taken out your magnificent letters, and found refreshment in them!
As almost in an instant the earthquake of Lisbon caused its influences to be felt in the remotest lakes and springs, so we also have been shaken directly by that western explosion, as was the case forty years ago.
How comforting it must have been for me in such moments to take up your priceless letters, you yourself will feel and graciously express. Through a decided antithesis I was carried back to those times when we felt mutually pledged to procure a preliminary culture, when, united with our great and noble friend, we strove after concrete truths, and most faithfully and diligently sought to attain all that was most beautiful and sublime in the world about us, for the edification of our willing, yearning spirits, and to fill to its full an atmosphere which required substance and contents.
How beautiful and splendid is it now that you should lay the foundations for your latest composition (_Review of Goethe’s Italian Travels_) in that happy soil, that you should seek to explain me and my endeavors at that laborious time, and that attentively and lovingly you should have traced back that which in my efforts might seem incidental or lacking in coherence, in sequence, to a spiritual necessity and to individual characteristic combinations.
Here, now, there would be a most beautiful theme for discussion by word of mouth. It is impossible to commit to writing how I was mirrored in your words; how I received elucidation on many things; how, at the same time, I was again challenged to reflect on the many enigmas that ever remain unsolved in man, even as regards himself; and seriously to reflect on the inner nexus of many qualities which cross in the individual and which, despite a certain degree of contradiction, are intertwined and united.
Here belongs preeminently my relation to plastic art, to which you have devoted an attention so deserving of thanks. It is marvelous enough that man feels an irresistible impulse to prosecute what he cannot achieve, and yet that by this very process he is most essentially furthered in his actual achievements.
That, however, this long-delayed letter may no further lag behind, I shall close, but shall, nevertheless, at the same time inform you that, while I uttered the sentiments written above, I once more returned to your letters, and by seeing myself mirrored in them afresh was challenged to new considerations, and was powerfully reminded of those times when, united in spirit though not in body, we, already advanced in years, enjoyed with the strength of youth and with delight those idyllic days.
For six months [32] now my son has shared in the exuberance with which, on the priceless peninsula, nature and centuries have, with most marvelous intricacy, amassed and destroyed in life, created and demolished in the arts, and played with the fates of men and nations.
He went by steamer from Leghorn to Naples, where he may be even yet, a decision which, once carried out, has brought very special advantages. He found Professor Zahn there, and himself, under this scholar’s guidance, completely at home both above and below the ground.
Since now you, too, my dearest friend, are accustoming yourself to dictating, send me in a happy hour of leisure often a tiny friendly word, so that, from time to time, I may more frequently and concretely be aware of the coexistence which has already so long been vouched us on this terrestrial ball. I tear myself unwillingly from this communication; how much I have to say floats before me, but at this time I shall delay only to bless the fortunate star which at this moment rises over you and your estimable brother. May what has so charmingly been inaugurated endure for the enjoyment of rich results to you and to us all!
And so ever!
Weimar, October 19, 1830. J. W. VON GOETHE.
* * * * *
GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT
Weimar, December 1, 1831.
Already informed by the public press, honored friend, that the beating waves of that wild Baltic have exercised so happy an influence on the constitution of my dearest friend, I have rejoiced in a high degree, and have done all honor and reverence to the waters which so often wreak destruction. Your welcome note gave the fairest and the best of all substantiation to these good tidings, so that with comfort I could look forth from my hermitage over the monastery gardens veiled in snow, since I could fancy to myself my dearest friend in his four-towered castle, amid roomy surroundings, surveying a landscape over which winter had spread far and wide, and at the same time with good courage pursuing to the minutest detail his deep-founded tasks.
Generally speaking, I can perhaps say that the apperception of great productive maxims of nature absolutely compels us to continue our investigations to the minutest possible details, just as the final ramifications of the arteries meet, at the extreme finger-tips, the nerves to which they are linked. In particular I might perhaps say that I have often been brought more closely to you than you probably know; for conversations with Riemer very often turn on a word, its etymological signification, formation and mutation, relationship, and strangeness.
I have been highly grateful to your brother, for whom I find no epithet, for several hours of frank, friendly conversation; for although assimilation of his theory of geology, and practical work in accordance with it, are impossible for my mental process, yet I have seen with true sympathy and admiration how that of which I cannot convince myself in him obtains a logical coherence and is amalgamated with the tremendous mass of his knowledge, where it is then held together by his priceless character.
If I may express myself with my old frankness, my most honored friend, I gladly admit that in my advanced years everything becomes more and more historical to me. Whether a thing has happened in days gone by, in distant realms, or very close to myself, is quite immaterial; I even seem to become more and more historical to myself; and when, in the evening, Plutarch is read to me, I often appear ridiculous to myself, should I narrate my biography in this way.
Forgive me expressions of this character! In old age men become garrulous, and since I dictate, it is very easy for this natural tendency to get the better of me.
Of my _Faust_ there is much and little to say; at a peculiarly happy time the apothegm occurred to me:
“If bards ye are, as ye maintain;
Now let your inspiration show it.”
And through a mysterious psychological turn, which probably deserves investigation, I believe that I have risen to a type of production which with entire consciousness has brought forth that which I myself still approve of–though perhaps without being able ever again to swim in this current–but which Aristotle and other prose-writers would even ascribe to a sort of madness. The difficulty of succeeding consisted in the fact that the second part of _Faust_–to whose printed portions you have possibly devoted some attention–has been pondered for fifty years in its ends and aims, and has been elaborated in fragmentary fashion, as one or the other situation occurred to me; but the whole has remained incomplete.
Now, the second part of _Faust_ demands more of the understanding than the first does, and therefore it was necessary to prepare the reader, even though he must still supply bridges. The filling of certain gaps was obligatory both for historical and for aesthetic unity, and this I continued until at last I deemed it advisable to cry:
“Close ye the wat’ring canal; to their fill have the meadows now drunken.”
And now I had to take heart to seal the stitched copy in which printed and unprinted are thrust side by side, lest I might possibly be led into temptation to elaborate it here and there; at the same time I regret that I cannot communicate it to, my most valued friends, as the poet so gladly does.
I will not send my _Metamorphosis of Plants_, translated, with an appendix, by M. Soret, unless certain confessions of life would satisfy your friendship. Recently I have become more and more entangled in these phenomena of nature; they have enticed me to continue my labors in my original field, and have finally compelled me to remain in it. We shall see what is to be done there likewise, and shall trust the rest to the future, which, between ourselves, we burden with a heavier task than would be supposed.
From time to time let us not miss on either side an echo of continued existence.
G.
GOETHE TO WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT
Weimar, March 17, 1832.
After a long, involuntary pause I begin as follows, and yet simply on the spur of the moment. Animals, the ancients said, were taught by their organs. I add to this, men also, although they have the advantage of teaching their organs in return.
For every act, and, consequently, for every talent, an innate tendency is requisite, working automatically, and unconsciously carrying with itself the necessary predisposition; yet, for this very reason, it works on and on inconsequently, so that, although it contains its laws within itself, it may, nevertheless, ultimately run out, devoid of end or aim. The earlier a man perceives that there is a handicraft or an art which will aid him to attain a normal increase of his natural talents, the more fortunate is he. Moreover, what he receives from without does not impair his innate individuality. The best genius is that which absorbs everything within itself, which knows how to adapt everything, without prejudicing in the least the real fundamental essence–the quality which is called character–so that it becomes the element which truly elevates that quality and endows it throughout so far as may be possible.
Here, now, appear the manifold relations between the conscious and the unconscious. Imagine a musical talent that is to compose an important score; consciousness and unconsciousness will be related like the warp and the woof, a simile that I am so fond of using. Through practice, teaching, reflection, failure, furtherance, opposition, and renewed reflection the organs of man unconsciously unite, in a free activity, the acquired and the innate, so that this process creates a unity which sets the world in amaze. This generalization may serve as a speedy reply to your query and as an explanation of the note that is herewith returned.
Over sixty years have passed since, in my youth, the conception of Faust lay before me clear from the first, although the entire sequence was present in less detailed form. Now, I have always kept my purpose in the back of my mind and I have elaborated only the passages that were of special interest to me, so that gaps remain in the second part which are to be connected with the remainder through the agency of a uniform interest. Here, I must admit, appeared the great difficulty of attaining through resolution and character what should properly belong only to a nature voluntarily active. It would, however, not have been well had this not been feasible after so long a life of active reflection, and I let no fear assail me that it may be possible to distinguish the older from the newer, and the later from the earlier; which point, then, we shall intrust to future readers for their friendly examination.
Beyond all question it will give me infinite pleasure to dedicate and communicate these very serious jests to my valued, ever thankfully recognized, and widely scattered friends while still living, and to receive their reply. But, as a matter of fact, the age is so absurd and so insane that I am convinced that the candid efforts which I have long expended upon this unusual structure would be ill rewarded, and that, driven ashore, they will lie like a wreck in ruins and speedily be covered over by the sand-dunes of time. In theory and practice, confusion rules the world, and I have no more urgent task than to augment, wherever possible, what is and has remained within me, and to redistill my peculiarities, as you also, worthy friend, surely also do in your castle.
But do you likewise tell me something about your work. Riemer is, as you doubtless know, absorbed in the same and similar studies, and our evening conversations often lead to the confines of this specialty. Forgive this delayed letter! Despite my retirement, there is seldom an hour when these mysteries of life may be realized.
GOETHE’S CORRESPONDENCE WITH ZELTER
TRANSLATED BY FRANCES H. KING
LETTER 512
Weimar, July 28, 1803.
I have followed you so often in my thoughts that unfortunately I have neglected to do so in writing. Just a few lines today, to accompany the inclosed page. Of Mozart’s Biography I have heard nothing further, but I will inquire about it and also about the author. Your beautiful Queen made many happy while on her journey, and no one happier than my mother; nothing could have caused her greater joy in her declining years.
Do write me something about the performance of The _Natural Daughter_, frankly and without consideration for my feelings. I have a mind anyhow to shorten some of the scenes, which must seem long, even if they are excellently acted. Will you outline for me sometime the duties of a concert conductor, so much, at all events, as one of our kind needs to know in order to form a judgment of such a man, and in case of need, to be able to direct him? Madame Mara sang on Tuesday in Lauchstaedt; how it went off I do not yet know. For the songs which I received through Herr von Wolzogen I thank you mostly heartily in my own name and in the name of our friends. It was no time to think of producing them. I hope soon to send you the proof-sheets of my songs, and I beg you to keep them secret at first, until they have appeared in print.
_Inclosure_
You now have the _Bride of Messina_ before you in print and as you learn the poet’s intentions from his introductory essay, you will know better how to appreciate what he has done, and how far you can agree with him. I will, regarding your letter, jot down my thoughts on the subject; we can come to an understanding in a few words.
[Illustration: K. F. ZELTER, E. A. Seemann]
In Greek tragedy four forms of the chorus are found, representing four epochs. In the first, between the songs in which gods and heroes are extolled and genealogies, great deeds, and monstrous destinies are brought before the imagination, a few persons appear and carry the spectator back into the past. Of this we find an approximate example in the _Seven before Thebes_ of, _Eschylus_. Here, therefore, are the beginnings of dramatic art, the old style. The second epoch shows us the chorus in the mass as the mystical, principal personage of the piece, as in the _Eumenides_ and _Supplicants_. Here I am inclined to find the grand style. The chorus is independent, the interest centres in it; one might call this the Republican period of dramatic art; the rulers and the gods are only attendant personages. In the third epoch it is the chorus which plays the secondary part; the interest is transferred to the families, and the members and heads who represent them in the play, with whose fate that of the surrounding people is only loosely connected. Then, the chorus is subordinate, and the figures of the princes and heroes stand preeminent in all their exclusive magnificence. This I consider the beautiful style. The pieces of Sophocles stand on this plane. Since the crowd is forced merely to look on at the heroes and at fate, and can have no effect on either their special or general nature, it takes refuge in reflection and assumes the office of an able and welcome spectator. In the fourth epoch the action withdraws more and more into the sphere of private interests, and the chorus often appears as a burdensome custom, as an inherited fixture. It becomes unnecessary, and therefore, as a part of a living poetic composition, it is useless, wearisome, and disturbing; as, for example, when it is called upon to guard secrets in which it has no interest, and things of that sort. Several examples are to be found in the pieces of Euripides, of which I will mention _Helen_ and _Iphigenia in Tauris_.
From all this you will see that, for a musical reconstruction of the chorus, it would be necessary to make experiments in the style of the first two epochs; and this might be accomplished by means of quite short oratorios.
* * * * *
LETTER 553
Weimar, June 1, 1805.
Since writing to you last, I have had few happy days. I thought I should die myself, and instead I lose a friend,[33] and with him the half of my being. I would really begin a different mode of life, but for one of my years there is no way of doing that. I only look straight ahead of me each day, and do the thing nearest to me without thinking of the consequences.
But as people in every loss and misfortune try to find a pretext for amusement, I have been urgently solicited in behalf of our theatre, and on many other sides, to celebrate on the stage the memory of the departed one. I wish to say nothing further on the subject, except that I am not disinclined to it, and all I would ask of you now is whether you are willing to assist me in the matter; and, first, whether you would furnish me with your motet–“Man lives,” etc., about which I have read in the _Musical Review_, No. 27; also whether you would either compose some other pieces of a solemn character, or else select and make over to me some musical pieces already composed–the style of which I will indicate later–as a foundation for appropriate compositions. As soon as I know your real opinion on the subject, you shall receive further details.
Your beautiful series of little essays on orchestra organization I have left lying around till now, and the reason is that they contained a sort of satire on our own conditions.
Now Reichard wishes them for the _Musical Review_. I hunt them up again, look them over, and I feel that I really could not deprive the Intelligence Page of our _Literatur-Zeitung_ of them. Some of our conditions here have changed, and, after all, a man may surely be allowed to censure those things which he did not try to hinder.
Privy Councillor Wolf of Halle is here at present. If only I could hope to see you also here this year! Would it not be possible for you to come to Lauchstaedt the end of July, so as to help, there on the spot, in the preparation and performance of the above-mentioned work?
Think it over and only tell me there is a possibility of it; we shall then be able to devise the means of bringing it to pass.
* * * * *
LETTER 606
Weimar, October 30, 1808.
The world of art is just now too much run down for a young man to be able to realize exactly where he stands. People always search for inspiration everywhere but in the place where it originates, and if they do once catch sight of the source, then they cannot find the path leading to it. Therefore I am reduced to despair by half a dozen of the younger poetic spirits, who, though endowed with extraordinary natural talent, will scarcely accomplish much that I can ever take pleasure in. Werner, Ochlenschlaeger, Arnim, Brentano and others are still working and practising at their art, but everything they do is absolutely lacking in form and character. Not one of them can understand that the highest and only operation of nature and art is the creation of form, and in the form, detail, so that each single thing shall become, be, and remain something separate and important. There is no art in letting your talent go to suit your humor and convenience.
The sad part of it is that the humorous, because it has no support and no law within itself, sooner or later degenerates into melancholy and bad temper. We have been forced to experience the most horrible examples of this in Jean Paul (see his last production in the _Ladies’ Calendar_) and in Goerres (see his _Specimens of Writing_). Moreover, there are always people enough to admire and esteem that sort of thing, because the public is always grateful to every one who tries to turn its head.
Will you be obliging enough, when you have a quarter of an hour’s spare time, to sketch for me, in a few rough lines, the aberrations of our youthful musicians? I should like to compare them with the errors of the painters; for a man must once for all set his heart at rest about these things, execrate the whole business, stop thinking about the culture of others, and employ the short time that remains to him on his own works. But even while I express myself thus disagreeably, I must, as always happens to good-natured blusterers, contradict myself immediately, and beg you to continue your interest in Eberwein at least until Easter; for then I will send him to you again. He has acquired great confidence in you, and great respect for your institution, but unhappily even that does not mean much with young people. They still secretly think it would also be possible to produce something extraordinary by their own foolish methods. Many people gain some comprehension that there is a goal, but they would like very much to reach it by loitering along mazy paths.
You have been sufficiently reminded of us throughout this month by the newspapers. It was worth much to be present in person at these events. I also came in for a share of the favorable influence of such an unusual constellation. The Emperor of France was very gracious to me. Both Emperors decorated me with stars and ribbons, which we desire in all modesty thankfully to acknowledge. Forgive me for not writing you more about the latest events. You must have already wondered when you read the papers that this stream of the great and mighty ones of earth should have rolled on as far as Weimar, and even over the battlefield of Jena. I cannot refrain from inclosing to you a remarkable engraving. The point where the temple is placed, is the farthest point toward the north-east reached by Napoleon on this tour. When you visit us, I will place you on the spot where the little man with the cane is shown parceling off the world.
* * * * *
LETTER 640
Weimar, February 28, 1811.
I have read somewhere that the celebrated first secretary of the London Society, Oldenburg, never opened a letter until he had placed pen, ink, and paper before him, and that he then and there, immediately after the first reading, wrote down his answer. Thus he was able to meet comfortably the demands of an immense correspondence. If I could have imitated this virtue, so many people would not now be complaining of my silence. But this time your dear letter just received has roused in me such a desire to answer, by recalling to my mind all the fullness of our life during the summer, that I am writing these lines, if not immediately after the first reading, at least on awaking the next morning.
I think I anticipated that the good _Pandora_ would slow down somewhat when she reached home again. Life in Toeplitz was really too favorable to this sort of work, and your meditations and efforts were so steadily and undividedly centred upon it, that an interruption could not help calling forth a pause. But leave it alone; there is so much done on it already that, at the right moment, the remainder will, in all likelihood, come of its own accord.
I cannot blame you for declining to compose the music to _Faust_. My proposition was somewhat ill-considered, like the undertaking itself. It can very well rest in peace for another year; for the trouble which I had in working over the _Resolute Prince_[34] has about exhausted the inclination which we must feel when we set about things of that sort. This piece has indeed turned out beyond all expectation, and it has given much pleasure to me and to others. It is no small undertaking to conjure up a work written almost two hundred years ago, for an entirely different clime, for a people of entirely different customs, religion, and culture, and to make it appear fresh and new to the eyes of a spectator. For nowhere is anything antiquated and without direct appeal more out of place than on the stage.
Touching my works you shall, before everything else, receive the thirteenth volume. It is very kind of you not to neglect the _Theory of Color_; and the fact that you absorb it in small doses will have its good effect too. I know very well that my way of handling the matter, natural as it is, differs very widely from the usual way, and I cannot demand that every one should immediately perceive and appropriate its advantages. The mathematicians are foolish people, and are so far from having the least idea what my work means that one really must overlook their presumption. I am very curious about the first one who gets an insight into the matter and behaves honestly about it; for not all of them are blindfolded or malicious. But, at any rate, I now see more clearly than ever what I have long held in secret, that the training which mathematics give to the mind is extremely one-sided and narrow. Yes, Voltaire is bold enough to say somewhere: “I have always remarked that geometry leaves the mind just where it found it.” Franklin also has clearly and plainly expressed a special aversion to mathematicians, in respect to their social qualities, and finds their petty contradictory spirit unbearable.
As concerns the real Newtonians, they are in the same case as the old Prussians in October, 1806. The latter believed that they were winning tactically, when they had long since been conquered strategically. When once their eyes are opened they will be startled to find me already in Naumburg and Leipzig, while they are still creeping along near Weimar and Blankenheim. That battle was lost in advance; and so is this. The Newtonian Theory is already annihilated, while the gentlemen still think their adversary despicable. Forgive my boasting; I am just as little ashamed of it as those gentlemen are of their pettiness. I am going through a strange experience with Kugelchen, as I have done with many others. I thought I was making him the nicest compliment possible; for really the picture and the frame had turned out most acceptably, and now the good man takes offence at a superficial act of politeness, which one really ought not to neglect, since many persons’ feelings are hurt if we omit it. A certain lack of etiquette on my part in such matters has often been taken amiss, and now here I am troubling some excellent people with my formality. Never get rid of an old fault, my dear friend; you will either fall into a new one, or else people will look upon your newly acquired virtue as a fault; and no matter how you behave, you will never satisfy either yourself or others. In the meantime I am glad that I know what the matter is; for I wish to be on good terms with this excellent man.
Regarding the antique bull, I should propose to have him carefully packed in a strong case, and sent to me for inspection. In ancient times these things were often made in replica, and the specimens differ greatly in value. To give any good bronze in exchange for another would be a bad bargain, as there are scarcely ever duplicates of them, and those that we do find are doubly interesting on account of their resemblances and dissimilarities. The offer I could make at present is as follows: I have a very fine collection of medals, mostly in bronze, from the middle of the fifteenth century up to our day. It was collected principally in order to illustrate to amateurs and experts the progress of plastic art, which is always reflected in the medals. Among these medals I have some very beautiful and valuable duplicates, so that I could probably get together a most instructive series of them to give away. An art lover, who as yet possessed nothing of this description, would in them get a good foundation for a collection, and a sufficient inducement to continue. Further, such a collection, like a set of Greek and Roman coins, affords opportunity for very interesting observations; indeed it completes the conception furnished us by the coins, and brings it up to present times. I may also say that the bull would have to be very perfect, if I am not to have a balance to my credit in the bargain above indicated.
Something very pleasing has occurred to me in the last few days; it was the presentation to me, from the Empress of Austria, of a beautiful gold snuff-box with a diamond wreath, and the name Louisa engraved in full. I know you too will take an interest in this event, as it is not often that we meet with such unexpected and refreshing good fortune.
* * * * *
LETTER 665
Weimar, December 3, 1812.
Your letter telling me of the great misfortune which has befallen your house,[35] depressed me very much, indeed quite bowed me down; for it reached me in the midst of very serious reflections on life, and it is owing to you alone that I have been able to pluck up courage. You have proved yourself to be pure refined gold when tried by the black touchstone of death. How beautiful is a character when it is so compact of mind and soul, and how beautiful must be a talent that rests on such a foundation.
Of the deed or the misdeed itself, I know of nothing to say. When the _toedium vitoe_ lays hold on a man, he is to be pitied, not to be blamed. That all the symptoms of this strange, natural, as well as unnatural, disease have raged within me–of that _Werther_ leaves no one in doubt. I know right well what amount of resolution and effort it cost me then to escape from the waves of death, with what difficulty I saved myself from many a later shipwreck, and how hard it was for me to recover. And all the stories of mariners and fishermen are the same. After the night of storm the shore is reached again; he who was wet through dries himself, and the next morning when the beautiful sun shines once more on the sparkling waves “the sea has regained its appetite for new victims.”
When we see not only that the world in general, and especially the younger generation, are given over to their lusts and passions, but also that what is best and highest in them is misplaced and distorted through the serious follies of the age; when we see that what should lead them to salvation really contributes to their damnation–to say nothing of the unspeakable stress brought to bear upon them from without–then we cease to wonder at the misdeeds which a man performs in rage against himself and others. I believe I am capable of writing another _Werther_, which would make people’s hair stand on end, even more than the first did. Let me add one remark. Most young people, who feel themselves possessed of merit, demand of themselves more than is right. They are, however, pressed and forced into it by their gigantic surroundings. I know half a dozen of that kind who will certainly perish, and whom it would be impossible to help, even if one could make clear to them where their real advantage lies. Nobody realizes that reason, courage, and will-power are given to us so that we shall refrain, not only from evil, but from excess of goodness.
I thank you for your comments on the pages of my autobiography. I had already heard much that was good and kind about them in a general way. You are the first and only one who has gone into the heart of the matter.
I am glad that the description of my father impressed you favorably. I will not deny that I am heartily tired of the German bourgeois, these _Lorenz Starks_, or whatever they may be called, who, in humorous gloom, give free play to their pedantic temperament, and by standing dubiously in the way of their good-natured desires, destroy them, as well as the happiness of other people. In the two following volumes the figure of my father is completely developed, and if on his side as well as on the side of his son, a grain of mutual understanding had entered into this precious family relationship, both would have been spared much. But it was not to be; and indeed such is life. The best laid plan for a journey is upset by the stupidest kind of accident, and a man goes farthest when he does not know where he is going.
Do have the goodness to continue your comments; for I go slowly, as the subject demands, and keep much _in petto_ (on which account many readers grow impatient who would be quite satisfied to have the whole meal from beginning to end, well braised and roasted, served up at one sitting, so that they could the sooner swallow it, and on the morrow seek better or worse cheer at random, in a different eating-house or cook’s-shop). But I, as I have already said, remain in ambush, in order to let my lancers and troopers rush forward at the right moment. It is, therefore, very interesting for me to learn what you, as an experienced Field-Marshal, have already noticed about the vanguard. I have as yet read no criticisms of this little work; I will read them all at once after the next two volumes are printed. For many years I have observed that those who should and would speak of me in public, be their intentions good or bad, seem to find themselves in a painful position, and I have hardly ever come face to face with a critic who did not sooner or later show the famous countenance of Vespasian, and a _faciem duram_.
If you could sometime give me a pleasant surprise by sending the _Rinaldo_, I should consider it a great favor.
It is only through you that I can keep in touch with music. We are really living here absolutely songless and soundless. The opera, with its old standbys, and its novelties dressed up to suit a little theatre, and produced at pretty long intervals, is no consolation. At the same time I am glad that the court and the city can delude themselves into thinking that they have a species of enjoyment handy. The inhabitant of a large city is to be accounted happy in this respect, because so much that is of importance in other lands is attracted thither.
You have made a point-blank shot at Alfieri. He is more remarkable than enjoyable. His works are explained by his life. He torments his readers and listeners, just as he torments himself as an author. He had the true nature of a count and was therefore blindly aristocratic. He hated tyranny, because he was aware of a tyrannical vein in himself, and fate had meted out to him a fitting tribulation, when it punished him, moderately enough, at the hands of the Sansculottes. The essential patrician and courtly nature of the man comes at last very laughably into evidence, when he can think of no better way to reward himself for his services than by having an order of knighthood manufactured for himself. Could he have showed more plainly how ingrained these formalities were in his nature? In the same way I must agree to what you say of Rousseau’s _Pygmalion_. This production certainly belongs among the monstrosities, and is most remarkable as a symptom of the chief malady of that period, when State and custom, art and talent were destined to be stirred into a porridge with a nameless substance–which was, however, called nature–yes, when they were indeed thus stirred and beaten up together. I hope that my next volume will bring this operation to light; for was not I, too, attacked by this epidemic, and was it not beneficently responsible for the development of my being, which I cannot now picture to myself as growing in any other fashion?
Now I must answer your question about the first Walpurgis-night. The state of the case is as follows: Among historians there are some, and they are men to whom one cannot refuse one’s esteem, who try to find a foundation in reality for every fable, every tradition, let it be as fantastic and absurd as it will, and, inside the envelope of the fairy-tale, believe they can always find a kernel of fact.
We owe much that is good to this method of treatment. For in order to go into the matter great knowledge is required; yes, intelligence, wit, and imagination are necessary to turn poetry into prose in this way. So now, in this case, one of our German antiquarians has tried to vindicate the ride of the witches and devils in the Hartz mountains, which has been well known to us in Germany for untold ages, and to place it upon a firm foundation, by the discovery of an historical origin. Which is, namely, that the German heathen priests and forefathers, after they had been driven from their sacred groves, and Christianity had been forced upon the people, betook themselves with their faithful followers, at the beginning of Spring, to the wild inaccessible mountains of the Hartz; and there, according to their old custom, they offered prayers and fire to the incorporeal God of Heaven and earth. In order to secure themselves against the spying, armed converters, they hit upon the idea of masking a number of their party, so as to keep their superstitious opponents at a distance, and thus, protected by caricatures of devils, to finish in peace the pure worship of God.
I found this explanation somewhere, but cannot put my finger on the author; the idea pleased me and I have turned this fabulous history into a poetical fable again.
* * * * *
LETTER 433
Weimar, October 30, 1824.
It had long been my wish that you might be invited to take a trip, because I was certain that I should then hear something from you; for, of course, I am convinced that in over-lively Berlin no one is likely to remember to write letters to those who are far away. Now a perilous and hazardous journey gives my worthy friend an opportunity for a very characteristic and pleasing description; a crowded family party furnishes material for a sketch that would certainly find a place in any English novel. For my part, I will reply with a couple of matters from my quiet sphere.
In the first place, then, my sojourn at home has this time been quite successful; yet we must not boast of it, only quietly and modestly continue our activities.
Langermann has probably communicated to you what I sent him. The introductory poem to _Werther_ I lately resurrected and read to myself, quietly and thoughtfully, and immediately afterward the _Elegie_ which harmonizes with it very well; only I missed in them the direct effect of your pleasing melody, although it gradually revived and rose out of my inner consciousness.
I am now also concluding the instalment on natural science, which was inconveniently delayed this year, and am editing my _Correspondence with Schiller from 1794_ to 1805. A great boon will be offered to the Germans, yes, I might even say to humanity in general, revealing the intimacy between two friends, of the kind who keep contributing to each other’s development in the very act of pouring out their hearts to each other. I have a strange feeling at my task, for I am learning what I once was. However, it is most instructive of all to see how two people who mutually further their purposes _par force_, fritter away their time through inner over-activity and outer excitement and disturbance; so that there is, after all, no result fully worthy of their capacities, tendencies, aims. The effect will be extremely edifying; for every thoughtful man will be able to find in it consolation for himself.
Moreover, it contributes to various other things which are revived by the excited life of that period. If what you recognized a year ago as the cause of my illness now proves itself the apparent element of my good health, everything will be running smoothly and you will hear pleasant news from time to time.
In order that I may, however, hear from you soon, I wish to inform you that it would give me especial pleasure to receive a concise, forceful description of the Konigstadter theatricals. From what they are playing and rehearsing and from the notices and criticisms that reach me in the newspapers, I can form some notion for myself, to be sure; but, in any case, you will correct and strengthen my ideas. At your suggestion the architect sent me a plan which I found very acceptable, because, from it I can see for myself that the theatre is situated in a large residential section. This probably makes it very nice and cheerful, just as setting back the various rows of boxes is a very convenient arrangement for the audience who wish to be seen while they themselves see. This much I already know, and you, with a few strokes, will assist me to picture the most vivid actuality.
J. A. Stumpff, of London, Harp Maker to his Majesty, is just leaving me. A native of Ruhl, he was sent at an early age to England, where he is now working as an able mechanic, a sturdy man of good stature in which you would take delight; at the same time he manifests the most patriotic sentiments for our language and literature. Through Schiller and myself he has been awakened to all that is good, and he is highly pleased to see our literary products become gradually known and appreciated. He revealed a remarkable personality.
Our sonorous bells are just announcing the celebration of the anniversary of the Reformation. It resounds with a ring that must not leave us indifferent. Keep us, Lord, in Thy word, and guide.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: _Morgenblatt_ 1815. Nr. 113 12. Mai.]
[Footnote 2: (King Henry IV, Part II, Act 4, Scene 4.)]
[Footnote 3: The works referred to are the nine volumes of A. W. Schlegel’s translation, which appeared 1797-1810, and were subsequently (since 1826) supplemented by the missing dramas, translated under Tieck’s direction.]
[Footnote 4: Delivered before the Amalia Lodge of Freemasons in Weimar, February 1813.]
[Footnote 5: Permission The Macmillan Co., New York.]
[Footnote 6: Permission The Macmillan Co., New York, and G. Bell & Sons, London.]
[Footnote 7: It is almost needless to observe that the word “demon” is her reference to its Greek origin, and implies nothing evil.–_Trans._]
[Footnote 8: This is the first day in Eckermann’s first book, and the first time in which he speaks in this book, as distinguished from Soret.–_Trans._]
[Footnote 9: The word “Gelegenheitsgedicht” (occasional poem) properly applies to poems written for special occasions, such as birthdays, weddings, etc., but Goethe here extends the meaning, as he himself explains. As the English word “occasional” often implies no more than “occurrence now and then,” the phrase “occasional poem” is not very happy, and is only used for want of a better. The reader must conceive the word in the limited sense, produced on some special event.–_Trans._]
[Footnote 10: Goethe’s “West-oestliche (west-eastern) Divan,” one of the twelve divisions of which is entitled “Das Buch des Unmuths” (The Book of Ill-Humor).–Trans.]
[Footnote 11: _Die Aufgeregten_ (the Agitated, in a political sense) is an unfinished drama by Goethe.–Trans.]
[Footnote 12: The German phrase “Freund des Bestehenden,” which, for want of a better expression, has been rendered above “friend of the powers that be,” literally means “friend of the permanent,” and was used by the detractors of Goethe to denote the “enemy of the progressive.”–_Trans._]
[Footnote 13: Poetry and Truth, the title of Goethe’s autobiography.–Trans.]
[Footnote 14: This, doubtless, means the “Deformed Transformed,” and the fact that this poem was not published till January, 1824, rendering it probable that Goethe had not actually seen it, accounts for the inaccuracy of the expression.–Trans.]
[Footnote 15: It need scarcely be mentioned that this is the name given to a collection of sarcastic epigrams by Goethe and Schiller.–Trans.]
[Footnote 16: “Die Natuerliche Tochter” (the Natural Daughter).–_Trans._]
[Footnote 17: Vide p. 185, where a remark is made on the word _nature_, as applied to a person.–_Trans._]
[Footnote 18: These plays were intended to be in the Shakesperian style, and Goethe means that by writing them he freed himself from Shakespeare, just as by writing _Werther_ he freed himself from thoughts of suicide.–_Trans._]
[Footnote 19: This doubtless refers to the Heath country in which Eckermann was born.–Trans.]
[Footnote 20: This poem is simply entitled “Ballade,” and begins “Herein, O du Guter! du Alter herein!”–_Trans_.]
[Footnote 21: A It must be borne in mind that this was said before the appearance of “Robert le Diable,” which was first produced in Paris, in November, 1831.–_Trans._]
[Footnote 22: B That is, the second act of the second part of “Faust,” which was not published entire till after Goethe’s death.–_Trans._]
[Footnote 23: In the original book this conversation follows immediately the one of December 21, 1831, and with the remainder of the book is prefaced thus:–“The following I noted down shortly afterwards (that is, after they took place) from memory.”–Trans.]
[Footnote 24: A distinguished die-cutter in Rome.]
[Footnote 25: Giovanni Hamerani was papal die-cutter from 1675 to 1705.]
[Footnote 26: A C. A. Bottiger had surrendered his position as director of the Gymnasium of Weimar and had gone to Dresden, while Heinrich Voss (1779-1822), an enthusiastic young admirer of Goethe, had come to the gymnasium.]
[Footnote 27: An association of civil officials of Mannheim had intrusted to Goethe a sum of money to erect a memorial to Count von Dalberg, but the plan was never carried out.]
[Footnote 28: a Theodor Koerner (1791-1813), at that time a dramatist in Vienna, and closely connected with the Humboldt family through Wilhelm’s friendship for Christian G. Koerner.]
[Footnote 29: J. H. Voss, although his translation of AEschylus was not printed until 1826.]
[Footnote 30: Humboldt’s translation of the _Agamemnon of AEschylus_.]
[Footnote 31: Voss and his son.]
[Footnote 32: August, who went to Italy, in March, 1830, and died there eight days after this letter was written.]
[Footnote 33: Schiller died May 9, 1805]
[Footnote 34: By Calderon]
[Footnote 35: Zelter’s eldest son had shot himself.]